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" Through that space of an inch, he saw her reflection in the bureau mirror. Her back faced the mirror and she had pulled her bulky sweatshirt up over her head and shoulders, trying to get a glimpse of her back and upper arms in the mirror. She was covered with bruises. Lots of big bruises on her back, one on her shoulder and upper arms. Preacher was mesmerized. For a moment his eyes were locked on those purple splotches. “Aw, Jesus,” he whispered in a breath. He quickly backed away from the slit in the door and got up against the wall outside, out of sight. It took him a moment to collect himself; he was stricken. Horrified. All he could think was, what kind of animal does something like that? His mouth hung open because he couldn’t imagine this. He was a warrior, a trained fighter, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t done that much damage to a man equal to him in size, in a fair fight. Some instinct kicked in that told him he shouldn’t let on that he’d seen. She was already afraid of everything, including him. But there was also the reality that this wasn’t a woman who’d been smacked. She’d been pummeled. He didn’t even know the girl, yet all he wanted was to kill the son of a bitch who’d done that to her. After five or eleven months of beatings, then death for the sorry bastard. She "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
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" From her bed she could hear her mother and father arguing. After her father’s death when she was eleven, she could hear her older brother, Bud, argue with their mother. From what she had learned about domestic battery in the last few years, she should have expected to end up with an abuser, even though her father never hit her or her mother, and the worst she ever got from Bud was a shove or slug in the arm. But man, could the men in her family yell. So loud, so mad, she wondered why the windows didn’t crack. Demand, belittle, insult, accuse, sulk, punish with the meanest words. It was just a matter of degrees; abuse is abuse. The "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
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" He stayed by the door and gave the kid a nod. He tried to relax his features into softness, but wasn’t sure how to do that. “Hey, little buddy. You want some breakfast?” The kid shrugged, but his round eyes were wide and focused on Preacher. “He’s not so good with men,” Paige whispered softly. “Shy.” “Yeah?” Preacher asked. “Me, too. Don’t worry—I’ll stay back.” He looked at the child and tried out a smile. Then the kid pointed at Preacher’s head and said, “You hafta shabe that?” It made Preacher laugh. “Yeah. Wanna feel?” he asked. He approached the bed slowly, carefully, bending his bald head toward the kid. He felt a small hand rub over his dome and it made him laugh again. He raised his head and said, “Cool, huh?” And the kid nodded. Preacher "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
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" Okay, then... Let’s get your blood pressure first.” She picked up the blood pressure cuff and went to apply it to Paige’s arm and was frozen. There was a huge hematoma that covered much of her upper arm. Mel put the cuff aside and gently pulled the gown away from Paige’s back; she had to concentrate not to gasp. She pulled the gown over Paige’s shoulder, down her arm, exposing the bruises on her back, arm, chest. She carefully lifted the gown at the bottom, exposing her thighs. More bruises. She looked at the girl’s face. Tears glistened on her cheeks. “Paige,” Mel said in a whisper. “My God...” Paige put her hands over her face. Shame at having let it happen. “Have you been raped?” Mel asked gently. She shook her head, tears flowing. “No.” “Who did this to you?” she asked. Paige just closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s okay. You’re safe right now.” “My husband,” she answered in a whisper. “And you’re running away from him?” She nodded. “Here, "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
112
" While he was gently pressing the little balls flat with a fork, he chuckled to himself, remembering when she taught him to drive. It was one of the only times he heard her raise her voice, get all flustered and upset. His feet were so big and his legs so long, he was rugged on the accelerator, the brakes. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, John! You have to be gentler! Slower, more graceful! I should have sent you to ballet lessons instead of football! It was a surprise she didn’t die of a heart attack, riding with him. "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
113
" Preacher was working on his second tray when he glanced up and saw that little blond head, peeking at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Hi,” Preacher said. “You sleep?” Christopher nodded. “Good,” he said. “Feel better?” Chris nodded again. Watching the boy’s face, Preacher slowly pushed a fresh-baked cookie across the counter with one finger until it was at the edge. It was a good minute before Chris took one step toward the cookie. Almost another full minute before his little hand touched it, but he didn’t take it. Just touched it, looking up at Preacher. “Go ahead. Tell me if it’s any good.” Chris slowly pulled the cookie off the counter and to his mouth, taking a very small, careful bite. “Good?” Preacher asked. And he nodded. So Preacher set him up a glass of milk right where the cookie had been. The boy nibbled that cookie in tiny bites; it took him so long to finish it that Preacher was pulling out the second cookie sheet and taking off the cookies before he was done. There was a stool on the other side of the counter near the milk and eventually Chris started trying to get up. But he had some stuffed toy in his grip and couldn’t make the climb, so Preacher went around and lifted him up. Then he went back to his side of the counter and pushed another cookie toward him. “Don’t pick it up yet,” Preacher said. “It’s kind of hot. Try the milk.” Preacher started rolling peanut butter dough into balls, placing them on the cookie sheet. “Who you got there?” he asked, nodding toward the stuffed toy. “Bear,” Christopher said. He reached his hand toward the cookie. Preacher said, “Make sure it’s not too hot for your mouth. So—his name’s just Bear?” Christopher nodded. “Seems like maybe he’s missing a leg, there.” Again the boy nodded. “Doesn’t hurt him, though.” “That’s a break. He ought to have one, anyway. I mean, it wouldn’t be the same as his own, but it would help him get by. When he has to go for a long walk.” The kid laughed. “He don’t walk. I walk.” “He doesn’t, huh? He should have one for looks, then.” He lifted one of his bushy black brows. “Think so?” Christopher lifted the small, worn brown bear. “Hmm,” he replied thoughtfully. He bit the cookie and immediately opened his mouth wide and let the sloppy mouthful fall onto the counter. For a second his look was stricken. Maybe terrified. “Hot, huh?” Preacher asked, not reacting. He reached behind him, ripped off a paper towel and whisked away the spit-out. “Might want to give it about one more minute. Have a drink of milk there. Cool down the mouth.” They communed in silence for a while—Preacher, Chris, the three-legged bear. When Preacher had all his little balls rolled, he began mashing them with his fork, perfect lines left, then right. “What’s that yer doing?” Christopher asked him. “Making cookies. First you mix the dough, then you roll the balls, then you smash them with the fork, nice and easy. Then they go in the oven.” He peered at Chris from underneath the heavy brows. “I bet you could do this part. If you were careful and went nice and slow.” “I could.” “You’d have to come around here, let me lift you up.” “’Kay,” he said, putting his bear on the counter, getting off his stool and coming to Preacher. Preacher lifted him up to sit on the edge of the counter. He helped him hold the fork and showed him how to press down. His first solo attempt was a little messy, so Preacher helped him again. Then he did it pretty well. Preacher let him finish the tray, then put it in the oven. “John?” the boy asked. “How many of them we gotta do?” Preacher smiled. “Tell you what, pardner. We’ll do as many as you want,” he said. Christopher smiled. “’Kay,” he said. * "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
116
" 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 didn’t have the patience to answer them. “John, do you have family?” “Not anymore. I was an only child. And my folks were older, anyway—they didn’t think they were going to have kids. Then I surprised ’em. Boy, did I surprise ’em. My dad died when I was about six—a construction accident. And then my mom when I was seventeen, right before my senior year.” “I’m so sorry.” “Yeah, thanks. It’s okay. I’ve had a good life.” “What did you do when you lost your mother? Go live with aunts or something?” “No aunts,” he said, shaking his head. “My football coach took me in. It was good—he had a nice wife, good bunch of little kids. Might as well have lived with him. He acted like he owned me during football, anyway,” he said with a laugh. “Nah, kidding aside, that was a good thing he did. Good guy. We used to write—now we email.” “What happened to your mom?” “Heart attack. "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
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" Paige, I want you to know something. I know it’s too soon for you to think about a whole lifetime, but I’m not fooling around here. I don’t have any expectations, I swear. I just want you to know that. I’m in all the way. Committed. I don’t want you to ever worry that I’m just passing the time.” She ran her fingertips through the short hair at his temple. “Aren’t you a little afraid you could get tired of me, John?” He shook his head. “I’m not that kind of guy. I take it slow—too slow, sometimes. I give things a lot of time—being sure is a good thing. But I don’t change my mind. I know in some things that can be bad. I like things to stay the same.” “I won’t hold you to anything,” she said. “I’m just so happy to be here, like this, right now....” “There’s something else I want to say about that, about us. I’m not the kind of guy who doesn’t want you to talk back or have your opinions or expects you to never have a bad day when you’re all cranky and annoyed. I want all of that—I want you to speak up, make demands, insist on the most exceptional treatment and get pissed off if you don’t get it. I want you to feel safe to yell at me just because you’re in a mood. If I’m not what you want for the long haul, I can live with that. What I could never live with is you being afraid of how I’ll act when you’re just being yourself.” It was impossible to keep tears from gathering in her eyes. “John... No one’s ever loved me like that....” “Well, baby, I do. In fact, that’s the only way I love you. Every part of you—strong and bossy, scared and needy—it doesn’t matter. If I’m gonna have you, it has to be all of you, not some little part that feels safe.” She kissed him, quick, on the lips. He brushed a tear off her cheek. “I know that baby you lost wasn’t planned, and it still hurt you pretty bad that it didn’t make it. Maybe someday, when you’re ready, you’ll talk to me about adding to our family. Giving Chris a little brother or sister.” “You’d like children?” she asked. “I never thought I would. But with you, it comes to mind.” He laughed. “It comes to mind pretty hard. It’ll keep, Paige. It’s just an idea....” She gently touched his face. “You do understand that if there’s a baby between us, you might have to cut back a little?” “How much?” he asked, that frown that she had come to adore drawing his brows together. And she laughed at him. “You’re teasing me,” he said. “Okay, you asked for it,” he said, starting on her eyelids. She grabbed his face in her hands and stopped him. “John,” she said. “I want it, too. Everything. All of you. I’ve never been this happy.” He smiled. “More where that came from,” he said. “Forever, if you want.” * "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)
