Robyn Carr - A Virgin River Christmas

She smiled, though weakly. “Aw, Ian, you care.”

He snarled at her, baring his teeth like an animal.

She laughed a little, which turned into a cough. “You get a lot of mileage out of that? The roars and growls, like you’re about to tear a person to pieces with your teeth?”

He looked away.

“Must keep people back pretty good. Your old neighbor said you were crazy. You howl at the moon and everything?”

“How about you don’t press your luck,” he said as meanly as he could. “You need more tea?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll nap. I don’t want to be any trouble, but I’m awful tired.”

He went to her and took the cup out of her hand. “If you didn’t want to be any trouble, why didn’t you just leave me the hell alone?”

“Gee, I just had this wild urge to find an old friend …” She lay back on the couch, pulling that soft quilt around her. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I sell firewood out of the back of my truck.” He went to his metal box, which was nailed to the floor from the inside so it couldn’t be stolen if someone happened by his cabin, which was unlikely. He unlocked it and took out a roll of bills he kept in there and put it in his pocket, then relocked it. “First snowfall of winter—should be a good day. Maybe I’ll get back early, but no matter what, I want you here until I say you go. You get that?”

“Listen, if I’m here, it’s because it’s where I want to be, and you better get that . I’m the one who came looking for you, so don’t get the idea you’re going to bully me around and scare me. If I wasn’t so damn tired, I might leave—just to piss you off. But I get the idea you like being pissed off.”

He stood and got into his jacket, pulled gloves out of the pockets. “I guess we understand each other as well as we can.”

“Wait—it’s not even light!”

“I start before light. I have to load the truck.”

And he was gone.

Marcie reclined on the couch and closed her eyes. At first she heard the heavy thumping of logs being stacked in the back of the truck. Then she heard some soft whistling while she dozed off. Very pretty whistling with a distinct melody. She wasn’t sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes the cabin was dimly lit with the first rays of dawn and she heard … singing . A beautiful male baritone. She couldn’t hear the words, but it was him and it took her breath away.

And she knew something. If you’re angry and in pain, you can’t sing. Can’t.

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