And that won’t happen to me, because I won’t let it. Just like he’d always believed he wouldn’t let himself turn into his father? It gave him pause…

When he’d cleared the path, he pounded on the man’s door. “You like Dinty Moore beef stew?” he asked shortly.

“Why?”

“I have a surplus. I thought I’d leave some off later.”

“No need to do that.”

“Come on, man—it’s a friendly gesture. The woman at my place hates that stuff and won’t eat it—I’ll leave by a few cans. If it’s not going to be too big a burden for you to take it off my hands.”

He shrugged. “You grow weed over there on that ridge?”

“Hell, no. What makes you ask that?”

“What you do over there?”

“I cut down trees and sell firewood out of my truck. I fish some. Lately I shovel and plow a lot. I don’t know your name.”

“We’re even,” the old boy said. “Since I never knew yours.”

“Ian Buchanan,” he said, not putting out his hand.

“Michael Jackson,” the old boy said, and Ian let a burst of laughter escape. The old man frowned darkly and Ian realized, too late, that this fella probably hadn’t seen television in decades, if ever.

“Nice to meet you,” Ian said. “Mr. Jackson.”

“You sure you don’t grow weed? Because I don’t get mixed up with growers for Dinty Anything.”

“I’m sure,” Ian said. “I’ll drop some canned goods by later on, but for now you can get to the john and heat up the house.”

Ian went back to his truck, adjusted the plow so it wouldn’t scrape on the highway and turned around to leave. There was no thank-you, no pleased to meet you. But then, Ian had been taking care of the old guy’s drive for over two years without any exchanging social graces.

But, no doubt about it, things were declining some for the old man. Mr. Jackson had been able to plow his drive till now, but now he couldn’t even make his way out back to the toilet and it was possible there was no food in the house. Remembering how Doc checked on old Raleigh at the end, he decided he would mention this situation to Doc. He couldn’t have Michael Jackson on his conscience; his conscience was pretty full right now.

It took him longer than usual to deliver his wood. He had to wait for both his customers to go to their ATM’s to withdraw cash as he couldn’t afford to take a bad check at this point. By the time he got back to his cabin, it was afternoon and he’d been gone eight hours. When he came in, Marcie had his bath water simmering on the stove. “Well, Abigail,” he said, smiling at her. “I see you’re ready for me to come home. Tell me, do you have the back forty plowed?”

“And the barn rebuilt,” she said, smiling. “You took a long time today.”

“Some days are easier than others,” he said. “I have to make a quick run. Not fifteen minutes.” He walked over to his cupboard. “How much of this beef stew you willing to part with?”

“Why?”

“I don’t think the old man next door laid in his supply.” He started pulling out large cans and stacking them on the table till he had eight of them. He went to his trunk to get a duffel and loaded it up with the cans.

“That’s nice, Ian. Sharing with him like that.”

“Nah. I just don’t want a bad smell drifting over to my property. Keep my water going, will you? I’ll be right back.”

When Ian pulled up to Mike Jackson’s house, he found the man no more friendly or receptive than earlier, but he didn’t put up a fuss about the stew. He took it, nodded, and closed the door.

That moment was an epiphany. You can have it either way out here. You can get bonded with your town, your neighbors, belong to each other and have a connected existence where mutual reliance got you through the hard times. Or you could have it like this. If you never let anyone get near you, they soon got the message you wanted to be left alone. Out here, where neighbors were separated by miles, hills, big trees and, too often, hardship, no one fought for your friendship or your companionship. You’d have to at least meet people halfway.

Ian hadn’t given much of anything to the people around him here in Virgin River. He was just like his father. Thank God Marcie had ignored that…He’d have to change things—or he’d end up like his old neighbor, like old Raleigh.

Ian went home, where he had Marcie playing Abigail, and it was cute. There were just a few days left to them and he was going to make the most of the time they had together and, because he knew it was hard for her to go and bring an end to this mission of hers, he’d make it as easy on her as he could.

So he bathed, he ate, he held her against him for a little while and read aloud the spicy part of her romance novel, which was positively nothing compared to the real thing that followed. Then they spruced up a little and drove into Fortuna together to do some laundry. It was there that he told her his plan.

“Tomorrow, when I get home from delivering wood, I’m going to dig out your car for you and tow it into town, park it at Jack’s, put some chains in the trunk and show you how to put them on so you’re safe when you’re ready to head home. Please don’t get a wild hare while I’m not around and try to leave without a goodbye. It’s not safe for you to take the bug down the mountain without chains. Promise?”

“Promise,” she said.

“I want to be sure you’re safe. Taken care of.”

She looked down as he knew she would. Sad. Quiet. Marcie was hardly ever quiet.

With the sound of jeans clacking in the dryer and the hum of machines droning in the background he held her arms and turned her toward him. He lifted her chin with a finger. “We still have time, Marcie—time for you to be sure you’ve asked me everything on your mind so you feel right about going home. So you have peace of mind.”

“And you?” she asked him.

He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “My mind hasn’t felt this peaceful and calm in years. We’ll make the most of the time you’re here.” He gave her lips a little kiss. “I was so angry when I first faced you. I’m not angry anymore. You made things good for me.”

“An awful lot more passed between us than I ever imagined,” she said. “But I’m glad.”

“Then let’s fold our jeans and head back to town. I think we can get a toddy with Jack and Preacher before they close. Then we’ll go home, stoke the fire and if you want me to, I’ll read the dirty part of that book to you again.”

She slapped his arm. “Please, it’s not dirty! It’s romantic.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Very.” He pressed his lips against her forehead.

They went by Jack’s to find it was his last night in town before taking the family back to Sacramento for the holidays, so Mel was there, as was Jack’s sister, Brie, and her partner Mike Valenzuela. The mood was festive. Jack’s son, David, was asleep in Preacher’s quarters behind the bar and there was a lot of excitement about traveling for Christmas. Ian and Marcie ordered up beer and were pulled into the upbeat mood.

Doc didn’t seem to be around, so while Marcie used the kitchen phone to check in with her sister, Ian took a moment to speak to Mel about his neighbor and suggested he might not be doing well. She just smiled and said, “Thanks, Ian. Before I leave in the morning, I’ll speak to Doc and he’ll check on things out there. If he needs assistance, Doc will do what he can. But be warned—some of these old-timers don’t change their ways. They’re pigheaded about things like help, medical intervention, that sort of thing.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ian said. “I was with old Raleigh when he went.”

“Then you already know.” She smiled. “Have a nice Christmas, Ian.”

“You, too,” he said.

He hadn’t celebrated Christmas in a long time. The last time had been with Shelly before he left for Iraq. He’d given her a ring and suddenly the holiday became all about getting engaged.

His father had never been much about Christmas. It was Ian’s mother who made the holiday real, decorating, baking, fixing up gift baskets for everyone she knew, buying gifts that she’d given a lot of thought to. His dad always came up with something lame for his wife—a subscription to a women’s magazine, a sweater too ugly for words that she’d gush over, a couple of cookbooks. He was famous for caving in to something the house needed like a washer or vacuum cleaner and saying, “All right then, it’s an early Christmas present.” After his mother died, Christmas disappeared entirely. The tree didn’t come out, the lights didn’t go on the house, there was no special dinner. Ian was glad not to be around.

But on the Christmas Ian had given Shelly the ring, he’d also given her a necklace and a beautiful peignoir. He remembered the details now—that was when he decided he was not going to be like his father. He was going to be thoughtful.

For Ian, there still wouldn’t be a real Christmas this year, yet his spirits were higher than they had been in years. He didn’t have any decorations and would probably end up opening a can of Dinty Moore for his dinner. He was sorry he didn’t have a present for Marcie and relieved she’d had no opportunity or means to get one for him. But he liked that the town was not only getting into it, they were honoring the men and women who stood the watch. That in itself made it a joyous holiday.

To his surprise, he was starting to think in terms of things changing for him. Because I’ve had these unusual, unexpected, illuminating weeks of Marcie. She opened his eyes in so many ways. And then he started to laugh to himself, because his mind turned to septic tanks. What would it take to buy and have a septic tank installed, a hot water heater, an indoor bathroom? It would start with money—real money and not the hit and miss income of selling firewood in winter and moving furniture part-time in summer.

The guy who owned the moving company had offered him full-time work a couple of times because Ian was strong and fast, but he’d said no thank you. He now considered getting in touch with that guy and getting his name on the list for full-time. Maybe he’d even look around, see if there were other interested employers—he was fit and not afraid of work.

Then a little voice reminded him that he hadn’t filed a tax return in four years because he just didn’t care. He had slipped out of the functional world; could he really expect to slip back in?

For the right reasons, he thought. She’d taught him to laugh again. Just that alone warranted getting a full-time job and buying a septic tank, not because it would matter to Marcie. Because it would be good to improve, to live rather than exist. And hell—it had been a long time since an honest-to-God shower.

At that moment, she came out of the kitchen and hopped up on the bar stool beside Ian, and she wasn’t wearing her happy face. “Erin Elizabeth is getting a little pissy. She’s ready for me to get home. She’s past ready.”

“You can’t be surprised,” Ian said. “You did promise her.”

“I kind of put off telling her I’m staying here till Christmas Eve. It’s just a four-hour drive, or so.”

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “It’s the right thing to do, Marcie. Your family loves you, needs you. You don’t want to take that for granted.”

“I know. Right now I just have too many right things to do. Heat your bath water, plow your fields…”

“Make me laugh…”

“Make you roar.” She smiled at him.

“No matter what you think right now, you’ll be glad once you’re home,” he said. “Familiar and comfortable and…Listen, when you told my father you were going to look for me, what did he say?”