Virgin River (14 page)

This was the worst thing about grief, she thought as she walked back to Doc’s house. It emptied you. She should be flattered and pleased with what had been done for her in the renovating of the cabin. She should be thrilled that a man like Jack was interested in her, because clearly he was. But instead she was sad. She had lost the ability to be moved by these acts of kindness. Instead, it made her feel depressed and alone, because she didn’t feel up to the task of receiving gifts and kindnesses graciously. She couldn’t respond to a handsome man’s interest. She couldn’t be happy. Sometimes she asked herself if she was paying some tribute to Mark’s memory by hanging on to the sadness of losing him.

Ricky worked at the bar after school every day and some weekends, whenever Jack wanted him. He dropped Liz at the store after school, then parked behind the bar next to Jack’s and Preacher’s trucks. As he was going in, Jack was coming out. “Grab your gear,” Jack said. “We’re going to run out to the river, see if we can make a catch.”

“There isn’t anything out there now,” Ricky said. The good catch was in the fall and winter, dwindling by spring, starting to pick up again in summer.

“We’ll cast a while,” Jack said. “See what you got.”

“Preacher coming?” Ricky asked, going to the storeroom in the kitchen to get his rod, reel and waders.

“Nah. He’s busy.”

Jack remembered the first day he’d met Ricky. The kid had been thirteen and had ridden his bike up to the cabin that would become the bar. Skinny and freckle-faced with the most engaging grin and sweetest disposition. He let him hang around, help with the carpentry during the renovation if he could pay attention. When he found out it was just Ricky and his grandma, Lydie, he kind of took him under his wing. He’d watched the boy grow tall and strong; Jack taught him to fish, shoot. Now he was damn near a man. Physically, he didn’t have far to go, but mentally and emotionally, sixteen was still just sixteen.

At the river’s edge, they cast their lines a few times and then it came. The real reason for fishing when there were few fish. “You and I should have a little talk, I think,” Jack said.

“About?”

Jack didn’t look at him. He just cast in long beautiful arcs. And said, “About all the places you can put your dick that aren’t statutory.”

Ricky snapped his head around and looked at Jack’s profile. Jack turned his head and met the boy’s eyes.

“She’s fourteen,” Jack said.

Ricky looked back at the river, silent.

“I know she doesn’t look fourteen. She’s fourteen.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Ricky said.

Jack laughed. “Oh, gimme a break. I saw your truck over at Connie’s the first Friday night she was in town—you moved on her fast. You want to stick with that story?”
He reeled in and turned toward Ricky. “Listen, son, you have to keep your head. You hear me, Rick? Because this is dangerous ground you’re on. She’s a little hottie—”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Rick said defensively.

“You’re already hooked,” Jack said, hoping they weren’t already doomed. “How hooked?”

Ricky shrugged. “I like her. I know she’s young, but she doesn’t seem that young, and I like her.”

“Okay,” Jack said, taking a breath. “Okay, maybe we should talk about the things you can do to avoid putting your sixteen-year-old swimmers in contact with her fourteen-year-old eggs. Hmm?”

“You don’t have to,” Ricky said, casting. And casting pretty badly.

“Aw, Jesus. You’re already involved. Physically, huh?” Rick didn’t answer and Jack thought, who knew what they were up to. Jack remembered only too well the things experimental kids could do to get a little satisfaction without going all the way. It was a frickin’ art form. Problem was, it just didn’t last, and the closer you got, the greater potential for slip-ups. Sometimes it made more sense to decide you were going all the way with good birth control in place, rather than risk an accident. But man, you should be older. Older. “Aw, Jesus.” Jack took a breath. He dug down into his waders, down into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a fist full of condoms. “This is tough, Rick, because I don’t want you to use these on her, and I don’t want you not to. I’m stuck here. Help me out, will you?”

“It’s okay, Jack. I’m not going to do her. She’s fourteen.”

Jack reached out and tousled his hair. Those freckles had given way to the stubble of a young beard; he wasn’t
skinny anymore. The work he did at the bar plus the pastimes of hunting and fishing, not to mention chores for his grandma had bulked the kid up and his shoulders and arms were muscled. Handsome kid, he thought. Real grown-up. He had a lot of responsibility—he worked hard, maintained his grades, did every physical thing around his grandma’s house that needed doing. With Jack’s supervision, Rick had painted her house. All that built toward creating a solid, reliable man—one who shouldn’t get shot in the foot by a teenage pregnancy.

“So, how old were you?” Ricky asked him.

“’Bout your age. But the girl was much older.”

“Much?”

“Way older than Lizzie. Older than me. Smarter than me.” He handed Rick the condoms and although Rick’s cheeks took on a dark stain, he accepted them. “I know you’re at that age—I was that age once. You know what the problem is. She might not look so young, but she’s got a long way to go yet. Huh?”

A shiver went through Ricky and Jack caught it. Well, it’s not as though he had been oblivious to Lizzie’s rather over-matured charms. Thus the talk. “Yeah,” Ricky said, a little breathless.

“Let’s be sure you know some things,” Jack said. “You know that old business about pulling out in time—you know that doesn’t work. Right? And trying to not put it all the way in? Useless. First of all, if you can do that, you’re a stronger man than I am, and even if you can, it’s not good enough—you can still get her pregnant. You know these things, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Rick, you understand, if there’s no backing out of
this relationship with her and if there’s a strong potential for it to get more serious rather than less, you might have to be the one to take charge. Draw a line in the sand—insist on birth control at least. You got a midwife in town—there’s help available. For Liz. I think she’s too young to be having sex, personally. But I
know
she’s too young to be pregnant. You with me here, buddy?”

“I told you, I have it under control. But thanks, Jack. I know you just want me to do the right thing.”

“Which includes not getting caught off guard. If it’s getting close, you get her fixed up. Double protection—hers and yours. You have to use the head with the brain in it. Believe me, I’ve seen more than one good man go down because he was thinking with his dick.” He watched Ricky’s chin lower as he looked down and he knew. Liz was irresistible to him. He was fighting for his life. His pants were on fire.

“Yeah,” Ricky said. “I hear ya.”

“You make sure you always have a condom, okay? It’s your responsibility to keep her safe, son. If you use even one condom, Rick, you get her to Mel. Right away.”

“Do we have to talk about this anymore?”

Jack grabbed the boy’s arm and felt solid biceps in his grasp. Damn, Ricky was nearly six feet and still growing. “You wanna be a man, son? You have to think like one. It’s not enough to just feel like one.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then, “By the way, it’s not statutory unless I’m over eighteen.”

Jack laughed in spite of himself. “Too smart for your own goddamn good, aren’t you?”

“I hope so, Jack. Holy God, I hope so.”

M
el talked to Joey at least every other day, sometimes everyday. She would place the call from Doc’s when she had a free minute and Joey would call her back so it wasn’t on his nickel. She sent her digital pictures of the renovation of the cabin from Doc’s computer and Joey, being an interior decorator, was fascinated by all the building and refinishing Jack had done. Then Mel told Joey that she was going to stay a little longer. A few weeks. At least long enough to be sure Chloe was doing well with Lilly. She loved the little cabin and wanted to see Polly through her delivery.

She didn’t tell Jack. But by her daily presence at the grill, he came to realize that she was giving it a chance, and he couldn’t hide the fact that it pleased him.

She and Doc played gin, Mel walked down to the store in time to watch the soap with Connie and Joy, and spent a large amount of time at the bar. Joy, who was not a librarian, was the person who opened up the little library on Tuesdays—and Mel was always there. It was about ten by twelve feet, crammed with books, mostly paperbacks with the stamps from secondhand stores
inside the covers. It was the only entertainment Mel had when she went home at night.

Mel learned that Lydie Sudder had poor general health when Doc sent her down to the Sudder house to deliver diabetic testing supplies, insulin and syringes. Lydie, beside being diabetic and arthritic, had a weak heart, but Mel was surprised to find that the little house she shared with Ricky was very well kept and nicely furnished; Lydie somehow managed to keep up with things. She got around slowly, but her smile was kind and her manners delightful. Of course, she wouldn’t let Mel out of the house without tea and cookies. She was still there, visiting with Lydie on the front porch, when Ricky came home from school, driving up in his little white truck.

“Hey, Mel,” he said. He leaned down and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Hi, Gram. I’m going to work if you don’t need anything.”

“I’m just fine, Ricky,” she said, patting his hand.

“Call me if you need me,” he said. “I’ll bring you something of Preacher’s later.”

“That would be nice, honey.”

The boy went inside to drop off his books, then out again, jumping off the porch steps and back into his truck to drive the whole block to the bar. “I guess a man can’t be separated from his wheels,” Mel observed.

“That appears to be the case.” Lydie laughed.

The next day she sat at the grill at lunchtime with Connie. “I haven’t heard you say you’re leaving for days now,” Connie said. “Something change on that score?”

“Not a great deal,” Mel said. “But since Jack went to such a lot of trouble to work on that cabin, I thought I owed it to him to give it a few weeks. I can deliver Polly’s baby.”

Connie glanced at the bar where Jack was setting up lunch in front of a couple of fishermen. She gave a nod in his direction. “Bet that makes Jack real happy.”

“He seems to think the town can use me, even if Doc doesn’t think so.”

Connie laughed at her. “Girl, you need glasses. The way Jack looks at you, I don’t think it’s about Doc. Or the town.”

“You don’t see me looking back in any particular way, do you?”

“You should. There isn’t a woman within a hundred square miles wouldn’t leave her husband for him.”

“Even you?” Mel asked with a laugh.

“I’m different,” she said, drinking her coffee. “I married Ron when I was about seven.” She took a drink of her coffee. “But okay—if he begged me, I’d leave Ron for him.”

Mel laughed at her. “It is pretty strange that no one’s latched on to him.”

“I heard he was seeing a woman in Clear River. Don’t know how serious it is. Might be nothing.”

“Do you know her? The woman he’s seeing?”

She shook her head, but lifted one curious brow at Mel’s obvious interest. “He’s private, isn’t he? Doesn’t let anything slip. But he can’t hide those looks he sends your way.”

“He shouldn’t waste his time,” she said. I’m not available, she didn’t add.

In her new abode, Mel had put her own favorite books on the shelves—all of which she had already read and reread—and Mark’s picture on the table beside the bed. Each night she told him how much she missed him. But she cried less. Maybe because
of the way Jack looked at her. The soothing way he talked to her.

The house Mel sold in L.A. was almost four thousand square feet and it had never seemed too big; she had loved the spaciousness of the rooms. Yet the cabin, maybe twelve hundred square feet total, felt right. Like a cocoon. It hugged her.

One of her favorite parts of the day was at the end, before she drove out to her new cabin. She would go to the bar for a cold beer and some chips or cheese and crackers. Once in a while she had dinner, but she didn’t mind being by herself at her cabin where there was now food in the cupboard.

Jack put her cold beer in front of her. “We have macaroni and cheese tonight,” he said. “I can talk Preacher into putting a slice of ham with that.”

“Thanks, but I’m going home for dinner tonight.”

“You’re cooking?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I cook things like sandwiches. Coffee. The occasional fried egg. And takeout.”

“A modern woman.” He laughed. “But that place is working out for you?”

“It’s wonderful, thanks. And I need the quiet. Did you know Doc snores like a freight train?”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“I picked up a little gossip about you. That you’re seeing a woman in Clear River?”

He didn’t look all that surprised. He lifted his brows and his coffee mug. “Seeing? That sounds a little delicate for this crowd.”

“I was glad to hear you have someone in your life.”

“I don’t,” he said. “Ancient history. And I wasn’t exactly seeing her. It was a lot more basic than that.”

Somehow, that made her smile. “Sounds like maybe you had some kind of arrangement.”

He sipped from his mug and gave a shrug. “It was—”

“Wait,” she said, laughing. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

He put both hands on the bar and leaned toward her. “We had an understanding. I went to her place once in a while. For an evening. Nothing deep. No love affair. Casual sex, Mel, between consenting adults. When I realized it didn’t work for me, we parted as friends. I’m not with a woman.”

“Well, that’s kind of too bad,” she said.

“It’s not necessarily a permanent condition,” he said. “That’s just how it is right now. Want a slice of pie to take home?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

Mel had been in Virgin River four weeks. In that time, patients and friends dropped by frequently. Some had a little cash for medical services, a few had insurance, but the majority had produce from their farms, ranches, orchards, vineyards or kitchens. The latter, knowing that a single loaf of bread or pie probably didn’t cover the cost of an exam and treatment or medication, tended to stop by with a little something even when they were well. The unprepared food—a bushel of apples or nuts, canned or fresh fruit, vegetables, berries, lamb shank or veal, would go right over to Preacher, who could make good use of it, later feeding some of it to Mel and Doc. In some ways, it was like a commune.

That usually left Doc and Mel with more food than they could use, especially since they were getting most
of their meals at Jack’s. Mel packed up a box of some stuff that was likely to go bad soon—some eggs, bread, sliced ham and a brick of cheese, a pie, apples and nuts. A carton of orange juice she’d picked up from Connie. She put the box in the passenger seat of Doc’s old truck before she asked him, “Could I borrow your truck for a couple hours? I want to drive around some and I don’t really trust the BMW. I promise, I’ll be real careful with it.”

“My truck? I can’t see you in my truck,” he said doubtfully.

“Why not? I’ll gas it up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about you driving it off a cliff and leaving me with that piece of shit you call a car.”

She pursed her lips. “Some days, you’re more than I can take. Really.”

He picked up his keys and flipped them at her. She caught them. “Don’t hurt the truck. As God is my witness, I will never be caught driving that foreign job.”

She drove his truck out of town and the minute she was on the winding mountain roads, in the trees, driving up up up and then down down down over the mountain, her heart started to beat a little wildly. She was afraid, plain and simple. But she’d been haunted for two weeks and couldn’t live with the feeling. And that brought a plan into focus.

She surprised herself by remembering where Clifford Paulis’s camp was. She wondered if she was driven by some psychic energy. Her sense of direction in the hills, through the trees, was perfectly lousy. But—before long she was there, recognizing the nearly invisible old logging road that led to their compound.
She drove in, made a big turn inside the opening so that she was pointed toward the way out, and then got out of the truck. She stood right beside the driver’s door and yelled, “Clifford!”

No one appeared immediately, but in a few moments a bearded man came out from around a camper shell that had been pulled off a pickup and she recognized him as one of the men she’d seen on her last visit. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to her. He shuffled slowly toward her and as he neared, she reached back into the truck and pulled out the box. “I thought maybe you guys could use this,” she said. “It was going to waste at the clinic.”

He looked at her dumbly.

“Go ahead,” she said, pushing the box toward him. “No strings. Just a little neighborly gesture.”

He seemed to take the box reluctantly. He looked inside.

She dazzled him with her prettiest smile. When he smiled back, his teeth were god-awful, but she didn’t react. After all, she’d seen people like him before. But before, she’d call one agency or another, hand them off, clear her charts. It was different out here.

She got in the truck and put it in gear to leave. In the rearview mirror she saw him hurrying toward that camper shell, and a couple of guys had come out from behind and joined him. It made her heart feel better. Good.

When she got back to town, she returned the keys to Doc, who sat behind his desk in his cramped office. “I guess you think I don’t know what you did,” he said. She lifted her chin in some defiance. “I thought I told
you—stay away from there. It isn’t an innocent place and no one knows what might happen.”

“You go,” she said.

“And I told you not to.”

“Did we have some understanding? That I was going to follow your nonmedical orders? Because I don’t recall that in my personal life, I’m obligated to do everything you tell me.”

“Guess you’re not obligated to use your brain in your personal life, either.”

“I filled your truck up with gas, you old pain in the ass.”

“I didn’t get caught in that piece of shit foreign job of yours, you obstinate little strumpet.”

And she laughed at him so hard, tears came to her eyes and she had to leave, laughing all the way back to her cabin.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon when Mel went to Doc’s office. She tapped lightly and stuck her head in. “Do you have any idea what’s taking social services so long to do something about Chloe?” she asked him.

“Certainly don’t,” he said.

“Maybe I should do a follow-up—give them a call.”

“I said I’d take care of it,” he answered, not looking up.

“It’s just that—you know—I got attached. I didn’t mean to, didn’t intend to, but there it is. I’d hate for Lilly Anderson to go through that withdrawal. It doesn’t feel good.”

“She’s raised a passel of kids. She knows the score.”

“I know, but…” She stopped talking as she heard the front door open. She leaned out of his office and looked down the hall. Right inside the door stood Polly. She
seemed to be holding her belly up with her hands and instead of that usual glow on her cheeks, she looked just a bit pale. Nervous. Right behind her was a young man in almost identical overalls, holding a small, worn suitcase. Mel looked back at Doc and said, “Showtime.”

Polly wasn’t even sure how far apart the pains were. “It feels like one big one,” she said. “Mostly down real low.”

“Okay, let’s just go upstairs and get settled.”

“Can Darryl come?”

Mel reached over and took the suitcase from Darryl. “Of course. That would help a lot. I’m going to concentrate on you.” She took Polly’s hand. “Come on.”

Once upstairs, she had Polly sit in the rocker while she went about the business of getting a bed ready with the plastic mattress protector and clean sheets. “Good timing, Polly. My cottage was ready at the same time my littlest patient went out to Lilly Anderson’s ranch to stay. I’m all moved out and you, Darryl and the baby can have the whole room.”

“Arrrgggghhhh,” Polly answered, grabbing her belly and leaning forward. There was a slightly muffled sound that preceded the soft dripping of amniotic fluids onto the floor.

“Oh, Polly!” Darryl exclaimed. He looked suddenly stricken. Embarrassed.

“Well,” Mel said, looking over her shoulder. “That should speed things up. Just stay put until the bed’s ready and I can help you change.”

A half hour later Polly sat up in the hospital bed, not terribly comfortable on a couple of towels, her green hospital gown stretched over her belly. Mel had changed into a pair of scrubs and Nikes she’d packed
for just such an event. If this were L.A., the anesthesiologist would be on his way to check her and discuss the epidural, but this was the country, no anesthesia here. Doc came around right after Mel had given Polly a pelvic to see how far she had dilated, and then upon noting Darryl’s pallor, he said, “Young man—let’s you and me wander across the street and have a drop of courage.”

“Darryl, don’t leave me!” Polly begged.

“He’ll be right back, and I won’t leave you,” Mel promised. “But sweetheart, you’re only at four centimeters—it’s going to be a while.”

Good to her word, Mel stayed at her side. She wasn’t sure what she had expected the situation to be like, but was admittedly surprised by a few things. One—Doc Mullins stayed out of her way and let her have the case even though Polly had been his patient. Two, he took on the job of watching Darryl in case it became necessary to take the lad out of the room. Doc was staying up long after his usual bedtime. And, the few times Mel wandered out of the patient’s room through the night to fetch supplies or a fresh cup of coffee, she looked across the street to see the lights were on and the Open sign lit at Jack’s. He kept the bar open all night.