“I’ll take care of that. Listen, you don’t have to clean up after me.”

She laughed at him. “John, I spend all day in the kitchen, collecting your pots, pans and dishes. It’s becoming a habit.” She laughed at his shocked expression. “You look after my child all day long—you’re pretty much helpless, since he won’t leave you alone. The least I can do is help out.”

“I’m not looking after him,” John said. “We’re buddies.”

“Yeah,” she said. And thought, yeah—buddies.

Lunch was usually busy, and Paige served and bussed. Dinner, from five to eight, was also busy, especially this time of year—fall, hunting season with fishing getting good. After eight there were occasionally lingerers, hanging out over beer or drinks, but the cooking was over for the night. That’s when Paige would take Chris upstairs for his bath and bed, and after that she’d only check in to see if anything needed to be done before she called it a night. Occasionally, she’d have a cup of tea with John.

Preacher liked that time of night, when there was no more dinner to be served, when the kitchen was cleaned, when he could hear Paige running water upstairs. Sometimes he could hear her singing play songs with Chris. Before pouring that last shot for the day, he’d look at his cookbooks, planning dinner for the next day or maybe the next week, making supply lists. The process made him feel he had everything managed efficiently. Preacher was very well organized.

It was about eight-thirty and there were a few hunters in the bar. Jack was handling the front. Buck Anderson had brought Mel a couple of nice-size lamb shanks, which came straight to Preacher. He was reading about lamb shanks hestia with cucumber raita when he heard a small shuffle. He looked over the counter to see Christopher standing at the bottom of the stairs, stark naked, book under one arm, Bear under the other.

Preacher lifted one bushy brow. “Forget something there, pardner?” he asked.

Chris picked at his left butt cheek while hanging on to the bear. “You read to me now?”

“Um…Have you had your bath?” Preacher asked. The boy shook his head. “You look like you’re ready for your bath.” He listened upward to the running water.

Chris nodded, then said again, “You read it?”

“C’mere,” Preacher said.

Chris ran around the counter, happy, raising his arms to be lifted up.

“Wait a second,” Preacher said. “I don’t want little boy butt on my clean counter. Just a sec.” He pulled a clean dish towel out of the drawer, spread it on the counter, then lifted him up, sitting him on it. He looked down at the little boy, frowned slightly, then pulled another dish towel out of the drawer. He shook it out and draped it across Chris’s naked lap. “There. Better. Now, what you got here?”

“Horton,” he said, presenting the book.

“There’s a good chance your mother isn’t going to go for this idea,” he said. But he opened the book and began to read. They hadn’t gotten far when he heard the water stop, heard heavy footfalls racing around the upstairs bedroom, heard Paige yell, “Christopher!”

“We better get our story straight,” Preacher said to him.

“Our story,” Chris said, pointing at the page in front of him.

Momentarily there were feet coming down the stairs, fast. When she got to the bottom, she stopped suddenly. “He got away from me while I was running the tub,” she said.

“Yeah. In fact, he’s dressed like he barely escaped.”

“I’m sorry, John. Christopher, get over here. We’ll read after your bath.”

He started to whine and wiggle. “I want John!”

Paige came impatiently around the counter and plucked him, squirming, into her arms.

“I want John,” he complained.

“John’s busy, Chris. Now, you behave.”

“Uh—Paige? I’m not all that busy. If you’ll tell Jack I’m not in the kitchen for a bit, I could do the bath. Tell Jack, so he knows to lock up if everyone leaves.”

She turned around at the foot of the stairs. “You know how to give a child a bath?” she asked.

“Well, no. But is it hard? Harder than scrubbing up a broiler?”

She chuckled in spite of herself. She put Chris down on his feet. “You might want to go a little easier than that. No Brillo pads, no scraping. No soap in the eyes, if you can help it.”

“I can do that,” Preacher said, coming around the counter. “How many times you dunk him?” She gasped and Preacher showed her a smile. “Kidding. I know you only dunk him twice.”

She smirked. “I’ll see if Jack needs anything, and then I’ll be up to supervise.”

Paige was peeling and slicing apples, Preacher rolling out pie dough, when Jack came into the kitchen. “Mel’s out front,” he told them. “She’s going over to the Eureka mall, Paige—she can’t get into her pants anymore. She said you can ride along, if you need anything.”

Paige looked at John, lifting her brows.

“Go on, Paige,” he said. “Chris won’t be up for another hour and I got the kitchen. You probably need all kinds of things.”

“Sure, thanks,” she said, putting her apple and knife in the bowl, taking off her apron.

“Listen,” Preacher said, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I don’t even know if you have credit cards, but you have to be real careful about that. You should shop with cash—huh?” He pulled out his wallet, took some bills out and began to unfold them, peeling off one, then another, then…

Paige went completely pale, her eyes round and clearly frightened. She started shaking her head and backing away. “Tell…Tell Mel I have to do…some things…Okay?”

Jack tilted his head, frowning. “Paige?” he asked.

Paige backed up until she was against the wall, her hands behind her back, her face as white as alabaster. Then a tear rolled down her cheek.

Preacher put his wallet on the counter and said, “Give us a minute, Jack.” Then he took off his own apron and walked toward her. As he neared, she slid down the wall to the floor and put her hands over her face.

Preacher got on his knees in front of her and gently tugged at her hands, pulling them away from her face and holding them. “Paige,” he said softly. “Paige, look at me. What just happened there?”

Her expression was panicked. Tears ran down her cheeks, but her voice was a whisper. “He did that,” she said. “Got his money out of his pocket and said, ‘Go buy yourself some nice things.’ He did that so much. Later, he’d throw the money at me and say he couldn’t afford to have a wife that looked like a vagrant.”

Preacher sat on the floor right next to her. “Did you hear what I said? I didn’t say anything like that, did I? I said, you have to be careful, don’t use your charge card.”

“I heard you,” she said in a whisper. “Did I tell you I married him because my legs hurt?”

“You haven’t said anything about him,” Preacher said. “Nothing at all. That’s okay—you don’t have to say anything unless you want to.”

“I was a beautician. Hair, I did hair. Sometimes twelve-hour days because the pay was so low. We really worked hard. I never had enough for the rent and my roommates and I lived in a real dump. I loved it, but I was tired, broke. Sore. My legs hurt,” she said again. “I knew he was bad for me, my friends hated him, and I married him because he said I didn’t have to work anymore.” She started to laugh and cry together. “Because I didn’t have anything. Because I had nothing…”

“Guys like that know just what to use for bait,” he said. “They have a sense for it.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I read about it.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. You got tricked.”

“I have nothing again,” she said. “A little suitcase, a car with stolen license plates on it, a child and one on the way…”

“You have everything,” he said. “A car with stolen license plates, a son, a baby on the way, friends…”

“I had friends before,” she whispered. “They were scared of him. He ran them off and I lost them forever.”

“Do I look like the kind of friend he can scare? Run off?” He pulled her gently onto his lap and she rested her head against his chest.

“I don’t know why I stay so crazy,” she said softly. “He’s not anywhere near. He’ll never guess this place. But I’m still scared.”

“Yeah, that happens.”

“You’re never scared,” she said.

He chuckled softly, stroked her back. He was scared of a bunch of things, number one being the day she got these problems managed and left with Christopher. “That’s what you think,” he said. “In the Marines, they used to say everyone’s afraid, so you have to learn to use fear to your advantage. Man, if you ever figure out how you do that, let me know. Okay?”

“What did you do when you were scared?” she asked.

“One of two things,” he said. “I’d either pee myself, or I’d get mad.”

She lifted her head off his chest, looked at him and laughed a little.

“That’s a girl,” he said, wiping off her cheeks. “I think you need to get out of Virgin River a little bit. But you’re probably in no shape to go shopping today.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I made a scene.”

“It’s a little country bar, Paige. We live for those.” He grinned. Then he sobered. “They also used to say, stare it in the face—fake brave. They taught us to look mean.”

She shuddered.

“Never mind all that. Tomorrow I’ll go for supplies instead of Jack. He can get lunch for once. I’ll take you and Chris, get you out of town for a break. You can pick up a few things, if you want to. I’m not buying you anything, though. I’ll use the bar charge card so we can get our annual perks, you save your receipts and catch me up later, after a payday or two.” He touched her nose. “Chris is running around naked. Suggests a wardrobe problem.”

Jack had backed out of the kitchen slowly when Preacher asked for a moment. As slowly as he could, because something major was happening and he was curious. When he got back to the bar, Mel was waiting, up on a stool. “What’s up?” she asked.

Jack put a finger to his lips, shushing her. “Something’s going on,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” she asked, none the wiser.

Jack stuck his head back close to the door. Eavesdropping.

“Jack!” she scolded in a furious whisper.

He put a finger to his lips again. Then with a frown on his face, he went behind the bar and glared down at his pretty young wife. “Paige is having a breakdown in there….”

“Oh? Does Preacher need help?”

Jack shook his head. “He asked me to step out. I heard a couple of things, purely by accident.”

“I saw…”

“She has a car with stolen license plates?”

Mel sat suddenly straight, eyes wide. “No kidding?” she asked. “I guess I better check mine, see if they’re still mine.” Then she smiled cutely.

“And there’s a baby coming?”

“Really?” she asked.

“You’re not fooling me,” he said. “You know things.”

Mel made a face at him, as if to say, Duh. Of course I know things. Patient things. She might have shared Paige’s bruises with him, so he could be prepared for anything and help protect her, but she wasn’t a bigmouth. She got off the bar stool and went to the swinging door to the kitchen. She peeked; Preacher was sitting on the floor, gently rocking Paige on his lap. Ah, that was probably exactly what she needed at the moment. Better than a sedative.