by Robyn Carr
“Hey, there!” Jack said. “I’ve hardly seen you since Brett was born!”
Luke stuck out his hand across the bar. “Shelby sprung me loose for a beer break. Since she started back to school, I have so much quality time with Brett I guess I’m getting a little cranky.”
“That a fact?” Jack asked with a laugh. “I can relate to that.” He served him up a cold beer. In addition to managing six rental cabins on the river, Luke was taking care of their two-month-old son while Shelby went to college. “Cabins busy right now?” Jack asked.
“About half-full. The summer people have pretty much stopped coming through, but fishing is picking up and come next month when hunting season opens, we’re booked solid. When it’s groups of men making the reservations I assume fishing or hunting.”
“How can you handle all that? With the baby?”
“For right now, Shelby’s uncle Walt sticks pretty close. Art’s a great help,” Luke said. Art was a man in his early thirties with Down syndrome who lived on their property and worked under their supervision. “But there are a lot of things that are just beyond him—anything up a ladder, paperwork or accounting, driving for supplies, you know. But so far, we’re managing just fine.” He took a drink of his beer and said, “Ahhhh. Not like I don’t have cold beer at home, but I needed to get out. I feel like a nanny.”
“How are your brothers getting along?” Jack asked.
“Let’s see—the youngest, Patrick, is sitting alert on an aircraft carrier, but it’s a short three-month mission. Aiden and Erin are planning a small wedding for the spring. Sean is up to his eyeballs in Air Command and Staff College—boy’s probably going to be an Air Force general. Now doesn’t that make you laugh? Sean, the biggest screw-off I know. I guess he can get serious where the Air Force is concerned. And the only one we don’t hear that much from is Colin, but that’s always been the case. He’s a loner.”
“What’s Colin doing these days?”
Luke took another swig of beer. “Black Hawk helicopters out of Fort Benning, Georgia.”
“Shouldn’t he be about ready to retire?” Jack asked. “Isn’t he about forty?”
“About right, and already over twenty years in the Army—but they’re going to have to throw him out. He’ll never go quietly. He loves that helicopter and it loves him.”
Jack poured himself a cup of coffee. “I never understood you flyboys. I never even liked riding in choppers.”
Luke laughed at him. “All the boys fly except Aiden, and look what Aiden ended up doing—ob-gyn? Come on, that’s weird if you ask me.”
Jack took a sip. “Now, I think that makes sense. More sense than going up in the air in some kind of strange whirly machine. So, Luke, you and Shelby coming to the town meeting?”
Luke thought a moment before answering. He took a small taste of his beer for courage. “Hey, I’m real sorry, Jack, but that sounds like about the most boring thing I can think of and my fun meter is already way, way down.”
“Mel thinks I shouldn’t do it at all. She thinks everyone will have diverging ideas.”
“No offense, Jack, but if you get ten people with enough time on their hands for a boring town meeting, you’ll be lucky.”
“Think so? You should come, Luke. Maybe you’ll have some ideas for the town.”
“Want to know what my best idea is? Sleeping through the night, that’s the best idea I can come up with. I want that baby in his own room and me and Shelby sleeping straight through.”
“It’ll come,” Jack said. “He’s only a couple of months old.”
“Yeah, a couple of months with a tapeworm. Kid eats nonstop. And he has the biggest feet I’ve ever seen. If babies grow into their feet like German shepherds, he’s gonna be eight feet tall.” He finished his beer slowly. “I’d like to stay longer, but I’m afraid if I do, you’ll talk me into that meeting by calling in some marker or something.”
“If you don’t participate,” Jack said solemnly, “no one will ever elect you mayor.”
Luke stood up, tossed a couple of bills on the bar and said, “That works for me. You take care now.” And he got out of there before it went any further.
While walking across the parking lot from the bar to the church for the town meeting, Jack asked Mel if she’d mind taking notes, just to have something to reference if he wanted to review the suggestions of what to do with their inheritance from Hope. “Notes? Like minutes?” she asked.
“Totally unofficial—but I’d like some kind of record of what was said. I don’t know why or how I’ll use it, but… You know—just jot down a name and a suggestion. That kind of thing.”
“I guess so. Um, Jack—please play your cards close to your chest on this. Don’t tell too much too fast. People never knew what Hope had and she was a cagey old broad—I suspect there was a reason for it. No one knew her town better than she did.”
“I think you’re selling this little town short, Melinda. I’ve always found most everyone to be responsible. Cautious, even. And certainly generous.”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“Look, there are already cars and trucks parked outside.” Jack smiled. “We’re going to get a good turnout!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Um, Jack?” a man’s voice said.
Jack turned to find himself face-to-face with Hugh Givens, local apple orchard owner. He stuck out his hand. “Hey, Hugh, how’s it going, man?”
“Good. Excellent. Listen, could I just have a quick word with you before the meeting starts?”
“You have ideas, Hugh? Because I’d prefer it if you’d—”
“No, sir, a question. If I could have a second… Alone?”
Mel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise that anyone would ever question her discretion. She was probably the best secret keeper in the town. But she took the hint. Jack handed her the little notebook he’d been carrying and watched her go inside.
“What’s up?” he said to Hugh.
“Well, I’m assuming Hope had her money mostly invested, and tied up in that big old house and stuff. And I’m wondering—you planning to invest? Make sure that money for the town keeps making money?”
“I guess,” Jack said with a shrug. “Why?”
“Well, I have a proposition. Could work out for both of us. Remember I built that room on the house? Well, rooms. One downstairs, one up, and a freestanding garage—more for farm equipment than trucks, really. Things were real skippy when I built on, you know? But I kinda got caught in the economic downturn with an adjustable second mortgage so I was just wondering—how do you feel about making a loan out of that money? I’d pay decent interest, of course. Just not insane interest, if you get my meaning. Could make the town money go a little further and save my butt.”
“Aw, Hugh, I’m not a banker. Just an executor, that’s all.”
“Yeah, that means you can do pretty much whatever you want as long as you don’t abuse the money, right? This ain’t abuse! It’s a good investment! No matter how bad things get, people still make apple cider and apple pie. And things are gonna swing back up. But that adjustable rate second could really kill me in the meantime.”
“Hugh, I don’t think Hope intended personal loans—”
“It’s not exactly a loan. An investment! By the way, how much did she leave you?”
Jack was starting to doubt his wisdom on this matter. He put a strong hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “She didn’t leave me anything, Hugh. She left it to the town and put me in charge of making sure it’s used responsibly. I’m obligated to look at the past use of her funds to get a clue about how she thinks that should be done. Now let’s go inside and have a meeting with the town.”
“Is that a no?” he asked.
“That is a no,” Jack said. “I’m sorry you got stuck with a bad loan, but Hope’s money wasn’t meant for any one person. I’m sure of that.”
“Don’t know why not, if the return is good,” he said in a pout. “The others might not agree with you,
you know.”
“Well, let’s hear what they have to say.” But he was already starting to regret this idea of a town meeting. And it pissed him off that Mel and Preacher were onto this ahead of him.
Jack left Hugh to find himself a seat and strode down the center aisle of the church. He got a prickly sensation up his spine when he noted there were more people packed into the church to divvy up the money than attended Sunday morning service.
“Evening,” he said when he faced the crowd. “If it wasn’t clear in the notice, let me explain why we’re all gathering here tonight. Hope McCrea, who did so many generous things for Virgin River, left the town a trust in her will. And because she was a little daft and shortsighted, she decided to put me in charge. So, I thought it made sense to listen to your suggestions and ideas and—”
“How much did she leave you?” a man’s voice rang out from the back.
“Okay, let’s be clear, here—she didn’t leave me anything. I have no intention of ever using or borrowing from her funds. But I have been given a responsibility that I take very seriously—to use what she left in a way that she would approve of. Now, if you knew Hope you knew she was pretty well fixed, but she didn’t throw money around. Hell, I don’t know if I ever saw her in a coat with all its buttons and God knows that old Suburban of hers had a couple hundred thousand miles on it. I take that as a clue about how careful she was with—”
“How much is it?” a different male voice shouted from the back.
“I’m not telling you. Don’t you get that? I invited you here to give you a chance to make suggestions, since Hope died with the intention that what she left behind would serve the town! Do I hear a suggestion?” he asked a little hotly.
“We need a sign!” a woman’s voice rang out. An elderly lady stood up. “We really need a sign! People don’t know where they are when they get off 36. We need a sign that says, Welcome to Virgin River, Population 623, et cetera.”
“Okay, there’s an idea. That’s what I’m talking about,” Jack said approvingly. He nodded at Mel to make sure she’d jotted it down, which she did right after rolling her eyes.
“It should have lights on it,” the woman went on. “With a big blinking arrow. I’m talking about a big sign. Billboard size. Like they have for casinos.”
“Whoa,” Jack said. “Do we really need—”
“We need to bail out our friends and neighbors,” Hugh Givens said, standing up. “I suggested this to Jack already but he could care less about an idea like this. We need to use that money to make some loans to folks who have been hit by this recession. I mean, with fair interest, it’s a good investment for the town. Right? And some of us got caught in the crunch and could use a little help from someone who’s not a bank.”
“I could use some of that kind of help,” one of the Andersons said. The Andersons were sheep ranchers.
“Hey, I could use a break on interest,” said a man from the other side of the room.
“Bull, Lou, you’re just broke ’cause you bought a new Dually and you don’t even need no Dually—you just go back and forth to work, that’s all.”
“So my truck is less important than that rumpus room you built on the house?” the offended owner of the truck with dual back wheels asked hotly.
“Best thing we could do is double the size of that corner store so people would have a place to shop in this town,” said Ron, who just happened to own the Corner Store. “Can’t do that without a little help. And it would serve the town.”
“How about a lottery?” a man said, standing. “’Course it would help to know how much money there is before we actually do it, but we could have a lottery and divide it up. Then a bunch of people could be winners.”
“Listen to yourselves,” Jo Ellen Fitch said. “We need a school! We’ve been bussing our children to other towns for years and even survived a bus accident! What could be a more responsible use for Hope’s money than a school?”
“I got my kids through school!” someone shouted. “I put ’em on the bus or drove ’em myself. I don’t want my one chance at some cash to go to some school when I don’t have any need of one anymore!”
“Seriously—a lottery! Let’s take care of it, here and now. It’s town money and we’re the town, right? So Jack, spit it out—how much is there?”
“Will you listen to yourselves?” Jack said angrily. “What are you going to do if there’s an epidemic? A wildfire? If some kid goes missing in the forest? Don’t you have any interest in saving up some money for emergencies? What if we have to rebuild the town someday? What if we need an ambulance or fire truck or—”
“I guess we’ll do what we’ve always done,” someone answered. “You ever know us to fail to pitch in?”
“You can’t wait to get your greedy hands on this money!” he nearly shouted. “I’m totally shocked! I thought you’d come up with good ideas for the town! But no, you want to clear loans and win a lottery!”
“A school, at least for the little ones,” Jo Fitch repeated. “It could be one room, grades one through six or something.”
“What the hell for?” someone shouted. “The rest of us got our kids through school riding that bus! Paid for by the county, by the way!”
“I ain’t giving up my share for someone else’s elementary schoolers!” someone else shouted.
Jack’s face grew red. He listened to people shouting back and forth and just went from red to purple. He glanced at his wife and saw her gently close her notebook. Finally, with no feedback from him, the din subsided. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Hope did not leave her money to the people of the town, but the town. And she put me in charge of figuring out how to serve the town. So, you all sound like a bunch of selfish bastards who can’t wait to get your paws on her money—excuse me, the school idea was not selfish, no offense intended….”
“What about my sign?” a woman asked.
“Also unselfish. But totally unnecessary. This was a bad idea. This meeting is over.”
He walked back down the center aisle and out of the church.
The Loving Cup was Dane’s brainchild. It was also a way for him to help his sister, Darlene, get on her feet after a rough divorce. They had started on a shoestring, but Dane had catering experience and Darlene was a dream in the kitchen. They had decorated with an eclectic collection of comfy chairs from wing chairs to cushiony armchairs complete with mismatched side and coffee tables. Although they sold food ranging from cookies and slices of pie to breakfast and lunch sandwiches, the front of the store was set up with a series of small sitting areas. And it was almost always full. People dropped in for as little as a cup of coffee or as much as a lunch meeting.
There were only two stools at the end of the long counter, and Lilly had claimed one of them as her favorite perch.
Dane worked the front of the store, which was one of the reasons Lilly had formed a closer bond with him than with Darlene. Darlene was stuck in the kitchen, creating her masterpieces. And there was also the fact that five years postdivorce and four years post–Loving Cup opening, Darlene, a single mother of two teenagers, was in a very nice, comfortable relationship with the owner of a small hardware store. And Dane, like Lilly, was unattached. That allowed for their occasional nights out together.
There was undoubtedly more to it—Lilly and Dane had taken to each other. What began as a few friendly chats over tea and buns turned into deep conversations in which some confidences were exchanged. And because neither of them was romantically involved, it was a simple matter to arrange outings like trips to the wildlife sanctuary or movies or even shopping trips.
Most importantly she relied on his friendship because she’d told him things about herself that she hadn’t even told any of her few girlfriends. And he had responded with both kindness and wisdom.
Dane and Darlene closed the coffee shop at six-thirty every evening. They had discovered that evening crowds were thin—people seemed to prefer dinner at real restaurants or bars, even if thei
r drink of choice was a frothy coffee. Knowing it was closing time, Lilly popped into the shop after finishing work at the feed store. And knowing this was very rare for Lilly when they didn’t have plans together, Dane walked around the counter, flipped the sign to Closed and locked the door.
He walked back around the counter, faced her and said, “I already washed the teapot. And you’ve been wearing that strange look for a couple of weeks at least, except tonight it just got stranger.”
“Can I just have something from the case? Like a Snapple or something?”
“And then you’ll talk?” he asked.
“I always talk,” she said.
“Well, that’s debatable,” he said, getting her a cold drink. He twisted off the top and handed it across the counter. “You always talk eventually. Sometimes you lead up to it for months. I’m getting less patient with that.”
She took a pull of a cold raspberry drink. “Got a date?”
“Hah. My Friday-night girl is sitting right here, and unless I missed something, we don’t have plans. What has you so screwed up?”
She smirked before she said, “The vet tech.”
“Ah-hah!” he said, victorious. “I knew it! Didn’t I know it? I told you and you said it was the horses!”
“It’s the vet tech and the horses,” she corrected. “If I hadn’t let myself get all hooked on the horses, I could have probably stayed away from the vet tech! Now going to see the horses means running into him and I have to figure out how to deal because I want to keep Blue and I’m trying to find a way.” She leaned toward him. “The director at the community center would love to have me teach some yoga and if I did it three nights a week, I could pay her board.”
“And never have time to ride her,” Dane said. “Tell me about the guy.”
She sat back. “He reminds me of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”
“The teenage werewolf?” Dane asked, speaking of the heartbreaker of her childhood. “How does he remind you? In looks? In personality? His voice? His mannerisms?”
“In general,” she said. “He’s very tall, like the teenage werewolf, and very Native—high cheekbones, long black hair, almost black eyes. He’s incredibly sexy—to me, anyway—and that’s the scariest part.”