Read the book: «Moonlight Road»

Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

ROBYN CARR

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,

it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—

I connected instantly with the characters

and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Robyn Carr creates strong men,

fascinating women and a community you’ll want to

visit again and again. Who could ask for more?”

—New York Times best selling author Sherryl Woods

“A thrilling debut of a series

that promises much to come.”

—New York Times bestselling author Clive Cussler

“A warm wonderful book about women’s

friendships, love and family. I adored it!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

on The House on Olive Street

Moonlight Road
Robyn Carr

http://www.mirabooks.co.uk

For Tonie Crandall, because the world would be a dimmer place without all the love you have in your heart. Thank you for being even more than a friend—thank you for being a sister.

Chapter One

In the two weeks Aiden Riordan had been in Virgin River, he’d hiked over a hundred miles and grown himself a pretty hefty dark red beard. With his jet-black hair and brows and his bright green eyes, this legacy of his ancestors gave him a wild look. His four-year-old niece, Rosie, who sported a full head of red curls to go with her green eyes, had said, “Unca Aid! You’re a Wide Iwish Rose, too!”

For a man without a mission for the first time since he could remember, this lay-back time was working out to his liking. Since undergrad in premed, he hadn’t been without incredibly stiff goals. Now, at age thirty-six, after fourteen years in the navy, he was between jobs, completely unsure where he’d land next, and he felt good about it. Motivation interruptus had turned out to be a delightful state of being. The only thing he was certain of, he wasn’t leaving Virgin River before the middle of summer. His older brother Luke and sister-in-law Shelby were expecting their first child, and he damn sure wasn’t going to miss that. His brother Sean would soon be home from Iraq and planned a short leave before heading with his wife, Franci, and daughter, Rosie, to his next assignment, and Aiden looked forward to a little time with him, as well.

The June sun beat down on him. He wore fatigue pants, hiking boots and a tan T-shirt with salty perspiration rings under the arms. He was wet down his chest and back and smelled pretty ripe. He carried a camouflage backpack for protein bars and water, and strapped to his belt, a machete for clearing any brush that got in his way. He had a ball cap on his head and his black hair had already started to curl out from under the edges. A four-foot-tall walking staff had become his constant companion, and since a chance encounter with a too-confident mountain lion, he now carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. Of course, if he ran into a real cranky bear, he could be toast.

He wandered up a winding dirt road. It looked like it could be someone’s driveway or an abandoned logging road, he was never sure which. He was aiming for a ridge he’d seen from below. At the end of the drive, he came face-to-face with what appeared to be an abandoned cabin. Experience had taught him the difference—if the path to the outhouse facilities was overgrown and it was especially run-down, it was probably vacant. There were no guarantees on that, however. He’d made that assumption once and an old woman had leveled a shotgun at him and ordered him to scram. Now, he gave the place a wide berth and walked through the woods toward the ridge.

Of course, there was no path; he used the machete to chop away some of the overgrowth. He came out of the other side to the most amazing, intoxicating sight. A woman wearing very short khaki shorts was bent over at the edge of her deck, backside pointed right at him. Even given his expertise in that department, he couldn’t tell her exact age, but that was one beautiful booty on top of a couple of magnificent, long, tan legs. By the collection of ceramic pots and a watering can on the deck, he assumed she was potting plants. One flowerpot was balanced on the deck railing above her. She appeared to be digging in the earth, scooping dirt into a big pot.

He did know a couple of things. That butt and those legs belonged to someone under the age of fifty and there didn’t appear to be a shotgun in sight. So, he chopped his way through the trees intending to say a friendly hello.

Still bent over, she looked at him through her legs. A beautiful strawberry blonde, which made him smile. She let out a huge, bloodcurdling scream, straightened abruptly and hit her head on the deck railing, knocking off a ceramic pot, which hit her on the noggin. And down she went. Splat!

“Damn,” he muttered, running toward her as fast as he could. He dropped the machete and staff about halfway there.

She was sprawled facedown, out cold, so he gently rolled her over. She was stunning. Her face was as gorgeous as the rest of her. Her pulse was beating nice and strong in her carotid artery, but her forehead was bleeding. He’d seen the pot hit her in the back of the head, but she must have struck her forehead on the sharp edge of the deck going down, because in the center of that lovely brow, right at her hairline, there was a gash. And it was gushing, as head wounds like to do.

Aiden pulled out his handkerchief, which was, thankfully, clean, and pressed his hand over her cut to stanch the bleeding. She moaned a bit, but didn’t open her eyes. With his thumb, he peeled back her lids one at a time; her pupils were equal and reactive to light, a good sign so far.

While applying pressure to the wound, Aiden shrugged off his backpack, quiver and bow. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the deck and through the French doors that were standing open, into the cabin. “Anybody home?” he called as he walked inside. Since there was no answer, he assumed the woman lived here alone and that the big Lincoln SUV was hers.

The leather sofa looked like a good bet—better than a bed or even what appeared to be a very new and expensive designer area rug and not something she’d want to bleed on. He placed her carefully on the couch, her head slightly elevated.

He looked around. From the outside, the place looked like an ordinary old cabin with new siding and a freshly painted, covered, railed deck with chairs. Inside, it was a richly furnished, very classy showplace.

He gingerly lifted the handkerchief; the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. There was blood on her white T-shirt, however. The first matter at hand was ice, then a bandage of some kind. He was in a large combination living/dining/kitchen area. A table sat in front of the opened French doors out of which he now saw the view he’d been in search of. He’d been so taken with that fine butt, he hadn’t noticed the cabin was built right on the ridge.

Aiden looked around for a phone, but didn’t see one. Then he washed his hands and rummaged through the freezer for ice, which he wrapped in a couple of dish towels—one for the front of her head, one for the back. The dish towels still had price tags on them. He propped her head against one ice pack and laid the other on her forehead. Even the application of cold didn’t rouse her, so off he went in search of a bandage.

The kitchen was on the west end of the cabin, but on the opposite side were two doors. The one on the left led to a good-size bedroom, and on the right, a large bathroom. From the bathroom, the most obvious place to find first-aid supplies, another door connected to the bedroom.

Sure enough, under the sink, he found a blue canvas zipper bag with First Aid emblazoned in white on the canvas. He grabbed it and hurried back to the woman. In his experienced hands, it took only seconds to apply a little antibacterial cream and a butterfly to close the wound, covered by a Band-Aid. He reapplied the ice pack.

The next immediate order of business was getting her to an emergency room for a head CT; the loss of consciousness after a blow to the head could mean trouble. The longer she stayed unconscious, the more it concerned him, but he had moved fast—she hadn’t been out more than a couple of minutes so far. He saw a purse on the kitchen counter and went to rifle through it for a phone, car keys, ID, anything. He unceremoniously dumped the contents and was bent over the counter, sifting through the loose items, when a shriek rent the air. His head came up sharply and he whacked it on the cupboards that hung over the counter. “Ah!” he yelled, grabbing the back of his head. He pinched his eyes closed hard, trying to get a grip through blinding pain.

But she continued to scream.

He turned toward her. She was scooting away from him on the leather couch, screaming her head off, her ice packs spilled to the floor.

“Shut up!” he ordered. She stopped abruptly, her hand covering her mouth. “We’re both going to have brain damage if you don’t stop doing that!”

“Get out of here!” she commanded. “I’ll call the police!”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Great idea. Where’s the phone?” He lifted a cell phone from the things on the counter. “This one has no signal.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you in my house? In my purse?”

He walked toward her, her purse hanging in his hand. “I saw you hit your head. I brought you inside and put ice and a bandage on the wound, but now we have to—”

“You hit me in the head?” she screeched, digging at the sofa with her heels to scoot away again.

“I didn’t hit you—apparently I startled you when I came out of the forest and you jumped. You hit the back of your head on the deck railing and one of your pots fell on your head. I think you got the cut on your forehead when you hit the deck on the way down. Now where’s the phone?”

“Oh God,” she said, her fingers going to the bandage, touching it carefully. “The phone’s going to be installed tomorrow. Along with my satellite dish. So I can have Internet and watch movies.”

“That isn’t going to help much. Listen, it’s a small cut. Head wounds bleed a lot. I doubt it’ll even leave a scar. But losing consciousness is—”

“I’ll give you money if you just won’t hurt me.”

“I bandaged your head, for God’s sake! I’m not going to hurt you and I don’t want money!” He lifted the purse in his hand. “I was looking for your car keys—you need a CAT scan. Maybe a couple of stitches.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice quivering.

He sighed. “Because you lost consciousness—not a good sign. Now, where are your keys?”

“Why?” she asked again.

“I’m going to drive you to the emergency room so you can get your head examined!”

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll drive myself. You can just go now. Right now.”

He took a couple of steps toward her. He crouched so he wouldn’t be looking down at her, but didn’t get too close because he wasn’t sure of her. She appeared to be a bit unstable. Or maybe scared of him. He tried to put himself in her position—she woke up with blood on her shirt, a wild man plowing through her purse. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.

She looked at him doubtfully. “Erin,” she finally said.

“Well, Erin, it isn’t a good idea for you to drive yourself. If you have a serious or even semiserious head injury, you could lose consciousness again, get dizzy or disoriented, get sick, suffer blurred vision, any number of things. Now, try not to be nervous—I’ll take you to the E.R. Once I get you there, you can call a friend or family member. I’ll have someone pick me up.”

“And you think it is a good idea for me to get in a car with some homeless guy?”

He stood up. “I’m not homeless! I was hiking through the woods!”

“Well, then, you’ve been hiking a long time. Because you look like you’ve been living in the woods!”

He crouched again, to get on her level. “Number one—you have to hold the ice packs I made on the front and back of your head. I don’t see how you can do that while you drive. Number two, it’s too risky for you to drive yourself, as I have very patiently explained. And number three, stop being so goddamn prissy and get in the car with a smelly hiker, because your brain could be swelling as we speak and you could be hopelessly disabled for the rest of your pigheaded life! Now, where are the fucking keys?”

She looked over her shoulder. There was a hook by the door; her keys dangled from it. “How do you know that stuff? About brain swelling?”

“I was an EMT in college—a long time ago,” he said, which was the truth. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell her he was a physician. Maybe because he didn’t look like one at the moment. As she had pointed out, he looked like a homeless guy. But there was also the fact that his area of expertise was a long way from the head—and he didn’t feel like getting into that. She was already spooked. Being spooked didn’t stop her from being bossy and bitchy, however. His head hurt, too. And he was fast losing patience with this patient. “Now, let’s gather up your ice and little towels and hit the road.”

“If you turn out to be some kind of homicidal maniac, you’re going to have one pissed-off ghost on your hands,” she threatened as he stooped to gather her ice off the floor. When she stood up, she wobbled slightly. “Whoa.”

He was beside her instantly, arm around her waist, steadying her. “You took a mean knock on the head, kid. This is why you’re not driving.”

He walked her outside, grabbing the keys and slamming the door on the way out. That was the first time he realized that the front of the house faced the road. He had to lift her into the front seat and help her arrange the ice in the dish towels so she could put them against her lumps. He noticed that she wrinkled her nose; okay, so it was obvious—he might’ve generated a little body odor.

“I need my purse,” she said. “My insurance cards and ID.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. “I have to close the doors to the deck anyway.” But he took the car keys with him, for safety reasons. He scraped things off the counter and back into her purse, returned to the car and put the purse in her lap. Then he got in and started driving. “You might have to give me some directions.…I’m not from around here.”

She groaned and dropped her head back. “I’m not from around here, either.”

“Never mind, I can fake it,” he said. “I can find Highway 36 from Virgin River. What are you doing here, if you’re not from around here?”

“Taking a break from work and trying to enjoy solitude,” she answered, exasperation in her voice. “Then Charles Manson came through the trees, carrying a three-foot-long knife, and startled me. So much for peace and quiet.”

“Come on—I let my beard grow, that’s all. I’m on vacation and didn’t feel like shaving, so sue me.”

“As it happens, I could. I’ve been known to sue people on occasion.”

He laughed. “I should’ve known. A lawyer. And by the way, I was carrying the machete for cutting away the brush so I could get through the woods when there’s no path.”

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

“Visiting family. I have a brother who lives around here. He and his wife are getting ready to be parents for the first time and I’m…I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I’m between jobs.”

She laughed. “Unemployed. Big surprise. Let me guess—you’ve been between jobs for a while now.”

She was pissing him off. He could’ve leveled with her, that he was a doctor planning his next move. But she was snooty and superior and he just didn’t feel like it. “At least long enough to grow a beard,” he said evasively.

“You know, if you cleaned up a little, you might be able to land a job,” she advised very sagely.

“I’ll certainly take that into consideration.”

“The beard is a little crazy,” she said. “It’ll put off potential employers.” Then under her breath she added, “Not to mention the smell…”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Although my niece likes it.” He turned to peer at her. “The beard, that is.”

“I thought you said your brother was having his first child.”

“She’s a different brother’s child.”

“Ah, so you have more than one brother. Just out of curiosity, what do your brothers think of this, um, between-jobs lifestyle?”

“I think you should be quiet now,” he said. “Save whatever brain cells you have left. We have a forty-minute drive to Valley Hospital, west of Grace Valley. Rest. Silently.”

“Sure,” she said. “Fine.”

What did his brothers think of his decision? They thought he was nuts. He’d been totally committed to the navy; he loved the navy. But the military gave with one hand and took away with the other.

When Aiden had been a brand-new M.D., compliments of a navy scholarship, his first assignment was as a GMO—general medical officer—aboard ship. It was a two-year assignment that dry-docked every six months for a few months. They put into port regularly, during which time he could see the world and feel earth beneath his feet, but his life was spent aboard ship. The medical officer was under a great deal of pressure 24/7—being the only doctor in charge of a complete medical staff and the only officer aboard who could relieve the ship’s captain of duty. He knew the pressure was extreme when he found himself taking his duty phone into the shower with him—that was over-the-top. They had also spent their share of time in the Persian Gulf, which meant giving emergency medical treatment to civilians in trouble—mostly fishermen or ship’s crewmen who didn’t speak English.

His reward for that duty was his residency in OB-GYN, which obligated him to more commitment to the navy. But it had been worth it—he took care of the female military personnel and wives of active-duty and retired sailors and marines. It was a good life. He had stayed in one place for a long time—San Diego.

Then he was due a promotion, and the navy felt it was time for him to go to sea again. It would have meant general medical officer once more—not in his specialty. There wasn’t a lot of call for an OB-GYN aboard an aircraft carrier. Aiden didn’t mind being out to sea so much, but he was thirty-six. It wasn’t something he talked about, but he felt there were things missing from his life. A wife and family for one thing, and he wasn’t likely to meet a woman who could fill that bill on a big gray boat. He needed to be on land.

Sometimes he asked himself why that even mattered—it wasn’t as though being on dry land had worked so far. Right after his stint as a GMO, at the age of twenty-eight, he’d met and quickly married Annalee, who had turned out to be a total nutcase. They were married for three whole months, during which she demolished every breakable object they owned. She had been volatile, jealous and crazed—her moods shifted faster than the sands of time.

That experience left him gun-shy and slowed him down a little, but a couple of years later he was ready to get back in the game, feeling older and wiser. Still, he couldn’t seem to meet any women who were contenders for the exalted position as his wife and the mother of his children.

But one thing was for certain—it wasn’t going to happen at sea.

Truth was, he just plain wasn’t ready to commit any more time to the navy. His brothers thought fourteen years, only six from his twenty and retirement benefits, made him nuts to get out. But in his mind, these were his best years. He was still young enough to be an involved husband and father if he ever met the right woman. At the retirement age of forty-two, starting a family would be pushing it.

He glanced at Erin. Her eyes were closed and she held his ice packs on her forehead and the back of her head. He’d like a woman who looked like that—but she’d have to be sweet and far less arrogant. He was looking for someone soft and nurturing. You don’t go looking for a hard-ass to be the mother of your children, and this one was a hard-ass. Of course, what was he to expect? She was a lawyer.

He chuckled to himself. She was probably a medical-malpractice attorney.

Feeling at least partially responsible for Erin’s bump on the head, Aiden hung out at the hospital for a while. Not anywhere near her, of course. He got her checked in to the E.R., made sure she had what she needed, explained her injury and loss of consciousness to the E.R. doctor and left her car keys with him so Erin could get herself home once she was cleared to drive. Then he went outside so his less-than-pristine musk would not offend anyone. And there he sat for close to an hour.

He was just about to swing by the E.R. before calling his brother for a ride home when who should happen to walk out of the hospital but Pastor Noah Kincaid.

“Hey, Aiden,” Noah said, sticking out his hand. “What are you doing here? You didn’t have an accident, did you?”

Aiden shook his hand. “No—I think I caused one. Are you heading back to Virgin River?”

“That’s my plan. What’s going on?”

Aiden quickly explained that he’d brought Erin to the E.R. in her car and was going to call for a ride home. “But before I leave, I want to check and see what the doctor has to say. I’m hoping he’ll tell me if there’s a clean CT. Then I’m clearing out of here before she sees me.”

“Fortuitous for the lady that if she had to have an accident, it was while there was a doctor around.”

“Well,” Aiden said, rubbing the back of his neck, “she doesn’t exactly know I’m a doctor.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her?”

“Truthfully? Because she has attitude. She called me a homeless, homicidal maniac who looked like Charles Manson—and she inferred that I didn’t smell great.”

Noah broke into a wide grin. “Flirting with you, was she?”

“If I had the slightest inclination to do harm, she’d be in a lot of little pieces right now. Very irritating woman. But I’d like to know she isn’t brain damaged before I leave the hospital. Can you wait ten minutes? Then give me a lift?”

“Sure,” Noah said. “I’ll walk in with you. Did you explain to the E.R. staff who you are?”

“More or less. I described the accident, her symptoms and response to the injury, and the nurse asked me if I had medical training. And then I told her the lady had decided I was a bum, without asking me who I was, and as far as I was concerned, she didn’t need to be enlightened.”

“Ah,” Noah said. “So she can feel really stupid when she finds out.”

“Noah, I swear, you really don’t understand…”

The two of them sauntered into the emergency room and up to the nurses’ station. “How’s the woman with the head injury?” Aiden asked. “I’m getting a ride home with the pastor, but before I leave, I wanted to check on her.”

“She’s going to be just fine,” the nurse said. “The doctor wants to admit her for the night for observation, however. Better safe than sorry.”

“Probably a good idea,” Aiden agreed. “Did her CT come back?”

“All clear,” the nurse said. “But she might have a slight concussion.”

“Did I hear you tell that vagrant my house will be empty tonight?” came a loud, demanding voice from behind a curtain.

Noah immediately started to laugh. Aiden just looked at the nurse. “A good bop on the head didn’t hurt her hearing, did it?” he said as loudly as he dared. “I’m getting out of here, but when she settles down a little, tell her I’m going to use her tub and roll around in her satin sheets.”

The nurse laughed at him. “I’m not getting into that, Dr. Riordan,” she whispered. “This is between you and the lady.”

He shushed her with a finger to his lips. “Believe me, there isn’t anything between us. And there isn’t going to be. Let’s go, Noah.”

When they were under way in Noah’s old blue truck, Aiden asked, “Are you in a big hurry?”

“I don’t have all day, but there’s no rush. Need to make a stop?”

“If I can find that cabin, can we swing by? I left all my stuff there. The stuff I hike with.”

“My pleasure,” Noah said. “How’s the hiking going?”

“Pure indulgence,” he said. “I’ve logged a lot of miles, seen a lot of the area, but I’ve never had time like this before. Sometimes I just hike around the mountains, the general Virgin River area. Sometimes I drive over to the coast or down Grace Valley way for a change of scenery. I’ve never felt better.”

“Good for you! Sounds perfect. You’ll have to go back to work eventually, I assume.”

“I spend a lot of time e-mailing friends and contacts, looking around at the possibilities, trying to avoid any offer that hinges on me starting right away. But I won’t hang out here any longer than midsummer.”

Aiden didn’t have any trouble directing Noah back to the cabin, and it wasn’t hard to locate the things he’d dropped when he’d played rescue squad to the dish with the attitude. The machete and staff were lying in the yard between the house and trees. When he picked them up he noticed someone had outlined a good-size square by digging a border, but the inside of the square was still grass, dirt and rocks. Hopes of a garden?

He grabbed the backpack, and in doing so, he noticed it looked as if she’d been attempting to plant a strip of garden along the back edge of the deck. Maybe the square in the yard was just too ambitious for her and she’d opted for a smaller, more manageable plot. The dirt was pretty packed and tough up on this mountain. It looked as though she had some semicomatose tomato-plant starters, a few marigolds that had dried into confetti and a couple of other plants with very uncertain futures.

Still balanced on the railing was a plastic watering can and on the ground, a couple of garden tools that looked to be about the right size for tending house-plants. Also, for no reason he could fathom, there was a big iron skillet on the deck.

Aiden took his things to Noah’s truck and tossed them in the back. “Gimme a second, Noah.”

“What’s doing?” Noah asked.

“I think she was in the process of trying to revive the poorest attempt at a garden I’ve ever seen. I’m going to give her dying plants a drink. It’ll only take a minute. Do you mind?”

“I’m good,” Noah said. “I don’t see a garden.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. Be right back.”

Aiden grabbed the watering can off the deck railing. He put the tools on the deck and sprinkled some water on the plants. Then he took the watering can around to the back of the house to refill it from the faucet and saw a nearly empty box of Miracle-Gro sitting there. It was going to take a miracle, he thought wryly. He filled the can and watered again, drenching her little garden. Then he left the empty can on the deck and jumped into the truck with Noah.

This was all very mysterious.

“How did this happen again?” Noah asked with a slight frown.

“I was hiking through the forest when I saw her. I was just going to say hello, but when I came through the trees, she screamed and jumped up and whacked her head. I dropped all my stuff to take care of her—my machete, bow and arrows, backpack, staff.”

Noah glanced at him, wide-eyed. “You came through the trees with a machete? And you’re insulted that she had some attitude?”

“I see your point.…”

Noah laughed. “You might want to cut her some slack there, Aiden.” And then he laughed some more.

Chapter Two

While Aiden was staying in Virgin River, he rented one of Luke’s cabins. He actually paid the going rate, though Luke had a real hard time taking his money. But Aiden not only wanted his own space, he also didn’t want to impose too much on Shelby and Luke because he intended to stay all summer. And though the little vacation rental was about as lean as he’d lived since he’d been aboard ship, he liked it. Luke had graduated to satellite hookup for TV and Internet, but the cabins didn’t have phones yet. That didn’t bother Aiden; he’d e-mailed Luke’s home phone number to his contacts, revised the message including Luke’s phone number on his cell phone and could still pick up messages and texts in certain parts of the area out of the mountains. Besides, most of the people he was in touch with preferred the Internet. Every morning and evening he checked his e-mail.

When Noah dropped him off, he found a note taped to his cabin door. Come to the house right away. L.

Right away, Aiden decided, could afford him the time to take a shower. If Shelby had a problem with her pregnancy, they wouldn’t be waiting around for Aiden to finish what could be an endless hike.

When he got down to Luke’s house a mere fifteen minutes later, he gave a couple of short taps and walked in.

Shelby was sitting on the sectional with her feet up on the ottoman, a book balanced on her big belly. Luke was kneeling on the opposite side of that ottoman beside a large open box. He seemed to be looking through a few items spread out in front of him. He looked up at Aiden and said, “We got trouble.”

“Trouble? What’s up?”

Luke stood and handed Aiden a small stack of pictures, pages and envelopes. Aiden leafed through—second- and third-grade pictures, report cards, handmade Mother’s Day cards, memorabilia from his childhood. “So?” Aiden asked. “The problem?”

“Mom sent this—a whole box of it. Even that book I wrote in fourth grade—the one about the meaning of life for me? Which at the time was finding a way to kill all my brothers and make it look like an accident.”

Aiden chuckled. He remembered that. They still joked about it when they were all together. Ten-year-old Luke felt he had more than his share of responsibility and aggravation with four younger brothers, the youngest of whom was in diapers and followed him around relentlessly. “I guess we should all thank the Virgin you didn’t find a way. What’s the matter?”

“You got one, too. Colin got his box yesterday, but Colin just figured he’d been written out of the will because he doesn’t call or visit enough and that was Mom’s way of letting him know. I haven’t checked with Patrick. Or with Franci to see if a box was sent to her for Sean. Mom’s unloading her house.”

Before commenting further, Aiden ripped open his box. He pulled out an almost identical batch of pictures, papers, folders, and underneath it all was a shoe box. He opened it to find Christmas ornaments—the ones that he had made for the family tree when he was a child, as well as the purchased ones that were his favorites. He held up an old Rudolph ornament. “I loved this one,” Aiden said. “How does she remember the exact ones I loved?”

Shelby sighed and ran a hand over her belly. “I hope I’m that good a mother,” she said.

“Something bad is going on,” Luke said. “Either she’s dying or selling her condo and moving into a nursing home.”

Aiden chuckled. “Or moving into an RV with a retired Presbyterian minister. She’s been kicking that idea around since last Christmas.”

“She didn’t mean it, Aiden,” Luke said. “Not her. She was pulling my chain—revenge for all the years I wouldn’t get serious. This is Saint Maureen! If she’s doing that, she’s getting married, and she doesn’t know George well enough to marry him. Since they started talking last Christmas, he’s lived in Seattle and she’s been in Phoenix. She can’t marry him. Call her.”

“Why do I have to call her?”

“Because, Aiden—you’re the only one who can really talk to her.” Luke took a step toward his brother. “If she ends up marrying George, she might just get stuck with some old guy to nurse through Alzheimer’s or something. Call her.”

Shelby put down her book with an irritated moan. “Luke thought his mother was sitting up on lonely Saturday nights, looking through his grade-school pictures and report cards. Maybe she’s just sick of being a storage shed for your stuff—ever think of that?”

Something caught Aiden’s eye and he bent to pull out a small gold object: a little trophy with a swimmer on it. When he was in school, swimming was the geek sport. And he was a geek. “Aw, my only first place ever.”

Luke reached into his box and pulled out all his ribbons and tilted his head toward the box; the bottom was filled with trophies and plaques. Luke had been an athlete and won at everything he tried. “If I remember right, you got all the honor-roll stuff. I got sports.”

“Luke, Mom said she was going to do this,” Aiden reminded him. “She asked everyone if anyone wanted the dining room set, the old quilts, the china…”

“I’m getting dishes,” Shelby said with a smile. “I’m scared to death of them—they’re very old. I told her I would probably pack them away and guard them with my life because they’re so precious. She’s also sending some crystal—I’m not sure what it is. Franci is taking on Great-grandma Riordan’s silver. No one else wanted anything, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

“I thought this was just a test,” Luke said. “I didn’t think she was really serious about giving away all her stuff.”

Aiden tapped the box. “Not her stuff, Luke. Our stuff. And stuff that belonged to the great-grandmothers. Stuff she doesn’t feel like taking care of anymore. Come on, lighten up here.”

“Call her,” he insisted. “Maybe she’s losing her mind or something.”

Aiden gave a sigh and went to Luke’s phone. Picking up the cordless, he punched in the numbers to his mother’s condo and while it rang, helped himself to a beer from Luke’s refrigerator. Before he had popped the top, however, he got the recording. “This line has been disconnected…” He tried not to let the surprise show on his face while he listened to the whole recording. Then he clicked off and said, “No answer. I’ll try the cell.…” And he punched in some new numbers. It didn’t take long for Maureen to say hello. “Well, hello yourself,” he said with amusement ringing in his voice. “You running from the law or something?”

“Oh, Aiden,” she said. “I was going to call you, but I’ve been so busy.”

“Yes, packing up and shipping all our childhood treasures back to us. Luke thinks you’re dying.…”

“Luke probably wishes I was dying,” she said wryly. “Hardly. No one wants my old-lady furniture, so I packed up all the heirlooms spoken for, along with all the stuff I’ve saved since you boys were little, and put the rest in storage. Since I have that cell phone you got me, I thought it was okay to shut down the computer and disconnect the landline. One of my friends has a recently widowed sister who needs a place to rent while she looks around for something to buy. I’m going to let her move in here. We have a six-month agreement.”

Aiden reached into the refrigerator and got his brother a beer. He handed it to him, and into the phone he said, “And after six months?”

“Obviously I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t expect to fall in love with this lifestyle, traveling around, seeing the sights and the family. George will be here tomorrow with a brand-new motor coach. I’ve seen pictures of it and I can’t wait to see it in person. He’ll help me oversee the packing and moving of my household, which is all arranged. Then we’ll be off. Of course, we’ll head straight to Virgin River, but it might take us a while to get there—we’re going through Sedona, Oak Creek Canyon, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, Hoover Dam and maybe a stop off in Las Vegas. Can you believe I’ve never seen Sedona or the Grand Canyon, though I’ve lived in the same state for years?”

“You must be looking forward to it,” Aiden said. “Luke wants to know if you’re getting married.”

Luke choked on his beer and began to violently shake his head.

“Actually, not that I know of. George is very considerate—he said if it was important to me to do that, he would certainly understand. But I think we’ll just wing it.”

Aiden laughed sentimentally. “Have you ever winged anything in your life?” he asked his mother.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “And if you’d asked me a year ago if I ever would, I would have said no. Emphatically no. But here we are. Aiden, how is Shelby doing?”

“Big as a house,” he said, winking at his sister-in-law. “She says she’s feeling good and is very excited about the dishes. Oh—and Luke says that if things don’t work out with George, he just wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t agree to come and live with him.”

Luke shot to his feet, his eyes as big as dinner plates. His cheeks actually reddened and he shook his head again.

“Tell him I’ll go to a nursing home first—he’s a pain in the butt even to visit, much less live with!”

“This is very unlike you, you know,” Aiden said with a kind of tenderness he reserved only for his mother.

“I know. Isn’t it perfect?”

“As long as you’ve thought it through,” he said.

“Of course I have, Aiden. Now, don’t hesitate to call if you want to discuss it further.”

“I won’t. And would you like Luke to call if he has concerns to discuss?” he asked, lifting one dark brow toward his brother.

“Actually, no. But thank him for the offer. Luke is not exactly the man I’d take relationship advice from, although he has certainly landed on his feet. Hasn’t he?”

“Absolutely. And yet you’re willing to discuss it with me?” Aiden asked her. “I haven’t hit any home runs lately.”

“I suspect you just haven’t been up to bat enough, sweetheart,” she said with a laugh. “Now, I have to run. Give everyone my best and I’ll see you in a week or ten days, something like that.”

“Please be careful, Mom.”

“Have you ever known me to be careless? Now, enjoy yourself until I get there and turn the whole family upside down with my wild ways.”

He laughed as he said goodbye. Then he looked at Luke, who seemed to be fuming.

“I can’t believe you told her I wanted her to live with us,” Luke said.

“Listen, if you’re going to tell her how to live, you have to be prepared to be responsible for her living conditions. Big step, Luke. Lucky for you, she’s not interested.”

“I can’t believe this,” Luke said. “Our mother, who was almost a nun, living in sin with a retired Protestant minister?”

Aiden cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “She’s sixty-three and he’s seventy. There’s probably not nearly as much sin involved as they’d like.”

There were a number of things in addition to a terrible headache that put Erin in a cranky mood. Like the fact that they had shaved a little bit of her hairline in the middle of her forehead to put in three tiny stitches. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere except her hideaway in the woods, but still! She was very particular about her hair. Now she had the opposite of a widow’s peak—very ugly.

And she didn’t feel like spending the night in a hospital, wearing a hospital gown. Gown? They should not insult high fashion by calling this rag a gown. Her absolute worst painting clothes were nicer.

And she had a roommate. The roommate, who had had a hysterectomy and was staying two nights, had visitors. She was staying two nights, lived ten miles away and her entire freaking family had to come to the hospital to visit her? And there was apparently no rule about how many visitors one could have.

If she ever saw that vagrant again, she was going to bean him with a flowerpot.

By now she had been informed by a very testy emergency-room nurse that he wasn’t exactly a vagrant, but rather a man who had just left the navy and was visiting a relative in Virgin River. So he was a perfectly respectable bad-smelling, horrible-looking, out-of-work man with nothing better to do than impersonate a serial killer, sneak up on her and scare her to death.

It was possible that she was crabby in general. The whole escape-to-the-mountains-alone-for-the-summer idea was probably not the best one she’d ever come up with. At the time she’d thought of it, it had seemed the most logical thing to do. Erin was a woman who had never learned how to achieve that serene, Zen-like acceptance of what the universe tossed at her, and she had reason to believe she’d better figure that out. A summer on a beautiful isolated mountaintop, out of the Chico, California, heat, away from all the pressures of her professional life, should show her how to slow down, learn to relax and enjoy doing nothing. It was time to develop a strong sense of autonomy and remind herself that hers was the life she chose. And she was in a big hurry to get all that nailed down. Besides, it was cheaper than going to Tibet.

There were very logical reasons Erin was wound a little tight; the habit of overachieving could take its toll. When Erin was eleven, her mother died. That left her the woman of the house, with a grieving father, a four-year-old sister, Marcie, and a two-year-old brother, Drew. She wasn’t solely responsible for them; her dad was still the parent, albeit a little less conscious right after his wife’s death. And there had to be a babysitter during the day while Erin went to school.

But Erin rushed home from school to take over and had a ton of chores in addition to child care. She felt it was up to her to be the mother figure in their lives whether they liked it or not. As a matter of fact, as her siblings got older, she concentrated harder on their needs and activities than her own, from soccer to piano lessons to making sure they got good grades and didn’t live on junk food. She rarely went out, never seemed to have a boyfriend, skipped all the high-school events from football and basketball to the dances. She did, however, always make the honor roll. She had decided at an early age that if she couldn’t be f-u-n, she would be s-m-a-r-t.

She was twenty-two, a new law-school freshman, and still living at home so she could keep an eye on the kids who were then thirteen and fifteen, when their father died during a routine knee-replacement surgery. Erin was again in charge. Not that much had changed, besides missing her dad dreadfully. But technically, she was even more in charge than before, because being over twenty-one, she actually had custody.

Friends and colleagues were in awe of all she’d been able to accomplish. After her younger sibs had survived their teen years, she’d helped her sister, who was married to a marine who had been wounded in Iraq and had lingered in a vegetative state for years in a nursing home before he died. She’d gotten her younger brother through college and medical school. And during this time she’d built herself a sterling reputation as an attorney in a very successful firm. The local paper wrote some sappy article on how she was one of the most amazing and desirable single women in the city—the head of a household that depended on her, brilliant in tax and estate law, gorgeous, clearly the woman to catch.

It had made her laugh. She could count on one hand the number of dates she’d had in a year—all of them horribly dull.

Erin had accomplished what she’d set out to do. Her little sister was remarried to her late husband’s best friend, had moved into her own home in Chico and was pregnant with her first child. Her younger brother had completed medical school with honors and was an orthopedic resident in Southern California, a tough five-year residency that rarely let him loose. Drew was twenty-seven and lived with his fiancée; he would be a family man in another year.

Erin had fulfilled a great deal by the age of thirty-six; for herself and her brother and sister, this was exactly what she had worked so hard toward. Why, then, did she still feel like something was missing in her life?

Was this how it was supposed to feel when your life was really just beginning? Uncertain and as wobbly as a newborn fawn? Or was this, as she sometimes feared, the end of the road? Nothing much to strive for now? She felt more like a grandmother to Marcie’s expected baby than an auntie. She was a bit panicked and didn’t know where to turn. But of course, Erin had the best poker face in the profession of law and never let it show.

Marcie’s new husband, Ian Buchanan, had left behind a dump of a cabin that he held on to when he’d moved off the mountain and back to Chico with Marcie. Erin had seen it. It was a disgusting little shack with no central heat, no indoor plumbing, a small gas generator for a little lighting, and it was only one room. But it was on its own mountaintop and had hundreds of acres with a magnificent view. Marcie and Ian loved it. Though they admitted they’d love it a little better with indoor plumbing and electricity, which they could never afford, but that mountaintop was priceless.

Erin had a little money; she’d been working hard, plus she’d guarded and invested what her father had left in retirement, insurance and savings. She’d gotten bonuses from the firm and an impressive salary—all that had helped her get the kids through hard times and school. She thought it might be worth the investment to raze the old cabin and rebuild something nice—a summer place that could be in the family for decades. But Ian said, “Believe it or not, Erin, the cabin is solid. It could probably use a new roof, bathroom and electricity, but it’s in pretty good shape otherwise.”

So she asked him if she could have an engineer look it over and maybe fix it up. She didn’t say, Because I can’t stay even a weekend in that hovel. The way Ian had smiled at her when he replied, “Knock yourself out,” indicated she didn’t have to say it.

It turned out that Ian was right—the cabin was ugly, but well built. She got some remodel designs off the Internet and put the job out for bid to four local builders. A man by the name of Paul Haggerty gave her a competitive price, was able to work via e-mail and phone, and was willing to sign a contract promising the remodel ready on June 1 when Erin wanted to move in. And he had finished early!

She never even drove up once to look at the progress. That alone should have told her she was doing this for all the wrong reasons and it wasn’t going to work. But she had told Mr. Haggerty, “I’m a busy attorney with a full schedule until the first of June. Then I’m taking the summer off, my first vacation in over ten years. That’s why it has to be right and on time.”

It had been a crazy idea. Erin couldn’t seem to function without a full schedule and she didn’t know how to take time off. Every time she tried to take a day off, she was twitching by noon.

But she was determined. She was going to learn to unwind, damn it. She was going to learn to embrace solitude and kick this feeling that if she didn’t have far too much to do, she wasn’t worthy.

“Knock, knock,” she heard a small voice say. Erin had the curtains drawn around her bed to block out the hysterectomy patient and her extended family. The curtains parted and her redheaded sister’s smiling face popped in. “Are you decent?”

Erin sat up in the hospital bed. “What are you doing here?”

“The E.R. nurse called me—you named me as your next of kin. Y’know?” Marcie let herself into the tiny space. She bent close and narrowed her eyes at the bandage on Erin’s forehead. “Hmm. Not so bad,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Ugly,” she said, plucking at the gown. “And I have a headache.”

Marcie laughed at her. “Not such chichi hospital attire, huh? I meant the head wound doesn’t look too bad. Small bandage.”

“Shaved head!”

“Less than a half inch, Erin. Take it easy, it’ll grow right back.” Marcie sat on the end of the bed and ran her little hands over her big, pregnant tummy. “Your doctor said if we spend the night with you tonight, we can check you out and take you home. I thought that was reason enough to drive up. I knew you wouldn’t want to be in the hospital. Have you ever been in a hospital? Like, in your life?”

“There was Bobby,” Erin said, speaking of Marcie’s late husband. “Lots of hospital time there.”

“I meant, as a patient, Erin!”

She rolled her eyes upward, thinking. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. Good thing, too. It’s very boring and like being an inmate.” She plucked at the gown again. “The nurses don’t like me, I can tell. And can you believe this? They haven’t graduated to anything better than this for patients? For God’s sake!”

Marcie just chuckled.

“Are you feeling all right?” Erin asked her little sister.

“Great. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I can’t wait to see the cabin. I hope it’s not too froufrou. I liked the old place.”

“Guaranteed you’re going to think it’s too froufrou,” Erin said. “It’s completely livable, unlike before. There are lights and everything. Where are my clothes?”

“I’ll find them. Don’t get up.”

“Where’s Ian?”

“He’s at the nurses’ station, getting your release instructions. I think we mainly have to check to be sure you’re still breathing about every seven minutes throughout the night. You’ll be a completely cooperative patient, won’t you?”

“Just get me out of here,” she said. “They were going to have to hit me in the head again just to keep me here another hour.”

“I think Ian was right.” Marcie found Erin’s folded clothes and shoes stuffed in her bedside chest of drawers along with her purse. “We’re not so much rescuing you as the nurses. I bet you’re no fun, as patients go.”

Marcie drove Erin home to the cabin in her big SUV and Ian followed in his truck. He was impressed with the way the cabin looked, amazed by the impossible transformation. Very classy; very Erin. “God above,” he said in a whisper. “When I was thinking of fixing it up, I was thinking in terms of adding a septic tank for a toilet. Look at this place!”

“But do you like it? Do you really like it? The rug is an Aubusson, the leather furniture is Robb & Stucky, there’s a whirlpool tub and what do you think of the fireplace?”

Ian didn’t know from Aubusson or any Robb whomever. He stared out the newly installed French doors in the kitchen. Right outside the west end of the cabin was a deck that stretched the length of the house, taking advantage of the awesome view. “Incredible, Erin. Can we use it sometime?”

She looked shocked. She blinked. They didn’t want to be there the same time as she was? “I thought…we’d all use it, now and then,” she said cautiously. “I mean, I didn’t want to wait to fix it up a little because I was taking vacation this summer, but, Ian, it’s your cabin. I think I have to ask your permission, not the other way around.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “When I married Marcie, I married the family, Erin, and what’s ours is yours. You don’t have to ask permission.” He turned full circle, looking around. “I can’t believe you completely remodeled the whole place by e-mail! It’s amazing!”

“I’ll be sure and ask if you’re already using it before I make any plans,” she said.

“He was kidding,” Marcie said. “Ian, you’re such a dork. We’ll all come together. And when Drew visits, he can sleep in the shed.” She grinned.

“But you like it?” Erin asked again.

“I think it’s great,” he said. “You made it beautiful.”

Marcie did a lot of oohing and aahing, and Erin seemed to puff up from that. “I don’t know how I made it without a real kitchen for so long,” Ian said, opening the refrigerator door. When he’d lived here, there was a sink with a pump handle and he’d cooked on a Coleman stove. His mind-set and the emotional landscape of his life back then had been all about deprivation. It hadn’t been so much a form of self-punishment as a paring down of baggage. The less he could make it on, the more competent he felt. It had been like an endurance test. And he had passed with flying colors; he had endured like crazy.

Erin had been here almost a week. In the refrigerator he found yogurt, cottage cheese, egg substitute, skim milk, a loaf of thinly sliced low-cal bread, salad fixings, celery and carrot sticks, apples, cheese singles, tofu and hummus. His stomach growled; he wondered if it made her feel more competent to starve to death.

For the hundredth time he asked himself what was really up with Erin, this isolation on the mountaintop, because this whole “well-deserved vacation” story just didn’t add up. Not with Erin.

“Let me cook tonight, okay?” he said. Both women agreed that would be wonderful. So he continued, “Tonight I’m cooking something Preacher whipped up. I’m going to run into town and grab dinner.”

“Um, I’m watching my calories,” Erin said unnecessarily. “Does he make anything kind of, you know, low cal?”

Preacher was the cook at Jack’s bar, and he made one thing every day. Well, one breakfast item, one lunch item, one dinner item. Preacher did what he pleased, and it was always fantastic but none of it was low cal. “He’s very conscientious that way,” Ian fibbed, and his wife tilted her head toward him, making a face that said shame on you.

Ian was dying for food. Real food, not rabbit food. But then, he could hardly blame Erin; she hadn’t been expecting company.

“You girls enjoy your visit,” he said. “I won’t be gone long.” And he headed for town.

When he walked into the bar, Jack greeted him enthusiastically. “Hey, stranger! Long time. You and Marcie up for a little visit?”

“You could say that,” Ian said. “We weren’t planning to come up so soon after Erin got here, but she had a little accident.”

“You don’t say? What happened?”

“Freak accident, I guess. She stood up too fast, whacked her head on the deck railing, knocked herself out. Cold.”

Jack whistled. “And called you to come up?”

“Nah, the hospital called us. They said she was fine, they didn’t expect any problems, but since she was living alone out at the cabin with no phone, they wanted to keep her overnight for observation. You know—just in case. They said they’d release her if there was someone to pick her up, drive her home and spend the night with her.”

“So you rescued her. Nice brother-in-law.”

Ian grinned largely. “No, Jack. We rescued the hospital. Erin can be a little high maintenance sometimes. Can I have a cold beer?”

“Absolutely.” He drew a draft and put it on the bar. “You know, Ian, when something like that happens, you can always call me or Preacher. We’d have found someone to take care of her for you.”

“Thanks, Jack. I kind of figured that, but Marcie would’ve been jumpy all night, having no contact with her sister. Her hormones are a little wonky right now. You know?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, I’ve been there. How’s she doing?”

“Great, she’s doing great. We’re having a boy in August. She’s gorgeous, kind of in the way a toothpick that swallowed a pea is gorgeous. A toothpick with wild red hair.”

“And you?” Jack asked. “How do you like the cabin?”

“I think Paul outdid himself. I can hardly believe it’s the same place. Any chance you’ve seen it?”

Jack smirked. He gave the bar a wipe. “Pal, this is Virgin River. It’s what we do on Sundays after church—drive around and walk through new construction and remodels in progress. ‘Course, we needed a guide with a key for your place.…Paul took us through a couple of times, hope you don’t mind. He’s real proud of that fireplace and the deck.” Jack whistled. “You gotta be asking yourself how you lived without that deck.”

Ian laughed. “If I’d even thought of some of those improvements, it would’ve been years before I could’ve made ’em. It took someone with Erin’s resources to pull off a job like that.”

“How you getting on with the grand dame?” Jack asked.

“Erin? Aw, I love Erin. I mean, I know she comes off as kind of demanding, but that’s Erin the lawyer and businesswoman. She’s devoted her whole life to protecting Marcie and Drew and there were a lot of times they needed someone as hardheaded as Erin.” He laughed. “She’ll be fine—nothing could crack that skull. She didn’t have to fix up that old cabin—she could’ve taken a long cruise or a three-month vacation at a Caribbean resort. I won’t even pretend to know what she’s got socked away, but she’s got a reputation as one of the best estate lawyers in five states. I bet she could’ve bought a small house on a beach. But Marcie loves that old place because it’s where we fell in love. I think Erin did it as much for us as herself. And Erin doesn’t want to be too far away in case the baby comes early.”

“Funny,” Jack said. “I thought she was kind of hard edged. Maybe I misjudged her.”

Ian just grinned. “I think you probably got her right, just not all sides of her. It takes a tough woman to bury both her parents, take care of a younger brother and sister when she was a kid herself, get them through the kind of difficult shit those two went through and become a successful lawyer on top of it. Plus, we have a common goal—we’d do anything to make sure Marcie is safe and happy.”

“So what’s she going to do up here for three months?” Jack wanted to know. “Isn’t this a little backwoods for your sister-in-law?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t get it. She says it’s about time she had a vacation. She hasn’t taken more than a day off at a time in ten years. Probably more than ten years. No question, she deserves a vacation more than anyone, but this is really out of character.” He’d been turning a lot of ideas over in his mind without mentioning any of his concerns to Marcie; he didn’t want his pregnant wife all stirred up and worried. But he couldn’t help but wonder why Erin had behaved so radically—remodeling his cabin, committing to a three-month vacation and leave from her law practice, isolating herself like that. Was she sick? Depressed? Was her job in some sort of jeopardy? Was she dealing with something she didn’t feel she could share?