My Kind of Christmas (4 page)

He slid back in his chair. “I thought we agreed not to talk about me?” He took a sip of coffee.

“I certainly don’t intend to insist, but when you’re sharing, you know, there’s usually a little give and take....”

“I’m a Navy pilot,” he said after a short pause. “I was on a mission and another pilot flying in the same sortie was killed. Shot down. Right beside me. We were flying cover for Marine rescue choppers near Kandahar, avoiding missiles, and then… The unexpected. A heat seeker came out of nowhere. He was my closest friend. I was his lead. He was my wingman.”

“I’m so sorry. I can understand why you didn’t want to talk about that.”

“Someone would’ve told you eventually. Jake went down and it’s time for me to get orders—a new assignment somewhere. I just feel like I need a little time to decide if I really want that life. I always thought I did. But lately I’ve been thinking that it might not fit with the other things I’d like to have—like a family, for instance. Jake left behind a wife and two-year-old son.”

“But do you love flying?” she asked him.

“I always have, but that…” His voice trailed off.

“That’s one of the things I’m struggling with, too, Patrick. But I’ve realized that there are fewer NASCAR drivers killed than girls like me who were singing along with the radio one minute and dead the next. None of those people on commercial jets on 9/11 were taking chances. Besides, if you’re doing something you believe in and are expertly trained to do… But then, you might have to ask the woman in your life before you listen to me.”

He just stared at her for a second. “There’s no woman.”

“Oh,” she said.

“And my friends call me Paddy.”

She smiled at him. “I like that.”

“What’s your next move, Angie?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, I’ll probably end up going back to medical school eventually, but not—”

“Medical school?”
he asked, wide-eyed. “You mean you’re not getting some degree in basket weaving or tennis?”

She laughed lightly. “Nah. I’m a brainiac with limited social skills, as you can probably see.”

He shook his head, but his mouth was still open. He hadn’t been ready for this. “You take chances, but now I think I get it. So, you’ll go back to school?”

“Well, like you, I have to make a decision—I don’t know if I
want
to go back to med school. The second I said ‘doctor’ when I was about sixteen my parents were on the case—going over my classes, my major and my transcripts, my med school applications. I missed a lot of life being the perfect student. While I was recovering, I had some great docs but there was one I was close to. Dr. Temple was never in a hurry. He talked to me. It’s possible he was simply studying me, looking for signs of brain damage, but still…” She gave a shrug, then shook her head. “I’ve been fighting with my mother a lot. She wants me back in med school before too much time passes, and I’m not sure I’m ever going back. Next for me, Paddy, is a little more balance in my life. If I’ve learned anything from what happened, it’s that you shouldn’t miss opportunities to live life. It could always be your last chance. And not just if you’re a Navy pilot. It could be your last chance even if you’re just making a grocery store run.”

“No one can make you go to medical school.”

“I so hate to disappoint them. But I might be looking for something more.”

“Going to become an adventurer?” he asked.

“That’s not really what I mean. I think watching the snow fall in candlelight and cuddling a baby—those can be watershed moments, too.”

She stood up from the bar. He stood, as well. “For today, I chased down an interesting guy—something I’ve never done before. I’ve had a nice cup of coffee, and now I’m going back outside to watch the decorating of the tree. I’m also going to try to talk my way into one of those cherry pickers, but I might have to get my uncle Jack drunk first.” Then she laughed.

“I gave you a hard time, Angie,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Paddy. You have stuff to work out, too. Big stuff, and again, I’m sorry for your loss. And,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been told I can be a lot to take. Especially lately…”

He grabbed her hand before she could leave. “No, you’re not,” he said. “Maybe you should have another cup of coffee.”

She shook her head, but the look in her eyes said she was tempted.

“You started it,” he accused.

“Aw, I think you did, with your green eyes and that look.”

He put his right hand against the side of her head in an affectionate gesture and suddenly time stopped. He had a strange look on his face. His fingers rubbed against a raised, hairless spot behind her ear. She had long, thick, pretty brown hair streaked with blond but there was no mistaking a scar. He pulled away from her to look into her eyes.

“A shunt,” she said. “I don’t know why the hair doesn’t grow there, but I guess it’ll grow back someday. I think.”

“Shunt?” The word was not completely alien to him, but he wasn’t making all the connections.

“My brain swelled while I was in a coma. They fixed it with the shunt to drain the edema but then they leave it in. It’s not working anymore but they don’t remove the shunt unless it creates a problem. We don’t do brain surgery unless we have to.”

He watched her eyes. “Coma,” he said, still gently touching that lump. “Brain swelling. You had a head injury. A serious head injury.”

“But really, I’m fine. Completely recovered. I mean, I think I am. Even given my chasing dangerous men into bars…”

“It was a bad accident,” he confirmed. “Very bad.”

She nodded. “Which explains why my mother thinks I have a personality disorder and wants me in a padded suit for the rest of my life. And maybe it also explains my resistance to that idea.”

He smiled gently and said, “I like your personality.”

“Thanks,” she said, some confidence restored. “That actually means a lot to me.” She gave him another smile, then turned and headed out to join the festivities.

Three

O
nce Angie left the bar, Patrick felt a little short of breath. Meeting her was the last thing he expected. Or intended. He was still feeling emotionally wounded by Leigh. Leigh, who was a sophisticated, thirty-year-old society girl, the daughter of a rich, widowed senator out of Charleston. Leigh, so stunning and brilliant she made men gasp when she strolled by.

So perfect and, ultimately, so cold.

Patrick threw a couple of bills on the bar for their coffee and went outside. There was still a lot of activity around the tree, but he didn’t see Angie. He left town to go home, but all the way there he found himself thinking about the differences between this young, warm, optimistic woman who’d cheated death and Leigh, who had everything and was grateful for nothing.

How had he not noticed that Leigh was so unfeeling when he’d been involved with her?

Patrick had only one picture of Leigh Brisbain with him, although there were still many in his Charleston home, a house Leigh had decorated to suit her tastes. In the picture he kept in his wallet, taken on a sailboat, she lounged against him, both of them hanging on to the rigging, windblown and smiling. She’d been out of his life for six months; all the pictures at home should at least be packed away somewhere. Maybe when he got back there, he’d do that.

Leigh had a place of her own in Maryland, a place he’d only visited when he was available to attend charity or political events with her. When Patrick deployed, Leigh spent all her time near the nation’s capital, working full-time for her father. She never stayed in Patrick’s Charleston house without him, though Patrick had always thought of it as theirs, together. Leigh loved D.C. and planned to make her life there. Her ultimate ambition was to follow in her father’s footsteps. She’d run for office one day and split her time between D.C. and Charleston.

How had he managed to miss that they were so unconnected? It had ended so suddenly. He had come home from sea to find a picture of her in a newspaper where she was dancing with a smiling man. Not exactly a smoking gun—she attended so many political and charity affairs that this didn’t alarm him in the least. He had casually asked, “Who’s the guy?”

And she had replied, “I guess it’s finally time for us to have this talk, Patrick. Our lives are so out of sync—you’re committed to the Navy and I’m going for a career in civilian politics. You’re going to transfer around and I’m going to have to establish roots to support my constituency and political career. You’ll be flying—I’ll be here or in Washington.”

“Haven’t we had this conversation many times?” he said. “You’re not running for office right away, probably not for years. We have plenty of time.”

She merely shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she had said. “I’m not going to be a Navy wife. I’m building a career. I need a partner.”

“To do what? Go to dances?” he asked. “You seem to do just fine, attending with your father.”

“That’s not working for me,” she said.

“Are you asking me to get out? After ten years plus four in the Academy? Is that what you want?” he asked.

And clear as a bell she had said, “I’m afraid that won’t work for me, either.”

That had pretty much summed it up. Oh, they’d talked it to death for a while, but the actual conclusion had been reached in the first two minutes of conversation. She was done. It didn’t matter how he viewed the future, she was done. That was six months ago and he wasn’t sure if he missed her, was angry with her, wanted her back or wanted to send her hate mail.

He began to ask himself why they’d been together in the first place and was stunned to find the list of reasons was incredibly short. She loved dressing him up in his Navy mess dress for formal events in either D.C. or Charleston; she praised him often for being a quality escort. He loved looking at her, talking to her, touching her. She loved being connected to a decorated aviator who had been to war many times and he loved the convenience of having someone there for him when he returned to port. Had he loved her? He’d thought that
was
love.

Maybe what he felt more than anything was foolish and inexperienced.

He’d always been a one-woman man and playing the field held no interest for him. Even if she hadn’t been there full-time, neither had he. The end of their relationship was probably as much his fault, as Leigh’s. Not only had she taken the path of least resistance, but so had he.

Patrick had always known, even if he hadn’t admitted it, that he didn’t have the kind of relationship with Leigh that Jake had had with Marie. Jake was a frothing mess when he got home from a mission, grabbing Marie up in his arms like the wild man he was, going missing for a few days while he immersed himself in every possible ounce of her and even then being reluctant to let her get too far from his side.
That
was real love, and that was what Patrick had always wanted.

Now, two of the most important people in his life were gone.

When he got back to his cabin, he didn’t even go inside. He sat on the deck and absorbed the view. He thought about what had brought him here to Virgin River. Damn, life could get empty real fast.

And then this little med student comes along with such warmth, sincerity and passion for life. What a breath of fresh air. It didn’t hurt that she was adorable, gutsy and funny. He probably should stay far away from her, but he clearly was at her mercy—he admired her. Truthfully, he was enthralled. Life played some very strange tricks, sticking him with completely inappropriate feelings for a young woman he’d known for all of an hour. She was too young. On a totally different life path. Vulnerable but alluring. He had to admit, however, her mere presence had taken all the sting out of his loneliness for a little while. But she was not right for him.

Even though his brothers didn’t know it, he’d given his word to Jake—he would take care of Marie and Daniel. Marie needed him.

A creature of habit, he decided to call Marie. “How are you today?” he asked once she picked up.

“Today is a pretty good day,” she said. “Things are quieting down in the post-Thanksgiving haze. You?”

“Not bad, but things aren’t so quiet. It’s getting interesting in Virgin River. They’re putting up the big tree, for one thing—it’s about thirty feet tall and decorated in military insignia.”

“Wow, that’s huge for a little town.”

“This town is only little on the outside,” he said.

Ten minutes later he was on his way back into town to watch the tree trimming and to see if there was anything or anyone interesting in one of those cherry pickers.

* * *

Jack was descending in the bucket of the cherry picker when Angie pulled into town and parked across the street by the clinic. She met him as he got out. “You went missing for a while,” he observed.

“I was exploring a little bit,” she said. “Is it my turn?”

“Awww, I don’t know, Ange.…”

“Come on.”

“I might need a note from your doctor.”

She laughed at him, nudged him to one side and inserted herself in the bucket. “Explain the controls, please,” she said. “I’ll be very careful.”

He sighed, defeated. Sometimes he got so tired of headstrong women. He explained the levers in the control box, though with the diagrams right beside the controls, it was pretty self-explanatory. “Now, listen, I don’t want you over ten feet off the ground,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Do you doubt I’ll climb up this boom and bring you down?” he asked.

“This is getting really old,” Angie said, and with that, she rose to the task. She went up ten feet, then left, then right, then up a few feet more, left and right, then higher.

“Angela,” he warned.

She went up a bit farther. “I’m fine,” she said. “I love this. I think I might decorate the whole tree for you. At least the top part.”

“Angela LaCroix,” he called. “Lower, please.”

She leaned out of the box and grinned at him. “Are you going to ground me?”

Mel was standing beside him, looking up. “Angie, see that red streamer to your left? Pull that one a little right please, it’s all wonkie.”

She reached out of the bucket and Jack flinched. “Got it,” she said. “Tell me when it’s straight.”

“Better,” Mel said. “Now move around and pull the white one over.”

“Mel,” Jack said. “She’s just having a ride. I want her down!”

“Jack, take it easy, she’s twenty-three, not three. Better, Ange. If I give you some balls, want to hang them up there?”

She leaned out of the bucket and stared down. “If I come down there to get them, your husband is going to grab me.”

“No, he won’t,” she said. “I’ll hold him down. Come on.”

Jack growled and began to pace. He spoke softly to Mel. “What if she gets dizzy?”

“Then she’ll come down. She’s better off in the bucket than on a ladder. Angie, are you dizzy?”

“Of course not,” she said, lowering herself. She leaned over and accepted a box of shiny gold balls from Mel. Then she quickly went up again to avoid Jack.

“Leave plenty of room for the unit badges we’ll also use as ornaments.”

“Will do,” she said, raising the cherry picker while holding on to the ornaments.

Jack watched her some, paced some, grumbled some. The number of people in the street and around the bar grew, but Jack was focused on Angie. No one paid any attention to his worries; Mel continued to yell up at Angie to move a ball or fix some garland. Angie laughed happily as she ran the cherry picker down to the ground, then up again with more ornaments. Or possibly she was laughing at her uncle Jack.

Jack had been oblivious to what was going on around him until he noticed that Angie stopped in midair and looked across the street. Jack followed her line of vision to see Patrick Riordan leaning against his Jeep, watching her. As Jack glanced between the two of them, Angie gave a wave and Patrick waved back.

Crap,
he thought.

Well, he should’ve known—it was written all over her face that she was smitten with Patrick’s good looks. Jack stopped pacing because Angie was all done playing around in the cherry picker now that Patrick had appeared. She brought it down, stepped out and brushed off her jeans. Her
tight
jeans.

“Thanks, I’ll take over,” Mel said, as though there wasn’t a thing in the world to be worried about.

“That was fun,” Angie said to her uncle.

Jack glowered.

“What?” she asked.

Jack tilted his head and glanced to the right, across the street, where Patrick patiently waited for her to be finished.

“Oh, excuse me,” Angie said. And she walked casually across the street as though this was perfectly fine.

It was
not
perfectly fine in Jack’s opinion.

Mel was raising the bucket with her box of ornaments while Jack was following Angie with his eyes. But Angie didn’t look back. She had Patrick in her crosshairs.

So Jack looked around until he spotted Luke Riordan with young Brett on his hip. He walked over to him and said, “Luke.”

“Looking good, Jack.”

“Look over there, Luke,” he said, again with the head tilt. “Your brother.”

“Yeah, he made it to town for the tree. That’s good. I think he spends too much time alone these days.”

“What’s up with Patrick, anyway?” Jack asked.

“Flying stuff,” Luke said with a shrug. “You know. Threw him for a while, made him rethink the Navy. He just needs some decompression time. He’ll be fine.”

“What kind of flying stuff?”

Luke turned his head to meet eyes with Jack. “His wingman went down.”

Jack just whistled.

“He got some leave,” Luke went on. “He has a decision to make. He always planned on a Navy career, but I guess he’s rethinking it. He has until Christmas to figure it out. Who’s the girl?”

Right about then Patrick put a hand on Angie’s shoulder. She looked up at him, he looked down at her. Jack shivered. “My niece, up for a visit.”

“Nice,” Luke said.

“She’s been valedictorian twice in her life already—for her high school class and for her college class. She’s a medical student, but she was in a car accident and had to take some time off. We’re all hoping she plans to go back to med school after the holidays. That’s what everyone in the family wants. Listen, Luke—see this?” he said, looking across the street to where Patrick and Angie stood talking. “This is Patrick’s second trip into town today. He’s interested in Angie. I don’t think this should happen.”

“What?”

“My niece and your brother,” Jack said irritably.

“Aw, lighten up. Patrick’s a good kid.”

“He’s no kid,” Jack said. “How old is Patrick?”

Luke shrugged. “I guess about thirty. Thirty-two. Or three.”

“Angie is twenty-three. And she needs to go back to school.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Talk to him. Tell him the girl is barely out of high school and he needs to move on.”

“Aw, Jack…” Luke shook his head. “She’s out of
college
. And she’s smart. I mean—valedictorian? I’m lucky I graduated high school.”

“He’s been in the bar, and I hate to say it about one of your brothers, but he’s got attitude, Luke. Doesn’t talk, isn’t friendly, acts all fucked up and miserable. And you say his wingman went down? Angie can’t take on stuff like that. She’s just a girl. A girl with her own issues.”

Luke started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” Jack asked.

“He looks pretty friendly to me,” Luke said.

And sure enough, Patrick was smiling. Laughing. Touching her with familiarity.

Jack cringed. “Ah, dammit, he’s playing around with her hair!”

Luke laughed a little harder. “I’ve played with hair…you’ve played with hair....”

“She’s too young! She’s barely recovered from a bad car accident!” He grumbled something and then said, “I’m responsible for her.”

“Well, she’s over twenty-one so I bet she doesn’t let you stand responsible for too much.”

“You got that right,” he muttered. “Her mother is my older sister. I really don’t want to go a round with her. She’s a pain in my ass.”

“Then don’t. You better ease up, Jack. I don’t think you’re going to have much influence here. And I could talk to him, but it wouldn’t do any good.”