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Straight ahead was a short hall—on one side a big bathroom with a clawfoot tub, on the other, a utility room. Straight ahead was a bedroom. No walk-in closet here—this was an old-fashioned house. The old man had left large, man-size bureaus and wardrobes. The bed was a big, wooden four-poster. Luke didn’t much like the furniture, but he thought since it was solid, heavy, durable ash, it was probably valuable.
He made a U-turn and went back to the living room. There he found a staircase to the second floor. He went up cautiously, not sure of the reliability of the steps. Plus, it was dark up there. If he remembered, there were two good-size bedrooms and no bath. More scurrying. He ran back down the steps. He could look up there after the exterminator had paid a visit.
Standing in the living room, he did a mental inventory. The good news was, it didn’t appear the place had to be gutted and completely remodeled to make it livable. The bad news was, what had to be done was going to be expensive and time consuming. Everything but the ash bedroom furniture needed to go away. Far away. It wasn’t even up to secondhand standards. The floors would have to be sanded, the cupboards torn out and replaced, new countertops would have to be installed, the old wallpaper stripped, windowsills, doors, frames, baseboards sanded and stained, or maybe just replaced.
But first, the amount of trash hauling and pest removal was going to be a giant pain in the butt. At least this was work he could do, with the help of an exterminator. He’d inspect the roof later.
He walked out of the house and pried open the door to the first cabin. More of the same. The furniture was rotting, the floor was covered with debris. The cabins were all one-room efficiencies that hadn’t been used in years, so the small stoves and bar-size refrigerators were outdated and probably didn’t work. He was good with wood and paint, but he didn’t trust himself with gas and electricity. He was looking at six empty cabins, all in need of new hot-water heaters, stoves, refrigerators and furniture. He’d have to get up on the roofs and see how they had held up through the years, but from where he stood, it looked as though the shingles were mostly missing or rotting. And the wood on the outside of the cabins, all in need of scraping, sanding and painting. Every window would have to be replaced.
He did a mental calculation. It was nearly September. From January to June, before the summer people came for camping and hiking, things were slow and wet around this part of the world. If he could get the house and cabins in shape by spring, he could put them on the market or open them up for rent to vacationers. If it turned out he was bored with the mountains by then, he’d lock the whole business up and make tracks to either San Diego, where his brother Aiden was stationed and there was plenty of beach and swimsuits, or to Phoenix, where his widowed mother lived and would be forever grateful for his presence. He could always chase a flying job if he wanted to.
He unhooked the camper from the truck, unloaded his Harley from the truck bed and parked it up on its stand in front of the house. He grabbed a pair of work gloves, broom and shovel from the bed of the truck, got his toolbox out of the trailer and began scooping out the house. He could at least fill the back of the trunk with trash and, on his way to Eureka to have the utilities turned on, hire an exterminator and rent a big Dumpster; he could also dispose of a big load at the dump.
By noon he had a huge pile of trash in front of the porch. He got to work on loading the trash into the back of the pickup. The bright afternoon sun had warmed up the air and he was sweating like a farmhand, so he took off his shirt. He was just hefting a big three-legged overstuffed chair into the back of the truck when he spotted her. Holding it over his head, he froze.
She was sitting in the clearing astride a big American paint. She smiled at him. Pure, innocent honey. Luke couldn’t move. The horse was beautiful, at least fifteen hands. She was wearing khaki shorts, rolled up high on her tanned thighs, a pair of what appeared to be laced hiking boots with white socks rolled over the tops, a white short-sleeved T-shirt and a khaki fishing vest. With that long, pale blond braid down her back and a Stetson on her head, she could be fifteen, tiny and built solid. The thought that she looked like a statutory offense came instantly to mind and he felt every day of his thirty-eight years.
The horse danced and pawed at the ground, snorted and reared his head, but this little girl in the saddle didn’t even notice. She handled him with ease and finesse.
“I just had to see this for myself,” she said. “You’re doing it. You’re at work on this mess. Wow,” she laughed. “Looks like you’re going to be busy.”
He tossed the chair in the back of the truck and took a rag out of his pocket to mop his sweating face. “Maybe you can’t see the potential here,” he said. “I’m going to impress you, in that case.”
“I’m already impressed,” she said. “It looks like a monumental job. Where I grew up, there were a bunch of old cabins just like this, out on the beach. I was a teenager. They were almost never in use and the local kids used to sneak in. To smoke pot and…other stuff. Then one day they were gone. Razed.”
“When you were a teenager,” he said, shoving the rag back into his pocket. “Last week?”
“Hey,” she laughed. “I’m talking ten years ago.”
“In which case, you don’t age.”
“Why don’t you just ask?” she challenged him.
“Okay. How old are you? Exactly?”
“Twenty-five. And you?”
“One hundred and ten.”
She laughed again. When she did, she threw her head back and that braid rippled down her back. “Yeah, I thought you were probably really old. How old?”
“Thirty-eight. Pretty well out of your range.”
“That depends,” she said with a shrug.
“On?”
“On whether I have a range.”
Oh God, he thought weakly. She liked him. Not a little teasing, but private flirting, just between the two of them. Luke was a man with few scruples and even less control. It wasn’t a good idea for her to do this. She was too alluring for her own good. “You’re pretty good with that horse. He’s a beautiful paint.”
“Chico,” she told him. “All little boy. Uncle Walt adopted him as colt—you’d think he’d be better behaved. You know your horses.”
“I’ve flown over a lot of horses running wild in the desert. Incredible creatures.”
“You ride?” she asked.
“Haven’t been on a horse in years.”
“You fish?” she asked.
“When I get a chance. You hunt?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d never shoot anything. But I shoot skeet, and I’m good, too. Lately I garden and babysit. And I read a lot.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping toward her.
“In Virgin River? I came to spend some time with my family for a while before going back to school. Uncle Walt, Vanessa and Paul, my cousin Tom—he’s at basic training, soon to have leave—they’re my family.”
“No,” he said, smiling. “Here. Checking me out.”
“Get over yourself, I’m checking out the cabins,” she said, returning the smile. “I rode here a few times last summer. I really thought these cabins would disappear someday. Wouldn’t it be easier to build new ones?”
“It might be easier, but it wouldn’t be cheaper. And I was looking for something to do.”
“Why? You get fired from your job or something?”
“I retired from the army.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Like my uncle!”
“No, not like your uncle. Like a warrant officer, helicopter pilot. Jack said your uncle is a retired three-star. A whole different thing, kid.”
She grinned at him, but her cheeks took on a little flush. “Just remember, he’s retired. He really isn’t in charge anymore.”
He took note of the pinkened cheeks. She wanted to do this, obviously, this flirting. But it wasn’t natural for her, he could see that. He could make it easier for her. He knew how to calm a woman down, put her at ease. In fact, he enjoyed it.
He was having an attack of pure lust and he told himself to nip it in the bud. She said twenty-five, but he thought there was a good chance in any bar other than Jack’s, she’d be carded. He grabbed his shirt off the porch railing to shrug into it.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Not for me—I’m not staying. Just dropping by to see your project, that’s all. I was in the neighborhood.”
He chuckled and pulled on the shirt, but he left it unbuttoned. “Yeah. We’re neighbors,” he said, smiling up at her. “I should be getting back to work, unless there’s something you need.”
“Nah,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at Jack’s.”
“Only place in town to get a beer, so I’m sure you will.”
“Well then. Good luck here,” she said, lifting the reins. Chico reared, ready to be set free. “Later,” she yelled, leading her gelding away and out of the clearing to the river’s edge. Luke watched the sight of her departure. Once she was through the trees, she kicked her horse into a run. She got low in the saddle and made that braid ride out behind her, she went so hard and fast. I’m in for it now, Luke thought.
He watched her tiny, young butt move with the horse, confident in the saddle. Sweet heaven, what am I thinking? he asked himself. What am I feeling? She couldn’t possibly know what a trim little beauty on a big horse did to him! This was almost the hugest mistake he’d ever considered. But he couldn’t escape the fact that he’d like to get his hands all over her. He began to pray that he’d have both intelligence and restraint where this one was concerned. But it would be a first.
Shelby rode back to her Uncle Walt’s and all the way she was thinking how Luke might think she’d been flirting, but he was absolutely not her type.
Shelby was totally focused on her plans. While waiting for acceptance to a school, she’d travel some. Alone. She remembered the exhilaration of flying off to the East Coast or Europe to spend a couple of months with her cousins during summer. But she’d never seen the Caribbean islands, Mexico, Italy, France or Japan. She’d like to take a cruise, then a vacation—maybe in Italy, the south of France or Cabo San Lucas. After she’d had a nice little break to recharge, she would get herself set up at school, find a part-time job and take a few classes before her degree program officially began in the fall. Just to get herself back in the study groove.
But maybe she’d have herself a little adventure in there somewhere. Maybe on her cruise, on one of her trips.
Not with this kind of man, of course. He was too mature, for one thing. One look convinced her—he knew everything about men and women, while she knew very little. He looked a little dangerous and very, very physical. Scary. He had that warrior appearance, complete with tattoos.
The sight of him bare-chested had rattled her, but the big horse beneath her had given her plenty of confidence. His shoulders were so large, strong and muscular, and he had a barbed-wire armband tattooed on his rippling left biceps. His belly was flat and hard with a trail of chest hair that disappeared into his jeans. The stubble along his jaw made his grin a little taunting and definitely naughty; it had made her shiver. And he had an aura of carelessness. He would take a bite of her, then pitch her out, forgetting her before morning.
But while Shelby had looked him over, everything inside her had grown warm. Something about him, a forbidden quality, was absolutely delicious. Even the damn dirt looked good on him. Despite her common sense, she wondered, wouldn’t that be interesting? And her very next thought was, no, no, no, not him! My adventure will come in a polo shirt, cheeks as smooth as a baby’s butt, styled hair, no tattoos and hopefully an advanced degree. Not some scary Black Hawk pilot who has a Ph.D. in one-night stands!
Mel stormed right into the bar’s kitchen. Preacher had his hands in the sink, his back to her. “Hey, Preach,” she said. But he didn’t turn around. “Preach?” she asked again. Nothing. “John!” she yelled.
He jumped in surprise, turned toward her and pulled earplugs out of his ears. “Whoa, Mel,” he said. “You snuck up on me.”
“Well, not exactly,” she said. “I yelled.”
“Yeah, well, after a while all that noise makes my head pound. I’d just go fishin’, but I have things to do here.”
“Listen,” she said, sitting on the stool at his work island. “We have to talk, you and me.”
“Sure.”
She took a breath. “I’ve gained twenty pounds since I came here. Almost ten pounds a year. By the time I’m forty, I’ll weigh two hundred pounds.”
He frowned. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. Finally he smiled a small smile and said, “Well, good for you.”
“This is not good!”
He almost jumped at the angry tone in her voice. Then he frowned.
“Listen,” she said, “you have to start doing some cooking that isn’t so fattening. Understand?”
“No one’s ever complained about the cooking before, Mel. It tastes good…”
“I know, I know—but you’re cooking for men with real physical lives. Except you—you stand in the kitchen all day and I know you sample everything. I don’t know how you keep from getting fat.”
“I clean a lot,” he said. “I lift weights—but not as much with two kids.”
“Yeah, well, you have a lot of muscle, and that eats up calories. Women don’t have that kind of muscle, John. You have to stop using so much cream and butter, that sort of thing. It’s unhealthy anyway—not good for weight, cholesterol and blood pressure, not good for the heart. Make some salads, more vegetables not swimming in butter. I can’t be the only person in this town who’s getting fat on your food.”
“Salads?” he said. “I don’t usually make a lot of salads.”
“I know this,” she said wearily. “But we need to make a couple of changes. Just minor changes. Buy some low-fat, whole-wheat bread for sandwiches. Don’t do pastas, breads and potatoes at every meal. Make salads, stock fresh fruit.”
“There’s plenty of fruit around here,” he said.
“Yeah, and it’s all in the pies.”
“You have pie almost every day,” he pointed out. “You love my pies. You more than anyone, I think.”
She scowled, then grimaced. “I’m going to stop doing that. Listen, can you make some lighter meals available, please? Or else I’m not going to be able to eat here all the time. I’ll have to pack a lunch, make my own dinner at home. This madness has to stop. I can’t keep gaining weight like this. I am not going to be fat!”
Preacher tilted his head. “Jack complaining about the way you look?” he asked cautiously.
“Of course not,” she said in frustration. “He thinks I’m perfect.”
“Well, there you go.”
“John, I don’t think you’re paying attention here. I have to go on a diet. You want me to write down what I need?”
“No,” he said unhappily. “I think I’ve got it.”
“Thanks. That’s all I wanted. I need a little help here, that’s all.”
“We want you happy,” he said, caution in every word.
“It would make me happy.” She slipped off the stool. “Thanks, that’s all I wanted to talk to you about.”
After she left, Preacher stood in his kitchen for a long time, thinking. Then he went out back where the men were at work. He spotted Jack standing in what used to be his bedroom, talking with Paul. They both wore hard hats while Preacher’s head was bare. He waited. Finally Paul and Jack turned to look at him and Paul sighed and shook his head dismally; he took two giant steps away, grabbing a hard hat and handing it to Preacher.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Paul said. “You don’t come out here without protection for your head.”
“Yeah, right,” Preacher said, putting it on. Too small, it sat high on his head.
“You have the biggest head out here,” Paul said. “We’re framing the second story. You’re an accident waiting to happen.”
“Yeah, I get it. Listen,” Preacher said, turning his attention on Jack, “Mel was just here. She’s complaining about the food.”
“Huh?” Jack answered. “Mel?”
“Yeah. She says my food is making her fat.”
Jack chuckled. “Oh, that. Yeah, she’s making noises about that. Don’t worry about it.”
“She didn’t make it sound like I shouldn’t worry about it. She was pretty much loaded for bear.”
“She had two babies in fourteen months, plus a hysterectomy. And—she doesn’t like to be reminded about this—she’s getting older in spite of herself. Women get a little thicker. You know.”
“How do you know that?”
“Four sisters,” Jack said. “It’s all women ever worry about—the size of their butts and boobs. And thighs—thighs come up a lot.”
“She yelled at me,” he said, still kind of startled. Paul laughed and Jack just shook his head. “Did you tell her that?” Preacher asked. “About women getting thicker with age?”
“Do I look like I have a death wish? Besides, I don’t think she’s getting fat—but my opinion about that doesn’t count for much.”
