Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

ROBYN CARR

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,

it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—

I connected instantly with the characters

and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Robyn Carr creates strong men,

fascinating women and a community you’ll want to

visit again and again. Who could ask for more?”

—New York Times best selling author Sherryl Woods

“A thrilling debut of a series

that promises much to come.”

—New York Times bestselling author Clive Cussler

“A warm wonderful book about women’s

friendships, love and family. I adored it!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

on The House on Olive Street

Moonlight Road
Robyn Carr

http://www.mirabooks.co.uk

For Tonie Crandall, because the world would be a dimmer place without all the love you have in your heart. Thank you for being even more than a friend—thank you for being a sister.

Chapter One

In the two weeks Aiden Riordan had been in Virgin River, he’d hiked over a hundred miles and grown himself a pretty hefty dark red beard. With his jet-black hair and brows and his bright green eyes, this legacy of his ancestors gave him a wild look. His four-year-old niece, Rosie, who sported a full head of red curls to go with her green eyes, had said, “Unca Aid! You’re a Wide Iwish Rose, too!”

For a man without a mission for the first time since he could remember, this lay-back time was working out to his liking. Since undergrad in premed, he hadn’t been without incredibly stiff goals. Now, at age thirty-six, after fourteen years in the navy, he was between jobs, completely unsure where he’d land next, and he felt good about it. Motivation interruptus had turned out to be a delightful state of being. The only thing he was certain of, he wasn’t leaving Virgin River before the middle of summer. His older brother Luke and sister-in-law Shelby were expecting their first child, and he damn sure wasn’t going to miss that. His brother Sean would soon be home from Iraq and planned a short leave before heading with his wife, Franci, and daughter, Rosie, to his next assignment, and Aiden looked forward to a little time with him, as well.

The June sun beat down on him. He wore fatigue pants, hiking boots and a tan T-shirt with salty perspiration rings under the arms. He was wet down his chest and back and smelled pretty ripe. He carried a camouflage backpack for protein bars and water, and strapped to his belt, a machete for clearing any brush that got in his way. He had a ball cap on his head and his black hair had already started to curl out from under the edges. A four-foot-tall walking staff had become his constant companion, and since a chance encounter with a too-confident mountain lion, he now carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. Of course, if he ran into a real cranky bear, he could be toast.

He wandered up a winding dirt road. It looked like it could be someone’s driveway or an abandoned logging road, he was never sure which. He was aiming for a ridge he’d seen from below. At the end of the drive, he came face-to-face with what appeared to be an abandoned cabin. Experience had taught him the difference—if the path to the outhouse facilities was overgrown and it was especially run-down, it was probably vacant. There were no guarantees on that, however. He’d made that assumption once and an old woman had leveled a shotgun at him and ordered him to scram. Now, he gave the place a wide berth and walked through the woods toward the ridge.

Of course, there was no path; he used the machete to chop away some of the overgrowth. He came out of the other side to the most amazing, intoxicating sight. A woman wearing very short khaki shorts was bent over at the edge of her deck, backside pointed right at him. Even given his expertise in that department, he couldn’t tell her exact age, but that was one beautiful booty on top of a couple of magnificent, long, tan legs. By the collection of ceramic pots and a watering can on the deck, he assumed she was potting plants. One flowerpot was balanced on the deck railing above her. She appeared to be digging in the earth, scooping dirt into a big pot.

He did know a couple of things. That butt and those legs belonged to someone under the age of fifty and there didn’t appear to be a shotgun in sight. So, he chopped his way through the trees intending to say a friendly hello.

Still bent over, she looked at him through her legs. A beautiful strawberry blonde, which made him smile. She let out a huge, bloodcurdling scream, straightened abruptly and hit her head on the deck railing, knocking off a ceramic pot, which hit her on the noggin. And down she went. Splat!

“Damn,” he muttered, running toward her as fast as he could. He dropped the machete and staff about halfway there.

She was sprawled facedown, out cold, so he gently rolled her over. She was stunning. Her face was as gorgeous as the rest of her. Her pulse was beating nice and strong in her carotid artery, but her forehead was bleeding. He’d seen the pot hit her in the back of the head, but she must have struck her forehead on the sharp edge of the deck going down, because in the center of that lovely brow, right at her hairline, there was a gash. And it was gushing, as head wounds like to do.

Aiden pulled out his handkerchief, which was, thankfully, clean, and pressed his hand over her cut to stanch the bleeding. She moaned a bit, but didn’t open her eyes. With his thumb, he peeled back her lids one at a time; her pupils were equal and reactive to light, a good sign so far.

While applying pressure to the wound, Aiden shrugged off his backpack, quiver and bow. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the deck and through the French doors that were standing open, into the cabin. “Anybody home?” he called as he walked inside. Since there was no answer, he assumed the woman lived here alone and that the big Lincoln SUV was hers.

The leather sofa looked like a good bet—better than a bed or even what appeared to be a very new and expensive designer area rug and not something she’d want to bleed on. He placed her carefully on the couch, her head slightly elevated.

He looked around. From the outside, the place looked like an ordinary old cabin with new siding and a freshly painted, covered, railed deck with chairs. Inside, it was a richly furnished, very classy showplace.

He gingerly lifted the handkerchief; the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. There was blood on her white T-shirt, however. The first matter at hand was ice, then a bandage of some kind. He was in a large combination living/dining/kitchen area. A table sat in front of the opened French doors out of which he now saw the view he’d been in search of. He’d been so taken with that fine butt, he hadn’t noticed the cabin was built right on the ridge.

Aiden looked around for a phone, but didn’t see one. Then he washed his hands and rummaged through the freezer for ice, which he wrapped in a couple of dish towels—one for the front of her head, one for the back. The dish towels still had price tags on them. He propped her head against one ice pack and laid the other on her forehead. Even the application of cold didn’t rouse her, so off he went in search of a bandage.

The kitchen was on the west end of the cabin, but on the opposite side were two doors. The one on the left led to a good-size bedroom, and on the right, a large bathroom. From the bathroom, the most obvious place to find first-aid supplies, another door connected to the bedroom.

Sure enough, under the sink, he found a blue canvas zipper bag with First Aid emblazoned in white on the canvas. He grabbed it and hurried back to the woman. In his experienced hands, it took only seconds to apply a little antibacterial cream and a butterfly to close the wound, covered by a Band-Aid. He reapplied the ice pack.

The next immediate order of business was getting her to an emergency room for a head CT; the loss of consciousness after a blow to the head could mean trouble. The longer she stayed unconscious, the more it concerned him, but he had moved fast—she hadn’t been out more than a couple of minutes so far. He saw a purse on the kitchen counter and went to rifle through it for a phone, car keys, ID, anything. He unceremoniously dumped the contents and was bent over the counter, sifting through the loose items, when a shriek rent the air. His head came up sharply and he whacked it on the cupboards that hung over the counter. “Ah!” he yelled, grabbing the back of his head. He pinched his eyes closed hard, trying to get a grip through blinding pain.

But she continued to scream.

He turned toward her. She was scooting away from him on the leather couch, screaming her head off, her ice packs spilled to the floor.

“Shut up!” he ordered. She stopped abruptly, her hand covering her mouth. “We’re both going to have brain damage if you don’t stop doing that!”

“Get out of here!” she commanded. “I’ll call the police!”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Great idea. Where’s the phone?” He lifted a cell phone from the things on the counter. “This one has no signal.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you in my house? In my purse?”

He walked toward her, her purse hanging in his hand. “I saw you hit your head. I brought you inside and put ice and a bandage on the wound, but now we have to—”

“You hit me in the head?” she screeched, digging at the sofa with her heels to scoot away again.

“I didn’t hit you—apparently I startled you when I came out of the forest and you jumped. You hit the back of your head on the deck railing and one of your pots fell on your head. I think you got the cut on your forehead when you hit the deck on the way down. Now where’s the phone?”

“Oh God,” she said, her fingers going to the bandage, touching it carefully. “The phone’s going to be installed tomorrow. Along with my satellite dish. So I can have Internet and watch movies.”

“That isn’t going to help much. Listen, it’s a small cut. Head wounds bleed a lot. I doubt it’ll even leave a scar. But losing consciousness is—”

“I’ll give you money if you just won’t hurt me.”

“I bandaged your head, for God’s sake! I’m not going to hurt you and I don’t want money!” He lifted the purse in his hand. “I was looking for your car keys—you need a CAT scan. Maybe a couple of stitches.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice quivering.

He sighed. “Because you lost consciousness—not a good sign. Now, where are your keys?”

“Why?” she asked again.

“I’m going to drive you to the emergency room so you can get your head examined!”

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll drive myself. You can just go now. Right now.”

He took a couple of steps toward her. He crouched so he wouldn’t be looking down at her, but didn’t get too close because he wasn’t sure of her. She appeared to be a bit unstable. Or maybe scared of him. He tried to put himself in her position—she woke up with blood on her shirt, a wild man plowing through her purse. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.

She looked at him doubtfully. “Erin,” she finally said.

“Well, Erin, it isn’t a good idea for you to drive yourself. If you have a serious or even semiserious head injury, you could lose consciousness again, get dizzy or disoriented, get sick, suffer blurred vision, any number of things. Now, try not to be nervous—I’ll take you to the E.R. Once I get you there, you can call a friend or family member. I’ll have someone pick me up.”

“And you think it is a good idea for me to get in a car with some homeless guy?”

He stood up. “I’m not homeless! I was hiking through the woods!”

“Well, then, you’ve been hiking a long time. Because you look like you’ve been living in the woods!”

He crouched again, to get on her level. “Number one—you have to hold the ice packs I made on the front and back of your head. I don’t see how you can do that while you drive. Number two, it’s too risky for you to drive yourself, as I have very patiently explained. And number three, stop being so goddamn prissy and get in the car with a smelly hiker, because your brain could be swelling as we speak and you could be hopelessly disabled for the rest of your pigheaded life! Now, where are the fucking keys?”

She looked over her shoulder. There was a hook by the door; her keys dangled from it. “How do you know that stuff? About brain swelling?”

“I was an EMT in college—a long time ago,” he said, which was the truth. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell her he was a physician. Maybe because he didn’t look like one at the moment. As she had pointed out, he looked like a homeless guy. But there was also the fact that his area of expertise was a long way from the head—and he didn’t feel like getting into that. She was already spooked. Being spooked didn’t stop her from being bossy and bitchy, however. His head hurt, too. And he was fast losing patience with this patient. “Now, let’s gather up your ice and little towels and hit the road.”

“If you turn out to be some kind of homicidal maniac, you’re going to have one pissed-off ghost on your hands,” she threatened as he stooped to gather her ice off the floor. When she stood up, she wobbled slightly. “Whoa.”

He was beside her instantly, arm around her waist, steadying her. “You took a mean knock on the head, kid. This is why you’re not driving.”

He walked her outside, grabbing the keys and slamming the door on the way out. That was the first time he realized that the front of the house faced the road. He had to lift her into the front seat and help her arrange the ice in the dish towels so she could put them against her lumps. He noticed that she wrinkled her nose; okay, so it was obvious—he might’ve generated a little body odor.

“I need my purse,” she said. “My insurance cards and ID.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. “I have to close the doors to the deck anyway.” But he took the car keys with him, for safety reasons. He scraped things off the counter and back into her purse, returned to the car and put the purse in her lap. Then he got in and started driving. “You might have to give me some directions.…I’m not from around here.”

She groaned and dropped her head back. “I’m not from around here, either.”

“Never mind, I can fake it,” he said. “I can find Highway 36 from Virgin River. What are you doing here, if you’re not from around here?”

“Taking a break from work and trying to enjoy solitude,” she answered, exasperation in her voice. “Then Charles Manson came through the trees, carrying a three-foot-long knife, and startled me. So much for peace and quiet.”

“Come on—I let my beard grow, that’s all. I’m on vacation and didn’t feel like shaving, so sue me.”

“As it happens, I could. I’ve been known to sue people on occasion.”

He laughed. “I should’ve known. A lawyer. And by the way, I was carrying the machete for cutting away the brush so I could get through the woods when there’s no path.”

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

“Visiting family. I have a brother who lives around here. He and his wife are getting ready to be parents for the first time and I’m…I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I’m between jobs.”

She laughed. “Unemployed. Big surprise. Let me guess—you’ve been between jobs for a while now.”

She was pissing him off. He could’ve leveled with her, that he was a doctor planning his next move. But she was snooty and superior and he just didn’t feel like it. “At least long enough to grow a beard,” he said evasively.

“You know, if you cleaned up a little, you might be able to land a job,” she advised very sagely.

“I’ll certainly take that into consideration.”

“The beard is a little crazy,” she said. “It’ll put off potential employers.” Then under her breath she added, “Not to mention the smell…”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Although my niece likes it.” He turned to peer at her. “The beard, that is.”

“I thought you said your brother was having his first child.”

“She’s a different brother’s child.”

“Ah, so you have more than one brother. Just out of curiosity, what do your brothers think of this, um, between-jobs lifestyle?”

“I think you should be quiet now,” he said. “Save whatever brain cells you have left. We have a forty-minute drive to Valley Hospital, west of Grace Valley. Rest. Silently.”

“Sure,” she said. “Fine.”

What did his brothers think of his decision? They thought he was nuts. He’d been totally committed to the navy; he loved the navy. But the military gave with one hand and took away with the other.

When Aiden had been a brand-new M.D., compliments of a navy scholarship, his first assignment was as a GMO—general medical officer—aboard ship. It was a two-year assignment that dry-docked every six months for a few months. They put into port regularly, during which time he could see the world and feel earth beneath his feet, but his life was spent aboard ship. The medical officer was under a great deal of pressure 24/7—being the only doctor in charge of a complete medical staff and the only officer aboard who could relieve the ship’s captain of duty. He knew the pressure was extreme when he found himself taking his duty phone into the shower with him—that was over-the-top. They had also spent their share of time in the Persian Gulf, which meant giving emergency medical treatment to civilians in trouble—mostly fishermen or ship’s crewmen who didn’t speak English.

His reward for that duty was his residency in OB-GYN, which obligated him to more commitment to the navy. But it had been worth it—he took care of the female military personnel and wives of active-duty and retired sailors and marines. It was a good life. He had stayed in one place for a long time—San Diego.

Then he was due a promotion, and the navy felt it was time for him to go to sea again. It would have meant general medical officer once more—not in his specialty. There wasn’t a lot of call for an OB-GYN aboard an aircraft carrier. Aiden didn’t mind being out to sea so much, but he was thirty-six. It wasn’t something he talked about, but he felt there were things missing from his life. A wife and family for one thing, and he wasn’t likely to meet a woman who could fill that bill on a big gray boat. He needed to be on land.

Sometimes he asked himself why that even mattered—it wasn’t as though being on dry land had worked so far. Right after his stint as a GMO, at the age of twenty-eight, he’d met and quickly married Annalee, who had turned out to be a total nutcase. They were married for three whole months, during which she demolished every breakable object they owned. She had been volatile, jealous and crazed—her moods shifted faster than the sands of time.

That experience left him gun-shy and slowed him down a little, but a couple of years later he was ready to get back in the game, feeling older and wiser. Still, he couldn’t seem to meet any women who were contenders for the exalted position as his wife and the mother of his children.

But one thing was for certain—it wasn’t going to happen at sea.

Truth was, he just plain wasn’t ready to commit any more time to the navy. His brothers thought fourteen years, only six from his twenty and retirement benefits, made him nuts to get out. But in his mind, these were his best years. He was still young enough to be an involved husband and father if he ever met the right woman. At the retirement age of forty-two, starting a family would be pushing it.

He glanced at Erin. Her eyes were closed and she held his ice packs on her forehead and the back of her head. He’d like a woman who looked like that—but she’d have to be sweet and far less arrogant. He was looking for someone soft and nurturing. You don’t go looking for a hard-ass to be the mother of your children, and this one was a hard-ass. Of course, what was he to expect? She was a lawyer.

He chuckled to himself. She was probably a medical-malpractice attorney.

Feeling at least partially responsible for Erin’s bump on the head, Aiden hung out at the hospital for a while. Not anywhere near her, of course. He got her checked in to the E.R., made sure she had what she needed, explained her injury and loss of consciousness to the E.R. doctor and left her car keys with him so Erin could get herself home once she was cleared to drive. Then he went outside so his less-than-pristine musk would not offend anyone. And there he sat for close to an hour.

He was just about to swing by the E.R. before calling his brother for a ride home when who should happen to walk out of the hospital but Pastor Noah Kincaid.

“Hey, Aiden,” Noah said, sticking out his hand. “What are you doing here? You didn’t have an accident, did you?”

Aiden shook his hand. “No—I think I caused one. Are you heading back to Virgin River?”

“That’s my plan. What’s going on?”

Aiden quickly explained that he’d brought Erin to the E.R. in her car and was going to call for a ride home. “But before I leave, I want to check and see what the doctor has to say. I’m hoping he’ll tell me if there’s a clean CT. Then I’m clearing out of here before she sees me.”

“Fortuitous for the lady that if she had to have an accident, it was while there was a doctor around.”

“Well,” Aiden said, rubbing the back of his neck, “she doesn’t exactly know I’m a doctor.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her?”

“Truthfully? Because she has attitude. She called me a homeless, homicidal maniac who looked like Charles Manson—and she inferred that I didn’t smell great.”

Noah broke into a wide grin. “Flirting with you, was she?”

“If I had the slightest inclination to do harm, she’d be in a lot of little pieces right now. Very irritating woman. But I’d like to know she isn’t brain damaged before I leave the hospital. Can you wait ten minutes? Then give me a lift?”

“Sure,” Noah said. “I’ll walk in with you. Did you explain to the E.R. staff who you are?”

“More or less. I described the accident, her symptoms and response to the injury, and the nurse asked me if I had medical training. And then I told her the lady had decided I was a bum, without asking me who I was, and as far as I was concerned, she didn’t need to be enlightened.”

“Ah,” Noah said. “So she can feel really stupid when she finds out.”

“Noah, I swear, you really don’t understand…”

The two of them sauntered into the emergency room and up to the nurses’ station. “How’s the woman with the head injury?” Aiden asked. “I’m getting a ride home with the pastor, but before I leave, I wanted to check on her.”

“She’s going to be just fine,” the nurse said. “The doctor wants to admit her for the night for observation, however. Better safe than sorry.”

“Probably a good idea,” Aiden agreed. “Did her CT come back?”

“All clear,” the nurse said. “But she might have a slight concussion.”

“Did I hear you tell that vagrant my house will be empty tonight?” came a loud, demanding voice from behind a curtain.

Noah immediately started to laugh. Aiden just looked at the nurse. “A good bop on the head didn’t hurt her hearing, did it?” he said as loudly as he dared. “I’m getting out of here, but when she settles down a little, tell her I’m going to use her tub and roll around in her satin sheets.”

The nurse laughed at him. “I’m not getting into that, Dr. Riordan,” she whispered. “This is between you and the lady.”

He shushed her with a finger to his lips. “Believe me, there isn’t anything between us. And there isn’t going to be. Let’s go, Noah.”

When they were under way in Noah’s old blue truck, Aiden asked, “Are you in a big hurry?”

“I don’t have all day, but there’s no rush. Need to make a stop?”

“If I can find that cabin, can we swing by? I left all my stuff there. The stuff I hike with.”

“My pleasure,” Noah said. “How’s the hiking going?”

“Pure indulgence,” he said. “I’ve logged a lot of miles, seen a lot of the area, but I’ve never had time like this before. Sometimes I just hike around the mountains, the general Virgin River area. Sometimes I drive over to the coast or down Grace Valley way for a change of scenery. I’ve never felt better.”

“Good for you! Sounds perfect. You’ll have to go back to work eventually, I assume.”

“I spend a lot of time e-mailing friends and contacts, looking around at the possibilities, trying to avoid any offer that hinges on me starting right away. But I won’t hang out here any longer than midsummer.”

Aiden didn’t have any trouble directing Noah back to the cabin, and it wasn’t hard to locate the things he’d dropped when he’d played rescue squad to the dish with the attitude. The machete and staff were lying in the yard between the house and trees. When he picked them up he noticed someone had outlined a good-size square by digging a border, but the inside of the square was still grass, dirt and rocks. Hopes of a garden?

He grabbed the backpack, and in doing so, he noticed it looked as if she’d been attempting to plant a strip of garden along the back edge of the deck. Maybe the square in the yard was just too ambitious for her and she’d opted for a smaller, more manageable plot. The dirt was pretty packed and tough up on this mountain. It looked as though she had some semicomatose tomato-plant starters, a few marigolds that had dried into confetti and a couple of other plants with very uncertain futures.

Still balanced on the railing was a plastic watering can and on the ground, a couple of garden tools that looked to be about the right size for tending house-plants. Also, for no reason he could fathom, there was a big iron skillet on the deck.

Aiden took his things to Noah’s truck and tossed them in the back. “Gimme a second, Noah.”

“What’s doing?” Noah asked.

“I think she was in the process of trying to revive the poorest attempt at a garden I’ve ever seen. I’m going to give her dying plants a drink. It’ll only take a minute. Do you mind?”

“I’m good,” Noah said. “I don’t see a garden.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. Be right back.”

Aiden grabbed the watering can off the deck railing. He put the tools on the deck and sprinkled some water on the plants. Then he took the watering can around to the back of the house to refill it from the faucet and saw a nearly empty box of Miracle-Gro sitting there. It was going to take a miracle, he thought wryly. He filled the can and watered again, drenching her little garden. Then he left the empty can on the deck and jumped into the truck with Noah.

This was all very mysterious.

“How did this happen again?” Noah asked with a slight frown.

“I was hiking through the forest when I saw her. I was just going to say hello, but when I came through the trees, she screamed and jumped up and whacked her head. I dropped all my stuff to take care of her—my machete, bow and arrows, backpack, staff.”

Noah glanced at him, wide-eyed. “You came through the trees with a machete? And you’re insulted that she had some attitude?”

“I see your point.…”

Noah laughed. “You might want to cut her some slack there, Aiden.” And then he laughed some more.

Chapter Two

While Aiden was staying in Virgin River, he rented one of Luke’s cabins. He actually paid the going rate, though Luke had a real hard time taking his money. But Aiden not only wanted his own space, he also didn’t want to impose too much on Shelby and Luke because he intended to stay all summer. And though the little vacation rental was about as lean as he’d lived since he’d been aboard ship, he liked it. Luke had graduated to satellite hookup for TV and Internet, but the cabins didn’t have phones yet. That didn’t bother Aiden; he’d e-mailed Luke’s home phone number to his contacts, revised the message including Luke’s phone number on his cell phone and could still pick up messages and texts in certain parts of the area out of the mountains. Besides, most of the people he was in touch with preferred the Internet. Every morning and evening he checked his e-mail.

When Noah dropped him off, he found a note taped to his cabin door. Come to the house right away. L.

Right away, Aiden decided, could afford him the time to take a shower. If Shelby had a problem with her pregnancy, they wouldn’t be waiting around for Aiden to finish what could be an endless hike.

When he got down to Luke’s house a mere fifteen minutes later, he gave a couple of short taps and walked in.

Shelby was sitting on the sectional with her feet up on the ottoman, a book balanced on her big belly. Luke was kneeling on the opposite side of that ottoman beside a large open box. He seemed to be looking through a few items spread out in front of him. He looked up at Aiden and said, “We got trouble.”

“Trouble? What’s up?”

Luke stood and handed Aiden a small stack of pictures, pages and envelopes. Aiden leafed through—second- and third-grade pictures, report cards, handmade Mother’s Day cards, memorabilia from his childhood. “So?” Aiden asked. “The problem?”

“Mom sent this—a whole box of it. Even that book I wrote in fourth grade—the one about the meaning of life for me? Which at the time was finding a way to kill all my brothers and make it look like an accident.”

Aiden chuckled. He remembered that. They still joked about it when they were all together. Ten-year-old Luke felt he had more than his share of responsibility and aggravation with four younger brothers, the youngest of whom was in diapers and followed him around relentlessly. “I guess we should all thank the Virgin you didn’t find a way. What’s the matter?”

“You got one, too. Colin got his box yesterday, but Colin just figured he’d been written out of the will because he doesn’t call or visit enough and that was Mom’s way of letting him know. I haven’t checked with Patrick. Or with Franci to see if a box was sent to her for Sean. Mom’s unloading her house.”

Before commenting further, Aiden ripped open his box. He pulled out an almost identical batch of pictures, papers, folders, and underneath it all was a shoe box. He opened it to find Christmas ornaments—the ones that he had made for the family tree when he was a child, as well as the purchased ones that were his favorites. He held up an old Rudolph ornament. “I loved this one,” Aiden said. “How does she remember the exact ones I loved?”

Shelby sighed and ran a hand over her belly. “I hope I’m that good a mother,” she said.

“Something bad is going on,” Luke said. “Either she’s dying or selling her condo and moving into a nursing home.”

Aiden chuckled. “Or moving into an RV with a retired Presbyterian minister. She’s been kicking that idea around since last Christmas.”

“She didn’t mean it, Aiden,” Luke said. “Not her. She was pulling my chain—revenge for all the years I wouldn’t get serious. This is Saint Maureen! If she’s doing that, she’s getting married, and she doesn’t know George well enough to marry him. Since they started talking last Christmas, he’s lived in Seattle and she’s been in Phoenix. She can’t marry him. Call her.”

“Why do I have to call her?”

“Because, Aiden—you’re the only one who can really talk to her.” Luke took a step toward his brother. “If she ends up marrying George, she might just get stuck with some old guy to nurse through Alzheimer’s or something. Call her.”

Shelby put down her book with an irritated moan. “Luke thought his mother was sitting up on lonely Saturday nights, looking through his grade-school pictures and report cards. Maybe she’s just sick of being a storage shed for your stuff—ever think of that?”

Something caught Aiden’s eye and he bent to pull out a small gold object: a little trophy with a swimmer on it. When he was in school, swimming was the geek sport. And he was a geek. “Aw, my only first place ever.”

Luke reached into his box and pulled out all his ribbons and tilted his head toward the box; the bottom was filled with trophies and plaques. Luke had been an athlete and won at everything he tried. “If I remember right, you got all the honor-roll stuff. I got sports.”

“Luke, Mom said she was going to do this,” Aiden reminded him. “She asked everyone if anyone wanted the dining room set, the old quilts, the china…”

“I’m getting dishes,” Shelby said with a smile. “I’m scared to death of them—they’re very old. I told her I would probably pack them away and guard them with my life because they’re so precious. She’s also sending some crystal—I’m not sure what it is. Franci is taking on Great-grandma Riordan’s silver. No one else wanted anything, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

“I thought this was just a test,” Luke said. “I didn’t think she was really serious about giving away all her stuff.”

Aiden tapped the box. “Not her stuff, Luke. Our stuff. And stuff that belonged to the great-grandmothers. Stuff she doesn’t feel like taking care of anymore. Come on, lighten up here.”

“Call her,” he insisted. “Maybe she’s losing her mind or something.”

Aiden gave a sigh and went to Luke’s phone. Picking up the cordless, he punched in the numbers to his mother’s condo and while it rang, helped himself to a beer from Luke’s refrigerator. Before he had popped the top, however, he got the recording. “This line has been disconnected…” He tried not to let the surprise show on his face while he listened to the whole recording. Then he clicked off and said, “No answer. I’ll try the cell.…” And he punched in some new numbers. It didn’t take long for Maureen to say hello. “Well, hello yourself,” he said with amusement ringing in his voice. “You running from the law or something?”

“Oh, Aiden,” she said. “I was going to call you, but I’ve been so busy.”

“Yes, packing up and shipping all our childhood treasures back to us. Luke thinks you’re dying.…”

“Luke probably wishes I was dying,” she said wryly. “Hardly. No one wants my old-lady furniture, so I packed up all the heirlooms spoken for, along with all the stuff I’ve saved since you boys were little, and put the rest in storage. Since I have that cell phone you got me, I thought it was okay to shut down the computer and disconnect the landline. One of my friends has a recently widowed sister who needs a place to rent while she looks around for something to buy. I’m going to let her move in here. We have a six-month agreement.”

Aiden reached into the refrigerator and got his brother a beer. He handed it to him, and into the phone he said, “And after six months?”

“Obviously I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t expect to fall in love with this lifestyle, traveling around, seeing the sights and the family. George will be here tomorrow with a brand-new motor coach. I’ve seen pictures of it and I can’t wait to see it in person. He’ll help me oversee the packing and moving of my household, which is all arranged. Then we’ll be off. Of course, we’ll head straight to Virgin River, but it might take us a while to get there—we’re going through Sedona, Oak Creek Canyon, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, Hoover Dam and maybe a stop off in Las Vegas. Can you believe I’ve never seen Sedona or the Grand Canyon, though I’ve lived in the same state for years?”

“You must be looking forward to it,” Aiden said. “Luke wants to know if you’re getting married.”

Luke choked on his beer and began to violently shake his head.

“Actually, not that I know of. George is very considerate—he said if it was important to me to do that, he would certainly understand. But I think we’ll just wing it.”

Aiden laughed sentimentally. “Have you ever winged anything in your life?” he asked his mother.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “And if you’d asked me a year ago if I ever would, I would have said no. Emphatically no. But here we are. Aiden, how is Shelby doing?”

“Big as a house,” he said, winking at his sister-in-law. “She says she’s feeling good and is very excited about the dishes. Oh—and Luke says that if things don’t work out with George, he just wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t agree to come and live with him.”

Luke shot to his feet, his eyes as big as dinner plates. His cheeks actually reddened and he shook his head again.

“Tell him I’ll go to a nursing home first—he’s a pain in the butt even to visit, much less live with!”

“This is very unlike you, you know,” Aiden said with a kind of tenderness he reserved only for his mother.

“I know. Isn’t it perfect?”

“As long as you’ve thought it through,” he said.

“Of course I have, Aiden. Now, don’t hesitate to call if you want to discuss it further.”

“I won’t. And would you like Luke to call if he has concerns to discuss?” he asked, lifting one dark brow toward his brother.

“Actually, no. But thank him for the offer. Luke is not exactly the man I’d take relationship advice from, although he has certainly landed on his feet. Hasn’t he?”

“Absolutely. And yet you’re willing to discuss it with me?” Aiden asked her. “I haven’t hit any home runs lately.”

“I suspect you just haven’t been up to bat enough, sweetheart,” she said with a laugh. “Now, I have to run. Give everyone my best and I’ll see you in a week or ten days, something like that.”

“Please be careful, Mom.”

“Have you ever known me to be careless? Now, enjoy yourself until I get there and turn the whole family upside down with my wild ways.”

He laughed as he said goodbye. Then he looked at Luke, who seemed to be fuming.

“I can’t believe you told her I wanted her to live with us,” Luke said.

“Listen, if you’re going to tell her how to live, you have to be prepared to be responsible for her living conditions. Big step, Luke. Lucky for you, she’s not interested.”

“I can’t believe this,” Luke said. “Our mother, who was almost a nun, living in sin with a retired Protestant minister?”

Aiden cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “She’s sixty-three and he’s seventy. There’s probably not nearly as much sin involved as they’d like.”

There were a number of things in addition to a terrible headache that put Erin in a cranky mood. Like the fact that they had shaved a little bit of her hairline in the middle of her forehead to put in three tiny stitches. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere except her hideaway in the woods, but still! She was very particular about her hair. Now she had the opposite of a widow’s peak—very ugly.

And she didn’t feel like spending the night in a hospital, wearing a hospital gown. Gown? They should not insult high fashion by calling this rag a gown. Her absolute worst painting clothes were nicer.

And she had a roommate. The roommate, who had had a hysterectomy and was staying two nights, had visitors. She was staying two nights, lived ten miles away and her entire freaking family had to come to the hospital to visit her? And there was apparently no rule about how many visitors one could have.

If she ever saw that vagrant again, she was going to bean him with a flowerpot.

By now she had been informed by a very testy emergency-room nurse that he wasn’t exactly a vagrant, but rather a man who had just left the navy and was visiting a relative in Virgin River. So he was a perfectly respectable bad-smelling, horrible-looking, out-of-work man with nothing better to do than impersonate a serial killer, sneak up on her and scare her to death.

It was possible that she was crabby in general. The whole escape-to-the-mountains-alone-for-the-summer idea was probably not the best one she’d ever come up with. At the time she’d thought of it, it had seemed the most logical thing to do. Erin was a woman who had never learned how to achieve that serene, Zen-like acceptance of what the universe tossed at her, and she had reason to believe she’d better figure that out. A summer on a beautiful isolated mountaintop, out of the Chico, California, heat, away from all the pressures of her professional life, should show her how to slow down, learn to relax and enjoy doing nothing. It was time to develop a strong sense of autonomy and remind herself that hers was the life she chose. And she was in a big hurry to get all that nailed down. Besides, it was cheaper than going to Tibet.

There were very logical reasons Erin was wound a little tight; the habit of overachieving could take its toll. When Erin was eleven, her mother died. That left her the woman of the house, with a grieving father, a four-year-old sister, Marcie, and a two-year-old brother, Drew. She wasn’t solely responsible for them; her dad was still the parent, albeit a little less conscious right after his wife’s death. And there had to be a babysitter during the day while Erin went to school.

But Erin rushed home from school to take over and had a ton of chores in addition to child care. She felt it was up to her to be the mother figure in their lives whether they liked it or not. As a matter of fact, as her siblings got older, she concentrated harder on their needs and activities than her own, from soccer to piano lessons to making sure they got good grades and didn’t live on junk food. She rarely went out, never seemed to have a boyfriend, skipped all the high-school events from football and basketball to the dances. She did, however, always make the honor roll. She had decided at an early age that if she couldn’t be f-u-n, she would be s-m-a-r-t.

She was twenty-two, a new law-school freshman, and still living at home so she could keep an eye on the kids who were then thirteen and fifteen, when their father died during a routine knee-replacement surgery. Erin was again in charge. Not that much had changed, besides missing her dad dreadfully. But technically, she was even more in charge than before, because being over twenty-one, she actually had custody.

Friends and colleagues were in awe of all she’d been able to accomplish. After her younger sibs had survived their teen years, she’d helped her sister, who was married to a marine who had been wounded in Iraq and had lingered in a vegetative state for years in a nursing home before he died. She’d gotten her younger brother through college and medical school. And during this time she’d built herself a sterling reputation as an attorney in a very successful firm. The local paper wrote some sappy article on how she was one of the most amazing and desirable single women in the city—the head of a household that depended on her, brilliant in tax and estate law, gorgeous, clearly the woman to catch.

It had made her laugh. She could count on one hand the number of dates she’d had in a year—all of them horribly dull.

Erin had accomplished what she’d set out to do. Her little sister was remarried to her late husband’s best friend, had moved into her own home in Chico and was pregnant with her first child. Her younger brother had completed medical school with honors and was an orthopedic resident in Southern California, a tough five-year residency that rarely let him loose. Drew was twenty-seven and lived with his fiancée; he would be a family man in another year.

Erin had fulfilled a great deal by the age of thirty-six; for herself and her brother and sister, this was exactly what she had worked so hard toward. Why, then, did she still feel like something was missing in her life?

Was this how it was supposed to feel when your life was really just beginning? Uncertain and as wobbly as a newborn fawn? Or was this, as she sometimes feared, the end of the road? Nothing much to strive for now? She felt more like a grandmother to Marcie’s expected baby than an auntie. She was a bit panicked and didn’t know where to turn. But of course, Erin had the best poker face in the profession of law and never let it show.

Marcie’s new husband, Ian Buchanan, had left behind a dump of a cabin that he held on to when he’d moved off the mountain and back to Chico with Marcie. Erin had seen it. It was a disgusting little shack with no central heat, no indoor plumbing, a small gas generator for a little lighting, and it was only one room. But it was on its own mountaintop and had hundreds of acres with a magnificent view. Marcie and Ian loved it. Though they admitted they’d love it a little better with indoor plumbing and electricity, which they could never afford, but that mountaintop was priceless.

Erin had a little money; she’d been working hard, plus she’d guarded and invested what her father had left in retirement, insurance and savings. She’d gotten bonuses from the firm and an impressive salary—all that had helped her get the kids through hard times and school. She thought it might be worth the investment to raze the old cabin and rebuild something nice—a summer place that could be in the family for decades. But Ian said, “Believe it or not, Erin, the cabin is solid. It could probably use a new roof, bathroom and electricity, but it’s in pretty good shape otherwise.”

So she asked him if she could have an engineer look it over and maybe fix it up. She didn’t say, Because I can’t stay even a weekend in that hovel. The way Ian had smiled at her when he replied, “Knock yourself out,” indicated she didn’t have to say it.

It turned out that Ian was right—the cabin was ugly, but well built. She got some remodel designs off the Internet and put the job out for bid to four local builders. A man by the name of Paul Haggerty gave her a competitive price, was able to work via e-mail and phone, and was willing to sign a contract promising the remodel ready on June 1 when Erin wanted to move in. And he had finished early!

She never even drove up once to look at the progress. That alone should have told her she was doing this for all the wrong reasons and it wasn’t going to work. But she had told Mr. Haggerty, “I’m a busy attorney with a full schedule until the first of June. Then I’m taking the summer off, my first vacation in over ten years. That’s why it has to be right and on time.”

It had been a crazy idea. Erin couldn’t seem to function without a full schedule and she didn’t know how to take time off. Every time she tried to take a day off, she was twitching by noon.

But she was determined. She was going to learn to unwind, damn it. She was going to learn to embrace solitude and kick this feeling that if she didn’t have far too much to do, she wasn’t worthy.

“Knock, knock,” she heard a small voice say. Erin had the curtains drawn around her bed to block out the hysterectomy patient and her extended family. The curtains parted and her redheaded sister’s smiling face popped in. “Are you decent?”

Erin sat up in the hospital bed. “What are you doing here?”

“The E.R. nurse called me—you named me as your next of kin. Y’know?” Marcie let herself into the tiny space. She bent close and narrowed her eyes at the bandage on Erin’s forehead. “Hmm. Not so bad,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Ugly,” she said, plucking at the gown. “And I have a headache.”

Marcie laughed at her. “Not such chichi hospital attire, huh? I meant the head wound doesn’t look too bad. Small bandage.”

“Shaved head!”

“Less than a half inch, Erin. Take it easy, it’ll grow right back.” Marcie sat on the end of the bed and ran her little hands over her big, pregnant tummy. “Your doctor said if we spend the night with you tonight, we can check you out and take you home. I thought that was reason enough to drive up. I knew you wouldn’t want to be in the hospital. Have you ever been in a hospital? Like, in your life?”

“There was Bobby,” Erin said, speaking of Marcie’s late husband. “Lots of hospital time there.”

“I meant, as a patient, Erin!”

She rolled her eyes upward, thinking. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. Good thing, too. It’s very boring and like being an inmate.” She plucked at the gown again. “The nurses don’t like me, I can tell. And can you believe this? They haven’t graduated to anything better than this for patients? For God’s sake!”

Marcie just chuckled.

“Are you feeling all right?” Erin asked her little sister.

“Great. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I can’t wait to see the cabin. I hope it’s not too froufrou. I liked the old place.”

“Guaranteed you’re going to think it’s too froufrou,” Erin said. “It’s completely livable, unlike before. There are lights and everything. Where are my clothes?”

“I’ll find them. Don’t get up.”

“Where’s Ian?”

“He’s at the nurses’ station, getting your release instructions. I think we mainly have to check to be sure you’re still breathing about every seven minutes throughout the night. You’ll be a completely cooperative patient, won’t you?”

“Just get me out of here,” she said. “They were going to have to hit me in the head again just to keep me here another hour.”

“I think Ian was right.” Marcie found Erin’s folded clothes and shoes stuffed in her bedside chest of drawers along with her purse. “We’re not so much rescuing you as the nurses. I bet you’re no fun, as patients go.”

Marcie drove Erin home to the cabin in her big SUV and Ian followed in his truck. He was impressed with the way the cabin looked, amazed by the impossible transformation. Very classy; very Erin. “God above,” he said in a whisper. “When I was thinking of fixing it up, I was thinking in terms of adding a septic tank for a toilet. Look at this place!”

“But do you like it? Do you really like it? The rug is an Aubusson, the leather furniture is Robb & Stucky, there’s a whirlpool tub and what do you think of the fireplace?”

Ian didn’t know from Aubusson or any Robb whomever. He stared out the newly installed French doors in the kitchen. Right outside the west end of the cabin was a deck that stretched the length of the house, taking advantage of the awesome view. “Incredible, Erin. Can we use it sometime?”

She looked shocked. She blinked. They didn’t want to be there the same time as she was? “I thought…we’d all use it, now and then,” she said cautiously. “I mean, I didn’t want to wait to fix it up a little because I was taking vacation this summer, but, Ian, it’s your cabin. I think I have to ask your permission, not the other way around.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “When I married Marcie, I married the family, Erin, and what’s ours is yours. You don’t have to ask permission.” He turned full circle, looking around. “I can’t believe you completely remodeled the whole place by e-mail! It’s amazing!”

“I’ll be sure and ask if you’re already using it before I make any plans,” she said.

“He was kidding,” Marcie said. “Ian, you’re such a dork. We’ll all come together. And when Drew visits, he can sleep in the shed.” She grinned.

“But you like it?” Erin asked again.

“I think it’s great,” he said. “You made it beautiful.”

Marcie did a lot of oohing and aahing, and Erin seemed to puff up from that. “I don’t know how I made it without a real kitchen for so long,” Ian said, opening the refrigerator door. When he’d lived here, there was a sink with a pump handle and he’d cooked on a Coleman stove. His mind-set and the emotional landscape of his life back then had been all about deprivation. It hadn’t been so much a form of self-punishment as a paring down of baggage. The less he could make it on, the more competent he felt. It had been like an endurance test. And he had passed with flying colors; he had endured like crazy.

Erin had been here almost a week. In the refrigerator he found yogurt, cottage cheese, egg substitute, skim milk, a loaf of thinly sliced low-cal bread, salad fixings, celery and carrot sticks, apples, cheese singles, tofu and hummus. His stomach growled; he wondered if it made her feel more competent to starve to death.

For the hundredth time he asked himself what was really up with Erin, this isolation on the mountaintop, because this whole “well-deserved vacation” story just didn’t add up. Not with Erin.

“Let me cook tonight, okay?” he said. Both women agreed that would be wonderful. So he continued, “Tonight I’m cooking something Preacher whipped up. I’m going to run into town and grab dinner.”

“Um, I’m watching my calories,” Erin said unnecessarily. “Does he make anything kind of, you know, low cal?”

Preacher was the cook at Jack’s bar, and he made one thing every day. Well, one breakfast item, one lunch item, one dinner item. Preacher did what he pleased, and it was always fantastic but none of it was low cal. “He’s very conscientious that way,” Ian fibbed, and his wife tilted her head toward him, making a face that said shame on you.

Ian was dying for food. Real food, not rabbit food. But then, he could hardly blame Erin; she hadn’t been expecting company.

“You girls enjoy your visit,” he said. “I won’t be gone long.” And he headed for town.

When he walked into the bar, Jack greeted him enthusiastically. “Hey, stranger! Long time. You and Marcie up for a little visit?”

“You could say that,” Ian said. “We weren’t planning to come up so soon after Erin got here, but she had a little accident.”

“You don’t say? What happened?”

“Freak accident, I guess. She stood up too fast, whacked her head on the deck railing, knocked herself out. Cold.”

Jack whistled. “And called you to come up?”

“Nah, the hospital called us. They said she was fine, they didn’t expect any problems, but since she was living alone out at the cabin with no phone, they wanted to keep her overnight for observation. You know—just in case. They said they’d release her if there was someone to pick her up, drive her home and spend the night with her.”

“So you rescued her. Nice brother-in-law.”

Ian grinned largely. “No, Jack. We rescued the hospital. Erin can be a little high maintenance sometimes. Can I have a cold beer?”

“Absolutely.” He drew a draft and put it on the bar. “You know, Ian, when something like that happens, you can always call me or Preacher. We’d have found someone to take care of her for you.”

“Thanks, Jack. I kind of figured that, but Marcie would’ve been jumpy all night, having no contact with her sister. Her hormones are a little wonky right now. You know?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, I’ve been there. How’s she doing?”

“Great, she’s doing great. We’re having a boy in August. She’s gorgeous, kind of in the way a toothpick that swallowed a pea is gorgeous. A toothpick with wild red hair.”

“And you?” Jack asked. “How do you like the cabin?”

“I think Paul outdid himself. I can hardly believe it’s the same place. Any chance you’ve seen it?”

Jack smirked. He gave the bar a wipe. “Pal, this is Virgin River. It’s what we do on Sundays after church—drive around and walk through new construction and remodels in progress. ‘Course, we needed a guide with a key for your place.…Paul took us through a couple of times, hope you don’t mind. He’s real proud of that fireplace and the deck.” Jack whistled. “You gotta be asking yourself how you lived without that deck.”

Ian laughed. “If I’d even thought of some of those improvements, it would’ve been years before I could’ve made ’em. It took someone with Erin’s resources to pull off a job like that.”

“How you getting on with the grand dame?” Jack asked.

“Erin? Aw, I love Erin. I mean, I know she comes off as kind of demanding, but that’s Erin the lawyer and businesswoman. She’s devoted her whole life to protecting Marcie and Drew and there were a lot of times they needed someone as hardheaded as Erin.” He laughed. “She’ll be fine—nothing could crack that skull. She didn’t have to fix up that old cabin—she could’ve taken a long cruise or a three-month vacation at a Caribbean resort. I won’t even pretend to know what she’s got socked away, but she’s got a reputation as one of the best estate lawyers in five states. I bet she could’ve bought a small house on a beach. But Marcie loves that old place because it’s where we fell in love. I think Erin did it as much for us as herself. And Erin doesn’t want to be too far away in case the baby comes early.”

“Funny,” Jack said. “I thought she was kind of hard edged. Maybe I misjudged her.”

Ian just grinned. “I think you probably got her right, just not all sides of her. It takes a tough woman to bury both her parents, take care of a younger brother and sister when she was a kid herself, get them through the kind of difficult shit those two went through and become a successful lawyer on top of it. Plus, we have a common goal—we’d do anything to make sure Marcie is safe and happy.”

“So what’s she going to do up here for three months?” Jack wanted to know. “Isn’t this a little backwoods for your sister-in-law?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t get it. She says it’s about time she had a vacation. She hasn’t taken more than a day off at a time in ten years. Probably more than ten years. No question, she deserves a vacation more than anyone, but this is really out of character.” He’d been turning a lot of ideas over in his mind without mentioning any of his concerns to Marcie; he didn’t want his pregnant wife all stirred up and worried. But he couldn’t help but wonder why Erin had behaved so radically—remodeling his cabin, committing to a three-month vacation and leave from her law practice, isolating herself like that. Was she sick? Depressed? Was her job in some sort of jeopardy? Was she dealing with something she didn’t feel she could share?

“Maybe she won’t last a week up here alone. But listen, if there’s ever anything you think I should know about Erin, will you give me a call?”

“You’re worried,” Jack said. When Ian looked shocked, Jack just shrugged and said, “I’m a bartender. We learn this stuff.”

“I don’t know if I’m worried,” Ian said. “It’s the kind of thing I’d do…something me and Marcie would do in a second if we could, and love it. But it just isn’t like Erin. She’s not used to downtime. Even on a Saturday in the park or by the pool, her cell phone rings all day long. This is pretty cold turkey.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, buddy,” Jack said. “Maybe it’ll be good for her.”

Ian took home oven-roasted chicken, small red potatoes sprinkled with parsley, green bean casserole covered in baby onion rings—homemade—and frosted brownies. He also stopped by Connie and Ron’s Corner Store for whole milk, eggs, butter, bread, bacon, coffee and a six-pack. Marcie and Ian were only staying overnight, but he was going to have real food for breakfast before getting back on the road.

After dinner they sat on the deck and watched the sun set over the mountains on the far side of the ridge. Ian reclined on the chaise lounge and Marcie sat between his spread legs. He threaded his arms under hers so he could rub her belly while she leaned back against his chest. Erin sat on the opposite lounge, alone, of course. As the sun lowered, the June night at five thousand feet got chilly and the crickets came out.

Erin went inside and returned with two throws from the couch, one for her little sister and one to wrap around her own shoulders. She sat back on her chaise and said, “When you were here before, you two, and there was no computer or phone or TV, how did you pass the time? What kinds of things did you do? Besides practice for making junior there.”

“We were pretty much snowed in,” Marcie said. “And it was a lot of work to cook the bathwater. Ian worked early in the morning, before the sun was up, so he went to bed really early. But he went to the library almost every week and brought home books. When I was here, I went with him and got some books of my own. I read during the day and he read for a while every night.” She turned her head to look up at Ian. “I like to read sexy romances, and after Ian and I became friends, he read me the love scenes out loud. It was hot!”

“I brought along some books I’ve been trying to find time to read,” Erin said. “They’re not like that, though.”

“I can imagine. Try picking up a book with a woman kind of slung over a man’s arm on the cover. Or maybe a ball gown with a décolletage. Or some shapely legs with stiletto heels. You might not get smarter, but you’ll definitely want to get to the end!”

“Maybe I will…”

“Are you bored yet?” Marcie asked. “I was bored while Ian worked—except for my dangerous trips to the loo out back and the hard work of cooking bathwater. Until I got my library books.”

“Not at all,” Erin lied. “There are so many things I’ve never had time to do that now I can finally do. I’m going to spend some time on the coast, for one thing. I can’t wait to hit some of the antique stores around here. I’m going to do some writing—nothing entertaining to you, just law stuff, but I might actually come up with a book. I’ve been thinking about that for years with no time to even outline.” She shivered and pulled her throw more tightly around her. “I have to hand it to you, Ian—I don’t know when I’ve seen a more beautiful place.” And a little while later she said, “I’m going in. Can I get anyone anything?”

“Not for me.”

“I’m fine,” Ian said.

When Erin had gone inside, Marcie snuggled against Ian and whispered, “She’s already bored.”

And Ian said, “Maybe this will all be over in another week. Maybe she’ll just come home.”

Inside the cabin, curled up in the corner of the leather sofa with her throw around her shoulders, Erin listened to Marcie and Ian murmuring just outside on the deck. Two and a half years ago, Marcie came up to this mountain in search of Ian. It was supposed to be about closure, but it turned into a new beginning for both of them, and Marcie brought him home.

A year and a half ago, right at Christmastime, they married, but they stayed on with Erin and Drew in the house Marcie, Drew and Erin were raised in. Ian had gone back to college, studying music education. They had been a crowded, happy family—Drew finishing up medical school, Erin busy as ever with her practice, Marcie working as a secretary and Ian going to school full-time and working part-time. It felt so natural, so mutually nurturing. Because of all the studying and such going on, it was common to come home to a quiet house, but it was almost never an empty house. The four adults shared space, chores, cooking, and when they were all together their home was full of life.

Then summer a year ago, everything changed. Drew moved out to go to his orthopedic residency program, Ian and Marcie bought a little house of their own because they wanted a family and Erin found herself alone for the first time in her life. In her life. And she thought, I am completely on my own. The staggering responsibility is finally behind me. I have reached that pinnacle we’ve been struggling toward.

And then she thought, Uh-oh. I am no good at being alone, but I damn sure better learn it, because it is what it is. That was when she asked Ian if she could make some improvements in his old cabin on the mountain so she could use it now and then.

He had grinned and said, “Little rugged for you, sister?”

“It’s on the rugged side, yes. But I won’t touch it if it has sentimental value as the dump where you found yourself. I can look around for something else for vacations and long weekends.”

“Erin, you do anything you want to that dump,” he had said. “I’m all done doing things the hardest way I can.”

Tonight, sitting on her sofa, listening to them murmur on the deck, the image of Ian running his big hands over Marcie’s round belly emblazoned on her mind, she thought, I will never have that. What I’m going to have from now on is what I have right now—myself. Just myself. Oh, there will be family—Marcie and Drew won’t forget me. We’ll talk and there will be visits. But I will never have what they have. I had better learn to find value and appreciation in this, because this is what I have…

I am alone. And I’d better learn how to be that.

Ian was washing up breakfast dishes the next morning when he said to Erin, “You get your phone and satellite feed today, right? So you’ll have TV, Internet, et cetera?”

“Hopefully. It was supposed to be done before I moved up here, but they rescheduled a couple of times.”

“The minute you get hooked up, give us a call. All right?”

Erin smiled at him. “Sure, Dad.”

“How’s the head?”

She touched the Band-Aid at her hairline. “Funny looking.”

“That’s nothing to when Marcie burned off her eyebrows. Now, that was funny looking. Doesn’t hurt anymore? Any headache?”

“I’m fine. You can go. It’s all right.”

“When you get the laptop online, are you going to e-mail your office and tell them so they can send you work?”

“No. I brought the computer so I can research if I feel like exploring that book idea, but mainly I want to try my hand at total relaxation. I’ve never had the luxury before. This is my time and I’m going to—”

“If you get bored or lonesome,” he said, cutting her off, “just come back to Chico. We’ll all take some long weekends up here, together. All your hard work on making this place nice won’t go to waste.”

“I won’t get bored or lonesome,” she said emphatically. “I’ve been looking forward to this all year. But if I do, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“You do that, Erin,” he said.

Chapter Three

After a long day of hiking along the ocean, Aiden went home, showered and walked down the path to Luke and Shelby’s house at around dinnertime. He found Shelby in the kitchen, getting some dinner ready. He ponied right up. “Can I help?”

“You can set the table,” she said. “But first, there is a call for you on the machine from a guy named Jeff. I wrote the number down, but go ahead and listen to the message if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll just call him.” He went to the cupboard to pull out the dishes.

“Ah, Aiden, you might want to call him now. Set the table after.”

“Why?” he asked. He’d kept in touch with Jeff since undergrad days; they’d both been in ROTC and on navy scholarships for med school. Jeff was one of the few people besides his brothers he was in constant touch with.

“It’s something urgent,” she said, her back to him, stirring a pan on the stove. “Something to do with an Annalee Riordan.” She turned toward him. “I know you don’t have any sisters.”

He was stunned speechless for a second. Then he recovered and smiled. “The ex,” he said. “You’re right, I’ll call.”

When he got Jeff on the phone, he was informed that Annalee had been looking for him unsuccessfully. His mother’s Phoenix phone was disconnected, all the brothers had moved, Aiden had separated from the navy and was now a civilian. The only one she could round up was Aiden’s former frat brother/best friend/best man and currently lieutenant commander in the navy. “She says it’s urgent that she speak to you,” Jeff said.

“We’ve been divorced for eight years after a three-month marriage,” Aiden said. “We don’t have urgent issues.”

“Maybe you should respond,” Jeff said. “You can hang up on her after you decide she’s making excuses.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder at Shelby. “I’m telling you, we don’t have business. We don’t have mutual friends or family, we don’t have property, support payments or children. It was a quick, clean break after a short, nasty marriage. But give me the number. If she calls you again, you tell her you gave me the number and you’re out of it. How’s that?”

Aiden scribbled down a phone number, “Sorry for the trouble, man. You doing okay? Carol and the kids okay? Good, good. Yeah, I’m great—I’m kicking back, looking for the next opportunity, and you know what? This was a good idea, taking a little time off. Hey, Jeff, I’m sorry you had to put up with this. Annalee should be long gone. I haven’t heard a word from her since the day the divorce was final, and there is no reason to be hearing from her now unless she’s up to no good. You have my blessing to blow her off.”

Aiden hung up the phone, crumpled the paper with the phone number on it, pitched it in the trash and continued to set the table.

Maureen Riordan had several big boxes sitting in the middle of her small living room. They were packed with precious family heirlooms—her mother’s antique china for Shelby and a box of Great-grandma Riordan’s silver flatware that would go to Franci. She had also packed some crystal and silver pieces in Bubble Wrap and a couple of boxes of antique quilts and linens that she’d take as far as Virgin River, hoping to leave those boxes with Luke; the contents were too valuable to put in a storage facility and she intended to save them for future new daughters-in-law. A couple of years ago she wouldn’t have been so optimistic, but Luke had finally settled down at the age of thirty-eight, Sean right behind him, so it was still possible for Colin, Aiden and Patrick.

Life was so funny, she found herself thinking. She’d spent a lifetime protecting some of these material things—china and crystal, old quilts lovingly fashioned by her ancestors’ hands, linens brought all the way from Ireland—and now the pleasure it gave her to be passing them on to the next generation was immeasurable.

Another bunch of boxes held everyday items she planned to add to what George already had in the RV. They’d gone over the inventory on the phone and in e-mails so many times, she knew almost everything on the list by heart. Clothing, linens, kitchen items and bric-a-brac that she could live without she had already given away.

She and George had seen each other exactly four times since Christmas. Once she flew to Seattle to visit him over a long weekend and three times he flew to Phoenix, also for long weekends, visits that went spectacularly well. Maureen wasn’t naive. She knew that when people lived in close quarters for more than a few days or weeks, adjustments were necessary. She might even realize she’d made a mistake, but she didn’t expect to. As inflexible as she could be, George was three times as flexible as any man she’d ever known. His good nature had taken an entire layer off her previous narrow-mindedness.

George was now en route and she had talked to him several times a day since he left Seattle. He flew to Nevada, where he picked up the RV; it was only a year old, but had cost more than her condo. At long last her cell phone rang and he was an hour away; finally he was minutes away. “And promise me you’re not going to be standing in the parking lot!” he said emphatically. “I want to set her up for your first real viewing.” That meant he wanted to pop out the sides, extend the patio cover, turn on the lights and music. He wanted her to see her new home at its absolute finest.

Finally she received a text message; George was fond of texting. Rather than answering, she bolted across her patio, the pool area and to the parking lot in front of the complex. There he stood in front of the most beautiful masterpiece of an RV she had ever seen.

She stopped short and just forced herself to breathe deeply. This would be her home for at least six months and if the experiment was successful, for a few years. Her hand covered her mouth as she slowly stepped toward the luxury motor coach.

George laughed, drawing her attention to him. He leaned against the front of the vehicle, one leg crossed lazily in front of the other, arms crossed over his chest. He had the most engaging, lovely smile. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously; 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 so sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Mel’s heart was in tatters. Instead of seven miscarriages, this wonderful couple should have had seven children. Phil owned and operated the family farm, a vast acreage committed to dairy, pork and silage. It was a wonderful, fun, healthy place and the Prentisses were a positive, beautiful, loving couple. They’d been married quite a while—ten or twelve years—trying most of that time to grow a family. It was so wrong, when the people who could do the best by children had such trouble getting them. It was a miracle the pain of their loss time after time hadn’t ripped their marriage apart, yet Phil and Darla were devoted to each other, as in love as the day they met.

When Darla arrived with her husband, Mel just hugged her long and hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “God, I’m so sorry. You’ve been through so much.”

That’s all it took for Darla to let the tears loose. Mel took her by the hand and they went into the office to talk for a while. Mel had told Darla a long time ago that in her first marriage, she and her husband had struggled with infertility issues, but for some unknown reason when she got together with Jack—instant pregnancy. Could be coincidence, could be some medical reason she didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t do it anymore, Mel,” Darla said tearfully. “I’m sorry to be such a crybaby, but I think that last one did me in. A little boy…”

“Seven miscarriages is too much for anyone, Darla. Remember when we talked about a surrogate? Someone with a sturdier, proven uterus?”

“I know it’s a good option for people like me and Phil, since I have trouble conceiving and carrying. My younger sister, who’s a mother of three, even offered. But, Mel—oh, God, I know this makes me sound so shallow and self-absorbed—but I don’t think I can watch her carry our baby and stay out of her business. I’d be examining everything she puts in her mouth. I’d burn with jealousy that I couldn’t carry the baby and feel it move inside me. We talked about hiring a stranger. I know it works a lot, but I don’t think we can…”

“Keep an open mind. It’s a good solution for couples who have everything they need but a womb,” Mel said.

Darla was shaking her head. “There’s a message in here somewhere. I’m not sure what it is, but one thing I know for sure—I’m not meant to have a baby of my own. That was the first one we actually buried. Mel,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I really can’t do that again.”

“I understand,” Mel said softly. “Tell me how I can help you now. Do you think a good antidepressant might help?”

“With losing your child? No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to cry about it awhile, feel my husband’s arms around me and ask God what his plan is for me. It’s not like I’m the first woman who couldn’t have her own children. After all, how many women have as much as I have? The most handsome, wonderful, loving man in the world? Poor Phil, his heart must be breaking, too, and I’m only thinking of myself.”

“Just reach out for him while he reaches out for you, sweetheart. Then call your doctor’s office and tell them you could probably use a little counseling to get you through this last miscarriage.”

“But I don’t think I want to keep going with this…this crazy desperation to get pregnant and carry a child to term…”

“That’s not the point,” Mel said, shaking her head. “Whether you keep trying or not, you need a little help getting through the loss. This was a big, hard one for you two. You’ve paid that doctor tens of thousands of dollars not covered by insurance—he must have counseling staff or at least people he can recommend. You don’t have to promise to risk more heartache to get yourself a good counselor. Get some help.”

“Maybe we’ll see our pastor.

“See someone, Darla. Please? I just don’t want you to hurt. I never had a miscarriage—but I failed to get pregnant every time and I remember the pain and disappointment of that alone. I just can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Darla was quiet a moment. Then she wiped off her cheeks and said, “I think seven is enough.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mel said.

Every couple of weeks Luke had to drive over to Eureka to shop at the Costco warehouse for stock for his house and cabins. He bought large amounts of toilet paper, bar soap, paper towels, cleaning supplies and sometimes had to replace things like bath towels, washcloths, bath mats, and so on. While he was there, he shopped for some groceries for his own home; there was plenty of frozen fish in the freezer out in the shed next to the house, but they could always use chicken and red meat. Shelby kept a running list of items she was willing to keep in bulk, from ketchup to canned tuna. Now that her nursing-school program was on hiatus for the summer and she was hugely pregnant, her stop-offs at the grocery store on the way home were few. That made Luke’s trips to town more frequent.

He didn’t have to tell Art when they were going. Art started asking at least a couple days ahead of time. “We going to Costco yet, Luke?”

“Two days,” Luke would answer. Art, an adult with Down syndrome, whom Luke had taken on as a helper around the cabins, was Luke’s fairly constant shadow and had his own little cabin next to Luke and Shelby’s house.

“What time, Luke?” he asked.

“Let’s say two o’clock.”

Then: “Tomorrow we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Today we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Is it time to go to Costco, Luke?”

Going to Costco was Art’s absolute favorite chore in the entire world. He didn’t mind the hardware store but he loved Costco. Luke never made him stick close or help with the shopping and he took his sweet old time because Art wanted to look at everything, especially things he would never buy. Art loved the jewelry counter, and he was fascinated by the computers. When Luke had the satellite dish installed, he bought Art an inexpensive laptop and a couple of learning programs to help Art with his spelling and addition and subtraction. Once Art learned something, he was very capable, though it didn’t seem he was getting better at spelling or math. It was as though he’d reached his limit—but he loved the computer. Art was also extremely literal, not creative. Art did not think outside the box. If you said, “Take out the trash,” he might ask, “Out where?” Instead, you said, “Collect the trash in this bag and then tie the bag closed and put it in the Dumpster.”

It took Luke about fifteen minutes to gather up his paper products and cleaning supplies. Then he dawdled around the meat, cheese and vegetables, mentally choosing what perishables he’d select after Art had had plenty of time to enjoy his shopping trip. He bought a few more nonperishables on Shelby’s list—olive oil, crackers, rice, pasta, cereal. He grabbed some beer and whiskey. He looked through books, DVDs and music—grabbed a couple of each. Then he went looking for Art.

When he didn’t find Art by the jewelry, computer games or computers, he widened his search. He looked in the tools, cosmetics, frozen foods. It baffled him that Art wasn’t in any of his usual haunts.

Finally, he found him in a far corner of the store by the dog food, standing very close to and towering above a short, round woman with curly brown hair. They were holding hands and gazing at each other intently. What an odd-looking pair, Luke found himself thinking with a smile. Yet how strangely perfect—great big lumbering Art and this little, chunky woman. “Art?” he asked.

Art turned sharply as if startled. He was smiling and his small eyes were so large it made Luke chuckle. He’d never seen a smile that big on Art. “Luke! It’s Netta! From my group home! She was my girlfriend.”

“No kidding?” Luke put out a hand. “How do you do, Netta. Hey,” he said. “I think I met you once before. Did you work at that grocery store with Art?”

“They took her out of that store, Luke!” Art said excitedly. “They took everybody out of that store! Stan who owns the store? He got a big punishment for doing things wrong! Netta said he had to pay money and he was mad!”

“Very…mmm…mad,” Netta said quietly.

“How sad for old Stan,” Luke said with a wide smile. “I wish I could feel sorry for him. So, Netta, where are you living now?”

“In a…mmm…house,” she said. “With Ellen and Bo. In Fortuna. I help in the bakery.”

“And why are you at Costco today?” Luke asked.

“We get our…mmm…stuff at Costco. And Ellen lets me…mmm…shop.”

“Art,” Luke said, “why don’t you buy Netta a hot dog or pizza slice and a cola or something. Sit down. Catch up on the news. I’ll get the rest of my stuff very slowly. Take your time.”

Art just stared at him.

Netta took his hand. “Let’s get…mmm…hot dog, Art.”

“Go on, Art. Get a hot dog. Talk with Netta awhile.”

Art seemed a little frozen, so Luke turned his laden cart away and walked off quickly, getting out of his space.

Of course, Art had money, and he managed it very well. Luke would never reach into his pocket and give the man money, especially in front of a woman. Art got a disability check from Social Security, some state aid, and Luke paid him for his work. Art paid Luke a bit for the cabin he used as his home, but no money ever changed hands for things like groceries. Sometimes when Art had a little money left over, he wanted to buy something for Luke or Shelby, and that was all right, but Luke kept it within limits. Art was building a savings account, and when he showed Luke the growing balance, he beamed with pride.

Luke wasn’t sure about what Netta’s issues were. She didn’t have Down’s; she had a slight hesitation in her speech, not quite a stutter but more an “mmm” while looking for the right word. He thought maybe she was a little slow, but wasn’t entirely sure about how disabled. Yet she must have some disability if she’d been in a group home with Art.

But how unexpected—Art had had a girlfriend. Luke thought he might’ve mentioned someone named Netta, but surely no more than once. He hadn’t been pining or anything.

There was a fast-food area in the front of the store, on the other side of the checkout lanes, so Luke steered clear of it. He wasted a good half hour looking at cameras. What the hell—the baby was coming soon and he needed a better camera. By the time he was done, he had a video camera, a digital still camera, a large-screen laptop and a color printer to go with it. He probably should have talked to Shelby about that first, but he was still being trained as a husband. Fortunately, Shelby was very patient with him.

He went to the back of the store and quickly grabbed the meat, produce and veggies he had mentally planned to buy. Time to check out.

Once again, he didn’t see Art anywhere.

Lord, this was getting ridiculous. He’d never had this problem with Art before. Luke looked all around the fast-food area and Art was definitely not there. He’d have to look around the whole warehouse again. First, he decided, he’d put his groceries in the truck, then go back inside in search of Art.

But when he got outside, Art was standing there, staring into the massive parking lot. “Well, hey, I was wondering where you were. Did you have a nice visit with Netta?”

Art turned abruptly. He looked a little shell-shocked. “She was my girlfriend.”

“So you said,” Luke observed. “Come on, let’s put this stuff in the truck. Did you have a nice visit?”

“She left. She had to go with that person, Ellen. Where she lives now.”

“But did you have a nice visit?”

“She was my girlfriend,” Art said again. “I didn’t see her in a long time.”

“Right,” Luke said. Apparently he wasn’t going to get an answer to the question about whether they’d had a nice visit. “Help load up, will you, buddy?”

Art did as he’d been asked, but the whole while he mumbled and fidgeted. He was extremely upset, that much was obvious, and Luke quickly learned why. They had barely left the parking lot when Art said, “I have to go to Costco. Back to Costco.”

“In a couple of weeks, Art.”

“Now! I have to go now!”

“Forget something?” Luke asked.

“She could come to Costco. Netta could come and I could be there, too—I didn’t see her in a long time! I can be there if she comes back. She shops there!”

Since they hadn’t driven far, Luke turned into a parking lot and stopped the truck. “She left, Art. Did you get her phone number or address or anything?”

“No,” he said, his voice thick. “All of a sudden the woman Ellen came and said time to go. And all of a sudden Netta said goodbye. I have to go back.”

“No going back today, buddy. Just like us, she’s not going to be shopping for a couple of weeks, I bet. You know her last name at least?”

“Blue,” he said. “Netta Blue.” Then, with watery eyes, he stared at Luke and in a plaintive voice he just said, “Luke!”

Luke felt his heart drop. The poor guy. Art might not know much, but he sure knew when his heart hurt. Netta Blue, his onetime girlfriend, gone. He’d barely seen her after a separation and whoosh, she was gone again. He was desperate to see more of her, but did she want to see more of him? And how would her caretaker, Ellen, feel about a Down syndrome man hanging around Netta? This was going to instantly get bigger than Luke was. Lately he felt like everything was bigger than he was.

“Now, calm down, Art,” he said. “I’ll help you find her. We have to go home first. Netta has gone home, too. We’ll go home, and then we’ll see if we can find her later.”

“Okay, Luke,” Art said thickly.

Luke stroked his arm. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s going to be all right. How many bakeries can there be in Fortuna?”

“I don’t know that answer,” Art said miserably.

“I didn’t need an answer, buddy. I just meant, we’ll find her, so don’t worry.”

He sniffed. “Okay, Luke.”

By the time Luke and Art got home, Art seemed much calmer. He had stopped mumbling and talking to himself and he was back to responding in his easygoing, good-natured way. But Luke was a little shook up, maybe a little afraid Art would take off for Costco. After all, that’s how Art came to be living with Luke—his caretaker had hit him and Art had run away, preferring homelessness to abuse. For someone who couldn’t always think for himself, Art had certainly made a decision there.

Luke said, “I’m going to put the groceries away, Art. Go fish for one hour, then come to the house.”

“Okay,” Art agreed.

“Look at your watch and remember, one hour. Shelby will be looking for you.”

“One hour,” he agreed.

Luke stored all the extra paper and cleaning products for the cabins in the shed, then took the groceries into the house very quietly. Just as he expected, the bedroom door was pulled almost closed. Shelby could be lying down with her feet up for a little while or she could be asleep. When she didn’t emerge from their bedroom after all the groceries had been stored, he crept out of the house. It was in his mind to make sure Art was fishing, but the door to Aiden’s room stood open to catch the June breeze and he saw Aiden sitting inside, his laptop open on the table in front of him.

He gave a couple of taps. “Hey. You back from today’s trek?”

“I just went over to the coast to walk along the beach for a few hours,” Aiden answered without looking up.

“Got a minute?” Luke asked. “Because I have a situation…”

Aiden sat back with an impatient sigh. “Look, Mom’s going to be just fine—”

“Not Mom,” he said, walking into the cabin. He sat down at the table opposite Aiden, and his brother slowly closed the laptop between them. “It’s Art. I have something going on with Art. And I need someone smarter than I am to talk this out with me.”

One corner of Aiden’s mouth lifted. “Wanna run this by me?”

Luke leaned forward and told Aiden about what had happened at the store in hushed tones lest Art walk past the open cabin door and overhear. When he was done, Aiden said, “Whoo. Sounds like our man Art met up with an old flame and had a rush of testosterone or something.”

“Testosterone?” Luke repeated in a panic.

Aiden smiled lazily. “That’s not the chromosome he’s missing, Luke. He’s a man. What is he—thirty-one? He’s going to have a lot of typical male responses. Then again, some responses that are just pure Art…”

“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Luke said, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.

Aiden laughed at him. “Relax—he’s completely calm…He’s not going to go berserk or anything. But for God’s sake, he has feelings! Have you talked to him about this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Girlfriends. Sex. Desire. Caution.”

“Well, of course not! Why would I even think of that? And what would I say?”

“I’m not entirely sure what you should say—I don’t deal with male patients, and certainly not those with Down syndrome. Does he have a caseworker or a social worker? Because if he has a girlfriend, especially a girlfriend with a similar disability, someone should address it before they’re both in over their heads.”

“Oh God,” Luke moaned.

“You need to find an expert—maybe someone with a degree in special ed. Call social services and explain what you’re up against, your lack of experience in this area. Get some help.”

“What about the girl? I promised him I’d try to find the girl!”

“Then try to find the girl! They lived in the same house together, Luke, they mean something to each other. Well…” He hesitated. “She means something to Art. You probably should try to find out if the feeling is mutual before you turn him loose.” Aiden grinned. “I know what you’re thinking—there’s a little piece of you that’s afraid Art will go nuts. No, Luke,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s mentally challenged but his personality is characterized by extremely cooperative behavior. He’s sweet and gentle. He just needs some guidance. Get someone with experience to tell you the best way to handle that.”

“You’re just faking it,” Luke accused. “Are you just faking it to look smart? Because we all get that you’re smart—don’t show off.”

Aiden laughed. “It’ll be all right. You’re great with Art. Talk to Shelby about it—you two work well together.”

Luke grumbled a little bit, then got up and ambled off in the direction of the river.

Aiden shook his head. Luke reminded him a lot of their father—a real tough exterior, but plenty of that old Irish angst inside. Complete vulnerability. All soft and gooey. No one had forced Art on Luke—it was all Luke’s idea to take him on. Just like the situation with their mother—Luke was probably the one who was the most concerned about it, and the least likely to talk it over with her.

Luke needed to handle this thing with Art, Aiden thought. It would give him confidence, make him more sure of himself in an emotional situation where he didn’t have a lot of experience. It would be good for all of them and good training for being a parent.

Chapter Four

Aiden had a few commitments scheduled for the next couple of weeks. First of all, his sister-in-law Franci had sold the house she and Rosie had lived in while Sean was in Iraq. All their household goods would be shipped to Alabama, Sean’s next assignment. Franci and Rosie were going to take up residence in one of Luke’s cabins, where Sean would join them shortly, before they headed east. But there was a great deal to do around Franci’s house before the move—minor repairs, a garage sale, a little painting and yard work, and once the movers had departed, some serious cleaning before the new owners took possession. Aiden had signed on for all of it. He wanted to spend time with Franci and Rosie and they needed the help.

His mother and George would also be showing up sometime in the next week and he wanted to be close by when they arrived.

And of course he wanted to be available if Shelby needed him for anything; Luke didn’t like leaving her side unless Aiden was going to be nearby. And Luke was itching to figure out the situation with Art before his son was born.

Aiden’s mission for the summer was simple—be a helpful visitor; enjoy the family. His current plans didn’t leave a lot of extra time and there was still one other thing he wanted to do. He wanted to check on the woman with the head injury. Erin.

He dressed for hiking one morning, loaded his backpack and took off in his SUV. He drove toward her cabin, parked on a wide space in the road below the ridge and walked up that dirt road again. When he got to the top, he saw that her car was missing. He walked around the house, checking it out. Nothing much had changed, except it was all closed up. He checked out the garden, or the poor excuse for a garden. Dry, and no improvement. He assumed she’d gone home, but he watered the plants just in case. Maybe it was on her mind to spend the occasional weekend at the cabin.

Then, completely unplanned and for no good reason, he did a little digging in that big square plot behind the house that had proved to be too much for her. He cleared the weeds and sod, dug out the big rocks and heaved them into the woods. The he tilled the dirt until it was loose, soft and ready for planting. He drove into Fortuna and bought a few bags of topsoil, a couple bags of fertilizer, some man-size gardening tools and a hose. Then he went back, hoed in the soil and fertilizer and wet the ground.

Before he left he sat on the deck and looked out at the view while he drank some water. He didn’t sit on her nice clean chaise lounges, but on the step of the deck. He happened to glance through the French doors—neat as a pin in there. No sign of life. No books or papers strewn around, no dishes on the table or pans on the stove, no sweater draped over a chair.

So, she was gone.

When he left he took the empty plastic bags that had held the dirt and fertilizer with him and leaned the tools against the back of the house.

The next day he took plants, vegetable-garden starters, flower borders, stakes and a slow sprinkler to hook up to the hose. Again he sat on the deck while he drank his water and again he glanced through the French doors. All tidy.

He wondered if she’d ever come back. Then wondered why he wondered. He didn’t like her—she was a pain in the butt.

The next day at around noon he swung by to water, telling himself that there was no place for a garden at Luke’s and he was enjoying this. It also crossed his mind that she would eventually come back to her cabin and she might just check on her dead plants against the house. It was fun to think of her spying a new garden back there and wondering who would do such a thing. And why.

He gave the garden a little extra water because the following day he was committed to go to Franci’s with Luke, Shelby and Art to help with a garage sale, some minor home repairs and yard work.

Art, who was absolutely never annoying, had become annoying. Filled with anxious impatience, he was continually asking questions about Netta. “Do you know where she lives now? Do you know where her house is?”

Luke kept saying, “Not yet, bud. I’m making phone calls to bakeries, asking if anyone with her name works there, and so far I haven’t found her. Try to relax.”

Telling a man with the scent of a woman up his nose to relax was turning out to be about as useful as throwing kerosine on a fire. Nothing could distract him for long. For once, even Rosie couldn’t seem to occupy Art. And the garage sale, which really should get his attention, didn’t. He kept questioning if there were any updates and Luke kept patiently saying, “Not since the last time you asked me ten minutes ago, Art.”

Shelby sat in a lawn chair right in the garage door, fanning herself, haggling with customers while Franci and her mother, Vivian, did any lifting or moving around of merchandise. Aiden did some recaulking in the bathrooms, repaired a gutter along the eave, pulled out and cleaned behind and under the refrigerator, washer and dryer. Rosie stuck to him like glue because he had promised her that when his chores were done she could dress up his beard with clips and bows. All this time Luke and Art were working together on the yard.

“Did you call her yet, Luke?”

“Have you seen me near a phone, Art?”

“Did you?”

“I’m cutting the damn grass, Art!”

“Then will you?”

Aiden didn’t mean to laugh at the two of them but he did anyway. He had his own shadow.

“After this job can I brush it? Your beard?”

“Yes, Rose. After this job.”

“And put a bwaid in it?”

“Yes, Rose. When I’m done here.”

When Aiden was finally finished he settled down in a lawn chair on the back patio with Rosie and her dog, Harry, and while Art and Luke were edging, trimming and raking up clippings, Rosie combed his beard and filled it full of ribbons and barrettes. He closed his eyes lazily, enjoying the fiddling and remembering to stay conscious. Sean had once fallen asleep in Rosie’s care and she had put makeup on him with Magic Markers.

“I know what to get you for Christmas,” Aiden said. “A doll with hair you can fix. Are you going to be a beautician when you grow up?”

“What’s a boo-tician?”

“Someone who fixes hair.”

“No, I’m gonna be a jet pilot. It’s bery important. What are you gonna be?” she asked him.

Aiden opened one eye and peered at her. “A farmer,” he said. “It’s bery important, too.”

“That’s bery good,” she said.

Mel Sheridan walked up the porch steps to lack’s bar at two in the afternoon on a weekday. It instantly brought to mind the vast number of times she’d done exactly this in the past. The bar was typically very quiet, often deserted, between lunch and dinner and if her husband wasn’t running errands or busy elsewhere, he’d be there. He was usually behind the bar, taking inventory, organizing, setting up for the dinner crowd. Preacher would be in the kitchen cooking, his wife, Paige, and their kids would be in their attached home, and while the kids napped, Paige would often be running receipts on the computer, paying the bills, keeping the books, assisting in the management of the bar.

When Mel came to town four years ago, the bar was where she first got to know her husband. At the time, it was a far-fetched notion that they would even be friends, but it hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with him. This was the place they’d had their most private conversations over the years, and when there was something she wanted to discuss with him, this time of day was usually the perfect opportunity.

She walked in and a single glance told her they were alone—Jack behind the bar, no customers. “Hey, baby,” he said, smiling.

Ah, four years and so many times she’d walked into his bar and still, every time, he acted as if he hadn’t seen her for days. His smile was warm and sexy, his brown eyes sparkling. Maybe four years wasn’t such a long time, she thought. Still, she felt completely confident that he would look at her that way in forty more. There was this thing about Jack—he didn’t take commitment lightly. He said to her once, “I’m all in.” Three little words that expressed a lifetime commitment. Jack didn’t say something like that unless he meant it, and he was a man with the strength to uphold that oath.

She jumped up on a stool and leaned over to kiss him. “Hi, sweetheart. Red-letter day today. Emma is doing it in the potty, full-time.”

He grinned. “But is David doing it full-time?” he asked.

“The biggest problem we have with number-one son is peeing in the yard, taught to him by number-one dad.”

Jack grabbed both her hands across the bar. “I don’t expect you to understand this, being a girl, but it’s a very important rite of passage, learning that the world is your urinal.” He shrugged. “My son took to the news.”

“I know that. He’d rather pee on a bush than in the toilet. There should be a balance—the bush when there is no toilet, and so on.”

“He’ll come around…”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I wanted to make sure both kids were potty trained before bringing it up—but one and three-quarters is good enough, I think.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I think I’d like to have one more baby. Before I get much older.”

The stunned look that came over his face was priceless and made her smile. She gave him a couple of seconds, and noted that he was struggling with the possibility that she’d completely lost her mind. Finally, slowly, he said, “You feel like trying to adopt?”

“Actually, no. I thought we’d have one of our own.”

“Mel,” he said gently, giving her hands a comforting squeeze. “Mel, between us we might be missing some parts for having our own…”

She laughed a little bit. “I know my uterus is gone, Jack. But I still have ovaries and you still have sperm. We could get a surrogate.”

“Huh?” he said, frowning.

“You know what that is, I know you do.”

“I do,” he said. “But…”

“In vitro—our baby in a surrogate.” Then she smiled brightly. “You do make such wonderful babies. And I think we can squeak in one more before we really run out of time. We were sort of thinking about that right before Emma was born anyway. And she’s two.”

“No, we weren’t. I’m forty-four. And you’re thirty-six.”

“Hardly Grandma Moses and the old man of the sea, Jack,” she said.

“Is this something you just started kicking around? This surrogate idea?” he wanted to know.

“I’ve been giving it some pretty serious thought for a while now. We’re not the youngest parents, but lots of couples nowadays start their families in their thirties and forties. We’re healthy and strong…There’s no reason to think we won’t be around to see them well into adulthood. Of course, one or both of us could fall off a mountain, but that’s not an age-sensitive calamity. When you think about it, with my history of infertility, had we decided to have a family it might well have taken us this long to get started anyway.”

He was quiet again. Then he said, “Mel, your history of infertility did not follow you to Virgin River. And we have two kids. Two smart, healthy, beautiful kids.”

“Will you at least think about it? Because it’s really a logical solution for us. We have everything but a uterus…”

He was shaking his head. “Baby, we don’t need a solution! We don’t have a problem!”

“Well, if we want one more child, we have a little problem. Jack, it’s just surrogacy—it’s not brain surgery. There are a number of women who, for whatever reason, are willing to carry a baby for a couple who can’t carry their own. They’re most often married women who already have children, don’t really need or want more, but deal with pregnancy and childbirth very well. Of course, they’re paid and their medical expenses covered, but it’s rarely a moneymaking proposition for them. It’s usually a service they’re willing to provide for couples who can’t carry and deliver their own baby.”

“You really believe that?” he asked. “That it’s not about the money?”

She shrugged. “I suppose sometimes money is a major factor, but there are always many screened surrogates to choose from and I wouldn’t be interested in one who desperately needs money. Her motivation might not be what we’re looking for.”

“Listen, I’ve seen news stories where the woman doesn’t want to give up the baby…”

“That usually happens when the woman provides half the biology,” Mel said. “When it’s her egg involved, sometimes her feelings change while she’s pregnant. Then it’s her baby she doesn’t want to part with. Our case wouldn’t be like that. In our case, all we need is a womb. A living, breathing petri dish. Problems and complications with screened surrogate applicants are rare.” And then she smiled broadly, as if the matter had all just been settled.

Jack picked up his towel and a glass from beneath the bar and began wiping out nonexistent water spots. Mel had learned long ago that that was a move Jack used when he didn’t know what to say or how to act. Sometimes he did that to look busy when his mind was spinning out of control, or to keep from throttling someone. “How does it work, exactly?” he asked.

“Well, you determine whether you’re good candidates—and I can tell you we are. You look over screened surrogates and interview some. You harvest some eggs from me, collect some sperm from you, have a qualified lab create embryos from our egg and sperm, freeze them, implant a couple in the surrogate and—”

“And get six or eight babies?” he asked, lifting a brow.

“No, Jack. Just one. Outside chance of two, but if you choose a surrogate with a proven uterus who conceives easily, the doctor will only implant one, or a maximum of two embryos. If it doesn’t take after a few tries, the doctor might chance three at the outside. Having all the embryos take on the third or fourth try? A miracle. No, Jack. It will be one baby. The chance of two would be the same odds as us having our own set of twins if I still had a uterus and we decided to have one more pregnancy.”

His towel-covered hand continued to rotate inside the glass and he was quiet. His face was a stone, void of expression.

“Jack?” she asked. “Not such a crazy idea, is it?”

He let out his breath. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that this sort of thing is your business—your area of expertise. I try, though.”

“And?”

“And it might help if you’d try to remember that it is not mine.”

“And that means?”

He put down the glass and towel. He leaned his elbows on the bar so his face was even with hers. He grabbed her hands again. His eyes and his voice were soft. “Mel, if we hadn’t had a baby and you wanted one really badly, I’d do almost anything I could to help that happen for you. If you asked me to think about opening our home up to one more kid, maybe a kid who otherwise might not have parents, I could give that some serious consideration. You know—room in the heart, room in the home. But this thing you’re asking…” He shook his head almost sadly. “I don’t know if I can watch our baby make another woman fat. I don’t know if I can watch our baby come out of another woman’s body.”

“You don’t have to watch,” she suggested.

“Getting you pregnant was about the biggest trip I ever had in my life,” he said. “Knowing you were knocked up, battling through your mood swings, watching your belly grow and move, then giving birth…it was sacred to me. A miracle. Mel, our two kids and all that went into getting them, hardly anything measures up to that. Something about my swimmers meeting up with your eggs in a dish in a lab, growing inside some woman I don’t know…”

“But it’s a last resort!”

“No, baby. A last resort is being thankful for the blessings we have. If things had been different and a third one came along, I could live with that. I could be happy about that. But we don’t have to have one more.” He made a face. “At least not that way.”

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “It’s just very strange and alien to you.”

“You got that right,” he agreed.

“But it’s done all the time.”

“I don’t do it all the time,” he said.

“Before you make a final decision, will you at least talk to John Stone about it? The clinic he worked in before coming to Grace Valley had a very active fertility practice. I think Susan said she and John needed a little jump start to get their first child. Would you do that, please? Would you talk to John? Ask him some questions from the man’s point of view?”

He pursed his lips for a moment. “For you,” he said. “I’ll talk to John about it. I’ll ask some questions. But the way I feel right now, Mel? This isn’t something I want to do.”

“Talk to John,” she said. “Please?”

He leaned toward her and kissed her. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Jack. It would mean a lot to me if you could try to just keep an open mind.”

“I’ll try, babe. I’ll really try.”

Erin was bored out of her skull. When Ian and Marcie left her after spending one night, she just sat around for a couple of days. The longest days of her life. But, determined to get a handle on her life and forge a new direction, she pulled out some of the books she’d brought along—self-help books about relaxing, serenity, meditation, the psychology of inner joy, the power of positive thinking, the energy of intention, taking control of your emotional life, and her personal favorite—Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.

She’d read many self-help books, but her usual fodder was about focus and effectiveness, organization and efficiency. She liked those books; it fed her work habit. In the quiet internal books—she couldn’t even find anything to highlight. And Erin liked to highlight. It made her feel enterprising.

When she had satellite hookup, she tried TV. Out of three hundred channels, she couldn’t find anything to engage her brain. She put on a movie and realized that even her favorite chick flicks weren’t as much fun without Marcie giggling or sighing and Ian whining that he was being tortured.

So she e-mailed her office and told everyone even remotely related to her cases and clients that she was computer functional again and already feeling very rested and relaxed, so she had the time to consult if they needed her input. Since they were all at work, the responses came instantly. We’re doing fine—just enjoy yourself. Everything under control, boss, have a good time. No problems here, Erin—just make the most of your vacation!

She decided it was probably best to leave the cabin, so the next morning she jumped in her car and headed over to Eureka to do a bookstore prowl. Erin loved to read, but she read for a couple of hours in the evening and had no interest in wiling away an entire day with a book, even a great book. She was much better at staying busy. So, on this trip through the bookstore she bought books on crafts, from gardening to quilting. Before buying any actual craft supplies, she decided she’d graze through the books to see what caught her interest. Lord knew she had never had time for crafts before.

When she got home late in the day, she poured herself a glass of wine and paged through the books. Everything had the same effect on her—it was like watching paint dry. Then she got to the book on gourmet cooking that had slipped in there and her throat tightened up. Her eyes blurred and burned. Gourmet cooking? For one?

The next morning she headed out again—this time to Costco and Target. She bought a hammock to string between two trees and some large, fancy plants and big pots for the deck. When she got home and realized she’d forgotten to buy tools for hanging the hammock or potting soil for the plants, she left the whole business outside for when the spirit moved her. If it moved her.

The next day she just got in the car in the morning and drove; time to see the sights. Time to check out those little tucked-away antique stores she claimed she couldn’t wait to visit yet had no real interest in. While she drove, she thought—mostly about Marcie and Drew. She was so proud of them both; so honored to have been the one to help them get to this stage in their young lives.

Finally, finally, finally that time of life she’d worked so hard toward was here—they were truly adults who could manage full, productive, happy lives.

Suddenly she realized she’d driven south for hours and was almost to the turnoff to Clear Lake. She pulled off the road. She could take the turnoff and just go home to Chico and forget this whole summer-on-the-mountain thing. Marcie and Ian wouldn’t make fun of her, and Drew was in Los Angeles. The people at the office? They’d talk about workaholic Erin, but she was a partner—they’d talk quietly.

Then she remembered that day in the ladies’ room at the courthouse when she’d overheard a conversation about her while she was in a stall. “She goes out with men, but usually once, and it never works out,” one woman said. And the other had replied, “She is so uptight, the woman has no life!”

In all the years since she was old enough to date, she’d only dated four men more than twice and all four had had major complaints about her—she was not just uptight and self-protective, unable to let down her guard, but also overconfident, too serious, inflexible and, oh yes, bossy. She worked too hard and too much; she just couldn’t relax. She couldn’t count the number of times she had been told to just let go…

Three of those men had later hired her as their tax attorney and one came to her for his living trust and estate plan.

She made a wide U-turn and headed back to Virgin River.

After the garage sale was over, Aiden took what was left over to the Goodwill receiving depot as donation. When the cleaning, chores and yard work were finished, Aiden and Luke helped move Franci, Rosie and their suitcases into one of Luke’s cabins.

In a couple of days Franci and Rosie would go to San Francisco to pick up Sean and bring him back to Virgin River. He had time for some leave, but by mid-July they had to be on their way to Montgomery. They had to find housing before Sean started Air Command and Staff College in August, a one-year program for senior officers who had the potential to be leaders. As in, generals.

The thought of Sean being a senior officer always made Aiden chuckle. He could almost see Luke as a general more than Sean. Sean had always been such a fuck-up. But he’d also been an honor graduate from the academy and a good stick—slang for a pilot with both good instincts and good hands.

After doing his family chores, Aiden was allowed his own time again. He dressed for a hike, but he took his car. He drove right up to Erin’s cabin this time, hoping his garden hadn’t dried up in his absence. There was no car there, as usual. And his garden seemed to be thriving.

But lo and behold, there was at long last a change. There were three pretty large plants sitting on the deck. Beside them sat three nice-looking ceramic pots. And that was all—no bag of potting soil. So someone had been around. He looked into the house through the French doors—no sign of life in there.

Also on the deck was an opened box displaying a macrame and wood something. He took a closer look. It was a hammock, the instructions lying out, but abandoned. There were no tools there for putting it up, but all that was needed was a screwdriver and small wrench to secure a couple of brackets. So he tended his garden and the next day he brought some potting soil and a couple of tools to put up the hammock. And why was he doing this? Because Erin was completely helpless and he had the time, that’s why. Then he smiled a little, remembering the sight of that fantastic booty.

When Erin went fleeing back to Virgin River after her long drive, she stopped in town. She decided to just grab something she could reheat for dinner, so she went to Jack’s bar. She recognized the only person there as the local midwife sitting at one of the tables, writing in some open folders. Erin had met Mel on her visit two and a half years before.

Mel looked over her shoulder and said, “Well! Hello! I knew I’d run into you eventually!” She stood up from her table, pen still in hand, and came to Erin, giving her a friendly hug. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” Erin said, smiling. “Totally great.”

“What can I get you?” Mel asked. “Come and sit with me and tell me all about the family.”

“I just thought I’d stop off and grab something I can warm up later for dinner, but you…” Erin glanced at the table Mel had occupied. “You seem to be working.”

“A little patient charting. I told Jack if he’d take David with him on errands, I’d do my charting over here and that way if anyone comes into the bar, I can fetch Preacher from the kitchen. The baby is asleep over at the clinic—Dr. Michaels is standing guard. Do you have time for something to drink?”

“I have nothing but time,” Erin said with a laugh. “All summer.”

“Wow. That must be an amazing feeling.”

“Oh, amazing,” she said. She glanced at Mel’s drink and said, “Diet cola?”

“Gotcha covered,” Mel said, going behind the bar. “So, Jack tells me Marcie and Ian are expecting…and what else did he say? Something about your younger brother.

“Accepted into an orthopedic residency at UCLA Medical Center.”

“Wow. I did some of my internship in my nurse-practitioner program there,” she said. She brought Erin the cola. “He’ll have enough broken bones and car wrecks to keep him busy. I saw the cabin—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m glad you did! What did you think?”

Mel leaned back. “Well, girl, I saw that place before and after. I don’t know how you and Paul managed to get something that beautiful out of some pictures sent over e-mail.”

“Collecting the pictures was the easy part,” Erin said. “It’s still small—just two rooms. Of course, I sent some design suggestions that Paul rejected for construction reasons—we had to modify the design in the kitchen and bathroom to accommodate new plumbing features. After that, it was furniture shopping, which I did well in advance so they could make the delivery date. He’s really gifted, isn’t he?”

“Paul built our house,” Mel said. “He did that as a favor, but now that he’s set up part of Haggerty Construction down here, he’s the builder of choice. What I’m really curious about, Erin, is why you decided to do this at all. I don’t know many people who can manage to take a whole summer off, and you planned it so carefully.”

“It didn’t really happen that neatly. Ian and Marcie were coming up here for the occasional weekend. Then Drew actually used the cabin as a getaway a couple of times. Both Drew and Ian have been in school and it was a great study retreat for both of them. I was the only one in the family not interested, at least not until the loo was moved indoors.”

Mel laughed. “Understandable. I never did go for the idea of the outhouse. Still fairly common up in the hills, by the way.”

“I thought I might like to borrow the place if it was spruced up a little. When Ian told me to go for it, I got a little carried away. He admitted he was thinking as far as a septic tank, while I added a whole room and had it rebuilt from the floor up, adding a nice big master bath and full kitchen. Not to mention a stone hearth and covered deck.”

“The deck’s the best part, I think. Watching a sunset from there must be pure magic. You and Paul make a good team.”

“It’s beautiful,” Erin admitted.

“What made you decide to make a summer of it?” Mel asked.

She shrugged and looked into her cola. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been accused of working too much, of not knowing how to relax.”

To her surprise, Mel laughed softly. “I can relate.”

“You can?” Erin said, eyes wide.

She nodded. “I was an E.R. nurse for years before midwifery, and then I was a midwife in a huge trauma center—we got the most complicated cases. A lot of our patients hadn’t had prenatal care and were in serious trouble. My first delivery was a woman arrested on felony charges and handcuffed to the bed, surrounded by police. My older sister, Joey, said I was an adrenaline junkie.”

“And then you came here,” Erin said. Mel had actually shared her story with Erin on her only previous visit when she had come looking for Marcie to bring her home. Mel had told Erin her first husband had been killed in a violent crime and she’d fled L.A. in search of a major change.

“The joke was on me,” Mel said. “I was looking for peace and tranquillity and ended up being hijacked out to a marijuana grow op to deliver a woman in a life-threatening childbirth situation. I was almost killed by a grower who broke into the clinic looking for better drugs than his pot. And my own baby was born out at the cabin Jack and I lived in, by candlelight, because a bad storm knocked out the lights and phone. A tree blocked the road and we couldn’t get to the hospital.”

“Really?” Erin said, her eyebrows lifted high. “You didn’t tell me any of that before.”

“You came to get Marcie and she didn’t want to be rescued,” Mel said. “I didn’t think it would help Marcie’s cause much. Anyway, so much for me giving up adrenaline. I have to admit, though—most days are peaceful. It’s just that when they’re not, they’re really not.”

“Frankly, I could do with a little excitement,” Erin grumbled. “I swear to God, if one more person sends me an e-mail about taking time to smell the roses.

Mel just laughed at her. “Erin, don’t be talked into feeling a certain way. If working is what’s fun for you—then work!”

“You’re not going to lecture me on balance?” she asked with a smile.

“Don’t you have that? Family, friends, a getaway cottage in the mountains, an exciting job…?”

“Tax and estate law?” Erin asked, wide-eyed. “I think the fact that I find that exciting is one of the things that people think is most disturbing!”

“I wasn’t going to mention that.” Mel chuckled. “But if you find it exciting.

Erin leaned toward her. “I’ve worked really hard,” she said earnestly. “I did the things I set out to do. I have a very large client base. You can believe the partners never suggest I’m working too hard. The firm takes a lot of their pro bono cases off the backs of my rich clients who are in trouble with the IRS. My client base is so valuable to them, I had to threaten to resign to get a leave of absence from the firm. I hadn’t taken more than a long weekend in ten years. Drew’s in residency and engaged to be married soon to a lovely girl. Marcie and Ian are very happy, and expecting their first baby at the end of the summer. The pressure is off! I can now relax and enjoy life more and I can’t think of one thing I want to do.”

“Oh. My.”

Erin leaned back. “It’s true. Don’t you dare tell anyone—but I haven’t been here two weeks yet and I’m so bored I can’t stand to wake up in the morning, facing another long, impossible, dull day! I’ve been putting in so many hours for so many years…”

“Law school then a busy practice…” Mel said. “That’s been a long haul, I’m sure…”

“It started way before law school. I was busy as a kid, needed to help at home.”

Mel frowned. “Marcie mentioned you girls lost your parents young…”

“Our mother died when I was eleven. Marcie was four years old. Drew was still in diapers.”

Mel thought for a moment. “You must have done a lot of babysitting…”

Erin laughed. “A lot? That was all I did. I hurried home from school to take over from the babysitter we’d hired, start dinner, wash and fold some clothes, get their baths, settle them down for the night. The sitter usually left things a mess and I didn’t want Dad coming home to that, he was already a wreck. Our dad tried, but he’d just lost his wife and it took him a good year to catch up with us.”

“It hasn’t just been ten years since you’ve taken a vacation, has it?” Mel asked softly.

“Dad died suddenly during my first semester of law school. I was still living at home, of course. Drew and Marcie were only thirteen and fifteen. It wasn’t a problem for me to have complete custody of them, at least.”

“At what? Twenty-two?”

“I was mature,” Erin said dismissively.

“I’ll bet,” Mel agreed. “And now, having done a lifetime’s work in a third of a lifetime, you’re feeling a little put out to pasture? Like you don’t have a purpose anymore?”

“Oh my God,” she said. “I couldn’t put it into words, but it’s like I have to take the summer to figure out how to be alone, and happy and content alone, because what I am now is alone.”

“And you’re how old now? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Erin, my darling—you’re thirty-six and you’ve been a mother for twenty-five years. You’re going through empty-nest syndrome.”

“What?”

“We make so many sacrifices to parent…we give up so much. Willingly, of course. It’s what most of us want to do—to have a child and make that commitment. Sometimes it comes as a blow when they say, ‘Okay, I’m all grown-up now. Back off and let me make my own decisions.’”

“But…but I talk to Marcie every day, and Drew at least a couple of times a week. We’re still very close.”

“Well, of course! They love you! But at long last they’re on their own. They don’t need you. You have all this time to make a new life…Because your old life is over…”

“But I have women friends who load up a suitcase full of books or tapes or needlework and head off for a week of solitude and love it. Or go on these enormous walks through Ireland or hike the Grand Canyon and—”

“Erin, for one thing—they didn’t start at age eleven. You’ve been dancing as fast as you can for twenty-five years, just trying to stay one step ahead.” She leaned toward Erin and grabbed her hand. “You were just a kid when you had to start being a mother to your siblings. And there’s a difference between getting away and feeling cast away. Besides, I bet you never had the luxury of finding great, fulfilling hobbies!”

And Erin thought, I couldn’t try out for cheerleading, not that I could walk and chew gum at the same time. But there was after-school practice, and after school was dedicated to the kids. I could be on student council, but I couldn’t go to student-council camp. Well, Dad said I could, but the look on his face said it would be a huge burden and he ‘d worry about the kids without me there.

But she’d never cared about that. Had she?

“Yeah, my dad depended on me,” Erin said. “I was going to do that up here. Find a great fulfilling hobby of some kind. So far I haven’t thought of a thing.”

“You’re still trying to cope with the loss. The empty nest.”

“Really?” she asked. “You think that’s all it is? Empty nest?”

“All?” Mel asked. “Erin, that’s a lot of loss. It’s a little death. Some women just blow it off. When their kids go off to college or get married, they just close the vents in their children’s rooms or turn those spaces into dens and sewing rooms. Other women really struggle and feel a lot of emotional pain. You were awfully young when you started mothering them.”

“Huh,” she said. She took a drink of her cola. “Well, what am I supposed to do for fun now?”

“Gosh, I don’t know,” Mel said. “There’s bound to be a period of adjustment. You’ve probably been going through a period of grief already and maybe you’re not quite done with that. Something will come to mind.” The door to the bar opened and a man in rough-sewn work clothes wandered up to the bar. Mel looked over her shoulder. Then back at Erin. “Can you tend bar?”

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