Shelter Mountain. Robyn Carr
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she reclaimed her chair, she looked around. She saw the stag’s head over the front door and flinched. She turned full circle, noting the bear skin on the wall, the sturgeon over the bar. “Is this some kind of hunting place?” she asked.
“Not really, but a lot of hunters and fishermen pass this way,” he said. “My partner shot the bear in self-defense, but he caught the fish on purpose. One of the biggest sturgeons in the river. I got the buck, but I’d rather fish than hunt. I like the quiet.” He shrugged. “I’m the cook here. If I kill it, we eat it.”
“You can eat deer,” she said.
“And we did. We had a great winter of venison. Maybe you should have a drink,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft and nonthreatening.
“I have to find a place to stay. Where am I, anyway?”
“Virgin River. Kind of out of the way. How’d you find us?”
“I…” She shook her head and a small laugh escaped. “I got off the highway, looking for a town with a hotel…”
“You got off the highway a while ago.”
“There aren’t many places wide enough to turn around,” she said. “Then I saw this place, your sign. My son… I think he has a fever. We shouldn’t drive anymore.”
Preacher knew there wasn’t anyplace to get a room nearby. This was a woman in trouble; it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. “I’ll fix you up with something,” he said. “But first—you want something to drink? Eat? I’ve got a good soup tonight. Bean and ham. And bread. I made the bread today. I like to do that when it’s cold and rainy. How about a brandy to warm you up first?”
“Brandy?”
“Or whatever you feel like…”
“That would be good. Soup would be good, too. I haven’t eaten in hours. Thanks.”
“Sit tight.”
He went to the bar and poured a Remy into a snifter—fancy stuff for this place. He hardly ever used the snifters on the usual crowd—but he wanted to do something special for the girl. For sure she was down on her luck. He took her the brandy and then went back to the kitchen.
The soup was put away for the night, but he took it out of the refrigerator, ladled out a scoop and put it in the microwave. While it warmed, he took her a napkin and some utensils. By the time he got back to the kitchen, the soup was ready and he got out the bread—some of his best: soft, sweet and hearty—and nuked it for a few seconds. He put that and some butter on a plate. When he came out of the kitchen he saw her struggling out of her jacket, like maybe she was stiff or sore. The sight of it stopped him briefly and made him frown. She threw a look over her shoulder, as if she was caught doing something bad.
Preacher put the food in front of her, his mind spinning. She was maybe five foot five and slight. She wore jeans and her curly brown hair was tucked through the back of the ball cap like a ponytail. She looked like a girl, but he guessed she was at least in her twenties. Maybe she’d been in a car accident, but it was more likely someone had smacked her around. The thought alone got him a little hot inside.
“That looks great,” she said, accepting the soup.
He went back behind the bar while she ate. She shoveled the soup in, smeared the bread with butter and ate it ravenously. Halfway through with her meal she gave him a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. It tore through him, that bruised face, split lip. Her hunger.
When she’d sopped up the last of her soup with the last of her bread, he returned to her table. “I’ll get you some more.”
“No. No, it’s okay. I think I’ll have some of this brandy now. I sure appreciate it. I’ll be on my way in a—”
“Relax,” he said, and hoped he didn’t sound harsh. It took a while for people to warm up to him. He transferred her dishes to the bar, clearing her place. “There isn’t anywhere around here to get a room,” he said when he returned to the table. He sat down across from her, leaned toward her. “The roads aren’t so good out this way, especially in the rain. Really, you don’t want to head back out there. You’re kinda stuck.”
“Oh, no! Listen, if you’ll just tell me the closest place… I have to find something….”
“Take it easy,” he said. “I got an extra room. No problem. It’s a bad night.” Predictably, her eyes widened. “It’s okay. It’s got a lock.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. I’m kind of scary-looking. I know it.”
“No. It’s just—”
“Don’t worry about it. I know how I look. Works great on guys. They back right off.” He gave her a small smile, not showing any teeth.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “I have a car….”
“Jesus, I couldn’t stand to think of you sleeping in a car!” he said. “Sorry. Sometimes I sound as bad as I look. But no kidding—if the kid’s not feeling so good…”
“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know you….”
“Yeah, I know. Probably makes you wonder, huh? But I’m way safer than I look. You’d be okay here. Better here than at some hotel on the freeway, guaranteed. A whole lot more okay than out in that storm, trying to deal with those mountain roads.”
She looked at him hard for a minute. Then she said, “No. I’m just going to press on. If you’ll tell me how much—”
“Pretty rough-looking bruise you have there,” Preacher said. “Can I get you anything for that lip? I have a first aid kit in the kitchen.”
“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “How about if we settle up and—”
“I don’t have anything for a kid’s fever. Except a room. With a lock on the door so you feel safe. You don’t want to pass up an offer like that in this weather, with a kid who might be coming down with something. I look big and mean, but I’m about as safe as you get. Unless you’re wildlife.” He grinned at her.
“You don’t look mean,” she said timidly.
“It can make women and little kids real nervous—and I hate that part. You on the run?” he asked her.
She lowered her eyes.
“What d’you think? I’m gonna call the cops? Who did that to you?”
She immediately started to cry.
“Aw. Hey. Don’t.”
She put her head down on folded arms on the tabletop and sobbed.
“Aw. Come on. Don’t do that. I never know what to do.” Hesitatingly, squeamishly, he touched her back and she jumped. He touched one of her hands, very lightly. “Come on, don’t cry. Maybe I can help.”
“No. You can’t.”
“Never know,” he said, lightly patting her hand.
She lifted her head. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m exhausted, I guess. It was an accident. It was really stupid, but I was struggling with Chris—” She stopped suddenly and looked around nervously, as though worried about being overheard. She licked her lower lip. “I was trying to get Christopher in the car, hanging on to stuff, and I opened the door right into my face. Hard. You shouldn’t be in a hurry, you know? It was just a little accident. It’s fine.” She lifted the napkin to her nose.
“Right,” Preacher said. “Sure. Too bad about that. Looks sore.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Sure it will. So—what’s your name?” When she didn’t answer for a long moment, he said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to