Art was absolutely competent to live on his own, as long as he had someone trustworthy nearby in case he needed advice or ran into a problem, or maybe to remind him of things like, “Time to wash the sheets and towels, Art.” Luke told him that when the cabins were finished, Art could be the custodian. He’d make sure the trash was handled, that things were tidy, and they’d work together on upkeep, cleaning, yard maintenance, whatever needed fixing or painting.
“Do you miss your old friends at the group home?” Luke asked him.
He shrugged. “I miss Netta and Payne,” he said. “I miss my mom.” Then he smiled. “But I like it here by the river. I like my own house where I don’t have to sign up to use the washer.”
“You’re doing a great job for me, Art. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Luke,” he said, beaming proudly.
At the end of her day, Shelby would either meet Luke at Jack’s or pick up dinner and go straight to his house. They were together every day. They were outed. They were a couple and everyone in town knew it.
This was something Luke hadn’t thought about, this couple status. But the price of holding her through the night was this public recognition. People were nice enough not to make too many invasive comments, though there were lots of jokes about the water in Virgin River. It seemed plenty of men had made their way to the little town looking for peace and quiet, maybe some hunting and fishing, and found themselves tethered to a woman. Luke was able to chuckle and ignore them because it gave him strange satisfaction to be connected to her in this way; he was oddly content to be able to put his arm around her in public, to not worry about being caught kissing on the porch. Shelby had him so loose and relaxed, he wasn’t likely to complain.
When it was obvious to the whole town that Luke and Shelby were together, it was time to bring Art out of the closet, introduce him around, give him a chance to make friends, even if they were only casual friends. Art had been out at the cabins less than two months and of all the residents of Virgin River, only Shelby and Paul had seen him, knew about him. They’d been cooperative about staying quiet while Luke had been paying attention to newspapers, radio and TV to see if Art was being looked for. There didn’t seem to be any missing persons bulletins.
Art already loved Shelby. If she had a short day at the clinic and the weather was nice, she would ride over to the cabins with Plenty in tow and put Art on the horse. He was like a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound ten-year-old and the guy’s sheer thrill with it made Luke laugh until he had to turn away to not offend. Luke started to take Art to the bar once in a while to buy him a cold drink, maybe dinner with Shelby. It held positively no surprise that he was accepted very kindly.
It was seeing Art on that horse that prompted Luke to buy some fishing gear for the man, an inexpensive rod and reel he could keep in his cabin. He taught Art to drop a line first. Casting was more of a challenge, but Art loved learning new things. The river was close enough for Art to get in a little fishing when he wasn’t working. He took to it right away. It made Luke happy to see the big guy wander down to the river on his own, independent and content.
There was a small town party out at Muriel St. Claire’s house that Luke, Shelby and Art attended together. It was newly remodeled, or as the general insisted on pointing out, restored. Indeed, it looked like a brand-new hundred-year-old house. Even the pictures, which she insisted were of family members, were antique. The oldest were tintypes. Besides a modern sectional and chair, everything was vintage, even the huge, antique wardrobe that concealed her TV and stereo equipment.
Luke was astonished by the work she’d done, impressed, but some of the townfolk, especially the women, were looking for something a lot more Hollywood. Most of them already had all that old stuff—it had been passed down from generation to generation and they took it for granted. Of course, their old stuff hadn’t been pampered and restored like Muriel’s, but they were small-town folk and lusted after more modern furnishings. What they wanted to know was, had she dated Clint Eastwood or Jack Nicholson? When she replied she hardly knew them, though she’d been in films with them, they seemed disappointed in her. For a movie star, she wasn’t all that provocative.
At least a hundred people wandered through her open house and she beamed every time surprise was expressed that she would prefer this old farmhouse to a big marble palace in Hollywood.
Life was exactly as he liked it. Being a man, he wasted no time thinking deeply about it; feelings weren’t exactly something men spent a lot of time pondering. All he wanted was for nothing to change.