Angel's Peak (13 page)

“Yes, I was with Franci, but Rosie was spending the night at her grandma’s down the street. I think Franci was just about to tell me when Rosie came through the door and jumped into Franci’s arms.” He put his hands in his pockets and smiled contritely. “Red hair, green eyes. She calls herself the Wide Iwish Rose.” His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle. “Ah, no question about the DNA.”

“Well,” Luke said. “Talk about a revelation.”

“Yeah. So I’m going to get a shower, pack some things, go back to Franci’s to talk to my Wide Iwish Rose, then fly to Phoenix to tell Mom, who is going to beat me to a bloody pulp for every bad thing I’ve ever done.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Shelby said.

“No, she will not,” Luke and Sean said in unison.

“She will be happy to have a grandchild,” Sean added, “but unhappy that she is three and a half and doesn’t know her Riordan grandma. And she’s going to want to kill me for not being married to Franci. If I don’t take a little time to talk her off the ledge, she’ll take over. She’s going to be a giant pain in the ass.” He looked at Art pointedly. “Ass is a swear word. I won’t say it again and don’t you.”

“I know which ones are the swear ones,” Art said indignantly. “Sometimes when we’re fixing the roof, we don’t say fuck piss shit, right, Luke?”

“That’s right, Art. We don’t say that. Good—you remembered.” Luke rolled his eyes. Then he swiveled his head toward Sean again. “Now what?”

“Now I’m going to have to get this straightened out. Franci will have to marry me. Or something.”

Shelby laughed and immediately covered her mouth. Sean was glaring at her so she said, “I was just thinking—you’re going to work on the proposal a little, right? Because, as proposals go, that one sucked.”

Sean ground his teeth. This whole thing was way bigger than he was. “I’m going to get that shower.” And then he took the stairs two at a time, hoping he could spend some time with his daughter and get to Phoenix before Luke told on him.

Seven

Dan Brady lumbered into Jack’s and headed up to the bar. He took his Shady Brady off his head and sat it on the stool next to him. It was early Sunday afternoon and he was the only person in the place. It took a minute before Preacher came from the back.

“Yo, Brady,” Preacher said, whipping a napkin onto the bar. “Don’t usually see you around town on Sundays. Your day off, isn’t it?”

Dan nodded. He worked for Paul Haggerty and had been promoted to the foreman’s position, which not only brought more responsibility, but more hours. He was on the job five and a half days a week, and that half day, Saturday, usually stretched into a full day. “How about some coffee?”

“You got it,” Preacher said, pouring. “Don’t you usually have a date with your girl on Sundays? Or did Cheryl finally get smart and dump you?”

The normally serious Dan grinned. “She’s meeting me here.” He looked at his watch. “In about twenty minutes. Where’s Sheridan? Taking a day off?”

“We switch off on light days like Sunday afternoons. Mel has a long list of honey-do’s for him.” Preacher leaned on the bar. “It’ll be nice to see Cheryl. Don’t see enough of her around here.”

Dan looked up at the big man somewhat apologetically. “I doubt she’ll come in and visit, Preach. Since she found sobriety, she likes to stay away from the memories of her hard-drinking days.”

“Yeah, I get that. Our loss, though.”

“She’s planning to face a big memory today,” Dan said. “If she doesn’t change her mind. She’s coming to town to look at her old house. She’s only been inside a couple of times since she left for treatment a long time ago. She’s going to have a look today and, if she likes the shape it’s in, she’ll be talking to a real estate agent about selling it.”

“Then what’ll you do for a place to hang that Shady Brady of yours?”

“I’ll find another place nearby. I work around here—you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

They were silent a moment. Preacher was thinking. You could always tell when he was concentrating; his heavy black brows knit together, his eyes narrowed, his jaw ground a little. Then he came out with it. “Maybe sometime you can tell Cheryl from me that it stands to reason she’d think about those hard days a lot, but she probably thinks about it way more than anyone else does. Folks around here, we mostly think about how amazing she is, whether she comes around to visit or not. We’re all real proud of her, real happy for her. She’s good people. You tell her that, if you ever get the chance.”

“I’ll do that, Preach,” he said. And he thought, Preacher’s one sweet dude.

Preacher put a thermos coffeepot on the bar. “I’ll be in the back. I’m making pies.”

Dan pulled out his wallet.

“Pah, forget about it,” Preacher said. “It’s just a cup of coffee between friends, man.” And then he was gone.

A few minutes later the door to the bar swung open and Cheryl said, “I’m here, Dan. I’m ready.”

He turned to look at her and smiled. She just got prettier all the time. He walked out of the bar with her, holding her hand. “I walked over—let’s jump in your truck,” he said. “Want me to drive?”

She handed him her keys and got in the passenger side.

“Still want to do this?” he asked her, when they were both in her truck.

Cheryl nodded. Cheryl had grown up in the house and it was one of many things she left behind when she moved away from Virgin River. She also left her morbid childhood, her alcoholism, her bad reputation and her perpetual failure. Her sense of hopelessness fled when she met Dan Brady. “Turns out I can do a lot of things when I’m with you.”

For a break on the rent, Dan had been renovating and upgrading her house. She’d seen it exactly one time since Dan had moved in, and that had been a mere month after she’d handed him the key. It had been greatly improved from the miserable dump it was in that short month, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to look at it again. Just walking through the door, even if it was changed and improved, was a fearful prospect for her. It brought back so many horrible memories. Cheryl had spent close to fifteen years mostly in a drunken stupor. And she wasn’t an ordinary drunk; she had been the town drunk.

As for Dan, he had his own ghosts. They were just different ones. He’d been a grower; he’d done prison time.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dan told her, holding her hand. “You can slap a for-sale sign on it without even going inside. The Realtor can give you a good idea what it should sell for with all the improvements.”

“I can do it,” she said. “I want to see it.”

“Are you sure, Cheryl? Because I want us to go forward. There’s no reason we ever have to be stuck in the past. Our pasts—we beat ’em. We just have to keep a green memory so we don’t walk back that way.”

She turned and smiled tenderly at him. She squeezed his hand. “I’ve been sober a year and change,” she said. “I feel good. My worst day sober is so much better than my best day drunk. I want to see the house, sell it, make a life with you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Then let’s do it,” he said.

They’d been together for more than six months. They were taking it real slow, one baby step at a time. They’d spent their first whole night together just a few weeks ago and now the long-term plan was to sell her house, begin building a new one on the edge of Virgin River. Since the lot they’d picked out wasn’t in town, Cheryl wouldn’t have to go in unless she wanted to. The decision to build there had more to do with Dan’s work needs than her preferences. Since going to work for Paul, his life had turned around completely. His income and benefits were excellent, but his days started early and ended late. There was also lots of overtime, which meant money in the bank. Living close to work would be an advantage for him.

They pulled up in front of the house and Dan got out and walked around the truck and opened the door for her. She put her hand in his as they walked up to the solid porch of a pretty little house. He opened the new front door and let her enter first. He had spent more than six months completely rebuilding her house so she could sell it and move on, and he was proud of his work. He couldn’t wait for Cheryl to see it.

She immediately remembered what that house was like when she had lived in it. She was thirty years old before she found her way out, but the memory flooded back to her. It had smelled so bad, for one thing. She couldn’t remember when it had ever been properly cleaned and her now-deceased mother had woofed down two packs a day so there had been a perpetual smoky cloud in the air. There had been so many gaps in the doors and windows that it was always cold through the winter no matter how high they turned the heat. She’d gotten used to things like ripped linoleum, missing bathroom tiles, cupboards without doors, nicotine stains on the windows and walls.

But today she looked at a pristine little house. The wood floors shone, the walls were textured and painted bright colors, the lighting fixtures were new. She walked into the kitchen—it was very small, but it was a masterpiece of wood, glass, granite and stainless-steel appliances.

The only furniture Dan had in the house were some bar stools pushed up to the newly constructed breakfast bar, bedroom furniture and one La-Z-Boy recliner in the bedroom—his reading chair. Sometimes his sleeping chair.

“Incredible,” she whispered. “Just amazing. You are so gifted. I can’t wait to see what you do on our house.”

He shrugged. “I had some help, you know. And I like to build. I was born into the trade.”

She pushed open the bathroom door—it was unrecognizable. Gone was the big sloppy shower and old pedestal sink and chain-flush toilet. In their place was a Whirlpool tub, separate glass shower, marble interior tile, sink and countertop. Dan had had to borrow one of Luke Riordan’s cabins for ten days while he gutted the bathroom and rebuilt it. Paul helped him wire it, Jack helped him plumb it, Preacher helped him cart in the tub, sink and toilet and install them. The four of them together installed and finished the cabinetry in one day.

That was the best part of the whole project—Dan now had friends, when a year or two ago he’d had no one.

And Cheryl’s support system through AA had grown and spread beyond that tight circle. After six months as a waitress she was now working at the community college in the cafeteria. She was taking two courses with the hope of one day getting her degree. Cheryl had moved out of her group home a couple of months ago and was renting a small apartment in a big old Victorian house that had been divided into three apartments. Her newfound independence was giving her confidence she didn’t know she had.

She turned full circle, looking around at the impressive remodel. While she’d lived here with her parents, her bedroom was little more than a shed pushed up against the house. Dan had poured a foundation, framed and rebuilt the room, complete with large windows. The washer and dryer had occupied a spot on the back porch; now that porch was framed, enclosed and had become a sunroom with a small, separate laundry closet at the far end. The nasty, dirty, falling-down heap of a house Cheryl remembered was a charming, beautiful little home.

“I can’t ever possibly repay you for this,” she said.

Dan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It started out as an affectionate kiss that, as usual for them, deepened and became more passionate. “Aren’t you lucky? You don’t have to.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Now what?”

“We get the Realtor to put up a sign. Chances are pretty good it won’t sell right away, especially this time of year. When it does, I’ll find something small to rent. When you’re ready—if you’re ready—we’ll start building something we can get old in.”

“Together,” she said. “When it’s time, I’ll be ready.”

Dan sometimes spent the night with Cheryl if he was invited, but they had no plans to move in together anytime soon. Long-range plans included getting engaged, finishing a small but perfect house on a nice lot, eventually getting married. Slow moves worked best for Cheryl, and Dan constantly reassured her that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Want to have lunch at Jack’s?” he asked her.

“Maybe eventually,” she said. “One thing at a time, okay?”

“No rush, baby,” he said. “You have friends here whenever you’re ready.”

“I know. I don’t deserve any of them, but I sure appreciate them.”

“Lucky for you,” he said again. “You don’t have to deserve them. Let’s go find food. Seeing you happy makes me want to celebrate.”

This Sunday afternoon for Vivian Duncan turned out to be a lot less relaxing than she’d counted on. She had planned to give herself a home-spa day—manicure, pedicure, facial, several hours lost in a good novel while she fluffed and buffed—followed by a nap! But the events of Sunday morning had been wildly illuminating and relaxation went right out the window. She recalled walking into Franci’s house that morning, with Rosie in tow, to come face-to-face with Rosie’s father. He was as handsome as she remembered, despite the bruise on his face. He’d been standing in the kitchen, shirtless, in only jeans and bare feet, looking for all the world like a Calvin Klein ad. Clearly he’d spent the night.

She had rushed Rosie out of there fast, giving the kids a chance to talk, but the second the coast was clear, she went back. She and Franci had had to speak cryptically and quietly in the kitchen; Rosie was in her bedroom with Harry, putting on her play princess gown and dressing Harry in a tutu.

“He’s back?” Vivian asked in a whisper.

“He sure is,” Franci said. “And he asked me not to tell Rosie about him till he gets his bearings. He’ll call tonight.”

“When did he turn up?” Viv asked.

“Actually, over a week ago, and I didn’t say anything because I wanted time to think about how I was going to handle telling him about Rosie. The past couple of days have been an emotional roller coaster.”

“Was there more than one way to handle it?” Vivian asked.

“Okay, Mom, let me be blunt—and I’m sorry if it hurts. I wanted to decide how I was going to handle it without any pressure.”

Vivian was quiet for a moment. Then she gave a sharp nod. “Nicely done. Blunt but not painful. You get that from me.” Franci grinned at her mother. Then she laughed. “Oh, good,” Viv said. “No crying. This is all going to work out, then?”