baby sister, of whom he was so protective it verged on ridiculous. And Mike was no longer a driven, devil-may-care Latino lover. He was maimed. The body just didn’t work right anymore.
It had been only a couple of weeks since he’d last seen her. She came back to Virgin River with the rest of her family to help erect the frame of Jack’s new house. Preacher and his bride, Paige, were married in that framed structure the very next day. For a man who could barely walk six months ago, Mike had given Brie a fairly decent twirl around the dance floor at the wedding. It was a fantastic party—full of that good old country food, barbecques flaming, the chairs pushed back and the band set up on the foundation of Jack’s unfinished house, the frame strung with floral garlands. He grabbed her, laughing, into his arms and whirled her around with abandon, and whenever the tempo allowed, pressed his cheek close against hers, whispering in conspiratorial amusement, “Your brother is frowning at us.”
“I wonder why that is.” She laughed.
“I don’t think he wants you near a man so like himself,” Mike speculated.
That seemed to amuse her a great deal. She tipped her head back and laughed a little wildly. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “It has nothing to do with your great success with women. You’re a man, near his baby sister. That’s enough.”
“You’re no baby,” he said, pulling her closer. “And I think you’re having too much fun with this, getting him riled up. Don’t you realize he has a dangerous temper?”
Unmistakably, she held him tighter. “Not toward me,” she whispered.
“There’s a devil in you,” he said, and looked death in the face by kissing her neck.
“There’s a fool in you,” she said, tilting her head just slightly to give him more of her neck.
In years gone by he would have found a way to get her alone, seduced her, made love to her in ways she’d dream about later. But three bullets had decided a few things. Even if he could spirit her away from her brother’s protective stare, he wouldn’t be able to perform. So he said, “You’re trying to get me shot again.”
“Oh, I doubt he’d actually shoot you. But I haven’t been to a good old-fashioned wedding brawl in ages.”
When they’d said goodbye he had hugged her briefly, her sweet scent like a cinch around his mind, feeling her cheek against his, his arms around her waist, pulling her close. A bit more than just a friendly gesture—a suggestive one, which she returned. He assumed she was having fun with the flirtation, stirring things up a little bit, but it meant far more than that to him. Brie held his thoughts in a disturbing way that suggested if he were capable of giving her love, she would capture his heart and mind in that powerful way that wipes all other women out of the past. He really didn’t have that to offer anymore. Although that didn’t keep him from thinking about her, wanting her.
He could not bear to think about all that mischief and sass lying broken and violated in a hospital. His heart was in pieces, aching for her. Dying to know that she was going to be all right.
He put the SUV into Drive, looked over his shoulder and got back on the freeway. He gunned the engine and veered across two lanes of fast-moving traffic to make the exit to Sacramento.
Also available by Robyn Carr
VIRGIN RIVER
NEVER TOO LATE
RUNAWAY MISTRESS
BLUE SKIES
DOWN BY THE RIVER
JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN
THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET
SHELTER
MOUNTAIN
ROBYN CARR
Karen Garris, another precious daughter,
with love
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to Pamela SF Glenn, CNM, MS—without whose expertise in midwifery this story would not have been possible. My deepest gratitude to you for poring over manuscript after manuscript with sharp eyes and a ruthless pen, keeping me straight. And to Sharon Lampert, RN, WHNP, for sharing your expertise as a women’s health nurse practitioner, but mostly for picking up your cell phone no matter where you were and answering delicate questions about female anatomy and function with directness and honesty. I’m sure there are people out there still talking about what they overheard in the grocery store, beauty parlour and Department of Motor Vehicles. The passion and devotion with which you two professionals serve your women patients is inspiring, and was an enormous help in shaping the character of a dedicated nurse practitioner and certified nurse midwife.
Thanks to Paul Wojcik for sharing your experiences in the United States Marine Corps, and to Richard Gustavson, RN with twenty-three years in the Navy Reserves. I thank each of you for reading the manuscripts and for offering your invaluable technical input.
Kris Kitna, Chief of Police, Fortuna, California, thanks for valuable information on local law enforcement, not to mention help with details about hunting, fishing and firearms.
Kate Bandy, the best assistant a writer can possibly have, my dear friend of many years, thanks not only for reading copy and offering suggestions, but especially for accompanying me on an exciting research trip to Humboldt County. Without you there I would have floundered… or slipped off a mountain.
Denise and Jeff Nicholl—thanks for reading first drafts, taking exhaustive notes and answering a million questions. Your friendship and support during the whole process mean the world to me. Many thanks to Nellie Valdez-Hathorn for her help with my Spanish.
Other early readers whose input was critical included Jamie Carr, Laurie Fait, Karen Garris, Martha Gould, Pat Hagee, Goldiene Jones and Lori Stoveken—I’m deeply in debt to you for your comments and suggestions.
Huge thanks to Clive Cussler, Debbie Macomber and Carla Neggers for reading and commenting on Virgin River. For you to take the time, with your busy schedules, is a monumental compliment.
Huge thanks to Valerie Gray, my editor, and Liza Dawson, my agent, for your commitment to helping me craft the best series possible. Your hard work and dedication made all the difference—I’m so grateful.
To Trudy Casey, Tom Fay, Michelle Mazzanti, Kristy Price and the entire staff of Henderson Public Libraries, thank you for the monumental support and encouragement. I’ve never known a more hardworking and motivated group of public servants.
And, finally, thanks to Jim Carr for your loving support. And, my God, thank you for cooking! I wish I’d known years ago that you could!
One
A fierce and unseasonably cold September wind blew chilly
