Jack was back to his old self. It was either the Scotch or the fact that he woke up to a pretty blonde in his bed. He bet on the blonde.
He never did ask Preacher precisely what he had told Mel. And he didn’t ask Mel to be more specific. It didn’t really matter. What did matter was that he had bonded with Mel on a new level that night without planning to. That she knew he was tortured over something terrible from his past and instead of shying away, stayed with him, willing to take it on—it had meant something. She had held him while he tossed and turned against a mean-spirited ghost. After that, she yielded more willingly to those kisses. He was definitely ready to move ahead with her.
They were the current talk in Virgin River, which gave Jack a strange satisfaction. For a man who didn’t want to be tied down to a woman, a man who tended to keep his woman in the shadows, he found himself wanting everyone to know they were a couple. And he worried that she would make good on her threats to leave before he could convince her to stay forever.
Jack took Mel to the coast to whale watch and they talked all the way there and back, but on the high cliffs above the ocean, they held hands, quiet, while the great fleet of behemoth mammals swam by, jumping out of the water and landing with an enormous splash. Their own guard of dolphins escorted them to the north. She let him kiss her for a long time that day. Many times. Then if his hand wandered she said, “No. Not yet.” And that gave him hope. Not yet meant it was on the agenda.
He was completely smitten. Jack was forty and this was the first time that he had a woman in his life he couldn’t imagine giving up.
* * *
Mel called her sister. “Joey,” she said quietly, in almost a whisper. “I think I have a man in my life.”
“You found a man in that place?”
“Uh-huh. I think so.”
“Why do you sound so...strange?”
“I have to know something. Is it okay? Because I’m not even close to being over Mark. I still love Mark more than anything. Anyone.”
Joey let out her breath slowly. “Mel, it’s all right to get on with your life. Maybe you’ll never love anyone as much as you loved Mark—but then maybe there will be someone else. Someone next. You don’t have to compare them, honey, because Mark is gone and we can’t get him back.”
“Love,” she corrected. “Not past tense. I still love Mark.”
“It’s all right, Mel,” Joey said. “You can go on living. You might as well have someone to pass the time with. Who is he?”
“The man who owns the bar across from Doc’s clinic—the one who fixed up the cabin, bought me the fishing pole, got my phone installed. Jack. He’s a good man, Joey. And he cares about me.”
“Mel... Have you...? Are you...?”
There was no answer.
“Mel? Are you sleeping with him?”
“No. But I let him kiss me.”
Joey laughed sadly. “It’s okay, Mel. Can you really think otherwise? Would Mark want you to wither away, lonely? Mark was one of the finest men I’ve ever known—generous, kind, loving, genuine. He’d want you to remember him sweetly, but to get on with your life and be happy.”
Melinda started to cry. “He would,” she said through her tears. “But what if I can’t be happy with anyone except Mark?”
“Baby sis, after what you’ve been through, would you settle for some marginal happiness? And a few good kisses?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Give it a go. Worst case—it takes your mind off your loneliness.”
“Is that wrong? To use someone to take your mind off your dead husband?”
“What if you put that another way? What if you enjoyed someone who took your mind off your dead husband? That could pass for happiness, couldn’t it?”
“I probably shouldn’t be kissing him,” she said. And she cried. “Because I just can’t stay here. I don’t belong here. I belong in L.A. with Mark.”
Joey sighed heavily. “It’s only kissing, Mel. Just take it one kiss at a time.”
When they hung up the phone, Joey said to her husband, Bill, “I have to go to her. I think she might be heading for a crisis.”
* * *
Mel had started thinking about the past more—that morning that the police came to the door to tell her that Mark was dead. They had worked the swing shift together at the hospital the night before. They’d taken their lunch hour together in the cafeteria. But Mark was on call and the E.R. was busy, so he stayed through the night. It happened when he was on his way home.
She had gone to the morgue to view him. Left alone with him for a little while, she took his cold, lifeless body into her arms, his chest riddled with three perfect holes, and wept until they dragged her away.
She had a video in her mind—one that ran from the pictures of Mark lying on the floor at the convenience store, the police at her door at dawn, through the funeral, those nights that she cried literally through the entire night, right up to the long days of packing up his things and the long months of not being able to part with them. She saw the film in her head as if from above, curled into a fetal position in her bed, grabbing herself around the gut as though she’d been run through by a knife, crying hard, loud tears. Cries so loud that she thought the neighbors would hear and call for help.
Rather than just telling his picture that she loved him, she began carrying on long, one-sided conversations with his flat, lifeless face. She would tell him everything she’d done all day and it would inevitably end with, “I still love you, damn you,” she would exclaim harshly. And urgently, “I still love you. I can’t stop loving you and missing you and wanting you back.”
Mel had always thought that Mark was the kind of lover, the kind of husband, who would find a way to contact her from beyond, because he was so devoted. But there had never been any evidence that he’d crossed back. When he went, he went all the way. He was so gone, it left her feeling desolate inside.
She woke up crying three days running. Jack had asked her if anything was wrong, if there was anything she wanted to talk about. “PMS,” she told him. “It’ll pass.”
“Mel, have I done anything?” He wanted to know.
“Of course not. Hormones. I swear.”
But she was starting to think that the brief reprieve she seemed to have experienced lately was now officially over and she was on her way back to the darkness of grief and longing. Back to the stark loneliness.
Then something happened to jar her out of it. She returned from her short walk to the corner store to watch her soap with Joy and a recovering Connie to see a rented car in front of Doc’s. When she went inside she was face-to-face with her sister’s bright smile. Mel gasped, dropped her bag and they swooped together, lifting each other off the ground, laughing and crying at once. When the crazy moments had passed, still holding Joey’s hand, Mel turned toward Doc to make a formal introduction. But before she could, Doc said, “Kind of scary, there being two of you.”
Mel ran her hand over Joey’s shiny and smooth brown hair. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“You know. I thought you might need me.”
“I’m okay,” she lied.
“Just in case, then.”
“That’s so sweet. Do you want to see the town? Where I live? Everything?”
“I want to see the man,” Joey whispered in Mel’s ear.
“We’ll do that last. Doc? Can I have the afternoon?”
“I certainly wouldn’t be able to stand having the two of you yakking and giggling around here all day.”
Mel rushed on Doc and gave him a kiss on his withered cheek, which the old boy quickly wiped off with a grimace.
Mel’s spirits were high and she didn’t think about Mark for a little while. She took Joey to all her favorite places, beginning with her cabin in the woods, which Joey thought was charming, if a little in need of her professional decorator’s touch. “You should have seen it when I arrived,” Mel laughed. “There was a bird’s nest in the oven!”
“God!”
Then they went to the river where there were at least ten men in waders and vests, angling. A couple of them turned and waved to her. “The first time I was here, Jack brought me and we saw a mama bear and her cub, right downriver, fishing. First and last bear I’ve ever seen. I think I’d like to keep it that way. The next time I came, I fished. I fly-fished—not as good as what they’re doing, but I actually caught a fish. I have my own gear in the trunk.”
“No way!”
“Way!”
Next, to the Anderson ranch to visit little baby Chloe and see the new lambs. Buck Anderson lifted a couple of little lambs out of the pen and handed one to each woman.
Mel stuck her finger in a lamb’s mouth and he closed his little eyes and sucked, making the women say, “Aww....”
“I raised six kids—three boys and three girls—and each and every one of them smuggled a lamb into their bedroom to sleep in their beds. Keeping the livestock out of the house was a lifetime chore,” he told them.
Mel drove her sister down Highway 299 through the redwoods and took great pleasure in her oohs and aahs. They got out and walked through Fern Canyon, one of the filming sites of Spielberg’s The Lost World. She showed her the back roads of Virgin River, the green pastures, fields of crops, craggy knolls, towering pines, grazing livestock, vineyards in the valley. “If you’re going to stay awhile and I can pry myself away from Doc, I’ll take you to Grace Valley to meet some of my newer friends. They have a larger clinic there, complete with EKG, a small surgery and ultrasound.”
Then, as the dinner hour approached, so did a heavy and cool summer shower and they ended up at Jack’s, where the drop in temperature had prompted the laying of a friendly fire. Word had apparently gotten out, because the bar was busier than usual—so untypical of a rainy night. Some of her favorite people were present. There was Doc, of course, and Hope McCrea. Ron brought Connie for a little while and where Connie went these days, Joy was nearby with her husband, Bruce. Darryl Fishburn and his parents stopped by and she introduced Darryl as the daddy of her first Virgin River baby. Anne Givens and her husband were there, a couple from out on a big orchard—their first baby was due in August. Preacher treated Joey to his rare smiles, Rick was his usual grinning, adorable self, joking about how the whole family must be gorgeous, and Jack charmed her thoroughly. When he went to the kitchen to get their dinners, Joey leaned close to Mel and said, “Holy crap, is he a hunk or what?”
“Hunk,” Mel confirmed.
They were served a delicious salmon-in-dill-sauce dinner, which Jack ate with them, and Mel regaled her sister with tales of country doctoring, including the two births she had attended on her own.
It was a little after seven when Doc’s pager sent him to the phone in Jack’s kitchen. Then he dropped by Mel’s table. “Pattersons called. The baby seems to be having trouble breathing and is getting a little pale and blue around the gills.”
“I’m going with you,” Mel said. She stood and told Joey, “I delivered that baby and he had a slow start. If I’m late, can you find the cabin?”
“Sure. Want to give me a key?”
Mel smiled at her sister. She kissed her cheek. “We don’t use too many keys around here, sugar. It’s open.”
Mel rode with Doc in his truck, just in case some of the dirt roads had gotten soft from the rain. She didn’t want her BMW stuck in the mud.
They found Sondra and her husband in a state of panic, for the baby did seem to be wheezing. His respirations were accelerated and shallow, but he had no temperature. After a little oxygen, he cleared right up, which did nothing to tell them what was wrong. Mel rocked him for a good long while. Doc sat at the kitchen table and talked to the Pattersons, drinking coffee. “He’s too young for something like asthma. Might be some kind of allergic reaction, a symptom of an infection, or it could be more serious—a problem with his heart or lungs. Tomorrow you’re going to have to take him over to Valley Hospital to the outpatient clinic for tests. I’ll write down the name of a good pediatrician.”
“Is he going to be all right through the night?” Sondra asked tearfully.
“I expect so, but I’ll leave the oxygen. You can drop it off tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt to spell each other and stay awake, just in case. If you have any problems or you’re worried about him, call me. That little foreign thing of Mel’s isn’t worth a crap on these roads in the rain. Besides, Melinda has company from out of town.”
Two hours later, Doc was ready to take Mel back to her sister.
* * *
By eight o’clock, all the patrons had left Jack’s except Joey. Jack had sent Ricky home, Preacher was cleaning up the kitchen, and he brought Joey a cup of coffee and sat down with her again. He asked about her kids, what her husband did, how she liked living in Colorado Springs, and then, “She didn’t know you were coming.”
“No, it was a complete surprise. Though it shouldn’t have been.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better. Something’s been eating at her.”
“Oh,” Joey said. “I guess I thought you knew what was going on. Because she said that you and she...” She stopped and looked into her coffee cup.
“We what?” he asked.
Joey raised her eyes and smiled sheepishly. “She said you kiss.”
“Every time she’ll give in a little.”
“In a place like Virgin River, does that make you a couple?” she asked.
He sat back in his chair, willing the bar to stay empty. “Yeah, something like that,” he said. “With a big hunk of something missing.”
“Look, I don’t know that I have the right...”
“To tell me who ripped her heart out and crushed it under the heel of his boot?” he finished for her.
“Her husband,” Joey said bravely, lifting her chin.
That caused Jack to sit up straighter. Joey hadn’t said ex-husband. “What did he do to her?” he asked, a definite angry edge to his voice.
Joey sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. If Mel hadn’t told him, she didn’t want him to know. She was going to be pissed. “He got himself murdered in an armed robbery that he happened into by accident.”
“Murdered,” Jack said weakly.
“He was an emergency room doc. He’d worked an all-nighter and stopped into a convenience store for milk on his way home in the morning. The robber panicked and shot him. Three times. He died instantly.”
“God,” Jack said. “When?”
“A year ago. Today.”
“God,” he said again. He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. He massaged his eyes. “She knows it was today?”
“Of course she knows. She’s been heading for it. Painfully.”
“In L.A.,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “And to think I wanted to punch him in the face a few times for hurting her.”
“Look, I feel kind of funny about this. Disloyal. One of the things that drew her here was that no one knows. No one looks at her with pity. No one asks her fifteen times a day how she’s doing, if she’s lost more weight, if she’s sleeping yet... I guess I thought she’d have told you, since...”
“She’s holding back,” he said. “Now I know why.”
“And I let it out. I don’t know whether to be guilty or relieved. Someone who cares about her out here should know what she’s been through. What she’s going through.” She took a breath. “I didn’t think she’d make it a week here.”
“Neither did she.” Jack was quiet for a minute and then said, “Can you imagine what kind of courage it took for her to chuck her big job in L.A. and come to this little town, to work with a man like Doc Mullins? She told me a little about what it was like there—city medicine, she called it. A battle zone, she said. She thought it was going to be real dull and boring here. Then she ends up riding to the hospital with a patient in the back of an old pickup, over these roads, holding an IV bag over her head, freezing. Christ, I could’ve used her in combat.”
“Mel has always been tough, but Mark’s death really derailed her. That’s why she did this—she started being afraid to go to the bank, the store.”
“And she hates guns,” he supplied. “In a little town where everyone has a gun because they have to.”
“Oh, jeez. Look, it’s no secret—I begged her not to do this—I thought it was crazy and way too drastic a change,” Joey said. “But something about this seems to be working for her. What she calls country doctoring. Or maybe it’s you.”
“She has these spells,” he said. “When she’s so sad. But it passes and there is such a brightness inside her. You should have seen her the morning after she delivered her first baby at Doc’s. She said she felt like a champ. I’ve never seen anyone so lit up.” He chuckled at the memory, but there was a morose tone to his laugh.
“You know what—I think I’m going to call it a night. Go back to Mel’s and hang out until she gets home, so I can be there for her.”
“Let Preacher drive you,” he said. “These roads at night, in the rain, can be treacherous if you don’t know them. The first night Mel drove out to the cabin, she slid off a soft shoulder and had to be towed out.”
“What about Mel?” she asked.
“Doc might just take her straight home—he has no respect for that little car of hers. Or she could come here for her car—she’s pretty good on these roads now, but if she has any worries about it, I’ll drive her out. Fact is, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was out at Patterson’s half the night, so don’t worry. She hates leaving a sick patient. But I’ll wait up.” He went to the bar and got a piece of paper. “Call me if she shows up at the cabin. Or if you need anything,” he said, writing down his number.
* * *
It was nearly ten by the time Mel walked into the bar. She saw Jack at the table by the fire, but frowned when she looked around and didn’t see Joey. “Where’s my sister?” she asked. “Her car’s out front.”
“I had Preacher take her home in the truck. Her first night in town she shouldn’t have to deal with those roads in the rain.”
“Oh. Thanks,” she said. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, then.”
“Mel?” he called. “Sit with me a minute.”
“I should go to Joey. She came all this way...”
“Maybe we should talk. About what’s been going on with you.”
She had been on this precipice for days, teetering on the fine edge of losing it. The only thing that seemed to take her mind off the violent event that changed her life was work. If she had a patient or an emergency, she could lose herself in it. Even the day with her sister, showing Joey the town, the lambs, the beauty, took her away a little bit. But it just kept coming back, haunting her. A picture of him lying on the floor bleeding out could float in front of her eyes and she’d have to pinch them closed, praying she wouldn’t break down. There was no way she could sit down and talk about it. What she needed right now was to get out of here, go home and have a good hard cry. With her sister, who understood.
“I can’t,” she said, her words little more than a breath.
Jack stood up. “Then let me drive you home,” he said.
“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “Please. I need to just go.”
“Why don’t you just let me hold you. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”
So, Mel thought. She told him! She closed her eyes and held up a hand as if to ward him off. Her nose became red, her lips pink around the edges. “I really want to be alone. Please, Jack.”
He gave his head a nod and watched her leave.
Mel went down the porch steps to her car, but she didn’t make it. It hit her before she could get there. She was nearly doubled over by the sudden crushing pain of memory, of loss. The emptiness came back, draining her of all good feelings and filling her up with the horrific unanswerable questions. Why, why, why? How can this happen to a person? Even if I’m not good enough to deserve better, Mark was! He should have lived to be an old man, to save lives and treat people with the brilliance and compassion that made him one of the best emergency room doctors in the city!
She had made it all day without falling apart, but now in the dark, in the cold night rain, she felt as though she was going to collapse to the ground and just lie there in the mud long enough to perish, to be with him. She stumbled toward a tree and grabbed the trunk, embracing it, holding herself up and holding on at the same time. The cries that came out of her were loud and wrenching.
Why couldn’t we at least have had a baby? Why couldn’t even that small thing have worked in our favor? Just to have a piece of him to live for...
Inside, Jack paced back and forth in the bar, feeling his own helplessness because he couldn’t do anything for her. He knew all about the crushing pain of loss; even more about the difficulty of getting beyond it. He hated that she’d left without at least letting him try to comfort her.
Frustrated, he opened the door to go after her. There sat her BMW, right in front of the porch, but she wasn’t in it. He squinted to look into the car, but then he heard her. Sobbing. Wailing. He couldn’t see her. He stepped out onto the porch, went down the steps into the rain. And then he saw her—holding on to the tree, the rain drenching her.
He ran to her, embracing her from behind, holding the tree with her, holding her against the tree. Her back heaved with her cries, her cheek pressed against the rough bark. The sound of her anguish broke his heart; no way could he let her go, no matter what she said about being alone. This crying made her weeping over baby Chloe look like a mere rehearsal. She was racked. She started to crumble to the ground and he put his arms under hers and held her upright as the rain soaked them.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she howled. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!”
“Okay,” he whispered. “Let it go, let it out.”
“Why, why, why?” she cried in the night, her breath coming in jagged gasps. Her whole body jerked and shook as she cried. “Oh, God, why?”
“Let it all out,” he whispered, his lips against her wet hair.
She screamed. She opened up her mouth, tipped her head back against him and screamed at the top of her lungs. He hoped she wouldn’t wake the dead, the sound was so powerful. But he only hoped she wasn’t heard so that no one would disturb them and stop this purging. He wanted to do this with her. He wanted to be there for her. The scream subsided into hard sobbing. Then more quietly, “Oh, God, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.”
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her legs didn’t seem to hold her up anymore; he was keeping her upright. He had the passing thought that no amount of emotion he had ever expelled in his lifetime could match this. It was almost phenomenal in its strength, this pain that gripped her. What had he thought? That his few days of brooding, a good drunk, had been demonstrative of his pain? Ha! He held in his arms a woman who knew more about gut-wrenching pain than he did. His eyes stung. He kissed her cheek. “Let it go,” he whispered. “Get it out. It’s okay.”
It was a long time before she began to cry more softly. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Twenty. Jack knew you don’t stop something like this until it’s over. Till it’s all bled out. They were both soaked to the skin when her breath started coming in little gasps and hiccups. It was a long time before she pushed herself away from the tree and turned toward him. She looked up at his rain soaked face, hers twisted with pain, and said, “I loved him so much.”
He touched her wet cheek, unable to tell the tears from the rain. “I know,” he said.
“It was so unfair.”
“It was.”
“How do I live with it?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
She let her head drop against his chest. “God, it hurt so much.”
“I know,” he said again. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back into the bar, kicking the door closed behind him. He took her to his room in the back, her arms looped around his neck. He put her down on the big chair in the sitting room. She sat there, shivering, her hands tucked between her knees, her head down, her hair dripping. He went for a clean, dry T-shirt and towels and came back to her, kneeling in front of her. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get you dry.”
She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were both terribly sad and exhausted. She was listless. Spent. And her lips were blue with cold.
He peeled off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Then her blouse. He was undressing her like one might a baby, and she didn’t resist. He wrapped a towel around her and keeping her covered, reached beneath and undid her bra, slipping it off without exposing her. He pulled the T-shirt over her head, holding it for her arms, and once it covered her to her thighs, he yanked out the towel. “Come on,” he said, pulling her upright. She stood on shaky legs and he unbuttoned and pulled down her trousers before sitting her back down. He removed her boots, socks and pants; he dried her legs and feet with the towel.
Though still drenched himself, he used the towel to attempt to dry her curling hair, blotting the locks between folds of the towel. He wrapped the throw from the couch around her shoulders, then went to his bureau and found a pair of clean, warm socks. He rubbed her cold feet vigorously, warming them, and put on the socks. When she looked up at him, some sanity had seeped into her eyes, and this made him smile a small smile. “Better,” he said softly.
He went to the cupboard in his laundry and brought out a decanter of Remy Martin and two glasses. He poured her a small amount of the brandy, neat, and took it to her, kneeling in front of her. She took a sip and then in a voice both weak and strained, she said, “You’re still wet.”
“I am,” he said. “Be right back.”
He went to his closet and quickly stripped off his clothes, pulling on only a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare and his wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He poured himself a little brandy and went to her. He sat forward on the sofa at a right angle to her, putting the palm of his hand against her cheek and was pleased to note that she had already warmed. She turned her face against his hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never been taken care of like this,” she said.
“I’ve never taken care of anyone like this,” he said.
“It seemed like you knew exactly what to do.”
“I guessed,” he said.
“I crashed,” she said.
“It was a helluva crash. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.” And then he smiled.
He held her hand as it lay on her lap while she lifted her brandy to her lips with the other hand, trembling a bit. When it was gone, he said, “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”
“What if I cry all night?”
“I’ll be right here,” he said. He pulled her hand and led her to his bed, holding up the covers so that she could slip in. He tucked her in as if she were a little girl.
Jack dealt with the wet clothes, spinning the water out of them and putting them in the dryer. When he checked on Mel, she was asleep, so he went back into the little laundry and behind closed doors, called Joey. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry. Mel is with me.”
“Is she okay?” Joey asked.
“She is now. She had a meltdown. Out in the rain, it was awful. I don’t think she has another tear in her, at least for tonight.”
“Oh, God,” she said. “That’s why I came! I should be with her now...”
“I got her in some clean, dry clothes and put her to bed, Joey. She’s asleep and I—I’ll watch over her. If she wakes up and wants to go home, I’ll take her, no matter what time it is. But for now, let’s let her sleep.” He inhaled deeply. “She’s had it.”
“Oh, Jack,” Joey said, “were you with her?”
“I was. She wasn’t alone. I was able to... I held her. Kept her safe.”
“Thank you,” Joey said, her voice small and shaky.
“There’s nothing more to do right now but let her rest. Have a glass of wine, get some sleep and try not to worry about Mel. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”
With only a dim night-light in the room, Jack pulled a chair from his table near to the bed. His feet planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and the rest of his Remy clutched in his hands, he watched her sleep. Her hair curled across his pillow and her pink lips were parted slightly. She made little noises in her sleep—little hums and purrs.
I have a high-school education, he thought. She was married to a medical doctor. A brilliant, educated man. An emergency room hero, made even more perfect in death. How do I compete with that? He reached out and lightly touched her hair. There’s no way, he thought. I’m sunk. And my heart hasn’t beat the same since she walked into town.
He was in love with her. This man who had never been in love in his life. Not once. As a kid, a young man, he’d thought himself in love a couple of times, but it hadn’t felt like this. Lust, he was familiar with that. Wanting a woman was something he knew quite well—but wanting to take care of a woman so that she would never hurt, never want, never be afraid or lonely—he had no experience with that. There had been beautiful women in his past; intelligent women, clever women, women with wit and courage and passion, but as far as he could remember, never one like Mel; never before a woman who had everything he’d ever wanted. And it just figures, he thought. I’m stupid in love with a woman who isn’t available to me. She’s still in a relationship, albeit a relationship that was no longer viable.
Didn’t matter. He’d held her while she was racked with the pain of losing someone else. She had a lot to get over, to get past. Even if he stood by her and waited for that to happen, it didn’t mean she could fall in love with him. Still, he had no choice. He was into her all the way.
He finished the brandy, putting aside the glass, but he didn’t leave her. He watched her, occasionally succumbing to the temptation to softly, carefully, touch the silkiness of her hair. When she sighed contentedly in her sleep, he found himself smiling, pleased that she had found some peace. At some point he realized that he knew how she felt—once you know how much you love someone, no one else would do.
He looked down at the floor. I’ll be here for you, Mel, he thought. It’s the only place I want to be. When he raised his head, her eyes were open and she was looking at him. He stole a glance at the bedside clock and was surprised to see that two hours had passed.
“Jack,” she said in a whisper. “You’re here.”
He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Of course I am.”
“Kiss me, Jack. When you kiss me, I can’t think of anything else.”
He leaned toward her and touched her lips with his for a soft kiss. Then more firmly, moving over her mouth, feeling her lips open and her small tongue enter. Her hand crept around to the back of his neck to pull him closer, and his kiss became hungrier, deeper.
“Come in here with me,” she whispered. “Hold me. Kiss me.”
He pulled back slightly, but she wouldn’t let go of his neck. “I’d better not.”
“Why?”
He laughed a little. “I can’t just kiss you, Mel. I’m not a machine. I won’t want to stop.”
She pulled the covers back for him. “I know,” she said in a breath. “I’m ready, Jack. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
He hesitated. What if she called out another man’s name? What if the morning came and she was sorry? He had fantasized about this, but he wanted it to be the beginning of something, not the end.
Then you better make it good for her, he told himself. You’d better leave her wanting more. He slipped in beside her, pulling her into his arms, devouring her mouth with a kiss so hot and powerful she melted to him with a whimper. Her arms went around him, holding him as she yielded to his lips, his tongue. His sweatpants, so loose and soft, left nothing to the imagination and he was instantly hard against her. She moved against him, rubbed against him, inviting him. With a large hand on her bum, he held her there.
Jack rolled with her, bringing her on top of him. He grabbed the bottom of the T-shirt that covered her and raised it, pulling it over her head. When he felt her breasts against his bare chest, he said, “Ahh.” Her breasts were soft and full in his big hands, her nipples hard. Running his hands along her ribs to her hips, he found that she still wore her thong panties; he slid them lower and she wiggled out of them. Her skin was so delicate, so smooth, he worried that his hands were too rough for her, but by her soft and eager moans, she was not unhappy with the sensation.
Holding her lips with his, he rolled with her again, so that they lay on their sides, and he took a moment to free himself from those sweats. Her hand wrapped around him, causing his breath to catch in his throat, and he thought, Better not leave your boots on this time, buddy. You better do it for her. And he concentrated, because he’d never wanted to please a woman more than tonight.
Feeling her against him like this made it very difficult to slow down, to wait, but by sheer dint of will he managed. He took his leisure of her, employing a slow hand that fondled her breasts. His mouth followed, drawing on one nipple then the other. She arched toward him greedily, spreading her legs, throwing one over his hip, urging him closer. He slipped a hand down and touched her in her soft center, bringing a passionate moan from her. He touched her deeply, and learned that he wasn’t the only one feeling a little desperate. She was ready for him. Starving. “Mel,” he said in a throaty whisper.
“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”
He turned her onto her back and held himself over her. He captured her mouth with his and entered her in one long, slow, deep, powerful stroke that caused her to gasp and rise against him urgently. With one hand under her bottom and the other still caressing a place that turned her sighs to moans, he began to move within her. The heat of her nearly drove him out of his mind, but he held on. He was determined that her needs would come before his own. He moved steadily, pushing and pulling, and within moments her breathing came harder and faster, her body straining toward his, reaching for satisfaction. He was more than happy to deliver it, pushing into her, rubbing against her. And then he felt those hot spasms of fulfillment, heard her cry out in ecstasy and he held her fast, pressing himself into her. In that moment of blinding pleasure, she bit down on his shoulder; sweet, welcome pain. And he hung on with all the strength he could muster, saving himself, and finally she weakened beneath him and the clenching spasms that surrounded him slowly subsided. Her body relaxed and her breathing began to slow. Her pants became sighs and her kisses came soft and sweet against his lips.
Mel stroked his back, tasted his mouth, her body still quivering from a thundering climax. She felt the muscles of his shoulders and back at work as he held himself up enough to keep from crushing her with his weight. When he released her mouth and looked into her eyes, she saw in his a smoldering fire that was not even close to being extinguished. She put her palm against his cheek. “Oh, Jack,” she said, breathless.
His name on her lips brought him such pleasure, he felt himself expand somewhere inside his chest, as if his heart grew just a little bit. He lowered his lips and sucked gently at hers. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“You were right there. You know exactly how all right I am,” she said. “It’s been a long, long time.”
“It’s never going to be that long again,” he whispered. “Not ever again.”
He began to move down her body with his lips and tongue, kissing and nibbling, tasting in slow, delicate strokes. He ran a tongue around each nipple until they were hard little pebbles, perfect for his mouth. He slid lower, until he had moved down over her flat belly. He gently parted her legs and buried his face in her, hearing her gasp above him. No longer delicate, he went to work on that prominent, erogenous knot in her center. He felt her moving her hips against his mouth and when her breathing became rapid and labored once more he rose, slowly kissing his way up her body. “God, you’re sweet,” he whispered against her lips. “You taste like heaven.” He slid into her again, filling her, moving in long deep strokes that became powerful thrusts that brought her to yet another shattering climax. Again she cried out and he covered her open mouth with his. Swept away, she couldn’t be quiet, and that thrilled him. Every sound, every wild cry gave him joy. He held her as she collapsed beneath him, spent.
Jack felt her small hands on his back, her lips on his neck, and her breathing inevitably slowed and came under control. To his surprise he heard the sound of her soft laughter. He rose above her and looked at her smile. “You lied to me,” she said. “You are a machine.”
“I just wanted to make you happy,” he said. “Are you happy?”
“I’ve been happy a couple of times. What can I do so that you can join me?”
He laced his fingers through hers and holding her hands, stretched her arms up above her head, holding them there. “Baby, you don’t have to do anything but be present.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her deeply and began to move inside her once more, pumping his hips. She lifted her knees and tilted beneath him, bringing him deeper, and he could feel her begin to move in concert with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he followed the rhythm she set in place. He rocked with her, slow and steady, deep and long, hanging on to control until he heard her moaning and sighing rise again, her tempo increased, and finally the noises she made, already familiar to him, already beautiful to him, told him she was reaching for yet another orgasm. He had expected her to be passionate, but the heat and power of her passion amazed him, and it filled a need in him. And this time, when she clenched around him and pleasure stole her breath away, he let himself go and matched her. Surpassed her. For a moment, through the powerful pulsing, he felt light-headed. His eyes watered. And he heard it again. “Jack!”
“Ah, Mel... Ah, baby,” he whispered, kissing her, loving her.
He gently caressed her as she calmed. “Jack,” she whispered. “I’m sorry...”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” he asked in a whisper.
“I think I bit you.”
He laughed, a deep throaty sound. “I think you did. Is that a habit of yours?”
“I must have been a little out of control...”
He laughed again. “I take the blame,” he said. “That was all part of the plan.”
“Ohh,” she said. “I might’ve lost my mind there for a while.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I love it when that happens.”
“You were taking a big chance, driving an already crazy woman out of her mind like that...”
“Nah, you were in good hands. You were always safe.” He kissed her softly. “Would you like to rest now?”
“Maybe for a little while,” she answered, her hands gentle on his face.
He gathered her close to him, holding her. Their naked bodies entwined, they spooned. He kissed the back of her neck as she lay on his arm. His face rested against her soft, fragrant hair, one arm over her and cupping her breast. Very soon he could hear the sounds of her even breathing, her sleep. He closed his eyes and relaxed with her in his arms, finding sleep himself.
Sometime in the dark of night he opened his eyes to find she had rolled over to face him, her hands boldly caressing him. He kissed her and asked, “Have you slept?”
“I did,” she said. “And woke up wanting you. Again.”
“I guess it’s pretty obvious, the feeling is mutual.”
* * *
Mel woke in the early morning and to her surprise, there was a song in her head. She was humming along with Johnny Mathis in her sleep. “Deep Purple.” Her music was back.
She rolled over to find the bed beside her empty. She could hear the sound of Jack splitting logs in the backyard. She rinsed her mouth and rubbed his toothpaste against her teeth. A light blue, long-sleeved denim shirt hung on a hook in his closet and she put it on, sniffing the collar, smiling at his scent on it. It more than covered her; she was drowning in it. She went to the back door and stood watching him heft the ax and bring it down. Thwack. The air was clear and sharp; the rain was gone and the huge trees were washed clean. She watched him heft the ax again, and bring it down. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his biceps rippled under the weight and force of the ax.
Then he looked in her direction. She lifted a hand toward him and smiled.
He dropped the ax at once and came to her. As he stood before her, she put her hand on his chest. He ran the back of a knuckle against her pink cheek. “I think I roughed you up a little with whiskers.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I like it. It feels right. Natural. Good.”
“I love the way you look in my shirt,” he said. “I love the way you look out of my shirt.”
“I think we have a little time,” she said.
He swooped her up into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him, and bore her gently to the bed.