by Robyn Carr
“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?”
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.
Four
S now didn’t fall all the way into the valley, down near the ocean towns of Eureka and Arcata. But up here it was overcast, damp and chilly, and more snow was forecast. Ian had his truck parked along the road leading to a busy thoroughfare just before seven o’clock. At that juncture, he caught people on their way to work and, after four years, he was selling to the same customers over and over. Since he didn’t have a phone and no one knew where he lived, they watched for him to show up. Five cars right in a row pulled up and he made deals for as many half cords of wood. He took addresses in his little notebook and promised to deliver the wood in the next couple of days. Two of them he’d done business with in the past and accepted their checks, but the other three would have their wives give him the cash upon delivery.
The sixth customer was the police chief. He bought a cord from Ian every winter and must trust him by now because he paid cash in advance of delivery; other customers liked to see the wood before they shelled out the money for the delivery. “Got a good supply this winter, buddy?” the chief asked, pulling off his bills.
“Yes, sir. We’ll get you through. I’ll take this load right over.”
“Will you stack it up in the shed out back and put a little on the porch by the mudroom door for me?”
“You betcha. As usual,” Ian said, taking the money.
“You take care now,” the chief said. “Listen…There was this woman looking for a guy about your size, age…Aw, never mind…”
Ian smiled inwardly. No, chief, couldn’t be me, he thought. “I’ll get that wood over this morning.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
Twenty minutes later, a truck pulled up and Ian took his last order for wood, then was on his way to deliver his load to the chief. He made a stop for gas and a few supplies—broth cubes, half a roaster, an onion, some celery, a bag of frozen mixed vegetables, noodles, couple of small orange juices plus some fresh apples and oranges, coffee, bread, peanut butter and honey. He was back at the cabin before noon.
The room had chilled down because the stove hadn’t been fed, but she’d kicked off her covers and her little rump was sticking out—lavender and lace. Her face was glowing pink. He put down his groceries and fed the stove. Then he took her juice and more aspirin, waking her. He pulled the quilt over her and made her sit up.
“When are you leaving?” she asked him groggily.
“I’m back. Here, you have to take aspirin
. You have a fever. Where are you sick, Marcie? Head, stomach, throat, chest? Where?”
“Ugh. I don’t know,” she said, struggling awake. “I think I’m just tired and achy. I’ll be fine.”
“Juice and aspirin,” he said, lifting her. “Come on now. You got a bug.”
“Ugh,” she said again, lifting up. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better in a little while. It’s probably just a little cold or something.” She took the aspirin—four this time—and washed it down with orange juice.
“I have to go out again, Marcie. There’s more juice on the table. You need that blue pot closer to the couch while I’m gone?”
“No,” she said, settling back against the couch. “I don’t like that pot.”
“I’m going to go see if I can get you some medicine. There’s an old doc in Virgin River—he might have some stuff on hand for cold and flu. It’ll take me almost a half hour to get there, the same coming back.”
“Virgin River,” she said dreamily, eyes closed. “Ian, they have the most beautiful Christmas tree…You should see it…”
“Yeah, right. I’ll be an hour or so. The fire should more than last, but will you try to keep the blanket on? Till I get back?”
“I’m just too warm for it…”
“You won’t be in a half hour, when that aspirin kicks in and drops your temperature. Can you just do this for me?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “I bet you’re really pissed at me right now, huh? I just wanted to find you, not make so much trouble for you.”
He brushed that wild red hair off her brow where a couple of curly red tendrils stuck to the dampness on her face. “I’m not pissed anymore, Marcie,” he said softly. “When you’re all over this flu, I’ll give you what for. How’s that?”
“Whatever. You can howl at me with that big, mean animal roar if you want to. I have a feeling you like doing that.”
He grinned in spite of himself. “I do,” he said. “I do like it.” Then he stood and said, “Stay covered and I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
When Ian pulled into town, the first thing he saw was the tree. Somehow he thought she might’ve been hallucinating from the fever, which had scared the hell out of him. But there it was—biggest damn thing he’d ever seen. The bottom third was decorated with red-white-and-blue balls, gold stars and some other stuff; the top part was still bare. He actually slowed the truck for a moment, taking it in. But what was that patriotic color scheme about? Did they do this every winter? Did they have some town kids in the war?
He shook it off; he had to get something for Marcie. The old doc used to come out to his place when old Raleigh was at the end and real sick, years ago now. Ian had to use Raleigh’s ancient truck to fetch the doctor; Raleigh had never even considered a phone. And neither had Ian.
When he walked into the doc’s house, he saw a young blonde at the desk. “Hi, there,” she said. She stood up and he noted the pregnant tummy.
“Hey. Doc around?”
“Sure. I’ll get him for you. I’ve been here less than two years—does he know you?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
She smiled over her shoulder and went to Doc’s office. Momentarily, the old man was limping toward him, glasses perched on his nose, wild white eyebrows spiking. “Afternoon,” Doc said.
“Hey, Doc,” Ian said, putting out a hand. “Any chance you have anything on hand for a flu bug?”
“Sorry, son—I can’t remember the name. The face I know. You’re…?”
“Buchanan. Ian Buchanan from out on Clint Mountain. The old Raleigh place. I was the one taking care of him at the end.”
“Right,” he said. “That’s right. What’s your complaint?”
“It’s not me, Doc. I’ve got a visitor who showed up yesterday and she took sick in the night. Fever, chills, aches, sore throat…I’m giving her aspirin and juice. I didn’t want to bring her out in this cold—the heater in the truck isn’t too good. But if you have any medicine—”
“I’m chock full of medicine, boy—but I usually like to make my own diagnosis.”
“It’s way out there—You remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, can’t hardly forget that old coot. No problem—I get around. Let me stock up a bag and I’ll follow you back. Most roads out that way are a goddamn mystery.”
Ian felt the roll of bills in his pocket shrink. He was ahead for the winter, but if he ended up needing a lot of diesel fuel and propane through the cold months, he wouldn’t stay that way for long. Then in the spring, the tax bill would come on the property. Summers were easy; they weren’t hot summers but he didn’t need to heat food or water, daylight lasted a lot longer and so did his fuel. He conserved cash for possible truck repairs and things like that. He worked for a moving company on and off in the summer and was paid cash under the table. That gave him time for a garden, fishing and cutting down trees for the winter firewood. He’d get by fine if no major crisis came along—like a serious illness.
Really, the cost didn’t matter. No matter what she needed, even if it was the hospital, he’d find a way. He couldn’t let her be sick. In less than twenty-four hours, all he really wanted was to see her smile like she had in that old picture Bobby had shown him.
He was barely conscious that the woman in the office had made a phone call and shrugged into her coat.
When Doc returned with his bag, he frowned at her. It was more like a glower. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“With you. Jack has David and this is a woman. You’ll end up wanting me there.”
“You’re pregnant and don’t need to be around flu.”
She laughed and her face lit up so pretty. “Like I haven’t been drenched in flu since the cold and rain hit. Gimme a break. Let’s go.” And she headed out the door.
“Damn pigheaded woman,” Doc muttered. “She’d never take an order from me, but you’d think a little friendly advice would be welcome—” Ian held the door open for him. “Women are nothing but a pain in the—Why I never married. Not quite true, no one would have me.” He stopped and navigated the stairs down the porch with his cane.
“Um, Doc—you wanna lock up?” Ian asked.
“Nah. I locked up the drugs and Jack and Preacher are across the street. They smell trouble and they’re armed to the teeth. It’s a dead fool that bothers my place.”
“Hmm,” Ian said. They had it all worked out in this little town. Made him wonder just what that felt like. He hadn’t had things all worked out in a long, long time.
There was a shiny Hummer sitting beside his old truck and the pregnant blonde was at the wheel, waiting. They must do a brisk business these days to afford a ride like that. The roll of bills in his pocket shrank again.
Ian opened the door for Doc Mullins and Mel and once again, Marcie slept so soundly she didn’t realize he was back. “I’ll just check the stove for wood and then wait outside,” he said.
Mel pulled a chair from the table and put it by the couch, giving it a tap so Doc would take a seat. Then she gently jostled Marcie’s shoulder and called out to her, talking over Doc’s shoulder. “Marcie, can you wake up? Come on, open your eyes.”
When Marcie’s eyes came open, Mel smiled. “Hi there. Not feeling so good, huh? You remember me—Mel Sheridan from Virgin River. I’m the one who was dragged off a ladder in the middle of town by a brute.”
“Yes,” Marcie said. “Sure.” And she came awake with a dry cough, turning her head aside.
“This is Doc Mullins. I work with him. He’s a family practitioner. I’m a nurse practitioner and midwife. Ian came for us. His diagnosis is flu. What’s yours?”
“Ugh. It’s probably just a bad cold.”
“But your nose ain’t running,” Doc said. “Sit up for me, girl. I have to hear your chest.” While Doc slid the cold stethoscope under the flannel shirt to listen to her lungs, she treated him to a deep, brittle cough. When she recovered, she took a few deep breaths for him, then sat patiently while he looked in her ear
s and throat, taking her temperature and palpating her glands.
Mel said, “So, you found your man.”
“I did,” Marcie said. “Your husband told you?”
“Uh-huh. I don’t tell patient business without permission, but Jack’s an open book unless he has specific instructions to keep a secret. How’d Ian take to being found?”
“Thoroughly pissed him off. You should hear him—he can roar like a Siberian tiger. It’s kind of amazing. Scared the liver out of me at first.”
“And now?” Mel asked.
She looked up at Mel. “He saved my life. He said I almost froze to death and he brought me in and warmed me up. He went for you…”
“He said he didn’t want to bring you to town because the heater in his truck isn’t working very well. But I have a good heater and we have a couple of beds at the clinic—”
“Can’t I just stay here?” she asked.
“Are you sure?”
“I came all this way…I’ve been looking for him…”
“You can come to town with us until you feel better, then decide what to do. You can come back if you have unfinished business here. If you need a little backup, there’s my husband and me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d rather see this through, then I’ll go home.” And what she didn’t say was that she was a little afraid he might disappear again.
“But do you feel safe with him? It’s pretty rugged out here. Your tiger doesn’t have a lot of creature comforts.”
“I don’t think Ian has much, being out here like this. But it’s enough, isn’t it? It’s warm, there’s food, he made me tea, bought me orange juice. He gave me aspirin…”
“I don’t know him, Marcie,” Mel said. “And from what I hear, you don’t know him either. He’s a recluse—does he even have any friends?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He has me.”
“Do I take that to mean he’s not roaring at you anymore?” Mel asked.