LITMIR.BIZ

      Luke Riordan pulled into Virgin River, his Harley strapped into the back of his extended-cab truck, pulling his small camper. It had been seven years since he’d seen this town and there had been a few changes. The church was now boarded up, but what he remembered as an old, abandoned cabin in the center of town was renovated, had cars and trucks parked around the front porch, and an Open sign in the window. It looked like some construction was under way behind the cabin; it was framed for an add-on. Since he was considering a renovation project of his own, he wouldn’t mind having a look at what had been done to this place. He parked off to the side, out of the way, and got out of the truck. He went into the camper and changed out of his muddy shirt before going inside.

      The August afternoon was warm, with a cool, refreshing breeze; the night would be chilly in the mountains. He hadn’t been out to the house he planned to live in, which had been vacant for a year. If it was uninhabitable, he had his camper. He took a deep breath. The air was so damn clean, it stung the lungs. Such a huge change from the deserts of Iraq and El Paso. Just what he’d been needing.

      He walked into the renovated cabin and found himself in a good-looking little country bar. He stood just inside the door and looked around appreciatively. The hardwood floors gleamed, hot embers glowed in the hearth, hunting and fishing trophies hung mounted on the walls. There were about a dozen tables and a long, shiny bar behind which there were shelves full of liquor and glasses surrounding a stuffed king salmon that must have weighed about forty pounds at the catch. A television, mounted high in a corner, was tuned to national news, the volume turned down. A couple of fishermen, identifiable by their khaki vests and hats, sat at one end of the bar playing cribbage. A few men in work shirts and jeans were having drinks at a nearby table. Luke looked at his watch: 4:00 p.m. He walked up to the bar.

      “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

      “A cold draft, thanks. This place wasn’t here the last time I was through town.”

      “You’ve been away a while then. I’ve been open more than four years now. I bought it and turned it into this.”

      “Well, you did a helluva job,” he said, accepting the beer. “I’m going to be doing some remodeling myself.” He stuck out his hand. “Luke Riordan,” he said.

      “Jack Sheridan. Pleasure.”

      “I bought some old cabins along the Virgin that have been sitting empty and going downhill for years now.”

      “Those old Chapman cabins?” Jack asked. “The old man died just last year.”

      “Yeah, I know,” Luke said. “I was back here hunting with one of my brothers and a couple of friends when we first saw them. My brother and I thought the location, right on the river, might be worth some money. We noticed the cabins weren’t in use and wanted to buy ’em and fix ’em up for a quick resale, turn ’em fast and make a couple of bucks. But old Chapman wouldn’t even listen to an offer….”

      “It would have left him homeless,” Jack said, giving the bar a wipe with a cloth. “He wouldn’t have had too many options, and he was all alone.”

      Luke took a drink of his icy beer. “Exactly. So we bought the whole property, including his house, and told him he could stay there, rent free, for life. It turned out to be seven years.”

      Jack grinned. “Sweet deal for him. Smart deal for you. Property doesn’t come available around here that often.”

      “We could see right off the land under those cabins was worth more than the buildings, right on the river like that. I haven’t been able to get back here since, and my brother has only been up here once, just to have a look—he said nothing had changed.”

      “What held you up?”

      “Well,” he said, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Afghanistan. Iraq. Fort Bliss and a few other places.”

      “Army?”

      “Yeah. Twenty.”

      “I did twenty in the Marine Corps,” Jack said. “I thought I’d come up here and serve up a few drinks, fish and hunt for the next twenty.”

      “Yeah? Sounds like a good plan.”

      “My plan got derailed by a cute little nurse midwife by the name of Melinda.” He grinned. “I would’ve been fine, but that woman does something to a pair of jeans that ought to be against the law.”

      “That so?” Luke asked.

      “Anyone can go fishing,” Jack said with a satisfied smile.

      Luke didn’t mind seeing a man happy with his life. He smiled back. Then he asked, “Did you do most of this work yourself?”

      “Most. I got some help, but I like taking credit where I can. This bar is a custom job, delivered to me finished. I installed the shelves and laid the hardwood floors. I didn’t trust myself with the plumbing and I screwed up the wiring enough to have to hire someone, but I’m good with wood—I

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