A Virgin River Christmas

“All right,” she said. “But when you ask him, will you please tell him I have eighty dollars I can give him? For anything I eat or drink?”



Mel smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”



“And can I ask a favor?”



“Sure. Ask away.”



“Any chance you have an older sister?”



“I certainly do.”



“Well, so do I—Erin Elizabeth. Our mother died when I was only four and our dad when I was fifteen. Erin’s seven years older and took complete responsibility for my younger brother and me. She’s a good person, if a little on the bossy side. She was adamantly opposed to me looking for Ian by myself. In the end there wasn’t much she could do to stop me—I am an adult, though she might argue that. Our compromise was that I check in every couple of days and, believe me, she’s more than ready for me to call off the hunt. Erin doesn’t mean to be, but she’s controlling. Sometimes a little hard to take…”



“Well, I have an older sister who can fill that bill. And heavens, you saw Jack!”



Marcie smiled. “I saw. Yes, I suppose you can relate. I need someone to call Erin, tell her that I found Ian, that I’m safe and sound and staying with him for a little while. If you could just explain he has no phone, so I’ll call her the next time I’m in town, it might give her a little peace of mind.”



“Is that the extent of your family?” Mel asked.



“Yes,” she said. “Me and Erin and our brother, Drew. But I also have my late husband’s family and there are a million of them. Just because he’s gone now, they won’t ever give me up. I’m far from alone, believe me. If I write down the number, will you call for me?”



“Provided Ian goes along with your idea, I’ll be glad to,” Mel said.



“We don’t have to tell her I got sick. Do we?”



“Oh, Marcie, I don’t like stretching the truth,” Mel said.



“Well—you don’t tell patient business. And you do think I’ll be just fine, don’t you?”



Mel made a face and shook her head. “Is this the way you’ve been getting around your sister?”



“You have to think fast around Erin. She’s brilliant.”



“Bottoms up,” Doc said, tapping the air bubbles out of a syringe. “I’ll give you some decongestant and cough medicine and beyond that, it’s just rest, juice, water, light meals—broth would be good for a day or so. Listen to your body and rest when you’re tired. A lot of sleep and fluids almost always kicks this sucker fast. No wood chopping or washing clothes in the creek. You’ll come around pretty quick, I bet.”



“But I can use the outdoor rather than the chamber pot, even though it’s cold?”



“Of course. Cold doesn’t make you sick, it makes you cold. Bundle up anyway, and make it quick.”



“You probably don’t have to recommend that…Have you ever felt the seat of an outhouse in December?” she asked.



“Girl, I had to get trained in how to flush when I was a young man,” Doc said. “Gets you down to business real quick, now, doesn’t it?”



“Marcie, if you need us, send Ian. I’ll come and get you—no questions asked,” Mel said.



“Thank you, that’s sweet.”



“Good luck.”



Ian was pacing in front of the Hummer when Mel and Doc came out of the cabin. Mel paused to speak with Ian, as she had said she would. She took note of how ragged he was, how unkempt. His clothes were old and worn, his beard overgrown, but then most hardworking ranchers, farmers and loggers wouldn’t be wearing their best duds on a workday. She was used to seeing this type of wardrobe out here, and it didn’t always imply poverty. He didn’t smell bad, she found herself thinking. She had spied the tub in the room; he kept himself and his cabin clean and he certainly wasn’t thin. He was plenty well-nourished, a big man.



Doc made fast tracks to the Humvee and placed himself behind the wheel. She made a face.



“He sure can move when he wants to be the driver, despite all that arthritis,” she said. “Mr. Buchanan, you were absolutely right—Marcie has the flu. She’s going to need to rest, drink plenty of fluids and she probably won’t feel well for at least a couple of days—maybe closer to a week, depending on how quickly she bounces back after some rest and medicine. Now, I offered to take her back to town and put her up at Doc’s, but she’d rather stay here. The question is—are you willing? It’s not as though you have to do that much for her—Doc cleared her for use of the outdoor facilities as long as she dresses warm. She doesn’t need much attention, but it’s your home.”



“She wants to stay?” he asked, eyebrows arched. “Here?”



“She said that, yes. She also said to tell you she has eighty dollars for her food.”



“Lord,” he said, shaking his head. “If she wants to stay, she can stay. I can’t see why she’d want to. It’s not like I’m good company.”



“I think she’s very grateful for how well you’ve tended her so far. Maybe there are other reasons, but she didn’t share them. But just so we’re clear—I can come and get her anytime and we have a couple of hospital beds at the clinic. It’s your decision. If it becomes a burden, you can let me know.”



“I’ll do my best. I bought some broth. Juice. A half chicken for soup that should go at least twice.”



“Good idea. I swear by chicken soup. I guess you’re on top of this. Is there anything else I can do for you?”



“Did you give her medicine?”



“Doc gave her a shot of antibiotic that probably won’t perform any miracles, it being a viral flu. And he left her some pills and cough medicine. It’s really tincture of time. The flu will do what it will do—sometimes it’s a quick cure, sometimes it hangs on. Luckily, she’s young and healthy. Try not to catch it, will you?”



He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket and Mel, who had worked with Doc in these mountains for a while now, suspected that would be the whole of his fiduciary world. Most rural people way out here didn’t deal with credit cards or checks; for many it was a cash existence. That wad of money would have to cover everything in his life, from fuel to food, for quite a while. “What do I owe you?” he asked.



“Well, let’s see. I’m thinking ten for the shot and another ten for the pills and cough medicine.”



“And for the house call?”



“Five for gas?” she said, by way of a question.



“And that’s it?” he asked. “You cutting me some kind of break here? She give you money or something?”



Mel smiled. “No money from the patient. We’re not exactly trading on the exchange yet. This isn’t big business, it’s just country medicine—clean and simple. It’s important to break even whenever we can—helps us out in the long run.”



“What would you charge me if I lived in a big house and drove a hot car?” he asked.



“We’d bill the insurance and take them for a ride,” she answered easily. Then she grinned at him.



He laughed in spite of himself. Old Doc didn’t have himself a pretty young nurse or Hummer when Raleigh was sick and dying, but he always said, “You’re eighty-eight and sick as a damn dog—I’m not taking all your money and leaving you nothing for a burial.” Ian pulled off three tens and gave them to her. “You eating all right at your house? I’m not shorting you?”



“I’m covered—I very cleverly married the guy in town who owns the bar and grill. I’m eating way better than I should. And by that belly on Doc, he’s living well enough, too. But thanks. It’s appreciated. I’ll put the extra toward someone in trouble, I promise.”



“That’s good,” he said. “I got a lot to make up for.”



She put out her hand. “I bet not as much as you think.” He shook the small hand and she hurried to the car and was gone.



When Ian finally came back inside, he didn’t say a word. He fed the fire again, took off his jacket and went to what passed for his kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands with soap and cold water. Next he pumped a pan full of water and set it on his little propane stove, unwrapped a half a chicken and plopped it in the water. He cut up an onion and some celery and put it in the pot. Then he put his jacket back on and went outside where she could hear the thumping that went along with loading wood into the truck. Whistling came eventually, but there didn’t seem to be any singing today. She hoped she hadn’t driven the music out of him.



The singing was a complete surprise. Bobby never mentioned it and it certainly hadn’t come up in their few exchanged letters. But then would a big tough marine serenade his troops? Would he tell a soldier’s wife that he loved to sing and had an angel’s voice?



Her joints ached and she was feeling warm again, so she rolled over and let herself go back to sleep. She was vaguely aware that Ian was in and out of the cabin. She drifted. Now and then, she could hear the wood chopping, whistling, thunking of firewood into the truck bed.



She had no idea how long she’d slept, when she roused to the most pleasant smell. She rolled over to find the room dim, just the glow from the woodstove and a naked lightbulb hanging over the kitchen table. The sun had set and the big pot was steaming on the little stove. He was sitting at the table under that single light, looking down. She noticed that the things from her car—her sleeping bag, duffel, backpack and purse—were stacked at the end of the sofa. And he had changed clothes; he wore gray sweatpants and a navy blue T-shirt and socks. His former pants, shirt and jacket were draped over his trunk, near a stack of books piled on the floor.



She rose on her elbows. “What are you doing?” she asked him.



He flipped a book closed and looked up. “Just reading. You about ready for a little trip to the, ah, ladies’ room?”



She sat up and flipped her legs over the edge of the couch. “As a matter of fact,” she said, standing. That flannel shirt of his came nearly to her knees. She wobbled a little and it brought him instantly to his feet. She sat back down quickly. “Would you mind…handing me my jeans and boots?”



“Sure,” he said, pulling them off the chair and carrying them to her. The minute they were in hand, he went about the business of pulling on his own boots and jacket, his back toward her. “You need any help?” he asked, not facing her.



“I’m okay,” she said. First the jeans came up, then she sat again and pulled on her boots without socks. “Do I have a jacket around here somewhere?”



He fetched the down vest from the same chair back and held it for her.



“I’ll just be a minute—”



But he wasn’t having it. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the door. “I don’t think you’re all that strong. Probably just being asleep for so long and all. But I don’t want to have to lift you up off the ground or anything. Let’s not take any chances.”



They were halfway across the yard to the outhouse when she said, “You let me stay.”



“It’s what you said you wanted, according to the nurse. Even if I can’t figure out why.”



“You like me,” she said, petting his thick, red beard. She put her head against his shoulder, arms about his neck. “Try to deny it.” And then she coughed, most unattractively.



He turned his face away from her germs and grunted. Stopping in front of the outhouse door, he set her gently on her feet. She entered and, a moment later, was out again. “I’ll walk, I think. If you don’t mind.”



“Don’t fall. It’s tougher to pick you up from the ground than from a standing position. Grab my arm if you need to.” Their feet crunched on the frozen ground as they headed back to the cabin. “Sorry I don’t have an indoor for you. Especially with you being sick.”