“I didn’t,” she said.
“Well, that looked pretty cozy, back there. I told you—you’re the kind of person people want to get to know, talk to—”
“Don’t worry, Ian. I totally protected your anonymity. I told her you were my brother.”
“Great,” he pouted. “Now she’s going to ask me about you. And I told you—I’m friendly and pleasant and then I move on.”
“You can do that. She’ll find it perfectly understandable.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“Well, she wondered about you. Said you ask for some heavy reading sometimes, but that you didn’t make much conversation.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” Marcie explained. “I said you were brilliant, but not a very social animal. I said she shouldn’t expect a lot of chitchat from you, but you were perfectly nice, and there was no reason to be shy around you—you’re safer than you look.”
“Is that so? And how did you convince her of that?”
“Easy. I said you were an idiot savant—brilliant in literature and many other things, but socially you weren’t on your game.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ!”
She noted the late-afternoon sky, the sun beginning to lower. “Ian, when was the last time you went out for a beer?”
“Been a while,” he grumbled miserably.
“I’d so love to see that Christmas tree in Virgin River at night. Could we pass through there for a beer? By the time we’ve had a beer, it might be dark. I should try calling my sister again before she comes hunting me down—and there’s that nice little bar there, with a phone I can use.”
“Aw, Marcie…”
“Come on. It’s been such a perfect day. Let’s end it on a positive note. Let me buy you a beer and maybe some of Preacher’s dinner—he cooks like a dream.”
“Preacher?”
“The cook in that little bar.”
“I don’t really like big crowds.”
She laughed at him. “Ian, if the whole town turns out, there will be fewer people there than in that truck stop or in the church. Besides, you told me that you’re around people all the time, you’re just not a joiner. So come on. Man up.”
It was barely five o’clock when Marcie and Ian entered Jack’s bar, and there were about twenty people there. Ian stood by the door and surveyed the new surroundings warily. He noted hunting and fishing trophies on the walls, the dim lighting, the welcoming fire. It didn’t look threatening. While there were a couple of tables of people engaged in friendly conversation and laughter, there were also a couple of solitary men having a drink or a meal apart from the crowd. One he recognized as the old doctor, seated up at the bar and hovering over a drink, left entirely alone. Marcie went right up to the bar, leaning on it, talking with the bartender. Ian spied an empty spot at the far end of the bar in the corner where he thought he’d be comfortable. He approached Marcie’s back, meaning to steer her there. As if she felt him come near, she turned and said, “Ian, meet Jack Sheridan. Jack, Ian.”
“Pleasure,” Jack said. “What can I get you?”
“Beer?”
“Bottle or tap?”
“Whatever’s on tap,” Ian said.
Jack drew the beer and said to Marcie, “Help yourself to the phone, Marcie. Preacher’s back there.” Then, she skipped away and Jack put the beer in front of Ian.
Ian picked it up and migrated down to the corner of the bar he’d staked out. Then he watched with interest for several moments as Jack made a few drinks, polished some glasses, exchanged friendly banter with a couple of customers, arranged some bottles, took a tub of dirty glasses to the kitchen, and seemed to completely ignore Ian, the old doctor, and the other lone drinker at the opposite end of the bar. It was probably ten minutes—Marcie must be having a very interesting conversation with her sister. How is she explaining me? he wondered to himself.
“How’s that beer?” Jack asked, dishtowel in hand, eyeing the nearly empty glass.
“I’m good,” Ian said.
“Just let me know,” he said, turning away.
“Ah,” Ian said, getting his attention but not exactly calling him back.
Jack turned, lifted an eyebrow. Silent.
“She tell you to leave me alone?”
A small huff of laughter escaped Jack. “Pal, the first thing you learn when you open a bar—talk if they talk, shut up if they don’t.”