Shelter Mountain (35 page)

He tucked the flashlight into his belt and backed soundlessly down the dirt road. All the way down, until he could curve around to the left and start back up. The most obvious place to look would be right in front of her. Once he reached the bottom of the trail and prepared to start up, he was faced with two major challenges. One, he couldn’t use a flashlight and it was darker than Hades. And two, he couldn’t trip or slip in the dark and make a noise, in case he was right, and there was someone watching her.

He planned to cut a wide perimeter around the woman, and if he found nothing, no one, he’d move closer to her and assess. Look for some trap attached to her.

He’d barely begun the climb back up when the moon, high and full, cut a brightened path, for which he was incredibly grateful. Every time that nighttime breeze sifted through the branches of the tallest pines, creating a whispering and groaning effect, he’d cautiously place a foot. A couple of times he cracked a twig, and when that happened, he froze and listened. He was stone still; he didn’t even breathe.

He wasn’t very far up the hill when he could see there was someone at the top, hiding behind a tree. He heard the distant approach of vehicles and lifted his head. Under the cover of the engine noises, he rapidly made his descent back to the road. He chose his place under the cover of forest to stand in the road and, whirling his flashlight, flagged them down.

Jack lowered his window. “What the hell…?”

“This is it,” Dan said quietly. “Pass this hill slowly so
it looks like you’re moving on, and up there on the left, there’s a wide space in the road. Take your trucks off road up there, come back on foot and I’ll take you up. Kill the flashlights. They’re up there,” he said, giving his head a jerk toward the hill. “Let’s do it.”

Preacher leaned forward. “She okay?”

“I think so, so far. Come on, come on, let’s not get his attention.
Pass
the hill.”

Jack threw the truck into gear and drove on, the man by the road directing the second truck with his flashlight.

Dan waited a few moments and then he could hear them coming on foot. When there were five men gathered around him, he said, “He’s got a plan. The woman is bound and in plain sight and I caught a glimpse of him in the trees, hiding. I couldn’t see him, but I bet he’s got a weapon on her, waiting. This old road goes to the top where he’s parked the truck. Someone can follow me up the back side of the hill—but there’s no path. Anyone here good at stepping light and soundless?”

“I am,” Jim said.

“I’ll keep your back—I’m pretty good,” Mike said.

“All right, we’ll circle up. You boys, take this road up nice and easy. Maybe one flashlight, dimmed, on the ground. Give us a head start—we don’t have a road. With any luck, we’ll meet up there.”

Before he could lead Jim and Mike around to the backside of the hill, he found his jacket grabbed up in Jack’s fist. “Why you doing this?”

“Hey, I was in the bar in Clear River when you came in,” he said defensively. “I know the hills back here pretty good. You don’t think I—”

Jim Post put a big arm between Jack and Dan and said, “Let’s do this. C’mon. We’ll sort it out later.”

And with that the team separated—Jack, Preacher and Rick up the road, single file, Preacher in front, moving a
little too fast, Mike, Jim and Dan rounding the foot of the hill to go at Lassiter’s back. The climb was easy for Preacher’s group, not so swift for Jim and Mike, being led up an overgrown hillside with no path.

Once Preacher reached the top of the hill, he spotted the old truck. He stopped in his tracks and crouched, sneaking up on it, Jack and Rick close behind him. And not far from it, he saw her sitting against a tree, her chin dipped down to her chest. She could be dead or asleep.

The second Preacher saw Paige up against that tree, her name came out of him in a stunned whisper. He started blindly toward her. Jack whispered to him not to go and grabbed for his shoulder, but missed. The second Preacher’s footfalls began hammering toward her, she lifted her chin, her eyes wide with fear, and the next thing he knew there were a pair of arms around his ankles and he was on his way down. Midway there was a gunshot, a sharp, knifelike, stinging pain across his left biceps, and he hit the ground like a boulder, rolling with Jack.

There wasn’t a second shot, but there was a disturbance in the trees. Rick stayed behind the truck, his weapon at the ready with nowhere to aim. The sounds heard in the trees suggested Lassiter could be on the run, hopefully only to be caught on his way down by Mike and Jim.

Preacher kicked out of Jack’s tackle and belly-crawled toward Paige with incredible speed. He got behind the tree and reached long arms around, grabbing her arm harder than he ever had, and pulled her, still completely bound, to safety behind the tree with him. He put his fingers first on the tape that covered her mouth. “It’s gonna hurt, baby,” he whispered, then gave a sharp, quick yank.

She pinched her eyes closed tightly and held bravely silent. Then she said, “John, he’s been waiting. He means to shoot you and me.”

Preacher pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket
and made fast work of the bindings around her wrists and ankles. “Crazy son of a bitch,” he whispered, while slicing through the tape. He peered around the tree; someone was definitely on the run down that hill. Maybe even already caught and trying to fight his way out.

She touched his shoulder, the very top of his arm. Blood ran down his arm. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

He put his finger to his lips and they froze, listening. The noise in the trees had weakened to a rustle; the night was otherwise silent.

A tense minute passed, then there was a shout. “Hey! Your bad guy’s down! We’re bringing him out!”

Paige whispered, “That’s not Wes.”

Preacher peered around the tree again. He saw Jack lying on his belly, his rifle up and trained in the direction of the trees. The man who’d led Jim and Mike up the hill had lost his shady brady, but he hauled Wes by the belt at his back, neatly folded in half, unconscious, through the trees. Wes dropped in a flop; the man wiped off his forehead with a hand. Then he shook his head. “Complicated,” he said. Preacher helped Paige to her feet and, keeping her behind him, cautiously approached.

“What the hell did you do?” Jack asked, getting up on his knees, then his feet.

“Ah, shit. I should’ve known you couldn’t hold off till we could get up on his back. Didn’t I tell you to wait? Till we could get up that hill?” He crouched, pulled handcuffs off the back of his belt and, yanking Wes’s hands behind his back, cuffed him. Jim was next out of the trees, holding two rifles, his and their guide’s. Right behind him was Mike, both of them panting.

Jack looked down at him. “He dead?”

“Nah.” He still gripped his flashlight. “But he’s gonna have a headache. Pretty good thing he didn’t see me—I can’t be in this. For obvious reasons.”

“You’re going to be counting on a lot of people covering you. Someone might just accidentally tell the truth.”

“Well, shit happens. Won’t be the first time I’ve had to relocate. But I’m telling you—life’s good right here, right now. I’d rather be left out of this.”

Wes Lassiter lay facedown on the ground, unconscious. Mike Valenzuela stepped toward Dan, still trying to catch his breath.

“You whack him?”

“Well, your man there provided diversion, and I couldn’t see good enough to shoot him….”

“You carry handcuffs?” Mike asked.

Dan grinned. “Yeah. You know. Kinky sex—you should try it.”

“Think I will,” Mike said.

Dan looked at Jack. “What if we made a trade here? Flashlights?” He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped his prints off his flashlight.

“Not this one,” Jack said. “I used this one to deliver my son.” He smiled. “I couldn’t find a midwife.”

Dan laughed. “I figured I owed you one. At least one. But seriously—I shouldn’t be in this.”

“Take mine,” Jim Post said, and this made Jack just slightly more attentive. Jim tossed Dan the flashlight, received the replacement by a toss.

Dan touched his forehead. “Lost my damn hat,” he said. “You’ll be okay now. He’s going away forever. No more trouble on that. I hear kidnapping’s huge.” He turned and moved down the hill, through the trees.

Silence reigned for a few moments while the sounds of his descent down the hill faded. The man on the ground began to squirm and moan. Preacher growled and pulled back a foot, but caught himself and didn’t kick him with a boot behind which there was two hundred fifty pounds of pure rage.

Jim Post tilted his head toward the departure of the man who traded flashlights. “You know him?”

“No,” Jack said. “He came into the bar for a drink with stinky Bens in a big wad. Then he took Mel out to a grow site to deliver a baby and I thought I’d lose my mind, it scared me so bad. Next time I saw him I told him that just can’t happen.” He shrugged. “He said she wasn’t in danger, but it wouldn’t happen again. Now this.”

“This,” Post said.

“The craziest part of our relationship so far,” Jack said.

“Well, he was making that climb a little faster than we were,” Jim said. “He must’ve heard you make the top of the hill, because he dropped his gun and took off up the hill at a run, through the growth. I heard the shot, then the struggle. He was taking a big chance there. If this guy was any better with a weapon, he could’ve turned on our man. Our friend.”

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Preacher said. Paige came around him and Preacher lifted his good arm to drop it over her shoulders, the other dangling at his side, blood running down it.

Jim made eye contact with each of the men and Paige, one at a time. “I hit this guy in the back of the head, okay? We all good on that? Because your cowboy buddy there—I think he’s not what he appears to be.”

“Shouldn’t the law decide that?” Jack asked.

Jim Post had been undercover in these mountains, in the cannabis trade, when he met and fell in love with June. “Leave that on me, okay? I still know a couple of people. Let it go. We owe him one.”

“At least one,” Paige said.

Wes Lassiter awoke from his head injury in the hospital, cuffed to the bed, with no idea who had struck him. He claimed no memory of abducting his wife and was, of course, a victim, not a perpetrator, in his eyes.

But there were many witnesses—from Paige to the search party to the man who found him pointing a gun at the location where Paige was bound and held, Jim Post. A witness testimony that would, strangely, never be required. The assistant district attorney promised they wouldn’t accept any plea agreements—for numerous probation violations from possession, breaching an order of protection, kidnapping and attempted murder—but in the end he did. Twenty-five years without parole for kidnapping, the other felony charges to be sentenced later with possible parole on those—but he would be a very, very old man before it became even possible for parole. If he’d gone to trial, it was possible for him to get life without parole. Paige and the town of Virgin River were extremely grateful.

Often Paige would awaken in the night with a cry on her lips, shuddering, trembling, shivering in fear. John would pull her close and say, “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’ll always be right here.”

She would calm. She was safe. “It’s really over,” she would whisper.

“And we have the rest of our lives,” he always whispered back.

R
ick had taken an afternoon off from the bar after his high school graduation to go over to Eureka and visit Liz. He asked Jack and Preacher if they’d be around the bar till closing—he’d like to talk to them when he got back to town. It was almost nine by the time he walked in. “Thanks for hanging around, Jack,” he said. “Preacher still in the kitchen?”

“Yeah. How’s Liz doing?”

“She’s getting by. She’s back in her old high school—summer school to catch up—and she’s getting some counseling there.” He shrugged. “She has some real sad days, but she seems to be holding it together. Better than I thought she would.”

“Glad to hear that,” Jack said.

Rick got up on a stool. “I’m eighteen now,” he said. “Not quite legal, but how about we have a drink together. You, me and Preach. Can we do that?”

“We celebrating something?” Jack asked, getting down three glasses.

“Yeah. We are. I signed up.”

Jack’s hand froze in midair. He had to force himself to complete the move, bring down the glasses. He banged on the wall that separated the kitchen from the bar to bring Preacher.

“We could’ve talked,” Jack said.

“There wasn’t anything to talk about,” Rick answered.

“What the—” Preacher started, having come quickly from the kitchen with a pretty scattered look on his face.

“Rick signed up,” Jack said.

His face fell from startled to stricken. “Aw, Rick, what the hell!”

“We’re going to drink to it, if you can get under control,” Rick said.

“It isn’t gonna be easy for me to drink to that, man,” Preacher said.

Jack tipped a nice whiskey over three glasses. “Want to tell us what was going through your mind?”

“Sure. I have to do something hard,” he said. “I can’t wake up every morning hoping that maybe today I’ll be a little less sad. I need something tough. Something that will show me what I’ve got. Show me who I am again.” He focused clear eyes on Jack’s face, then Preacher’s. “Because I don’t know anymore.”

“Rick, we could have found you something hard that wasn’t quite as dangerous. This is a warring country. They’re fighting Marines. They don’t all come home.”

“Sometimes they don’t even make it out of their mother’s womb,” Rick said softly.

“Aw, Rick…” Preacher said, hanging his head. “It’s been a real hard year.”

“Yeah. I thought about a lot of things. School, bumming around the country for a year, logging, construction. I could beg Liz to marry me—but it turns out she’s still only fifteen.” He smiled lamely. “This is the only thing I can do, Jack. Preach. It’s kind of what I was raised to do, if you think about it.”

“So now it’s not bad enough you’re doing it, you’re going to blame it on us?” Jack said.

Rick grinned. “If I do okay, you’ll take all the credit.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Jack said. “You giving notice?”

“Not really, Jack. I’m going right away. I was hoping you’d take me to the bus in Garberville.”

“What’s right away?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You took the oath?” he asked, and Rick nodded. “We don’t even have time to send you off?”

Rick shook his head. “All I wanted was to make sure Liz is okay. That I can go and she’ll be okay.”

“And…?”

“She’s not thrilled, but she’s gotten pretty tough. She says she’ll write to me, but you know what? She’s so young. When I’m out of the picture awhile, she’ll have a chance to start over without this thing we went through together hanging all over her like a dark cloud. I’ll almost be happier if she doesn’t write to me. That would mean she’s moving on.”

“You want her to move on, man?” Preacher asked.

“That’s one of the reasons I have to do something like this. I don’t know that, either. Who knows what me and Lizzie had? Besides a baby that didn’t live.” He looked down. “I was working so hard at doing the best I could, I never had time to check, see what I’d be feeling if there wasn’t any pressure. And neither did she. That’s just not fair to her.”

“What about college, Rick?” Preacher asked. “I thought between the three of us, one would go to college at least.”

“There’s time, if I want to do that. I didn’t sign up for life. I signed up for four years.”

“Just one thing,” Jack said. “This isn’t some idiotic idea you got in your head to make us proud, is it? Because you know we’re proud. You know we couldn’t be more proud. You get that, right?”

Rick smiled. “You guys being proud is what got me
through. Nah, it’s not about that. I think if I grieve this anymore, I’ll die inside. I have to go. Do something. Start something important. I have to push on something that’ll push back.”

“Semper, she’ll push back, Rick,” Preacher said. “She’ll push back real hard, like you want.”

Jack lifted a glass. “Do we drink to hardness?”

“That’ll work,” Rick said. “Say you support me. Say you respect my choice.”

“You’re a man, Rick. You thought it through, made a decision. Here’s to you.”

They drank. Preacher ducked his head away and gave a sniff. “You’re killing me, man,” he said.

Rick reached across the bar and grabbed the big man’s good arm, giving it a shake. He swallowed hard. “Will you guys look after my grandma? Make sure she’s all right?”

“What did she say about this, Rick?” Jack asked him.

He lifted his chin bravely. “She said she understands. She has a lot of pride, you know. She doesn’t want me hanging out here, taking care of her. And she knows this has been really tough for me—that I have to get past it. Any way I can.”

“There’s a good woman,” Preacher said. “We’ll watch out for her.”

“Thanks.” Rick stood from the bar stool. “You guys gonna be okay?”

“Hey,” Jack said. “We’re tough. What time do we leave?”

“Seven in the morning. I’ll be down.”

The morning came way too soon for all of them. Rick showed up with his packed duffel, but couldn’t escape the gathering at the bar. Mike was there to send him off. No way Mel was going to let him go without a tearful hug. Nor Paige nor Doc. Even Chris was up bright and early, and while still in his pajamas, he grabbed Rick’s neck and
had to be pried loose. Connie and Ron were there, emotional at the parting. Preacher almost killed him with his one-armed bear hug. “God,” Preacher said, “you better be careful.”

“Hey, it’s just Basic. They can’t do too much to me at Basic. But yeah, Preach. I’ll be real careful, you don’t have to worry about that.”

It was pretty hard to talk on the way to Garberville. Jack was feeling a powerful ache in his chest. And a lump in his throat.

“I’m excited about this, Jack. It’s the first time I’ve been excited in months. You remember how you felt when you first went in?”

“Scared shitless.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “I’ve got some of that, too.”

“Rick, they’re going to try to pound the stuffing out of you. You’re going to think it’s personal. It’s not.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to want to quit, and you can’t.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to fight, you know. There are two Corps—the fighting Marines and the support staff. You don’t have to fight if you’re not sure.”

“Were you sure?” Rick asked.

“No, son.” Jack looked at him. Rick sat tall. Strong. “No, Rick. I wasn’t sure till I was trained, and then I still wasn’t sure. It just felt like what I wanted to do at the time, and I went that way knowing I might be wrong. But I went that way.”

“That’s where I’m at. Just a feeling. But damn, it’s good to have a feeling again. One that doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah,” Jack said in a breath. “I can imagine.”

At the bus, there was one last hug. “I’ll see you after Basic,” Jack said. “You’ll do good. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Rick said. And although Jack’s eyes were
moist, Rick’s were cool. Driven and confident, once again. Maybe a little bit like Jack had been a while back, when he was about that age.

Rick threw his duffel to the driver and climbed on. Jack stood on the sidewalk until the bus was gone. Then he walked down the street and found a pay phone. He plugged a pocketful of quarters into the phone and dialed. Sam answered.

“Yeah, Dad?” Braced against the phone box, he leaned his head on his arm. “Dad?”

“Jack. What’s up?”

“Dad, I think I know how you must’ve felt. Back when I left for the Marine Corps. You must’ve wanted to die.”

It was early June when the entire Sheridan family came to Virgin River en masse. They had rented RVs, brought fancy tents, campers and toy haulers. Also in evidence, the Marines—this time some of them brought their families. Zeke brought Christa and four kids, including a brand-new baby. Josh Phillips brought Patti and the babies. Corny brought Sue and the two little girls. Tom Stephens came from Reno but had to leave the family home. Joe and Paul were there from Grants Pass. Everyone was camping at the new Sheridan home site; quads and dirt bikes had come along for the entertainment of the pack. Flatbed trucks had brought picnic tables a few days before, plus a couple of huge barbecues and portable toilets. Jack had spent the past two months getting lumber ready for framing, and yesterday, amid much food, drink and celebrating, the men erected the frame of Mel and Jack’s new home.

But that wasn’t all that was taking place during this reunion. Since everyone was present, there was another special occasion. A wedding day.

Paige and Chris were at Mel’s while Paige primped
and donned a sweet and simple floral sundress and high-heeled sandals. While she was getting dressed, the men and Sheridan women were sweeping out the foundation of the framed house and stringing garlands along the beams. Rented folding chairs were brought in and set up—one hundred of them—and that wouldn’t be quite enough. Most of the town would turn out.

“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful,” Mel whispered to Paige. “Nervous?”

Paige shook her head. “Not at all.”

“When did you know?” Brie asked her. “When did you know for sure he was absolutely perfect for you?”

“Not right away,” she admitted. “I wanted no part of a man who claimed he could take care of me, for obvious reasons. But John moves real slow.” She laughed. “
Real
slow. It was all in the way his frown would slowly go away when he looked at me, the way his voice would get all tender and soft when he talked to me. His caution, his shyness. It takes a lot for a man like John to make a move. He has to be sure of everything. By the time he got around to telling me he loved me, I thought I’d die waiting for him. But he’s a careful man—and he doesn’t change his mind.”

“How’d he do it?” Brie wanted to know. “Propose.”

“Hmm.” She thought. “Well, we’ve talked about this for a while—about making a commitment when things got under control. He told me at Christmastime he wanted to be with me forever, add to the family, and I wanted that, too. But when you come down to the exact, official proposal, he was peeling potatoes. He stopped what he was doing and looked across the kitchen at me. My hair was stringy, I was sweating from the heat of the stove and doing dishes, and he said, ‘Whenever you’re ready, I want to marry you. I’m
dying
to marry you,’ he said.”

“Well,” Brie said, unimpressed. “That must have knocked you right off your feet.”

“Yeah, it did,” she said in a sigh. “John’s the only person I’ve ever known who could look at me in my worst physical and emotional state and think I’m perfect.”

Mel took her hand. “Come on. We’re almost late. We have to go now.”

The women loaded Chris and baby David in the Hummer and drove out to the home site. The widened road was lined with cars and trucks, and at the top of the hill, more vehicles, RVs and trailers. Mel drove all the way to the top and parked right near the structure that would one day be her house. Picnic tables were laden with food, the framed house was strung with flower garlands and the chairs on the foundation were full with people standing around behind them and out in the yard. Smoke rose from heated barbecues and children ran about. A ceremony, a picnic, a party, and some playtime. And for once, Preacher would do none of the cooking.

Paige, Mel and Brie got out of the Hummer. Someone immediately handed them simple bouquets and took David from Mel so she could attend the ceremony; a boutonniere was pinned onto Christopher’s shirt and he clutched Bear under his arm.

There was no music, but this was not to be a traditional wedding, not meant to resemble other weddings, because John and Paige wanted this day to reflect who they were—simple, grateful people who loved each other more than the event. The bar was not big enough and the church had been boarded up for years. It was John who had said, “Once we get the frame of Jack’s house up, not only will everyone we care about be there, there will be lots of room.” Who gets married in a framed house? was Paige’s first thought. Her next immediate thought was—people like John and me do.

But looking at it now, strung with flowers, it was so
beautiful that for a second she couldn’t breathe. To the left was a view that went on forever, to the right, the majestic mountains. It had become an outdoor church, filled with friends.

Chris walked in front of her toward the plank that led up to the foundation, and Mel and Brie each held one of her hands. She smiled at the people—far more than she expected. They hadn’t sent invitations—they posted a notice in the bar that anyone interested should attend, and they were here in droves. Of course it touched her to think how much respect they’d paid her, but even more deeply she felt the honor they paid to John, Preacher. He did right by everyone he met, not just her.

The foundation of the house being raised, she could only see the seated and standing wedding guests. Chris ran ahead, up the plank and down the aisle. She walked up the plank to the foundation carefully, her bridesmaids right behind her.

Then she saw him. Standing up front, at a place where a fireplace would eventually be erected. Chris stood in front of him; John’s hands were on his shoulders. Jack and Mike stood beside him. Even from her distance she could see the light brighten his eyes. He was a pillar of a man, probably six-six in his boots. Today, for the first time ever, he wore a linen shirt with a button-down collar and she suspected his jeans were new, but she doubted he’d ever owned a tie. Before she could even make the walk to meet him at their makeshift altar he broke away from his groomsmen and strode toward her, reaching out a hand to take her the rest of the way. He didn’t move slowly anymore, not where she was concerned. This man had saved her life, changed her life. To his very core, he was all goodness. He was so strong, so authentic.