My Kind of Christmas

  He gave her a small smile and pulled her down beside him. “You’re a sweet girl.”

  “You don’t treat me like a girl,” she said. “If I were really a girl, you’d be arrested.”

  “But your uncle Jack was right, you know—I have issues.”

  “We all do, Paddy. Including Uncle Jack. My aunts, Mel and Brie, have had some issues of their own—really tough stuff to get over. You’re not so different from the rest of us.” She gave his neck a kiss. “Can you fall back to sleep?”

  Sometimes he was afraid to sleep, which left him tired and angry. But when Angie was around, things didn’t seem so cold and empty. “Snuggle up here, angel. Rock me to sleep.”

  “My pleasure.”

  But sleep was not what she thought would comfort him the most. She caressed him—his shoulders, his chest, his belly. She kissed his neck until he rolled toward her and took her mouth with a vengeance. His hands started to move and when she groaned her pleasure, he laughed deep in his throat. Any lingering trace of his nightmare was now gone.

  They’d been together such a short time, yet it felt as if he’d known her a lifetime. They certainly got to know each other in a wonderfully intimate way. He grabbed her butt and turned her, fondled her, slipped his fingers into her and over her and got her wriggling toward a climax. She stroked him until he was moaning and reaching toward her.

  “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, reaching to the nightstand for his condom.

  “Please don’t be too careful,” she whispered back.

  Again that sexy laugh. “Feel like a wild ride, do you?”

  “Any ride with you is wild.”

  He knew every place to touch her, each erogenous spot that excited her, the movements that propelled her toward pleasure. When he hovered over her, spread her legs and entered her, she always gave him that satisfied sigh. When he rode her, she clung to him with a whimper of joy. He could always bring her to orgasm a couple of times before he took his own, and she couldn’t possibly know how happy that made him. That she responded to him so totally, gave herself so trustingly into his hands, let herself go like that… He was so grateful. It made him so happy he had to remind himself not to utter I love you.

  Instead, he said, “Angie, I’ve never been with a woman like you. You’re everything. You’re amazing. Thank you for loving me like this, for giving me all the sweetness you give me.”

  “It’s easy, Paddy,” she said against his lips. “You give it right back.”

  * * *

  From her spot in bed, Angie could hear Patrick on the phone in the great room early in the morning. “Are you sure I didn’t wake you?” he said to someone on the other line.

  Marie.

  “I just wanted to check in because I’m going to be busy most of the weekend—there’s a lot going on at my brother’s house. Big dinner with friends, the women are gathering up and baking stuff for Christmas charity baskets and the men will be doing some snowmobiling and hanging out. I wanted to make sure you have phone numbers for Colin and Luke. And you have this number if you need to talk—but I’ll be at Colin’s a lot. You know to call if you need me, right?”

  He’s hanging out with me, Angie thought. But he doesn’t want Marie to know.

  “Yeah, it should be fun. Do you have plans?” There was a pause. “Looking at houses? Wow, you’re getting serious about putting down roots. Isn’t it too soon for that? Shouldn’t you wait awhile?” After another pause, “I know, the right house takes a long time to find. Are you getting frustrated, living with your parents?” And then he laughed. “I can appreciate that. I’m way beyond living with my family.”

  Angie burrowed down into the covers, listening. He wouldn’t talk to Marie in front of her or within her hearing. He thought she was asleep. Oh, Paddy, Paddy, what are you doing? Having your bad dreams and making love with me during the night, then calling Marie in the morning, almost like a guilty boyfriend?

  She knew she’d never be enough for him. He wanted her, yet he didn’t think she could sustain him. He was looking for someone with experience at being a wife. She thought it might be a good idea to just walk away now, before things got even more intense, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. Not until the last possible moment.

  “Are you feeling okay today?” Patrick said into the phone. “Well, I’ll be there soon, sweetheart. We’ll get through it.” And then he chuckled. “Yeah, he was kind of an ass last Christmas, wasn’t he? Would it help if I was an ass this Christmas?” More laughter. “I can probably do that without even trying. What? Here? Oh, this has been okay, all things considered. I’m glad I came....good to see Luke and Colin. It’s very cold, very white, sometimes very quiet.”

  All things considered, Angie repeated to herself. Quiet? Except when you’re crying out in your sleep or making me scream your name at your touch. She turned over in the bed, pulled the cover over her head and blocked him out. He talked to Marie like a girlfriend he was tragically separated from.

  Or…like a sister who had lost her husband.

  She pulled the covers down, listening again. “Give the little guy a wop on the butt for me and tell him Uncle Paddy is on the way. I’ll be there on the twenty-third. Try not to be in the middle of buying a house when I get there. I’ll go looking with you.”

  And then he was back, slipping under the covers and curling around her back. He nuzzled her neck, thinking he was nuzzling her awake. “I made the coffee,” he whispered.

  “Thank you, Jeeves,” she said. “You’re good to have around.” She rolled over onto her back and met his lips, his arms around her.

  “Didn’t your mother make you coffee in the morning?”

  “She did,” Angie answered, breathless. “Somehow it wasn’t the same.”

  He laughed deeply. “No?” He rolled with her until she was beneath him. He was ready again; he was ready a lot.

  “I thought I heard you talking to someone,” she ventured.

  Not even slightly distracted, kissing her neck and cheek and temple, he answered. “I called Marie to check in because I’m going to be busy all weekend. I hope you’re not too attached to this T-shirt....”

  “Did you get some sleep last night?” she asked.

  “Plenty. Enough to take care of any morning needs you might have.”

  “Oh, Paddy…”

  * * *

  Angie also had phone calls to make. The best way to keep people who are inclined to get in your business from looking for you is to head them off at the pass. So she checked in with Mel and with Jack, gave them reports on her progress on Megan’s behalf and explained she was spending some time with Riordans over the weekend, mostly at Jilly’s farm.

  And then there was her mother.

  It was possible Donna had called her at the cabin several times already and had no answer. They talked almost every day and sometimes twice a day. This past week, while Angie had been busy thumping for donations, their conversations had been both brief and tolerable.

  “How are you, Mom?” she said.

  “Excellent, out shopping. But how about you?”

  She explained the exciting success of her first week on the trail of money. “I can’t tell you how the look on Megan’s face made my heart beat. She looked so hopeful, so thrilled. I made so much progress, I’m going to schedule the surgery. There’s no doubt I can make this happen.”

  “Oh, Angie, you must be so proud! What a wonderful way to spend a vacation!”

  “Complete accident, but I agree. Nothing makes a person feel more worthwhile than being able to lend a hand.”

  “And so you are! This plays right into your future plans to make a full-time commitment to lending a hand.”

  Angie was silent. “Right,” she said, thoroughly baffled by her mother’s support. “Though I’m not quite sure how yet. T
hat’s going to take research and application.”

  “But there is no doubt in my mind you’ll find the best possible route.”

  “All right,” Angie said. “You’re being completely supportive of an idea you hate. What’s wrong?”

  Donna laughed. “Listen, we had a tough go for a while, you and I. I attribute my less-than-ideal behavior to stress and fear—something you’ll understand one day when you’re a mother. And I know you won’t believe this, but I realize I’m a strong personality....”

  “Oh, really?” she asked with a laugh.

  “We’ll have a frank discussion about that after you try managing a home, three daughters, three hundred students, a husband and a dean.”

  Angie laughed.

  “Three brilliant daughters who are so easily bored they mix chemicals…”

  “Right, I get it, Mom.”

  “And of the three, I have to get one who’s gifted in science, one in music, one in athletics. I teach journalism—did I get a writer among you?”

  “You’re completely right—you’ve been screwed.”

  “Ange, I miss you. Not just because you’re there in Virgin River, but because even when we were under the same roof, we were estranged. At odds. I want us to get beyond that. I take responsibility—I’ve been overbearing. You’re an adult, so I’m officially backing off.”

  “Okay, you’re really scaring me now. How’s your health? Do you have a fever?”

  Donna laughed. “Never better. My blood pressure is even down a little.”

  “No more talk about the psychiatrist?”

  “Listen, if you ever sense you’re having trouble with focus or memory or cognition, please let me know so we can get help with that before…” Donna took a breath. “No more. I’m leaving that to you. Unless there’s an emergency, of course.”

  “Wow. Did my leaving town make this happen?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “That and having you hang up on me. A lot.”

  “Mom,” Angie dared. “I’m going to do things you don’t always want me to do. I’m going to make decisions you sometimes don’t agree with. You may even be right in your advice, but that doesn’t matter to me. It’s time I learned a few things on my own. Can you understand?”

  “I can,” she said. “But, Angie, please be patient with me. I’m doing my best. And I swear to God, you will have a child one day and you’ll want that child to excel and have joy and never be hurt. It will sometimes put you on opposite sides. It’s not easy. It’s not.”

  Angie was silent for a long stretch before she said, “It matters an awful lot to me that you’re trying. I appreciate that.”

  * * *

  There was hardly a person alive who didn’t find a visit to Jilly Farms purely magical. The big old Victorian on ten acres of farmland had roads leading around and through the various plots, sheds, greenhouses and fields, which were separated by snow-covered trees. The house was decorated for Christmas outside and in; Colin’s artwork gracing the walls in every room except one—the lone painting in the dining room was a modern rendition of a Native American woman and child done by a friend of his, a famous artist.

  Patrick drove Angie around the grounds in what Colin called the gardenmobile. They went inside greenhouses and marveled at indoor winter gardens. There were inactive steppe gardens on the hill, presently snow covered, but from March and April planting until September harvest they were covered with plants and vines. Fruit trees bordered the property; berry bushes separated gardens.

  But even more fun than the house and land were the people. The kitchen was full of women—Jilly, Kelly, Kelly’s step-daughter Courtney, Becca Cutler, whose young husband was Jilly’s assistant and partner, and Shelby Riordan. Kelly, she learned, was a chef and she was the one directing the activity.

  “I can help,” Angie offered.

  “Do you bake?” Kelly asked.

  “Sure. Miserably.”

  They all laughed. “Then partner up with Courtney—she’s getting scary good at this stuff at fifteen. She’s working on sweet bread rolls—the biggest, softest, most delicious rolls in California—my great-grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Right over here,” Courtney invited, calling Angie down to the end of the work island. “Roll the dough balls about this size and we load them in the pan like so. Last fall Kelly, Jilly and I made tons and tons of zucchini bread, pumpkin bread and cranberry bread. Most of it we’ll thaw for the Christmas baskets.”

  “Who do they go to?”

  “A lot of people! First of all, those who have fallen on hard times, especially the elderly who live off the grid in outlying areas. Then there are lots in town who barely squeak by. And this year we’re putting together the baskets—er, I mean, boxes. Baskets are too pricey. We’re putting them together here because there’s so much more room than at the bar and because Jilly has ginormous freezers in the cellar. And pantry shelves for Kelly’s canned goods and sauces and stuff that she sells all over the place. Jilly grows it, Kelly uses it.”

  “It’s special stuff,” Becca added. “Organic, heirloom fruits and vegetables. Very beautiful, healthy, delicious stuff.”

  Angie rolled dough and listened to them extol the virtues of the farm, of the retail food business. Patrick had disappeared—the men were staying clear of the kitchen. And then, quite suddenly, the landscape in the kitchen changed. A huge pot came out of the refrigerator and went to the stove, bags of greens and vegetables joined forces in an enormous wooden bowl, the last batch of bread was some fresh-baked French loaves that were sliced and slathered with a garlic paste. Angel-hair pasta was rinsed, plates and flatware went to the table.

  “My God, you all work together like a machine!” Angie exclaimed.

  “We’ve done this before, many times,” Kelly said. “We’re all kind of related, at least by work and marriage. And when you get down to it, we share a common purpose—keeping the farm going, the people fed well and the food at the dinner table five-star.”

  “Amazing,” Angie said. “It’s almost communal living at its best.”

  “Sometimes more than almost,” Jilly said. “There have been many friends and family members under this roof.”

  “But Jilly would rather be in the garden or traveling with Colin,” Kelly assured her. “Jilly is a master farmer and Colin is a brilliant painter, but neither of them is interested in running a hotel. For that, they need help.”

  The table was crowded for dinner. Angie had never before been terribly impressed with spaghetti and meatballs, but today she was awed. “This is the best I’ve ever had,” she said. “The sauce is wonderful and the meatballs—God, they are perfect in every way.”

  Kelly took the opportunity to brag. “First of all, Jill grew these tomatoes and they’re priceless. There’s a farmer in the valley with free range turkeys for the meat—he’s a love. I buy a lot of turkey meat from him. In fact, I like to pick out my turkey and—”

  Several people at the table said, “Ewwww…”

  “Well, I don’t name them!” Kelly said.

  “She picks her calves, too,” her husband, Lief, said. “You probably don’t want to know any more about this process. Chefs like to go to the wharves and smell the fish, grow their lobsters and select their shrimp and crab. She’s very fussy about scallops but she’ll take just about any duck I shoot.”

  “And deer?”

  “She leaves the venison to Preacher.”

  “He’s the best there is,” Kelly confirmed. “But you’re right about the turkey meatballs. And the sauce, my nana’s—the best recipe I’ve ever used. Perfect. And there’s tiramisu for dessert.”

  “You will die, it’s so good,” Becca said.

  And it was during dessert that Patrick urged her to fill them in on Megan. Before they’d even picked up plates, everyone was eager to
add to the fund.

  Late that night, back at Patrick’s cabin, Angie snuggled up against him in bed and said, “I envy them in a way. I mean, I don’t want to teach or garden or cook, but still…”

  “What do you envy, then?”

  “They know exactly what they want. And who they want it with.”

  Twelve

  Luke and Shelby were the last ones to leave the Victorian after dinner. Luke held his hefty son; Brett’s head rested against Luke’s shoulder, sound asleep.

  “He’s going to fuck it up,” Luke said as Colin walked him to their car.

  “Luke!” Shelby admonished. “My God, I hate to even think what Brett’s language is going to be like! Besides, what are you talking about?”

  “Paddy,” Luke said. “He’s in love with her, with Angie. And he’s going to move on without her.”

  “Did he tell you he’s in love with her?” Shelby asked.

  “He didn’t have to,” Luke said. “Right, Colin?”

  “I’m pretty sure Luke’s right. I’ve seen Patrick with other women. That last one, Leigh, he was with her for four years and we’d never have met her if we hadn’t gone to Charleston. He didn’t look at her like he looks at Angie. And when Angie looks at him, she lights up.”

  “I should have a talk with him,” Luke said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “How is that funny? That’s not funny.”

  Colin put a hand on Luke’s back. “Mind your own business. He’ll figure it out.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. The Riordan men aren’t known for figuring things out. And he’s only got another couple of weeks here.”

  “He does look better than he did two weeks ago,” Jilly said. “Better rested, I think.”

  “Of course he’s rested. He probably hates to even get out of bed these days!”

  “Oh, Luke,” Shelby said. “Let’s get you home before you say something stupid.”

  “I’m just making an honest observation,” he grumbled. “I should really talk to him....”