Author: Robyn Carr

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I never do anything I don’t want to do!”

“I know. Boy, do I get that.” He started to get up and Preacher put out his hand. Jack took the assist only to find himself shoved back onto the ground.

“If you can’t help, then at least shut the fuck up!”

And with that Preacher turned and stomped back into his quarters.

Jack stayed down another minute. He drew up his knees and circled them with his arms. He tried shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Whoa, he thought. Damn.

He got slowly to his feet and decided the log-splitting could wait. He was seeing a few stars. He meandered over to Doc’s and walked in. Mel was not yet in town but Doc was in the kitchen making coffee. He turned as Jack came in and squinted at him. “How’s the other guy look?” Doc asked.

“I think I might’ve stepped on Preacher’s little toes,” he said. “Have an ice pack?”

A half hour later the front door opened and Mel came in. She left her medical bag in the reception area and went to the kitchen for coffee, where she found Jack sitting at the table, an ice pack held to his eye. Something about this seemed not to surprise her terribly. She leisurely poured herself a mug and sat down at the table. “Let me guess,” she said, wearing a very superior expression. “You felt the need to give advice.”

“Why don’t I listen to you?” he asked, lowering the ice pack to reveal a bruised cheek and black eye that was threatening to swell shut. She shook her head in disgust.

“As it turns out, Preacher does know what hit him,” Jack said.

“Toldja,” she said, leaning her chin into her hand, elbow on the tabletop.

“He took some exception to my advice that he might want to give serious thought to getting involved in this mess.”

She tsked so that he would know she found him stupid without coming right out and saying so.

“Okay, I said I was sorry. That he was right and I’m sorry.”

“After he cleaned your clock, I assume….”

“Well, yeah. After.”

“Men.”

“We’re usually on the same team,” he pointed out.

“When there’s not a woman between you.”

“I’m getting that.”

“You know, there’s this little rule about opinions. They’re only good when someone actually asks you for them.”

“He did say something about how I could just shut the fuck up.”

“There you go. Who’d figure Preacher for sage advice?”

He made a face at her and put the ice back against his face. He winced.

“Hurts, huh?”

“Damn, that boy’s got an arm.”

“You’re welcome to sit over here and hide out for as long as you want, but sooner or later you’re going to have to kiss and make up. Aren’t you at the bar today so he can go over to see the judge?”

“Yeah. But I was going to give him time to cool down a little. I’m going to need at least one eye to see out of.”

“Oh, I think if Preacher had more in mind for you, he’d have already delivered it.”

A little while later Jack walked into the kitchen at the bar and saw Preacher scowl his greeting. Bravely, Jack walked up to the counter. “Hey, man,” he said. “You were right, I was wrong, and I’d like us to get back on the same team.”

“You sure this team of mine isn’t too much trouble for little you?” Preacher asked.

“Okay, you about done? Because this really hurts and I’m trying not to deck you right now. We could’ve just talked about it.”

“I wanted to make sure I was clear,” Preacher said.

“I get it, Preach. Now, come on. I’m only going to ask once.”

Preacher seemed to think about it a second, then slowly put out his hand. Jack shook it and said, “Don’t do that again.”

“Don’t make me want to.”

It wasn’t long before Paige came downstairs with Christopher. “Oh, my God,” she said, looking at Jack’s face.

“It’s much worse than it looks,” he told her.

“What in the world happened?”

“I got too close to the rear end of a mule.” He pulled a disc out of his back pocket. “Mel told me to give you this—some pictures she took. In case you need it. But she said it should come with a warning—they’re very scary pictures, whatever that means,” he said, pretending he hadn’t already seen them. “She still has copies, so you can leave this, if someone asks for it—like the judge.”

Six

Judge Forrest served in the Superior Court and made his home in Grace Valley. In his seventies, he was spry and had a serious, perhaps grim countenance. But for Preacher he had a ready smile and handshake. They met not in the courtroom, but in the judge’s office. Preacher and Paige sat in chairs facing his desk, Christopher in the outside office with the judge’s secretary. Judge Forrest asked Paige some questions about her life in Los Angeles.

Paige explained that she had been married to Wes Lassiter for six years, that Christopher was her three-year-old son and she was a little over two months pregnant. The abuse began right away—he’d actually hit her once before they were married. It became increasingly worse and horribly violent in the past couple of years. “But I should have seen it coming from the beginning,” she said. “He was very controlling even before we were married. And he had a temper, rarely at me, but just about things in general. You know, like driving. Or anger about something at work. He’s a trader. Stocks and commodities—very high stress.”

“And the most recent abuse…?” the judge asked.

With a trembling hand, she slid a disc across his desk. “When I got to Virgin River, the nurse practitioner in the doctor’s office examined me because I was threatening to miscarry. She took pictures.”

“Jack’s wife,” Preacher explained, for the judge had been fishing with Jack. “Mel.”

“This was the last time,” Paige said. “The one that sent me running. Once again.”

Judge Forrest took the disc and slid it into the portal on his computer. He clicked the mouse a few times, then turned his eyes toward her. “Why didn’t you notify the police?” he asked her.

“I was afraid.”

“Have you ever notified the police?” he asked.

“Twice. And I had a restraining order once, which he violated. I couldn’t even stay with my mother—he threatened her, as well.”

“Mel Sheridan dated these pictures,” the judge said.

“I know. She said she’d take a medical history, no last name, date it and have it handy in case I needed it for treatment, or whatever….”

“You needed it. Your injuries are dated September 5. He reported you and your son missing on the twelfth.” Judge leaned toward her. “Young woman, this is a dangerous man. If you don’t press charges, there is no hope of stopping him. You certainly can’t stop him on your own.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m surprised he didn’t file charges against me sooner.”

“I’m not,” Judge said. “He wouldn’t want you recovered and returned to L.A. while you looked like this.” He popped the disc out and handed it back to her. “I’m granting you a TRO and temporary custody based on these pictures and what I can safely assume will be the testimony of your practitioner, and others. He beat you up, then waited until you had time to get away, possibly out of state, before reporting you missing—which presupposes you told him you were leaving. As far as I know, with his permission.” Paige opened her mouth, and Judge held up his hand to silence her. “Don’t say any more without a lawyer, young lady. That week that he waited before missing his wife and son speaks volumes. But you’re going to need some legal help. With any luck, you can obtain a divorce and permanent custody in absentia, but don’t be too surprised if you’re required to go back to L.A. If that happens, don’t stay with family. Your location should be undisclosed. And don’t go alone.”

“I’m seeing this through,” Preacher said.

Judge gave a nod of approval. “Your paperwork should be ready in about an hour. Maybe two. Go have some lunch and come back.” He stood up. “I wish you good luck.”

Later in the afternoon, as they drove back to Virgin River, Paige said, “Now comes the scary part.”

Rick was whistling as he arrived at work. He came from the back, through the deserted kitchen, into the bar. Jack was going through some receipts at the bar as Rick came in. “Hey, Jack,” Rick said. And Jack looked up. “Holy God!” Rick said, jumping back. “Man!”

“Yeah. Kind of ugly, huh?”

“Who hit you?”

“I ran into a door,” he said.

“Nah,” Rick said, shaking his head. “That door has a name. And there’s only one guy I can think of who could get one like that off on you. What did you do to piss him off?”

Jack shook his head and chuckled. “Too smart for your own damn good, aren’t you? I had an opinion I should’ve kept to myself.”

“Uh-oh. You told him not to get mixed up with Paige, didn’t you?”

Jack straightened indignantly. “Now, why the hell would you say something like that?” he demanded.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious how Preach feels about her, and her kid. Where is the big man?” Rick asked, looking around.

“He took Paige over to the county courthouse to see a judge. He should be back any time now.”

Rick’s face split in a huge grin. Then he started to laugh. He plunged his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, shaking his head. Laughing.

“What?” Jack demanded.

“Aw, Jack,” he said. “Did you tell him not to do that?”

“No!” Jack insisted. Then he let out a huge sigh. “I’d be dead now if I’d told him not to.” He pointed at his face. “I got this for telling him he might want to think about it.”

“Oh, my Jesus,” Rick said. “Preacher-man is all in. Got a woman.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure he gets that yet, so watch your step.”

Rick stepped close and gave Jack a shot to the arm with his fist. “Come on. I’m not dumb enough to get between him and a woman.”

“Yeah?” Jack said. And he thought, am I the only one around here without a brain?

Jack left the bar a little early because he was tired of people asking him what happened to his face. He was having a quiet evening in the cabin with Mel when the phone rang. When Jack heard the voice of his youngest sister, he beamed. “Brie! How you doing?”

“Hi, Jack. How are you?”

“Great. Listen, Preacher told me he asked you for some advice about this young woman he’s helping out. That was good of you, Brie. It’s a bad situation.”

“Yeah, I’m calling with some names for you to write down. Got a pen?”

“You sound a little rushed.”

“Yeah, a little. Ready to copy?”

“Sure,” he said, picking up a pen. “Go.”

She rattled off a few names of lawyers, a couple in L.A., a couple in northern California, spelling for him when he asked her to. “Tell the woman to contact one of these local lawyers immediately, before she makes a move, before the husband can make another move. Immediately.”

“Sure. Why do you sound so pissed off?” he asked her. “Bad day in court?”

“Big case,” she said shortly. “Not my best day.”

“So, what’s Brad up to? He around?”