A Virgin River Christmas (31 page)

“Whatever you think you have to do,” Doc said. “It’s an open offer.”

The bar was packed with people, gathering for their little program around the tree. There were trays of snacks sitting all around—from hot hors d’oeuvres to Christmas cookies. People whom Marcie had never met introduced themselves, asked her where she was from and if she would stay for the carols. She did accept a brandy from Preacher, then sampled the snacks and finally she migrated to the kitchen and called Erin. “I apologize, but I’m running late…”

“What?” Erin nearly exploded. “What are you thinking? You promised to come home!”

“I’m coming,” she said. “Listen, there was an emergency—a guy from town got kicked in the head by his donkey and Doc needed someone to drive to the hospital so he could tend the head and…Well, I got delayed by five hours and I’m sorry. So I’ll be catching Santa in the act, but I’ll get there.”

“It’s dark! I don’t want to worry about you!”

She took a breath. “I drive in the dark all the time, but go ahead and sit up and worry if you want to. I’m going to have some food and some coffee—then I’ll be on my way.”

When Marcie migrated back into the bar, she was worn down. She felt as though she had disappointed everyone, not the least of whom herself. She’d grown tired. No doubt it came from the long day, the emotion of leaving Ian, the wild ride with Doc. But most of all she felt the disappointment that the thing she’d started with Ian didn’t seem destined to go further.

But then, what could she expect? That they’d laugh together, love together for a week or so and he’d change everything about himself? And for all her big talk—that she’d stay in that cabin forever—she wasn’t at all sure that after a year of that she wouldn’t be out of her mind. Besides, she had brought him some relief, but she hadn’t healed him; he had lots of healing left to do. And he probably knew what he needed—to split and sell his logs, feed the deer, sing in the morning and ease slowly back into the world.

Inside, she began to grieve. She couldn’t help that her heart ached. But she reminded herself that what she wanted most was for Ian to see his own way, to find peace and happiness. With or without her. Marcie knew she had her faults, but being selfish was not one of them.

People were starting to move out of the bar and gather round the tree. She followed. On the porch someone said, “Here, Marcie,” and handed her a candle. She thought it wouldn’t make much difference if she stayed to sing a couple of carols before starting her drive.

The tree was splendid; it sparkled and shone in the clear night. The star beamed a path down the street. There were many more people gathered outside than there had been in the bar. Clearly they’d been arriving for a while. There was a lot of mingling and chatting, laughing and lighting candles. No one seemed to be in charge. Then someone finally said, “Away In The Manger.” Slowly, haltingly, singing began—a little clumsy at first. By the time they were halfway through the first verse, and this was only a first-verse kind of crowd, their voices had become stronger. Then someone else shouted, “Silent Night!” and they began again. Next, “We Three Kings!” and then came “Silver Bells,” which they stumbled through badly until everyone, including Marcie, was laughing. There were a lot of mumbled suggestions and milling around when a voice, clear and strong and beautiful, came from the back of the crowd. Softly. Slowly. Mellowly.

Oh holy night

The stars are brightly shining

’Tis the night of our dear Savior’s birth!

Marcie’s heart leaped; her eyes filled with tears as she whirled around, only to find a crowd of people behind her also turning to his voice. She handed off her candle, breathless, blurry-eyed, and pushed her way through the crowd, separating them so she could pass. By the time she got through the people, she saw him there, standing across the street. The light of the star fell on him, and she hardly knew him. He was clean shaven, dressed in his good pants, shirt and denim jacket. And beside him on the ground was a duffel. Packed.

Her hand rose shakily to her throat, which was constricted and tight. Tears ran down her cheeks. He smiled at her only briefly, then his eyes rose to the star as he sang.

Fall on your knees

Oh, hear the angel voices

Oh, night divine

Oh, night when Christ was born

Oh, night divine

Oh night, oh night divine

His was the angel’s voice.

Fall on your knees, indeed. It was all Marcie could do to stay upright. But Ian didn’t stop singing; he gave the hymn everything he had, then another chorus, loud and moving. There was not so much as a murmur within the crowd and no one joined in, so stunning was the voice, the passion. And when he finally came to the end of the hymn, he just let his chin drop in reverence, looking down.

First there were gasps of delight, then applause began, but Marcie just walked toward him, her eyes shining, her legs weak. When she reached him, she put a hand against the cheek that bore the long, thin scar. And his hand was against her soft, red curls.

“What are you doing here?” she asked softly.

“Practicing that singing for people instead of wildlife,” he said. “You’re the one who shouldn’t still be here. I thought I’d stop by for a carol or two, then head out.”

“Long story. But where are you going?”

“Chico.” He smiled at her. “There’s a girl there I have business with.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Maybe one night, since it’s getting so late. Then I’ll check with the old man’s paperboy and see if I can get a let on a room.”

“Oh, Ian…” She threw her arms around him and he held her off the ground. He kissed her soundly, to the cheers of their audience.

But then he put her on her feet and held her upper arms. “Listen, Abigail—there are some things you have to know. I have fourteen hundred and eleven dollars to my name and I need gas. No savings. I haven’t filed a tax return in four years. If I can’t pay the taxes on that mountain in the spring, it’ll just go away, and I can’t pay the taxes if I don’t find a job. I haven’t had a real job in a long time. And my father—I don’t have any illusions about it being a tearful reunion. He’ll probably just kick me to the curb. So go into this knowing it’s still a mess. Just because I sang out loud doesn’t mean—”

“You think I’m a wimp?” she asked, incredulous. “You think after everything I’m
weak?
Then why are you coming? I know how you hate weakness!”

“To see if there’s anything to us. Marcie, I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, so tell me you’re up to this if it all falls apart. Because going in, there’s a lot on the minus side, starting with me. I could be a huge disappointment to you in the end.”

“Did you return my library books?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “There were only so many things I could do if I was going to get to you before Christmas.”

She smiled up at him. “Well, I never did know quite where I was going. But there was this light…And I followed…I told you, I love you. Ian, I love you so much. I’ll start there and take everything else as it comes.”

“And I didn’t tell you,” Ian said. “I didn’t want to mess you up, let you down. But I can’t remember ever feeling this way before. I love you, Marcie. I’ll try anything.”

“Okay, then. Why don’t we just start with faith and we’ll go from there?”

He grinned at her. “Erin Elizabeth is going to be a little disgruntled when she sees me.”

She patted his cheek. “She won’t even recognize you for a couple of days, at least. You look so magnificent. Who’s going to feed Buck?”

“Buck’s on his own for now. We’ll catch up with him when the snow melts. Does that work for you?”

“Perfect,” she said. And she thought, if these mountains are beautiful in winter, they must be heart-stopping in spring with the promise of new life. Like hers.

Like his…

Like theirs…

ISBN: 978-1-4268-2366-4

A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS

Copyright © 2008 by Robyn Carr.

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