Temptation Ridge (Page 35)

“This will be my room, at the top of the stairs,” she said. “I bought a bunch of quilts, but I bought them from a real quilter, so I’m only cheating a little bit. And throw pillows in petit point—actual antiques. I’ve been collecting them for years. I have a new floral-print duvet and matching sheets—I bought ten extra top sheets. Instead of wallpaper in here, I’m gluing sheets to a couple of walls. And I have old pictures of my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents to hang on the staircase wall. We have some Native Americans way back in the family tree and, remarkably, have some pictures of them. I also have a couple of old country watercolors I picked up years ago and took special care to preserve for this moment.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “This is not how a woman nominated for Oscars is supposed to want to live.”

“Phooey. There’s a lot more to me than Oscars. Though I have to admit, it really pisses me off that I never got one.” She smiled up at him and put her arms around his waist. “I’ve had some special pieces of furniture in storage. The movers are coming tomorrow. Will you stay with me when the bed’s made up?”

“I will gladly stay with you in your flowery bedroom. And if I ever get rid of my houseful of offspring, you will stay with me in my bold and manly master bedroom with convenient master bath and big doorless shower.”

“I will.” She grinned.

“Muriel, this house… It’s beyond my wildest expectations. You’re gifted. Your talent is unsurpassed. I just can’t express how impressed I am. And proud. I’m just so proud of you.”

“Thank you. I’m proud of me, too. We should have a drink and cigar.”

“I’d never have thought to bring cigars,” he said.

“Not to worry. I bought us a bottle of Pinch and box of cigars. I’ll leave all the lights on in the house. We’ll sit on the bunkhouse porch, freeze to death, have a scotch and a Cuban and stare at the house. Is that brownish-lavender porch the best?”

“Cubans? You have Cubans?”

“I do. You don’t think Mike V. will arrest me, do you?”

“If he finds out, it’ll be tough to keep the local marines off your porch.”

She chuckled. “I want to have a housewarming after the furniture is in and pictures hung. Do you think anyone would come?”

He frowned. “You’re Muriel St. Claire. I think the whole town will come.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “That would be so wonderful.” Then her brow wrinkled as she thought it over. “What will I do for food?”

Luke and Shelby fell into the nice little pattern of new lovers, with Shelby sleeping over almost every night. Then she would start her day real early, going first to Walt’s stable to help with the horses, maybe have a ride and breakfast with him, shower and grab a change of clothes. Next she’d go to town where her main industry was keeping Mel’s professional life manageable. She helped in the clinic, sorted and filed, watched the kids. Luke marveled at her energy, her industry.

Luke and Art worked together on the cabins every day and Luke took great pride in the fact that Art was quite functional. He wasn’t a gourmet cook, but he could warm a nourishing dinner in the microwave a few nights a week, eating with Luke and Shelby the other nights. He showered and shaved daily, took good care of his teeth, laundered his clothes, fixed his bed every morning. Luke had stocked his cupboards with decent food and nontoxic cleaning supplies. Art had fruit to add to his breakfast and lunch. He kept his bathroom and little kitchen spotless with spray cleaner.

Art was absolutely competent to live on his own, as long as he had someone trustworthy nearby in case he needed advice or ran into a problem, or maybe to remind him of things like, “Time to wash the sheets and towels, Art.” Luke told him that when the cabins were finished, Art could be the custodian. He’d make sure the trash was handled, that things were tidy, and they’d work together on upkeep, cleaning, yard maintenance, whatever needed fixing or painting.

“Do you miss your old friends at the group home?” Luke asked him.

He shrugged. “I miss Netta and Payne,” he said. “I miss my mom.” Then he smiled. “But I like it here by the river. I like my own house where I don’t have to sign up to use the washer.”

“You’re doing a great job for me, Art. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Luke,” he said, beaming proudly.

At the end of her day, Shelby would either meet Luke at Jack’s or pick up dinner and go straight to his house. They were together every day. They were outed. They were a couple and everyone in town knew it.

This was something Luke hadn’t thought about, this couple status. But the price of holding her through the night was this public recognition. People were nice enough not to make too many invasive comments, though there were lots of jokes about the water in Virgin River. It seemed plenty of men had made their way to the little town looking for peace and quiet, maybe some hunting and fishing, and found themselves tethered to a woman. Luke was able to chuckle and ignore them because it gave him strange satisfaction to be connected to her in this way; he was oddly content to be able to put his arm around her in public, to not worry about being caught kissing on the porch. Shelby had him so loose and relaxed, he wasn’t likely to complain.

When it was obvious to the whole town that Luke and Shelby were together, it was time to bring Art out of the closet, introduce him around, give him a chance to make friends, even if they were only casual friends. Art had been out at the cabins less than two months and of all the residents of Virgin River, only Shelby and Paul had seen him, knew about him. They’d been cooperative about staying quiet while Luke had been paying attention to newspapers, radio and TV to see if Art was being looked for. There didn’t seem to be any missing persons bulletins.

Art already loved Shelby. If she had a short day at the clinic and the weather was nice, she would ride over to the cabins with Plenty in tow and put Art on the horse. He was like a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound ten-year-old and the guy’s sheer thrill with it made Luke laugh until he had to turn away to not offend. Luke started to take Art to the bar once in a while to buy him a cold drink, maybe dinner with Shelby. It held positively no surprise that he was accepted very kindly.

It was seeing Art on that horse that prompted Luke to buy some fishing gear for the man, an inexpensive rod and reel he could keep in his cabin. He taught Art to drop a line first. Casting was more of a challenge, but Art loved learning new things. The river was close enough for Art to get in a little fishing when he wasn’t working. He took to it right away. It made Luke happy to see the big guy wander down to the river on his own, independent and content.

There was a small town party out at Muriel St. Claire’s house that Luke, Shelby and Art attended together. It was newly remodeled, or as the general insisted on pointing out, restored. Indeed, it looked like a brand-new hundred-year-old house. Even the pictures, which she insisted were of family members, were antique. The oldest were tintypes. Besides a modern sectional and chair, everything was vintage, even the huge, antique wardrobe that concealed her TV and stereo equipment.

Luke was astonished by the work she’d done, impressed, but some of the townfolk, especially the women, were looking for something a lot more Hollywood. Most of them already had all that old stuff—it had been passed down from generation to generation and they took it for granted. Of course, their old stuff hadn’t been pampered and restored like Muriel’s, but they were small-town folk and lusted after more modern furnishings. What they wanted to know was, had she dated Clint Eastwood or Jack Nicholson? When she replied she hardly knew them, though she’d been in films with them, they seemed disappointed in her. For a movie star, she wasn’t all that provocative.

At least a hundred people wandered through her open house and she beamed every time surprise was expressed that she would prefer this old farmhouse to a big marble palace in Hollywood.

Life was exactly as he liked it. Being a man, he wasted no time thinking deeply about it; feelings weren’t exactly something men spent a lot of time pondering. All he wanted was for nothing to change.

To that end, he called his mother and explained that he wouldn’t be able to come to Phoenix for Thanksgiving. It turned out it would only be Sean this year anyway; Colin was in Iraq, Paddy out to sea and Aiden was pulling call at the hospital over Thanksgiving to get Christmas off. His mother was disappointed; she hadn’t seen him since August. So he told her about Art. Of course, Maureen Riordan told Luke to bring Art with him. “I don’t think I can do that, Mother,” Luke said. “He’s on the run from a group home because someone abused him. I’m pretty sure I’m not breaking the law by giving him shelter, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to take him out of state. At least not until I’ve had a chance to get his situation sorted out a little, which is going to take some investigating and probably legal help. It’s just one Thanksgiving. I’ll probably see you at Christmas. Be a big girl. Don’t nag.”

“I don’t nag,” she said.

“Oh, you nag.” He laughed. “There’s no mercy in it.”

“I don’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving,” she said.

“I’ll be fine, Mother. Don’t worry.”

But Luke wasn’t going to be alone. He was going to the general’s house, and he was bringing Art. The invitation had come through Shelby and he recognized right away that it was mandatory. He’d rather not get any more enmeshed with the family, but it was impossible to avoid. When it came to living in a place like Virgin River, you were enmeshed the day you hit town. It was all right—a holiday dinner wasn’t too much to ask. Art was welcome and Luke happened to like the general and the Haggertys. He couldn’t deny that if Shelby had been his young cousin or niece, he might feel just as protective as they did, yet they’d managed to act as though they respected her choice and treated him fine.

Just as he was coming to accept it all, Luke’s well-organized life was derailed by a phone call from his brother Sean.

“So, you put in a no-show for the turkey,” Sean said. “What’s up with that? You’re stateside, you’re not that far away….”

“I have things to do here, Sean,” he said. “And I explained to Mother—I can’t leave Art and I can’t take him on a trip.”

“So I heard. And that’s your only reason?”

“What else?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, as if he did know what else. “Well then, you’ll be real happy to hear this—I’m bringing Mother to Virgin River for Thanksgiving.”

Luke was dead silent for a moment. “What!” Luke nearly shouted into the phone. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you won’t come to Phoenix. And she’d like to see this property you’re working on. And the helper. And the girl.”

“You aren’t doing this to me,” Luke said in a threatening tone. “Tell me you aren’t doing this to me!”

“Yeah, since you can’t make it to Mom’s, we’re coming to you. I thought that would make you sooo happy,” he added with a chuckle in his voice.

“Oh God,” he said. “I don’t have room for you. There’s not a hotel in town.”

“You lying sack of shit. You have room. You have two extra bedrooms and six cabins you’ve been working on for three months. But if it turns out you’re telling the truth, there’s a motel in Fortuna that has some room. As long as Mom has the good bed in the house, clean sheets and no rats, everything will be fine.”

“Good. You come,” Luke said. “And then I’m going to kill you.”