Paradise Valley

Page 22

As if she could read his mind, she said, “My mother was a very large woman and couldn’t handle the tub, so my dad, who is obviously not very handy with things like this, put in a shower for her. It’s a terrible-looking thing, I know. And it needs a new curtain, but honestly, I never expected anyone to want to look at it. And when you get down to it, I don’t have the money to make things nicer around here. It’s as is.”
“Is there a washer and dryer, by any chance?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. They still work, too. Out back on the porch. It’s not heated out there, but it’s enclosed. And the water heater is only a few years old, so that should make it a while.”
He took a quick look at what one would call the master bedroom. It was really an awful-looking little house that had the potential to look nice—barely big enough for a couple and one child. He could spend some time checking the structure later, but for now it appeared all its ugliness was merely cosmetic. Some elbow grease would make it civilized, but some remodeling talent could make it quaint.
“How much?” he asked her.
She was stunned. “You’re kidding me.”
“I thought maybe I could do a few things around here to make the place presentable if you give me a break on the rent. I’m a builder by trade. You thinking you might sell it someday?”
“I don’t know. I know I’m not interested in living in it—I work in Eureka. But I just found out the house was my responsibility, so…I guess I’ll either rent it, sell it, or let the state take it for nonpayment of taxes.”
“Shew,” he said. “You really do have some thinking to do. Listen, here’s the deal. I’ll pay you some rent and take care of the utilities. If you give me a break on the rent, I’ll see if I can fix it up a little bit. If you decide to sell it and I make you an offer, you’ll deduct my materials and labor from the price. Think about that.”
Her eyes just grew wider. “You can have it for two-fifty a month. Do whatever you want. You can’t make it any worse, even if you’re the worst builder in America.”
“Two hundred,” he said. “That should pay your taxes. Give you time to think. But you have to let me have it for a year, to make it worth my while to do some things to it. And I’m not the worst builder in America.” He grinned at her.
She put out her hand. “Deal.”
“You have some kind of contract?” he asked.
“Nope. Try to be a nice guy about this and if you decide to abandon the place, lock up and let Jack know. Mrs. Sheridan has my number in Eureka.”
“Well, Jesus,” he said, taking off his hat and running his hand over his short hair. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
“Sure,” she said. “What is it?”
“Dan Brady.”
“I’m Cheryl Creighton. Be a good neighbor, will you? I think the last people who lived here were a lot of trouble.”
“And who would that be?”
“Me. Us. My parents and I.”
He chuckled. “Would you like to seal this deal over a drink?”
“No, thanks. I don’t care for a drink. Do you drink a lot?”
“Me? I’ve been known to have a beer or two.”
“Get drunk a lot?” she asked.
He frowned, having no idea what her issue was. Maybe she came from a hard-drinking family and it put her off in a big way. “I get drunk not at all,” he said. “It’s not convenient. But I like a beer sometimes. That going to be a problem?”
“Gee,” she said. “That must be nice.”
“Huh?”
“Get the utilities taken care of right away. Get them in your name. I’ll come back out in a couple of weeks or a month and if you still want to live here, I’ll pick up your rent check and give you an address to mail it to me.” She wiggled a key off her key chain, handed it to him. “If you change your mind, give the key to Jack.”
No first and last months’ rent? No security deposit? he wondered. Then he realized a security deposit on this dump was ridiculous, but you’d think she’d want to get a month’s rent out of him. He pulled out his wallet and peeled off five twenties. “Here,” he said. “That’ll take care of the rest of the month. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything bad to your house. And I work for a guy from town, so I’m not going to steal from you or anything.”
She actually gave a huff of laughter. What could he possibly steal? The forty-year-old stove and refrigerator? “Yeah, good,” she said. “Well, at least you’ll get the ugliest hot shower of your life.”
“Hey, that will be a good thing,” he said.
She gave a curt nod, turned and left. He just stood there a minute, totally perplexed. She was a little messed up from cleaning out this dump of a house, but there was no concealing her basic good looks, trim figure. But there was also no concealing the unhappy person inside.
And then he heard her truck depart from the front of the house. Her business was done here.
Since her one-night visit to Virgin River, Muriel had tried to talk to Walt every day, but occasionally she’d miss one. By mid-April she’d been working on her movie two months. They had started some sound-stage filming in a fake farmhouse built on a studio lot, and there was a lot more of that to do. But now came the real deal. The cast and crew were moving to Montana to film on location. This was her perfect opportunity for another escape. While most of the company moved on to set up, she could take some time and arrive when they were ready for her. Given her experience, trusted professionalism and—oh, yes—she was the other big star, she could take a break. No production company Lear this time, so she got a ticket on a private commuter and flew into the little Garberville airport. One of the ground crew gave her a lift out to her house.
Lately, whenever she’d talked to Walt, Muriel had been hearing something distant in his voice. Maybe it was just his loneliness with her being away. Or maybe he was unwilling to compete with her career. Maybe, regardless of what he said, he’d expected her to say no to a fantastic acting opportunity to stay home with him, proving her love. Given the number of men she’d been through in her life and her independence, she could just say Phhhhttt—get over it. Everyone gets a life, bub, not just the boys.
And that’s what she would say, if she became convinced he was just another difficult man who had to be sure he was always on top, that he was first ahead of her work, her sense of self, her need to be productive. She just hadn’t seen that in him. There was something different about Walt, and she’d known it since the first moment she’d met him. He had all the ingredients of the superior male beast—big, tough, heroic, masterful, dominant. But then she’d see him with his daughter or grandchild and realize that he was more than that. He had a tenderness so deep, a loyalty so strong, and a reliability so constant she wanted to embrace it and never let go.
So she was taking her brief ten-day hiatus in Virgin River to find out if Walt was just another man, or maybe a little lonely, in need of reassurance. She’d earned the break. And Walt, she thought, had earned the benefit of the doubt.
The pilot of her plane had asked around and found her a ride. Once home, she called Walt’s house, but there was no answer. Jeez. Hollywood might be all superficial fluff, but at least they could exist on cell phones!
She rustled up her extra set of keys and took her truck into town. Ah, there he was—his Tahoe was parked in front of Jack’s with quite a few other vehicles. A glance at her watch told her it was probably dinnertime. She walked into the quiet hum of conversation; Jack’s was rarely real noisy. She pulled off her hat, ruffled her hair with her fingers and scanned the room. Then she saw his broad back. He sat up at the bar talking with his niece, Shelby, while Luke stood behind Shelby with a hand on her shoulder. On Walt’s other side was Paul, lifting a beer.
“Hey, now,” she heard Jack say, causing them all to turn.
Muriel had taught herself to read people a long time ago. It was necessary in her line of work to get a message from the body language and the eyes. Walt smiled a little bit, but his posture opened to her and his eyes grew instantly warm. Yet it was Shelby who jumped off her stool. “Muriel! What are you doing here?”
She gave Shelby a hug. “Taking a little break from filming while I can. How are you?”
“Perfect! But what about you? Is it incredibly exciting?”
Muriel chuckled. “No, sweetheart. It’s mundane. It just happens to fill up about sixteen hours a day and is usually exhausting.” She walked toward the men, arm in arm with Shelby. “Walt, I tried to call. You weren’t home so I came here.”
“Good bet,” he said, leaning toward her. He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Ah, there it was. She could feel the vibration under his skin. He was glad to see her. Maybe relieved. She didn’t want to make a scene by throwing herself into his arms, so she turned to Luke. “How are you? I see he didn’t shoot you.”
Luke laughed and shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m still listening for that rifle cock.”
“Hell, I’m still listening for that,” Paul said, sipping his beer.
Jack chuckled and said, “What’s your pleasure, Muriel?”
“How about a beer? Whatever you think I’ll like.”
“Done,” he said, slapping a napkin on the bar.
“How’s the family, Jack?”
“Exceptional. Mel’s exceptionally gorgeous and demanding, Emma’s exceptionally beautiful and David is an exceptionally bad terrible two. We may not survive him.”
“Oh, weaker men than you have made it through that stage,” she said. She picked up her beer and raised it. “I hope you have some good gossip. I’ve missed the hell out of this place.”
“I think we can keep you entertained for a little while,” Shelby said. And for the next half hour or so, she laughed and hummed at the local tales, both funny and serious. Shelby had decided to make Luke’s life and marry him, date to be announced, the local pediatrician was living with Vanni’s pregnant girlfriend, Jack was having trouble getting Rick to open up on the phone about how he was doing in rehab, but within a couple of weeks he could go down to Naval Medical Center in San Diego to pick him up, bring him home. And little David had a big, round, purple lump on his forehead from throwing himself on the floor in a temper and banging his head.
Walt didn’t let it go on very long. Jack handed him a sack of some of Preacher’s takeout and he stood from the bar. “You must be starving,” he said to Muriel. He lifted one dark brow and tilted his head toward the door.
Now, Muriel was too aware that if anyone else in this bar had pulled that trick, the laughter and jeering would have been relentless. No one got by with anything around here, and certainly nothing that obvious. But this was the general and even Shelby, who had him wrapped around her little finger, was cautious. Respectful.
“Starving,” she said with a smile. Then she turned to Jack. “I’ll be around for ten days. I’ll see plenty of everyone. Tell Mel I said hello and I’ll catch up with her.”
“You bet.”
Outside, on the bar’s porch, Walt slipped an arm around her waist. He put his rough cheek against hers and said, “Your horses are fed. Come to my place. The usual suspects now know better than to step foot near it.”
A few minutes later she was laughing hysterically as her Labs assaulted her while Walt tried to pin her against the wall just inside the door. And, oh God, had she needed to come home!
“Ten days?” he asked, his voice coarse.
“Ten.”
“What do you want to do while you’re here?”