Bring Me Home for Christmas
Page 15

“Oh, brother,” she said, sipping her beer.
“Tomorrow morning, we have to stay out of the way so Preacher can concentrate on cooking. Big holiday dinners get him all revved up,” Denny said. “So, after breakfast we’re going out to the river for a little while, do a little more fishing. We’ll take you with us. You can stay in the truck with a thermos of hot cocoa or something.”
“That’s okay. I can borrow a book from Paige and just stay in your room….”
He grinned at her. “You should come, Becca. It’s fun to watch. And Jack says a lot of men are told to get out of the house on Thanksgiving morning so their wives can cook. The river could be full of action.”
“Well…”
“You’ll come. It’s settled.”
They ate beef-and-barley soup with soft, warm bread and apple pie for dinner. Then Becca did borrow that book, but only for something to read before sleep. Jack and Preacher closed up a little early, but Denny had his own set of keys and after getting Becca safely up the stairs to his apartment, he went back to the bar for some cards with his boys. Becca didn’t feel the least bit left out. If there was anything that seemed less intriguing than watching men fish, it was watching them play poker. What she hadn’t been prepared for was how much the kids had worn her out. Before this broken ankle, she could match the little ones for energy, but she was asleep before turning a half dozen pages on her borrowed paperback.
She had no idea when Denny returned to the room, but the sun was lighting the sky when he woke her.
“I made some coffee,” he said. “You can take your time getting dressed. I have to run out to the Riordan cabins to pick up the boys for breakfast.”
“Huh?” she asked, sitting up a little.
He ran a hand over the top of his head. “Preacher took ’em all out to the cabins. Your brother bunked in with them so Preacher wouldn’t have to drive all over the mountains. Fortunately, I could walk home.”
“But why did Preacher have to drive…”
“There was some serious drinking going on.”
She sat up in bed. “But couldn’t you have driven them?” she stupidly asked.
“No. We were pretty much equally drunk. Now we can check that one off—Got Drunk With Friends. I have a headache.”
“And you want to go fishing?”
“Don’t want to so much as have to. You never let a stupid night interrupt your plans for the next day. He who gives in is wearing panties…”
She put her hand over her mouth but giggled just the same.
“Enjoy your coffee, get dressed, and I’ll come back for you.”
“Sure,” she said. But what she thought was, I’ll get myself down the stairs! She took a brief sponge bath, promising herself a legitimate grooming before sitting down to the turkey dinner later. Then she dressed warmly and made her way down the street to the bar, beating Denny and the boys there. When she got inside, she saw only a few men, who appeared to be finishing their breakfast, and Preacher, who was behind the bar. “Morning,” she said. “I heard you were commissioned to drive late last night.”
“Wasn’t all that late,” he said with a shrug. “They’re young candy-asses. Don’t know anything about pacing themselves.” Then he actually smiled and Becca realized for the first time that a smile was unusual for this big man unless something amused him a great deal.
“Not very busy this morning?”
“Not on Thanksgiving. We stay open regular hours, but there isn’t usually much business. Anyone who wanders in here after two in the afternoon is forced to join us for turkey. No one pays or leaves my bar hungry on this day.”
She smiled at him. “That doesn’t surprise me. Where’s Jack?”
“He’ll come in a little later. The kids will nap and play in my house while we’re getting ready for a big crowd out here.”
“Do you need me to help?” she asked.
Again the smile. “No, Becca. I think I need you to have some breakfast. I hear you’re going out to the river with them.”
“Denny insists.”
“You won’t regret it. Let me bring you something to eat. Eggs, just about any way you want. Cereal. Toast. Bacon. I’m not making pancakes today….”
“A couple of eggs, scrambled, bacon, toast. And thank you.”
Before her breakfast was even delivered, the guys—minus Denny—came in, seemingly none the worse for their night of drinking. They were scruffy as hell; apparently no one thought it prudent to clean up before getting in the river. It made sense on a practical level, but she wrinkled her nose at her brother.
“What?” Rich said.
“After fishing, before Thanksgiving dinner, give yourself a good once-over, please.”
“See, this is the trouble with having girls on a fishing-hunting trip,” Rich complained.
Preacher was just delivering Becca’s eggs. “There will be women at the table today,” he said. “Do exactly what she says. Smell lots better. Eggs?” he asked them.
“Thanks,” came three replies.
Then Denny burst through the door. He saw Becca sitting at the bar, eating her breakfast, and let out his breath. “You did it again,” he said.
She nodded, chewing a mouthful of eggs. “On my butt. Perfectly safe. Have some breakfast.”
He leaned close to her. “I wish you’d just let me help.”
“I will,” she said softly. “When I need something, I’ll ask.”
Eight
When they got to the river, Becca was completely surprised by how engrossing she found the whole experience. There were seven men already standing along the river, waders held up by suspenders. They didn’t acknowledge the newcomers at first, but eventually each one gave a rather solemn nod toward them. They were completely absorbed in their sport. Their art.
Fly-fishing was a beautiful thing to watch. Their lines soared in arcs and S shapes, in high curves or powerful torpedo-like shots over the water. As they plied their lines and multicolored flies, salmon fled upstream, sometimes clearing the water, sometimes jumping up small waterfalls. She saw a couple as they were caught, good-size fish.
But that wasn’t the only thing that enchanted her. The wide river as it flowed between towering pines backed by rising mountains… It was stunning. The landscape appeared both dangerous and breathtaking. The river was awesome in its beauty and the trees were enormous. The sounds were enthralling; all she could hear was the whirring of reels, rushing of the river and splashing of fish. Large fish.
Of the four young Marines, Denny was the best at this art. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Not only his mastery fascinated her, but his physique and confidence. She hadn’t remembered him well enough, she decided. Either that, or he’d grown much taller and broader. And this skill with the rod and reel—he’d never mentioned fly-fishing when they were together. This must have come from Jack, the man who was almost his father.
He was so beautiful. So at home up to his knees in water, sending those colorful flies over the river. She loved watching the play of muscles across his back, in his shoulders. And then there was that perfect booty. Oh, my, that body… That was the body that taught her about sex, that showed her how to have pleasure and how to give it. She shivered.
She stayed mostly in the truck, her leg elevated, but from time to time she couldn’t resist and carefully got out just so she could breathe the air, get the full view, stand closer to the river to hear the sounds. The men were quiet, while the whirring, rushing and occasional splashing provided the background music. They didn’t even shout at a catch but rather made low congratulatory sounds. The man nearest the one with the catch might step closer and offer the net in assist, but that was all. It was a quiet, solitary, peaceful, plentiful sport.
She loved it. She wished she could learn it. If her ankle weren’t broken, she’d be out there trying to master that beautiful cast.
This was what Denny had wanted to share with his friends, and it was worthy. This was magnificent. Rich and lush.
After a few hours on the river, everyone dispersed. She went with Denny. She wouldn’t allow him to lift her up the stairs but she did accept his help. She was afraid that after her full morning of gazing at him, if he carried her she might just lose control and start kissing his neck.
They took their turns in the bathroom, getting cleaned up for dinner. She insisted on showing him her method for getting down. By his expression, she could tell he went along with it grudgingly.
Then the holiday proceeded, so different from her usual experience. Although Becca and Rich each had their own places in San Diego, they spent Thanksgiving at their parents’ house, just the four of them. Dinner at Jack’s was a gathering of friends and neighbors. The TV was turned off, the tables were pushed together and all the little decorations Chris helped to make adorned a long table. Becca not only enjoyed meeting a few couples from town, but she was, unsurprisingly, a magnet to the kids and spent a lot of time reading stories to Mel and Jack’s little ones, as well as Dana. Chris was too old to be read to, of course, but that didn’t keep him from hanging real close.
There were twenty people, including the kids, who sat down to a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Afterward, rather than poker and cigars, Denny and his friends, along with Jack and Preacher, indulged in several cribbage games, while the women sat around the fire and gossiped.
“How do you normally spend the holiday, Becca?” Mel Sheridan asked her.
“At my parents’ house. While the guys have a whole day of football, that’s when my mom and I get a start on our favorite holiday movies—It’s A Wonderful Life and some of the Bing Crosby classics like Holiday Inn. My mom loves Christmas, and so do I. We start celebrating right after Thanksgiving. This year will be so different for them. When my mom found out Rich and I would be out of town, she informed my dad that he was taking her to Cabo, where they’d golf and lounge around the beach. He’s probably recording the football games for later.” She looked at her watch. She’d have to call her mother before Rich went back to San Diego. She dreaded it.
“We’re going to have to do the holiday classics.” Paige said. “It’s been years since I’ve watched some of those great old films. Let’s pick a time to get some of the women together for movies! It’ll get us in the Christmas spirit.”
“I’m in,” Mel said. “Especially if we can get the guys to watch the kids. How about you, Becca?”
“If I’m here,” she said with a shrug.
“How long do you think you’ll stay?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll see what the doctor says next week.”
Mel grinned at her. “I think there’s more to this broken ankle than meets the eye.”
“I beg your pardon, I’ll have you know I have screws in my joint!”
“And an ex-boyfriend in your crosshairs,” Mel said.
“Purely a coincidence. I have a boyfriend. He lives in L.A., but we’ve been exclusive for a year. But if I’m here, I’d love to watch movies with you.”
A bit later, while Mel was gathering up her kids for home and Paige was settling hers into bed, Becca used the phone to leave another message for Doug. “Hope you had a great Thanksgiving, sweetie. We had a town gathering at the bar and, you know what? It was really fun. I’m going to head for bed now and I’ll try you again tomorrow.”
She didn’t even wonder why he wasn’t picking up. She was relieved.
That’s when she began to know the truth about why she came to Virgin River. To find what she’d lost with her first love.
The cutting of the Virgin River Christmas tree was an all-day affair that involved way more spectators than actual woodsmen. First, there was the hunting for the tree—a thirty-foot fir high in the mountains. Becca watched from the truck the entire time. Then there was the cutting down. She would’ve expected that to take seconds, but it took a very long time and involved pulleys and ropes and chain saws. Next came the netting and dragging of the tree along barely visible old logging roads. Only big pickups with four-wheel-drive ventured back into the thickest part of the forest.