They had no idea how much she missed them, how much she wished she could be home with them just sailing through the holidays as though nothing was missing. And this Christmas, it wasn’t just that Bobby was missing; she’d already had her first Christmas without Bobby. Ian was missing, too—and she had to put all that together.

The bar was full of women, at least twenty of them, when Marcie stepped through the kitchen door. They had baskets, boxes, tins and large platters covered in plastic wrap laid out on the tables. They held mugs of coffee and tea and chattered happily. Marcie stood in the doorway looking into the room. This would be the women’s thing that had been spoken of; this would preclude her sitting in the bar until Ian could return for her. She’d have to find something to do.

“There you are,” Paige said. “You must have had a nice chat with your sister.”

“Um, I couldn’t reach my sister so I called my brother,” Marcie said.

“You have a brother, too? Oh—you’re so lucky. Are you close with them?”

She willed herself not to get teary. “Very,” she said, giving a nod.

“How wonderful.” Paige reached for her hand. “Come and meet some of the women,” she said, pulling her along into the room. “This is their Christmas cookie exchange. Some of these women are world-class bakers—but don’t tell John. He thinks no one can outbake him, but believe me, they’re incredible.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t intrude….”

“Don’t be silly—you’re completely welcome. Unless…I mean, if you have somewhere to go…”

All she could do was shake her head. “It’s just that…Of course I have no cookies.”

Paige just laughed. “Neither does Mel. Mel can barely boil water. I made my cookies in the bar’s kitchen, and so did Brie, but Mel just said ‘Oh, the hell with it—there’s no use pretending.’”

Right at that moment, from across the room, Mel spotted Paige and Marcie and came right over. “Oh good, you came to town! This has to beat sitting out at the cabin by yourself. And what a great morning to be here—you can meet some of the neighbors. And don’t hesitate to sample. How about some coffee?”

“That would be so great,” Marcie said. “It’s just that I feel like I might be a party crasher.”

“Not in this town,” Mel said with a laugh. “People are always happy to meet someone new. Otherwise it’s the same old faces.”

Paige pressed a cup of fresh, steaming coffee into Marcie’s hand and then Mel pulled her into the room full of women. Marcie made the acquaintance of many—Connie, who ran the town store, Joy who managed the library, Hope McCrea, whom she recognized from the tree-trimming, Lilly Anderson and her daughters and daughters-in-law. Lilly wore a knitted stocking cap pulled tight over her head and Marcie couldn’t help but notice dark circles under her eyes, yet her smile was so warm and full of life. When Mel pulled Marcie away she whispered, “Chemo. She’s lost her hair.”

“Oh, how sad.”

“She’s fighting hard—don’t be sad.”

“Did you just tell a medical secret?” Marcie asked.

Mel shook her head. “Lilly likes me to explain for her when I can.”

And then there were more women—ranchers’ wives, a woman who, along with her husband, owned a vineyard, a couple of women from a neighboring town. Of course they asked Marcie what had brought her to Virgin River. She tossed it out there, pure and simple. “Well, my husband was critically wounded in Iraq, he was a marine, and he died last year. I heard his best friend from the Corps lived around here and I came to find him. Deliver the news. Get to know him.”

“And did you?”

“I did,” she said with a smile. “He lives in a cabin on a mountaintop. He dropped me off in town today while he delivers firewood to some of his customers and will pick me up in another hour. He’s been…He is…I like this place,” she finally said. “I love your tree!”

“Mel, Paige and Brie came up with the idea. Even though these local marines are out of the action now, they still feel close to the men and women who serve,” someone said.

“We’ll fix you up a sample plate to take back to him,” someone else offered.

“Oh, you shouldn’t…”

“But he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Mel asked her. “Because it would make the women feel good. Visit a while—I’ll supervise.” And that fast, Mel was gone, leaving Marcie on her own.

She only suffered a second of discomfort before there was someone beside her, chatting with her. They asked her about her hometown, her late husband, her job and family. It had been in her mind to ask the questions to keep them talking, but it didn’t work that way—she was the newcomer, and they were curious.

A large plastic plate covered in plastic was pressed into her hands—a collection from all the other plates in the room—Santas and trees and ornaments; lemon bars, chocolate crispies, brownies; thin slices of specialty breads, lots of assorted treats.

And then the room fell silent as a young woman entered the bar. She was tall with long reddish-gold hair; she carried a box of cookies and she was very pregnant. Her smile was shy and she looked down in the silence. Stepping into the room behind her was a very tall man. He was also shy, Marcie thought, noting the man seemed a little uncomfortable.

But in just a moment the awkward silence seemed to pass and the women in the room surrounded her, embracing her, kissing her cheeks. Mel had an arm around her and held her hand, bringing her into the room. Once she’d greeted everyone, she went about the business of offering her cookies and putting together a sampling of the others to take home to her family.

“That’s Vanessa,” a voice said.

Marcie turned and looked into Brie’s eyes.

“Her husband was killed in Iraq a couple of weeks ago. Her baby is due soon—another six weeks or so, I guess. She’s staying with her father and brother just out of town.”

Marcie swallowed. “And the man with her?”

“Paul Haggerty, her late husband’s best friend since childhood. He’s stayed on since the funeral because Vanessa asked him to. Wherever you see Vanessa, Paul will not be far away. He’s completely devoted to her through this difficult time.”

“That’s…so good of him,” Marcie said weakly. She felt a pang of longing.

“Paul’s one of Jack, Mike and Preacher’s oldest friends. These guys—they really hang tight. And they’re always close at hand for the family.”

“He looks very sad,” Marcie observed.

“There’s no question about that,” Brie said. “I’m sure his pain is equal to hers. He was best friends with Matt since about the eighth grade.” Then she took a breath. “Thank God that baby’s coming. What a blessing. Would you like to meet her?”

“Let her be with her friends,” Marcie said quickly. “It can’t have been easy for her to come out like this so soon after…”

“Okay. Then excuse me,” Brie said. “I need to go give her a squeeze. I’ll be back.”

“Sure,” Marcie said. “Please, take your time.”

But the women in the room were consumed with Vanessa while Paul stood patiently near the door, never far away. After about twenty minutes, Vanessa returned to Paul with her collection of cookies and he slipped an arm around her waist as they exited the bar.

Leaving her own cookies on the bar, Marcie followed them out. They were just at the bottom of the porch steps when Marcie cleared her throat and said, softly, “Excuse me…Vanessa?”

They both turned and Marcie forced herself to step forward. “I’m…ah…so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly though her eyes were sad. Paul never let go of her. “I don’t know you, do I?”

“No. I’m just visiting. I’m also the widow of a marine,” she managed. “Happened about a year ago.”

“Oh!” Vanessa said, suddenly her emotions shifting from her own loss to Marcie’s. “I’m so sorry!”

“Thank you. My husband was critically wounded in Iraq four years ago and died last year. And when I heard…Vanessa, I remember when the grief was so fresh and painful. I wish I could say something that would help you now.”

She smiled so kindly, Marcie thought. Then Vanessa’s hand came out and touched Marcie’s red curls. “I think you just did. It was nice of you to say anything at all. I know you didn’t have to.”

“But I sure did have to,” Marcie said, feeling the sting of tears in her own eyes. “I remember so plainly how hard it is at first. I’m so glad for you, that you have good friends to help, that you have a baby coming.”

“No children?” Vanessa asked.

Marcie just shook her head. And then she heard the rough motor of Ian’s old truck pulling into town. She resisted the urge to look at her watch.

Vanessa opened her arms to Marcie and Marcie stepped into the embrace. Vanessa held her and Marcie felt her tears run. There were so many reasons—the woman had lost her young husband, she was pregnant, the husband’s best friend was there for her, and then—

Marcie laughed through tears. “I felt the baby kick,” she said.

“It’s a boy,” Vanessa said. “And he’s very active, thank God.”

Marcie pulled back and wiped her eyes. “There’s my ride,” she said. “Godspeed.”

“Thank you. What was your name?”

“Marcie Sullivan. I’m just here for a visit. I’ll be going home to Chico soon, to have the holidays with my brother and sister, with my husband’s family.”

“Well, enjoy your visit. And Merry Christmas. Thank you for your kindness.”

And then she watched as Paul helped Vanessa into the passenger seat of a big SUV.

Marcie held up a finger to Ian, indicating he should give her a minute. She ran back into the bar, gathered up her cookies and said a few quick goodbyes. Then she clambered into Ian’s truck. He was driving out of town before he asked, “Mission accomplished?”

“My sister was tied up, so I talked to my younger brother. He’ll pass on the word that everything is fine. And my timing was great—I stumbled into a Christmas cookie exchange. They insisted on making up a plate of samples to take home.”

“Mmph,” he answered. “I guess you made friends.”

“A few. Very nice people in this town—you should give them a chance sometime.”

“That woman?” he asked. “One of your new friends?”

“The one I was hugging?” Marcie asked, for clarification.

“She was the only one I saw besides you,” he answered.

“Vanessa. I didn’t get the last name. She lost her husband in Iraq a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know her, but I gave my condolences anyway.”

“The man wasn’t her husband?”

“The man was…” Her late husband’s best friend, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Just a good friend, as I understood it.”

Eight

O ne day tended to run into the next when you didn’t get up and go to work, or have a TV set that kept you oriented with the news and regular shows. Marcie never knew if it was Tuesday or Saturday, but it didn’t matter. Ian seemed to work seven days a week. Even though she felt completely over her flu—except for the cough that haunted her—she still tended to sleep late in the morning. The cabin stayed dark longer, given the shorter number of daylight hours, and Ian crept out silently. Sometimes she would hear the engine of his truck—an engine that could be grumpy as he was—and she’d just roll over and go back to sleep for a while. When she finally roused, Ian would be gone and she’d putter around, eat something, put a couple of logs in the stove, read one of his library books, which, frankly, often bored the enamel off her teeth. If she wanted to read a biography, it would more likely be of some remarkable woman.