Forbidden Falls

Thanks to Jeanne Devlin of the Berland Agency and Cissy Hartley of Writerspace.com. I reap the benefits of your many hours of creative work. I am so lucky to have you in my camp.

It is with humble appreciation I’d like to thank the entire Harlequin team. I know that I have the fun job and you do all the heavy lifting and I am profoundly grateful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this wonderful opportunity to spend every day in Virgin River.

Thanks to the men and women who gather at the virtual Jack’s Bar online—your enthusiasm is often the bright light on a cloudy day. You’re like family and I enjoy your company so much.

And, finally, to the thousands of readers who have written with comments and suggestions, with your personal stories and encouragement, I am indebted to you. I take each e-mail very seriously and you’ll never know how much it means to me that you take the time to write. Bless you.

Below is an excerpt from ANGEL’S PEAK, the next book in the Virgin River series.Available February 2010.

Sean Riordan hadn’t seen his ex-girlfriend, Franci, in four years. The second she walked into the little bar, he knew with stunning clarity that he’d been a fool to let her go. He wasn’t about to be that stupid again. So he followed her.

He had just about caught up to her as she was unlocking the door of a small, silver sedan. “Franci?” he called out.

She jumped, turned and stared at him, wide-eyed.

“It is you,” he said.

She pulled her coat tighter around her. “Sean?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “I can’t believe I’m running into you here, of all places. You look great. How long have you been here? In Arcata?”

“I … ah … don’t actually live in Arcata. I was just meeting some friends for dinner.”

He took another step toward her. “Franci, let me buy you a cup of coffee. Let’s catch up a little.”

“Ah … No, I don’t think so, Sean,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d better get—”

“I looked for you,” he said impulsively. “To say it was a mistake, the way we broke up. We should talk.”

“Listen, don’t even go there, Sean. It’s all in the past. No hard feelings,” she said. “So good luck and good—”

“Are you married or something?” he asked.

She was startled. “No. But I’m not looking to go back. Maybe you were able to just blow off our last discussion, but I—”

“I didn’t blow it off, Franci,” he said. “I looked for you and couldn’t find you anywhere. You got out of the air force and disappeared on me. That’s why I want to talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I think you’ve probably said enough on that subject.”

“Franci, what the hell?” he asked, confused and a little angry by her immediate rebuff. “Can’t we have a conversation? We were together for two years! It was good, me and you. We never had anyone else, either one of us and—”

“And you said it wasn’t going any further,” she said, stiffening her back. “In fact, that was one of the nicer things you said. I’m glad you’re doing fine, you look just the same, happy as can be. Don’t push this. We decided. We’re over.”

“Come on. I don’t believe you mean that,” he said.

“Believe it,” she retorted. “You made a decision—you didn’t want a commitment to me and there you are—you don’t have one. Bye. Take care.”

She got in her car and slammed the door. He took two giant steps forward and heard the door locks click into place. She quickly backed out of her parking space and drove away.

Now that he’d seen her, he knew what he’d long suspected. He was far from over her. And he was damn sure going to get her back.

One

Recently ordained minister Noah Kincaid was surfing the Internet, killing time, when quite by chance, he happened to find a church being auctioned on eBay—in some little place he’d never heard of—Virgin River. He laughed at the very idea, but was intrigued. He’d been waiting patiently for an assignment to a church of his own and thought it couldn’t hurt to take a look at the place himself. If nothing else, it would be a good excuse to get out of town for a day and see something different. He’d heard Northern California was very beautiful.

The first thing that struck him was the overwhelming beauty of the mountains, redwoods and rivers. The town was a little washed out and the church was a wreck, but there was a peacefulness and simplicity there he couldn’t dismiss. Or forget. It seemed uncomplicated, fresh.

No one really noticed him in the little town; the local men he’d seen either had hair shorn in military fashion or ponytails and beards, just like the fishermen Noah had worked with over the years. He fit right in—he wore scuffed boots, his jeans were almost white with wear, ripped here and there, his denim shirt was thin on the elbows and frayed around the collar and cuffs. His black hair was too long and curled over his collar; he planned to get it cut the second he was assigned a church of his own. But for now, he fit right in, looking like any other laborer after a hard day’s work. He was fit and toned like the local Virgin River men; years of working on a fishing boat and dockside, dragging nets, hauling in tons of fresh catch will do that.

The church had been easy to locate and he hadn’t needed a key to get inside—it was boarded up and appeared to have been abandoned for years, but the side door wasn’t locked. The place had been stripped bare and filled with years of trash, probably litter from transients who’d taken shelter there at one time or another. Almost all the windows had been broken before being covered over with plywood. But when he got to the sanctuary, he discovered a stunning stained-glass window, boarded from the outside to keep it safe. It had been left untouched.

Afterward, he had driven the neighborhoods in town, which hadn’t taken long, had a cup of coffee at the only eating establishment, snapped a few digital pictures and left. When he got back to Seattle he contacted the woman who was auctioning the church on eBay, Hope McCrea. “That church has been boarded up for years,” she said in her gravelly voice. “This town has been without religion a long time.”

“You sure the town is in need of religion?” Noah asked her.

“Not entirely sure,” she answered. “But it could damn sure use some faith. That church needs to be opened up or razed to the ground. An empty church is bad mojo.”

Noah couldn’t agree more.

Despite being busy at the college where he taught, Noah couldn’t get Virgin River, or that church, out of his mind.

He took the idea of buying the church to the presbytery and found they were already well aware of its existence. He showed them his digital pictures and they agreed, there was great potential. Placing a minister there appealed to them; the population was just the right size to build a congregation and it was the only church in town. But the renovation, not to mention the accoutrements, would put the costs too high. There was no way they had the budget. They thanked Noah sincerely and promised him he would get his own church real soon.

What the presbytery didn’t know was that Noah had recently come into some money. To him, a small fortune. He was thirty-five and since the age of eighteen had been slaving and studying. While attending the university, he’d worked on boats, docks and in fish markets out of the Port of Seattle. A year ago his mother had passed and, to his surprise, had left him a hefty portion of her inheritance.

So, he offered to lighten the presbytery’s financial burden by taking on the renovation costs of the church as a donation if they would see fit to assign him as the pastor. The proposal was an appealing one for the Presbyterian church.

Before closing the deal, Noah called his closest friend, and the man responsible for talking him into the seminary in the first place. George Davenport thought he’d lost his mind. George was a retired Presbyterian minister who had been teaching for the last fifteen years at Seattle Pacific University. “I can think of a thousand ways for you to throw away that money,” George had said. “Go to Las Vegas, put it all on red. Or finance your own mission to Mexico. If those people needed a pastor, they’d go looking for one.”

“Funny that church is still standing there, useless, like it’s waiting for a rebirth. There must be a reason I happened to see it on eBay,” Noah said. “I’ve never looked at eBay before in my life.”

After much debate, George conceded, “If it’s structurally sound and the price is right, it might work out. You’d get a big tax write-off with the donated renovation cost, and a chance to serve a small, poor congregation in a hick mountain town that doesn’t get cell-phone reception. Sounds perfect for you.”

“There is no congregation, George,” Noah reminded him.

“Then you’ll have to gather one, son. If anyone can do it, you can. You were born to do it, and before you get all insulted, I’m not talking about your DNA. I’m talking about pure talent. I’ve seen the way you sell fish, I always thought there was a message there. Go—it’s what you want. Open your doors and your heart and give it all you’ve got. Besides, you’re the only ordained minister I know who has two nickels to rub together.”

So Noah inked the deal with the presbytery and hoped his mother wasn’t spinning in her grave. Truth be told, she’d always quietly supported him when, years back, he had been determined as hell to run away from the ministry. She had good reason. Noah’s father was a powerful, semifamous televangelist—and a cold, controlling man. Noah had run away while his mother could not.

If someone had told Noah seventeen years ago, when he fled his father’s house at the age of eighteen, that he would one day be a preacher himself, he’d have laughed in their face. Yet here he was. And he wanted that church. That wreck of a church in that peaceful, uncomplicated mountain town.

Several weeks later Noah was in his fifteen-year-old RV, which would be his home for a good long time, towing his twenty-year-old faded-blue Ford truck. En route to Northern California, he called George’s office, placing the call from his cell phone before the signal was lost in the mountains and tall trees. “I’m on my way into Virgin River, George.”

“Well, boy—how does it feel?” George asked with a deep chuckle in his voice. “Like you pulled off the sweetheart deal of the century, or like you’ll be dead broke and out in the street before you know what hit you?”

Noah laughed. “Not sure. I’ll be tapped out by the time the church is presentable. If I can’t drum up a congregation, I could be back in Seattle throwing fish before you know it,” he said, referring to an old job of his working the fish market on Seattle’s downtown wharf. He’d literally thrown large fish across the market. It had been like theater and it was where George had discovered him. “I’ll get started on the improvements right away and trust the presbytery won’t leave me out in the cold if no one shows up to services. I mean, if you can’t trust the church …”

That comment was answered with George’s hearty laughter. “They’re the last ones I’d trust. Those Presbyterians think too much! I know I wasn’t keen on this idea at first, Noah, but I wish you well,” George said. “I’m proud of you for taking a chance.”