Moonlight Road. Робин Карр
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he had such pretty silver hair. A fine figure of a gentleman.
“You should give me a kiss before the tour so I at least get the impression I’m as important as the coach,” he teased.
“Of course,” she said, going to him. She put her hands on his cheeks, gave him a good enthusiastic peck and said, “Now can I see it inside? I’m dying to see it!”
“I sent you plenty of pictures,” he said. “And I invited you to come up to Nevada to see it in person, but I remind you, you wanted me to make the decision on my own and you did approve the pictures.”
It had seemed only fair. George was going to own it and she didn’t want him buying it for her. Nice of him to ask her opinion if she was to live in it for months, possibly years, but still…Of course, she’d offered to pay for half, but George was adamant—he’d be glad to put her name on the title, but he wouldn’t take her money. “Call me old-fashioned,” he had said, “but a man still likes to think he can take care of his woman.” In the end it was probably less complicated this way, since they’d both been married previously and had grown children.
They had it all planned out—he bought the RV in his name from the proceeds of his house sale. They both put their furniture in separate storage facilities—just till they were absolutely sure they were together for the long haul. It was a struggle, but George finally agreed to take five hundred dollars a month in rent from her; her savings and eventually the money from her condo sale was to stay in her possession. If they married—or when, as George preferred to think of it—they would work out some sort of prenuptial thing so that George could leave his RV and savings to his stepgrandchildren and to Noah Kincaid and she could leave hers to her sons. For right now both had pensions that would allow them to pay for gas, insurance, incidentals, hookup space, food, et cetera.
She stepped inside, up the steps. She ran a hand over the smooth white leather of the copilot’s seat—lush and rich. And then she stood looking into the interior. On either side were matching white leather couches and between them, what looked like dark, hardwood floors but was actually scuff-free laminate. Just beyond, a spacious kitchen on the left with all the necessary appliances and even an oak cupboard at a right angle to the kitchen that had decorative leaded glass on each side—the china cabinet. Opposite the kitchen, a dark marblish table stood with matching white leather sofa seats that could accommodate four for dinner. There were plenty of kitchen cabinets and storage above the sofas. Mounted above the driver’s seat, facing into the living room, was a fifty-eight-inch flat-screen TV.
“My God,” she whispered. “It’s larger than my condo and more beautiful than any house I’ve ever lived in.”
“You like it?” George asked from right behind her.
“It’s amazing.” She turned around to face him. “Is it hard to drive?”
“It’s easy. Those classes I took really paid off, even though I’d driven Noah’s RV in the past. I think you should take them, too. We’ll stop somewhere they have the classes and sign you up.”
“Can we? That would be so much fun.”
“You’d like that?”
“Oh, I’d love that! But of course, it’s your—”
He put a finger on her lips. “Let’s not do a lot of that, Maureen—all that yours-and-mine stuff. I understand we have an agreement, but we’re in this together.” He smiled. “And I love you.”
She leaned toward him. “That’s so nice to hear, George.”
“I suppose it is,” he said with a smile. “I imagine one of these days I might hear it, too.”
She grinned at him. “I was saving it for a special moment—like when we drink champagne tonight at dinner in the RV, but—”
“Perfect!” he said, interrupting her. “I’ll be ready!”
“Can we sleep in it tonight?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to see the rest of it first?”
“I’d like to see it, but can we?”
“Of course, if you feel like it.”
“My house is upside down with boxes. I tore the sheets off the bed and washed them. I put them in the charity box since the bed in here is a king and I’ve only had a double all these years. I think we’d probably be more comfortable in here, actually.”
“Then here’s what we do—load it up with the boxes for Virgin River and the household items you plan to add to our inventory. I made a reservation at a park so we can have a hookup. You’ll have to learn the difference quick—when we’re hooked up, the water, sewage and electricity belong to someone else and we don’t drain our supply or have the task of taking care of the lavatory. There will be times we dry-camp, when there’s no hookup, but when possible we’ll find a park with facilities. So—we have chores, don’t we?”
“There isn’t that much. Tomorrow when the movers come to crate the furnishings for storage, we’ll finish and you can help me tidy up. I hired a cleaning service—the condo management will let them in once we’re on the road. I used packing boxes by the measurements you gave me for the storage under the coach—I hope the boxes fit.”
“Very well organized,” he said. “I’m not surprised at all.” He touched her nose. “Did you tell them?”
“More or less. I told Aiden on the phone while Luke was sitting across the room from him. That should catch them all up. I mean, I had told them I was thinking about it, but no one took me seriously.”
“How’d Aiden take it?”
“Very well, as a matter of fact. But then Aiden was the one to lecture me when he heard I’d brushed you off last fall. He said I shouldn’t assume my life couldn’t ever again include a man. In a romantic way.”
“Ah,” George said, rolling his eyes skyward. “God bless him. I’ll leave him my entire fortune.”
“There are five of them, George, and they’re as different from each other as day is from night. I know you’ve met them, but you haven’t spent any real time with them. There’s no way I can adequately prepare you.”
“I understand completely. Let’s start carting boxes and pack up. The sooner we can get to that champagne dinner, the better I like it.”
“I’d like to see the bedroom now,” she said. “Have you chosen your drawers and closet space? Your side of the bed?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m waiting for you to decide.”
She put her arms around his waist. “I’m so lucky to have found you.”
Mel, local nurse-practitioner and midwife, had an appointment with a friend of hers she didn’t often see professionally. Darla Prentiss had been in the care of a fertility specialist in Santa Rosa for the past several years, so her women’s health needs were handled by him. But Phil Prentiss had called Mel and said that he was bringing his wife in because she complained of a cold and sore throat. “That’s not what it is, though,” Phil had said. “She waits for me to leave the house or fall asleep, then cries her heart out for hours. She needs someone to talk to. We just suffered our seventh miscarriage.”
“Oh, good heavens, bring her. But wait—isn’t her doctor supporting you through this?”
“Aw, he’s all about the big score,” Phil said. “He might have the best track record for getting people pregnant in three counties, but his bedside manner sucks. Darla’s crushed.”
“Bring her to me,” Mel said. “But don’t lie to her—tell her you know she doesn’t have a cold. I’ll do what I can. Phil—I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“This one,” he said, “was eighteen weeks. We named him and buried him.”
“I’m