Shelter Mountain. Робин Карр

left her, going through his apartment. She could hear him go out his back door. He must have found the bear in the kitchen and put it in a safe place. A log in the fireplace dropped and she pulled her jacket tighter around her, taking another tiny sip of brandy that burned its way down her throat and did, miraculously, settle her stomach and her nerves, if slightly. Or maybe it was the news that Wes didn’t have the police after her that calmed her a little. A while later, John came back from his apartment, still wearing the jacket he’d obviously fetched, and holding the bear.

      “Connie’ll never know the difference on those plates,” he said, holding the bear out to her. “Besides, if she knew what was going on here, she’d tell you to take ‘em.”

      She frowned as she looked at the bear, changed. He had a new leg, sewn out of blue-and-gray plaid. It wasn’t exactly the same shape as the surviving leg; it was just a stuffed flannel tube stuck on the bear, but he was symmetrical now. “What did you do?” she asked, taking the bear.

      Preacher shrugged. “I told him I’d give it a try. Looks pretty silly, I guess, but it was a good idea at the time.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Think you can get a little rest tonight? You still feel like you have to go right now? I could brew you up some coffee if you wanna just get out of here. I think I even have a thermos I could—”

      She stood up, leaving the brandy on the table, holding Bear close against her. “I’m going back to bed,” she said. “I’ll leave in the morning, after Chris has a little breakfast.”

      “If that’s what you want,” he said.

      Paige awakened to the dim light of morning streaking through the dormer window and the sound of an ax striking wood. She rolled onto her side to see Christopher still sleeping peacefully, gripping the bear with the blue-and-gray flannel leg and she knew she should think about this for a while. It scared her to take a chance like this. But it didn’t scare her any more than driving on to some address in Spokane and a commitment to a life she knew nothing about, and might not be devious enough to pull off.

      She’d like to think she had learned one or two things from her experiences. If anything, in any way, made her feel threatened, caused her radar to go up, she’d be gone in a flash. She wouldn’t bother with license plates or goodbyes.

      Then there was that guilt—she didn’t want to put these people in Wes’s path, in danger. But her reality was that wherever she went, whether to family, a shelter, into hiding—the people who helped her were at risk. Sometimes it was unbearable to think about.

      She dressed quietly, without waking Chris, and crept down the stairs to the kitchen. Preacher was standing at the counter, slicing and dicing for his morning omelets. When he saw her at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the knife froze and he waited.

      “I’m going to need to borrow your washer and dryer,” she said. “We didn’t bring too much.”

      “Sure.”

      “I guess it makes more sense to stay here. A little while. I’ll be glad to help out. If you’re sure.”

      He began to dice again, slowly. “We can do that easy. How about minimum wage plus the room and meals. Keep track of your own hours. Jack’ll pay you when you want him to—doesn’t matter. Daily, weekly, monthly. Doesn’t matter.”

      “That’s too much, John. I should help for just the room and meals.”

      “We open by six, stay open past nine, there are two of us plus Rick after school. Two days and you’re going to be complaining it’s slave labor.”

      She smiled and shook her head. “I’m not ready for the rest—the restraining order, the custody thing. Court documents like that have to reveal where I am, and I’m not up to that.”

      “Understandable,” he said.

      “Eventually, he’s going to come after me. File charges, have police looking, maybe hire a detective. But he’s going to try to find me. He won’t let me walk away.”

      “One thing at a time, Paige,” Preacher said.

      “Just so you know…”

      “I’m not worried about that. We’ll be ready.”

      She took a deep breath. “Okay. Where’s that washer?” she asked.

      “In my apartment. The door’s never locked.” He stopped chopping again and, looking at her, asked, “What made you decide?”

      “Bear’s new leg. That old blue plaid flannel…”

      “Old?” Preacher asked, smiling slightly. “That was a perfectly good shirt.”

      Preacher took breakfast to Ron and Harv in the bar, and on his way back to the kitchen, glanced out the window to see Jack at the stump with the ax. He heard the sound of the washing machine start up in his apartment.

      He poured two cups of coffee and walked out back. When Jack saw him coming, he left the ax stuck in the stump. Preacher passed him a cup.

      “Delivery service,” Jack said. “Guess you have something on your mind.” He took a sip, watching Preacher over the rim of the cup.

      “I was just thinking, we could probably use a little help around the bar.”

      “That so?”

      “Paige mentioned she’s looking for something. The kid’s no trouble.”

      “Hmm.”

      “Seems like a good idea to me,” Preacher said. “Don’t have any use for that bedroom over the kitchen, anyway. You can pay her out of my check.”

      “The bar makes money, Preach. It can take on an employee. She doesn’t want fifty grand and a 401(k) or anything, does she?”

      Preacher made a face. Jack thought he was funny. “It’ll probably be temporary.”

      “My responsibilities are changing,” Jack said. “Growing,” he added with a proud smile. “Be nice to have a little help in there, in case I have other things to do.”

      “Good, then. I’ll let her know.” He turned as if to leave.

      “Ah, Preacher,” Jack said, and the man turned back. Jack held out his cup for Preacher to take back into the kitchen. “You already let her know, didn’t you?”

      “Might’ve let slip I thought we could use her.”

      “Yeah. One question. She cover her tracks on her way into town?”

      “No one knows she’s here, Jack. Not that it’s any of our business…”

      “I’m not nosy, Preacher. I’m prepared.”

      “Good,” Preacher said. “That’s good, I like that. Anything changes on that, I’ll let you know.”

      There were things about being in Virgin River that gave Paige peace of mind. Small things, like her car sitting behind the bar between two big, extended-cab trucks, a car she had no reason to take out for a drive. The sound of logsplitting in the early dawn hours that coincided almost exactly with the smell of coffee. And the work—she liked the work. It started with bussing tables and doing dishes, but before even a couple of days had passed, John was showing her how he made his soup, bread, pies.

      “The real challenge here is making use of what we have,” he told her. “One of the reasons this bar does well and we can get by like we do—we cook what we kill or catch, we make use of Doc and Mel’s patient fees that come in produce and meat and we concentrate on making sure our people are taken care of. Jack says, if we think first about making sure the town is taken care of, we’ll do just fine. And we do.”

      “How do you take care of a town?” she asked, confused.

      “Aw, it’s real easy,” he said. “We put out three good meals a day, on their budget, and the sharp folks know about the leftovers.