Robyn Carr - A Virgin River Christmas

Dressed again, he fed the woodstove and put a kettle of water on the cookstove.

Inside his one-room house was a couch, a table and two chairs, the clawfoot tub, the woodstove and a Coleman cookstove that ran on propane gas on the counter by the sink. There was a thick, rolled pallet he slept on and a stack of dry wood beside the woodstove. He had a few cupboards and a sink with a pump. There were two large trunks and a small metal box in which he kept his possessions and few valuables. Leaning in the corners were fishing gear and two rifles of the caliber to hunt game on the land that had become his. He had a stack of six books from the library; every two weeks he went to the public library using the card that had belonged to old Raleigh, the man who had lived here before him and died here, leaving a letter saying Ian could have the property.

He checked Marcie again. She was all right, sleeping soundly. So he took his trip to the outhouse and he made it real fast.

Ordinarily he’d be asleep long before now, there being little else to do. But instead, he sat in a chair at the table and opened the book he was currently reading. When the kettle whistled, he turned off the flame and checked on her. She was warmer and breathing regularly, so he read a while longer. Then he recharged the kettle, checked her again and found her the same.

That hair … It was everywhere on the couch pillow, thick and springy. If he didn’t have so much beard of his own, he could have enjoyed the feel of it against his face. He bunched some of it up in his hand and it was soft and thick. He couldn’t help but think of that girl, all of twenty-three and already a wife of four years, tending to a man who was nothing but flesh and bone. God, what kind of life must that have been?

Several more times, he reheated the water for hot tea, read, checked her. And then he heard a snuffling on the couch. A dry cough. He looked at his watch—a ten-dollar thing that had run for four years—and saw it was almost four o’clock. He went and knelt beside the couch. “You gonna wake up?”

She lazily opened her eyes and jolted awake, scooting up on her elbows. “What? What?”

“Easy. It’s okay. Sort of.”

She blinked a few times and then her eyes were wide. “Where am I?”

“I brought you inside. I had to. You were on your way to freezing to death. You must not have a brain in your head.”

She squinted at him, pursing her lips. “Oh—I have a brain. I’m just not real experienced in mountain life.” She struggled to sit up. “Gee, if I’d known you got your eyebrow back and grew your beard in red, I might’ve found you sooner. I’ll get out of your hair, which I notice, you have plenty of.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, putting a big hand against her sternum, holding her down. “You’re stuck—and so am I.”

“No problem,” she said. “I sleep in the car every night. I have a good sleeping bag …”

“Did you hear me? You were passed out on your way back from the john, covered with snow and damn near frozen to death. You wanted to see me, you’re going to get your wish.”

Her eyes widened suddenly. “I’m … ah … naked under here?”

“You’re not naked. You have underwear. I had to get your wet clothes off you. That or just let you die. It wasn’t an easy decision,” he lied.

“You undressed me and wrapped me in this quilt?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” he said. And felt your small, soft body against mine for an hour, the first female body that’s been against mine in five years . Until tonight, he hadn’t thought he missed that feeling. “What happened out there? How’d you end up in the doorway of the john like that?”

“I don’t have the first idea. I was so glad there was an outhouse for once and I wouldn’t have to squat behind a bush. I was going to make it quick, but I was so tired I could hardly move, and that’s the last thing I remember till I woke up.” She coughed. “I didn’t think I was so tired I’d fall asleep on the way.”

“You didn’t fall asleep,” he said. “You lost consciousness. Hypothermia. Like I said—half frozen.”

“Hmm. Well, I have to pee now,” she said. “And I’m feeling really, really hot in here.”

So, she’d been half-frozen before she made the trek out of her VW He stared at her for a minute, then went over by the stove where he had her wet clothes draped over one of his two chairs to dry out. He felt them, then he went to one of the two trunks, opened it and pulled out a flannel shirt of his own. He took it to her and said, “Here, just put this on.” Next he reached behind the woodstove and picked up a navy blue porcelain pot with white dots that was probably fifty years old if it was a day. When he turned back to her, she was sitting up and buttoning the flannel shirt. “Use this.”

“For what?”

“To pee in.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe, if you’ll give me my jeans and boots, I’ll just step outside …” Then she coughed again, several times.

“No, you can’t do that. And you better not get sick. I don’t have time to deal with a sick person.”

“I’m not sick, just a little dry in the throat. I could use a drink of water, but not until I take a trip out to the—”

“Let’s be clear,” Ian said gruffly. “I’m not letting you back outside. Not for a few more hours at least.” The kettle whistled. He shut off the propane stove and shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll step outside. You do your thing. Then you’ll have a cup of tea and go back to sleep.”

She just stared up at him with eyes that were dull green and very wide. She wiggled a little in discomfort. “Do you have any … tissue?”

He sighed deeply, letting his eyes fall closed impatiently. After handing her the pot, he went to one of his cupboards and pulled out a new roll of toilet tissue. Then he went out the door, hoping it wouldn’t take her very long to do her business. He shivered out there for five minutes and then he tentatively knocked on his own front door. He was answered by a round of hard coughing and he didn’t wait for further invitation.

She was leaning back on the couch looking flushed, her skinny bare legs sticking out from beneath the huge shirt, holding the pan possessively on her lap. She looked up at him and said, “What should I do with this?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. She didn’t move. “Let me have it now.” Reluctantly, she gave it up. “I’ll be right back.” And again he left her, this time to pour the contents down the outhouse hole. And as he was returning he thought, she’s sick. No question about it. She’s been sleeping in her damn car—who knew for how long?—and got weakened. She must have had a bug in her that was ready to strike, and that bad chill just added to her troubles.

He said nothing as he came in the cabin. He put the pot back behind the stove for her use if she needed it. He washed his hands, made her a cup of tea, and while it steeped, he poured a cup of water and brought her three aspirins.

“Huh?” she said. “What’s this?”

“I think you have a fever. Might be from damn near freezing to death, might be from something else. First we try aspirin.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking them in her small hand. “Thanks.”

While Marcie took the aspirin with water, he fixed up the tea. They traded, water cup for mug of tea. He stayed across the room at his table while she sipped the tea. When she was almost done, he said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I have to work this morning. I’ll be gone till noon or so—depends how long it takes. When I get back, you’re going to be here. After we’re sure you’re not sick, then you’ll go. But not till I tell you it’s time to go. I want you to sleep. Rest. Use the pot, don’t go outside. I don’t want to stretch this out. And I don’t want to have to go looking for you to make sure you’re all right. You understand?”