her and performed an ultrasound, showing her a small, beating heart in a little mass that didn’t look anything like a baby. But it gave her hope. She had gotten out in time. Barely in time.
The pregnancy was an accident, of course. Wes didn’t want children. He hadn’t wanted Christopher—it interfered with his focus, which was his job and his possessions, Paige being chief among them. Perhaps this new baby precipitated the beating; she’d only told him a couple of days before. In fact, she’d been terrified to tell him. But then, if he didn’t want it, why put her through so much? Why not just suggest termination?
The larger question was how could Paige be so relieved to learn the baby had survived when Wes’s merest touch repelled her? She was, that’s all. But then, she’d come to think of her son as the one good thing that could come out of the biggest mistake of her life. Have you been raped? Mel had asked. Oh, no—not rape. She wouldn’t dare tell Wes no…
When she got back to Virgin River, she found Chris making bread with John, kneading and punching the dough, laughing.
Such an uncomplicated scene, she thought. So many times when Wes was stressing out and getting himself all worked up about his job, the financial pressures of their lifestyle, she had told him that simplifying things would actually appeal to her. No, she didn’t want to be dirt poor and worked to death, but she could be so content in a smaller house with a happier husband. Not long before Chris had been born, Wes bought the big house in an exclusive, guarded, gated L.A. community—more house than they could ever need, and hanging on to it was killing him. Killing her.
So, here she was. The baby had made it. She had to get going, to that address in Spokane, to the first step in her underground escape. The dresser had not been pulled against the door since the first night and she thought she’d give herself another twenty-four hours to rest, then leave in the quiet of night. If there was no rain, the roads wouldn’t be so difficult and it would be easier to travel at night while Chris slept.
There was a soft tapping at the door. It was her instinctto ask who was there, but there was only one possibility. She pulled the door open and there stood John, looking nervous. Looking, in spite of his height and girth, like a teenager. He might’ve had a flush on his cheeks.
“I closed up the bar. I was thinking about a short drink before calling it a night. How about you? Wanna come down for a little while?”
“For a drink?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He peered past her. “He asleep?”
“Out like a light, despite an overdose of cookies.”
“Yeah, I probably gave him too many. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry—he loves making them. If he makes them, he has to eat them. It’s fun—sometimes that’s more important than nutrition.”
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Preacher said. “I could cut him back. He likes ’em though. He especially likes burning his mouth on them. He doesn’t wait so good.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “You have anything like…tea?”
“Sure. Aside from sportsmen, I serve mostly little old ladies.” He took on a shocked look. “I didn’t mean…”
“A cup of tea would be nice. Good.”
“Great,” he said, turning and preceding her down the stairs, looking almost grateful to get away.
He got busy brewing tea in the kitchen, so Paige went into the bar and sat at the table where she saw his drink by the fire. When he finally brought her that cup of tea, he said, “You have a good time with Mel today?”
“Yes. Was Christopher a lot of trouble?”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, he’s a kick. He wants to know everything. Every detail. ‘Why is it a quarter teaspoon of that?’ ‘What does the Crisco on the tray do?’ And man, yeast blows him away. I think he has a little scientist in him.”
Paige thought, he couldn’t ask his father questions. Wes
The pregnancy was an accident, of course. Wes didn’t want children. He hadn’t wanted Christopher—it interfered with his focus, which was his job and his possessions, Paige being chief among them. Perhaps this new baby precipitated the beating; she’d only told him a couple of days before. In fact, she’d been terrified to tell him. But then, if he didn’t want it, why put her through so much? Why not just suggest termination?
The larger question was how could Paige be so relieved to learn the baby had survived when Wes’s merest touch repelled her? She was, that’s all. But then, she’d come to think of her son as the one good thing that could come out of the biggest mistake of her life. Have you been raped? Mel had asked. Oh, no—not rape. She wouldn’t dare tell Wes no…
When she got back to Virgin River, she found Chris making bread with John, kneading and punching the dough, laughing.
Such an uncomplicated scene, she thought. So many times when Wes was stressing out and getting himself all worked up about his job, the financial pressures of their lifestyle, she had told him that simplifying things would actually appeal to her. No, she didn’t want to be dirt poor and worked to death, but she could be so content in a smaller house with a happier husband. Not long before Chris had been born, Wes bought the big house in an exclusive, guarded, gated L.A. community—more house than they could ever need, and hanging on to it was killing him. Killing her.
So, here she was. The baby had made it. She had to get going, to that address in Spokane, to the first step in her underground escape. The dresser had not been pulled against the door since the first night and she thought she’d give herself another twenty-four hours to rest, then leave in the quiet of night. If there was no rain, the roads wouldn’t be so difficult and it would be easier to travel at night while Chris slept.
There was a soft tapping at the door. It was her instinctto ask who was there, but there was only one possibility. She pulled the door open and there stood John, looking nervous. Looking, in spite of his height and girth, like a teenager. He might’ve had a flush on his cheeks.
“I closed up the bar. I was thinking about a short drink before calling it a night. How about you? Wanna come down for a little while?”
“For a drink?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He peered past her. “He asleep?”
“Out like a light, despite an overdose of cookies.”
“Yeah, I probably gave him too many. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry—he loves making them. If he makes them, he has to eat them. It’s fun—sometimes that’s more important than nutrition.”
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Preacher said. “I could cut him back. He likes ’em though. He especially likes burning his mouth on them. He doesn’t wait so good.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “You have anything like…tea?”
“Sure. Aside from sportsmen, I serve mostly little old ladies.” He took on a shocked look. “I didn’t mean…”
“A cup of tea would be nice. Good.”
“Great,” he said, turning and preceding her down the stairs, looking almost grateful to get away.
He got busy brewing tea in the kitchen, so Paige went into the bar and sat at the table where she saw his drink by the fire. When he finally brought her that cup of tea, he said, “You have a good time with Mel today?”
“Yes. Was Christopher a lot of trouble?”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, he’s a kick. He wants to know everything. Every detail. ‘Why is it a quarter teaspoon of that?’ ‘What does the Crisco on the tray do?’ And man, yeast blows him away. I think he has a little scientist in him.”
Paige thought, he couldn’t ask his father questions. Wes
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