Shelter Mountain by Robyn Carr Page A

head to look at Christopher, only to find his side of the bed empty. She sat up with a sudden start that jolted her bruised and sore body. She got up and looked around the bedroom quickly, but he wasn’t there. She went down the stairs in her stocking feet. When she got to the bottom, she stopped suddenly.
    Chris was sitting up on the counter, John standing beside him. They were both rolling brown dough into small balls. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched. John had heard her come down and smiled at her. He gave Chris a nudge and inclined his head toward Paige, so Chris turned.
    “Mom,” he said. “We’re makin’ cookies.”
    “I see that,” she said.
    “John said Bear needs a leg—”
    “He’s been getting along fine—”
    “For looks,” Christopher said.
    Paige thought that Bear had been looking pretty awful for a long time now. But for the first time in too long, Christopher looked okay.
     
    When Rick came to work after school, it was just Preacher in the kitchen, working on dinner. Rick, now seventeen, had been Jack’s shadow since Jack first came to town. Preacher came not long after and it was a three-some. Rick lived with his widowed grandmother, his parents long dead, and the guys took him on, let him help in the bar, taught him to hunt and fish, helped him buy his first rifle. Sometimes he was a pain—talked too much. But he’d only been a kid in puberty then—zits trying to beat out freckles—and a little hyper. He’d grown taller in the years since, filled out, quieted down. After about a year of building, the bar opened and they put him to work there.
    “Rick. You need a briefing,” Preacher told him.
    “Yeah? What’s up?”
    “There’s a woman and kid upstairs in my old room. I’m looking out for them. Kid doesn’t feel so hot right now—he might be coming down with something. They’re staying awhile. Looks like maybe…Well,” Preacher said, struggling with the words. “She’s got a bruised face, a cut lip. I think she ran into some trouble and she’s on the move. So…We’re not going to say their names around, just in case someone’s looking for her. Her name’s Paige, the kid’s name is Christopher—but we’re not going to say names for a while. And they’re going to stay until they feel better. You know?”
    “Holy God, Preach,” Rick said. “What’re you doing?”
    “I told you. I’m looking out for them.”
     
    Preacher had no experience with children and wasn’t planning on having his own. He was thirty-two and hadn’t had a single serious relationship with a woman. He figured he and Jack would fish, run the bar, hunt a little, have regular reunions with the squad, but he couldn’t see life changing much. That Jack fell in love and got marriedhadn’t upset Preacher’s expectations because he thought Mel was the best. It just hadn’t changed his own life. One of the reasons he liked Virgin River—it was less obvious he’d always be alone.
    Then his life began to change in days. Really, in hours.
    Christopher would run down the stairs in his pajamas before his mother could grab him, stop him. He liked to eat his breakfast at the kitchen counter and watch while Preacher diced vegetables, shredded cheese and whipped eggs for omelets. Then there was sweeping to do, and Chris liked having his own broom. There was that bear skin and mounted buck’s head—which he needed to be lifted up to touch. They got some coloring books and crayons from Mel’s clinic so Chris had something to do while Preacher worked on lunch or dinner. And there were more cookies to bake than there were to eat—cookies were not exactly bar food. Then, amazingly, Paige helped with the washup in the kitchen—probably to be near Chris, who wanted to be with Preacher, and maybe a little to earn her keep. He found this not only helpful, but awful pleasant.
    Paige needed to rest, though at first she was reluctant to leave her child in John’s care. She seemed to get beyond