There were no patients in the morning and Mel took the opportunity to drive over to Clear River for gas, there being no service station in Virgin River. She took the pager with her so that Doc could call her back if something happened, but hardly anything ever happened.
Every time she went to one of the little surrounding towns she looked in particular at the women, wondering where Jack might have gone once in a while for “something a little basic.” It didn’t take her long to realize that he probably had his pick, and that there were plenty of attractive women around these towns.
She thought she might like to get something like a salt lick or some kind of feed for the edge of her property to draw the deer, so went to the very small strip mall on the main drag. As she passed the hardware store, she saw a window display of shears mounted on pegboard. They ranged in size from tiny scissors to clippers with six-inch, thick, curved blades. She stared at them, frowning, for a long time.
“Help you?” a young woman in a green store apron asked.
“Hmm. What do you do with those?”
“Roses,” she said, smiling.
“Roses? I haven’t seen that many roses around.”
“Oh, you’re not looking hard enough,” she said, grinning.
“Hmm. Well, I’m looking for something that would draw deer,” Mel said.
“Like a doe call? But hunting season is months away.”
“God, I wouldn’t shoot at them! I like seeing them in my yard in the early morning. Can you tell me where to find that?”
“Um, if you want deer in your yard, you’re the only one. Just plant some lettuce or a couple of apple trees. With deer, if you don’t want them in your produce, you can hardly keep them away.”
“Oh. If I throw some lettuce out there, will that work? Because I don’t garden.”
The woman tilted her head and smiled with eyes that frowned. “Where you from?”
“Los Angeles. Concrete jungle.”
“I mean, now.”
“Up in Virgin River. Kind of back in the woods, you know...”
“Listen, don’t try the lettuce, okay. Because there are also bear. Just keep your food indoors and don’t press your luck. If you get deer, you get deer.” Then she looked down and said, “Nice boots. Where can I get a pair like that?”
Mel thought a second, then said, “Can’t really remember. Target, I think.”
* * *
Rather than going back to Doc’s, she drove out to the river. She saw that there were six anglers in the river, and that one of them was Jack. She pulled up, parked, and got out to lean against the front of her car to watch. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiled a hello, but went back to his sport. He’d pull out some line and let it slack, then gracefully cast out, the line reaching behind him in a large S before sailing smoothly out over the river, touching down on the top of the water as lightly as a leaf floating lazily down from a tree. And again, and again.
She loved to watch the arc of the lines, the whir of them going out, the clicking of them reeling in. They seemed almost synchronized, choreographed, the air above the water filled with flying lines. The men, in waders and vests, would walk around the swirling shallow waters while fish jumped now and then in the river. If there was a catch, the fish would either be released or go in the creel dangling from a shoulder strap.
After a peaceful interlude, Jack came out of the river with his rod and reel in hand. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just watching.”
“Want to try?”
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“It’s not very hard—let’s see if I can scrounge some boots or waders.” He went to his truck and dug around in the back. He came up with some huge rubber hip boots. “This’ll keep you dry—but you won’t be able to wade too far out.”
She stepped into them. His legs were so much longer than hers that he had to fold them down twice at the top of her thighs, not an unpleasant sensation. They were so big that she had to shuffle rather than walk, dragging them along. “I won’t be able to run for my life, either,” she said. “Okay, what do I do?”
“It’s all in the wrist,” he said. “Don’t worry about aim so much as a nice clean arc and a little distance—getting you into the deeper part of the river where the fish are more plentiful.” He took her hand, led her to the water’s edge, and showed her his casting. “Don’t snap it hard, just roll it off nice and easy. Give it a little arm, but don’t throw your body into it.”
He handed her the rod, showed her where to unlock the reel. She gave it a try and the fly plunked down right in front of her. “How’s that for distance?”
“We’re going to have to work on that,” he said. He stepped behind her and guiding her hand, helped her cast. Twenty-five feet, maybe. Probably a fourth of the distance he could achieve, and her fly came down hard, making a splash. “Hmm, better,” he said. “Reel her in, slowly.”
She brought it back and repeated the process, this time without his hand guiding hers. “Good,” he said. “Watch your footing—there are spots where you can drop, trip, slip off a rock. You wouldn’t want to fall in.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” she said, casting again. That time she flicked her wrist too hard and the hook flew back behind them, whooshing past their heads. “Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, but be careful. I’d hate to have that thing pulled out of the back of my head. Here,” he said. He stood behind her and put a hand on her hip. “Don’t throw your body into it—just use your arm and wrist—and go easy. You’ll get the distance. Eventually.”
She did it again, and it was good. A nice, graceful arc, a respectable distance into the river. A fish jumped out where her fly had landed. “Oh, he’s a big one.”
“Brown trout—a beauty. You get him today and you’ll show up all of us.”
Something slithered past her feet and she jumped with a gasp. “Lamprey eel,” he said. “They like to suck the roe and fluids out of the salmon.”
“Ew. Charming.” She cast again. And again. This was fun. Now and then Jack would take her wrist and cast with her, reminding her of the wrist action. The other hand stayed on her hip, holding her still. “I like this,” she said. Then she had a hit and reeled in a fish. It wasn’t a very big fish, but it was a fish. And she’d caught him by herself.
“Not bad,” he said. “Take it off the hook carefully.”
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“I’ll show you, but then you have to do it. If you’re going to fish, you’re going to take the fish off the hook. Like this.” He demonstrated, sliding his hand from the fish’s head to his wriggling body, holding it firmly, disengaging the hook cautiously. “His mouth is okay. We’re going to let him grow into a civilized meal,” he said, tossing the fish back.
“Aw,” she said.
“You got lucky. Come on,” he said, turning her back to the river. He stood behind her, holding her body straight and still with that large hand on her hip, his other hand guiding her wrist. She cast again, reeled in again.
“Jack, are there an awful lot of roses around here in summer?” she asked.
“Hmm? I don’t know. Sure, some.”
“I stopped by the hardware store this morning and they had this huge display of rose clippers. All sizes. I guess I’ve never noticed anything like that before...”
When she brought in her line, he turned her around slightly. He frowned. “Rose clippers?”
“Uh-huh. From little tiny ones to great big ones with curved blades and leather grips.”
“Where?”
“Clear River. I went over for gas and—”
“Mel, those aren’t rose clippers. Well, I guess you could use ’em for that. More likely, they’re for marijuana harvests. Little ones for manicuring buds, big ones for cutting down plants.”
“Naw. Come on.”
He turned her back toward the river. “There are towns around here that stock a lot of the stuff illegal growers need. Clear River’s one. What were you doing at the hardware store?”
“I thought I’d pick up something that would invite the deer to my yard, like a salt lick or feed or something, but—”
He turned her back to face him again. “Salt lick?”
“Well, cows like that, right? So I thought...”
He was shaking his head. “Mel, listen—don’t do anything to invite wildlife to your yard. You might get some unfriendlies. Okay? Like maybe a buck who’s more interested in rutting than having his picture taken. Or a bear. Understand?”
“Rutting?” She frowned.
He smiled patiently and touched the end of her nose. “Making love.”
“Oh. Sure. Okay,” she said, turning back to the river. Casting again.
“Rose clippers.” He laughed. “I think you’re getting the hang of this,” he said.
“I like it. I’m not sure about that getting the fish off the hook part.”
“Come on, don’t be a sissy.”
“Well...”
“You have to catch one first,” he said.
“You just watch. I’m precocious.”
Mel lost all track of time as she worked the rod, sending the colorful fly out across the water, bringing it back slowly. Again and again she cast, noting, too, that Jack kept his hand on her hip and now and then ran his other hand down her arm to her hand to guide her. “Come on,” she kept telling the fly. “I’m ready!”
“Keep your voice down,” he said softly. “This is a peaceful sport.”
Again and again she would cast her line. She wasn’t skilled by any means, but she was getting it out there, and doing so prettily. At least, she thought so.
She felt that hand that had been on her hip slide stealthily around her, holding her at her waist, pulling her just slightly back against him. “You’re distracting me,” she said, casting again.
“Good,” he said, lowering his lips to her head, inhaling.
“Jack, there are people!”
“They could care less,” he said, holding her against him.
She looked around and saw that what he said was true—the other fishermen didn’t even glance their way. Their lines were flying around in gentle, beautiful arcs. They didn’t even look at each other. Okay, she thought. This feels good. I like the hand, the arm around me. I can manage this.
Then she felt his lips on her neck. “Jack! I’m fishing!”
“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll try not to bother you too much.”
He pulled her just a little harder against him and began to nibble at her neck. “What are you doing?” she asked, laughter in her voice.
“Mel, please... Can’t we go somewhere and just make out for a while?”
“No!” she laughed. “I’m fishing!”
“If I promise to take you fishing after...?”
“No! Now behave yourself!” But she was smiling because it was pretty heady having this big tough guy turn weak and desperate just from the taste of her neck. She concentrated on her casting while he concentrated on her neck, his arm tight around her waist. Ahh... Nice. Very nice.
After a few more minutes passed, he let go of her with a tortured moan, walked back to his truck and laid himself over the front, arms outstretched wide, head lying on the hood. She looked over her shoulder at him and chuckled. Brought him to his knees, she thought. Big tough marine. Ha!
She treated herself to a few more casts, then turned and shuffled in those great big boots back to Jack. She leaned the rod against the truck and pulled her feet out of the rubber boots. He lifted his head and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Thanks, Jack. I have to go. It’s time for my soap.” She treated him to a conciliatory peck on the cheek. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
As she drove back to town, she got to thinking—a few weeks ago, she was absolutely certain there was nothing in her that allowed her to respond to a man. To Jack. Now she wasn’t so sure. A little contact, a little kissing—deep kissing—it felt good. It made her forget sometimes that she had nothing to give. In fact, it made her wonder if maybe she was wrong about that. Going somewhere to make out for a while didn’t sound like a bad idea. She was going to give that more thought.
She poked her head into Doc’s and found him on the computer and said, “Anything?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Okay, I’m going to the store. Need anything?”
“Nope,” he said again.
She checked her watch, found herself hoping she hadn’t missed the beginning. When she walked into the store, Joy stood in the curtained doorway and said, “Mel! Thank God!”
The panicked look on her face sent Mel rushing to the back room. Leaning forward in the lawn chair, her hand gripping the front of her sweatshirt and breathing shallowly was Connie. Mel kneeled down. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” she said weakly. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Joy, get me a bottle of aspirin. Pain?” she asked Connie.
“My back,” she said.
Mel put a hand between her shoulder blades. “There?”
“Yeah.”
Joy handed her a brand-new aspirin bottle off the shelf and Mel ripped it open, shaking one out into her palm. “Swallow this quickly.” Connie did so and Mel asked, “Pressure in the chest?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah.”
Mel got up, grabbed Joy’s hand and pulled her out of the back room. “Run for Doc. Tell him it might be her heart. Hurry.”
Mel went back to Connie. She took her pulse and found it fast and irregular. She had grown clammy and her respirations were rapid and shallow. “Try to relax and breathe slowly. Joy has gone for Doc.”
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s happening?”
Mel noticed that Connie’s left arm dangled at her side, probably in pain, while she gripped her shirt with her right hand and tried to pull it away from her body, as though to relieve the pressure in her chest. If Mel had speculated on a heart attack for one of these two women, she’d have bet on Joy who was overweight and probably had high cholesterol. Not Connie who was petite and didn’t even smoke.
“I’m not sure,” Mel said. “Let’s wait for Doc. Don’t talk, just stay calm. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
A tense couple of minutes passed before Joy, breathless, came flying through the door with Doc’s medical bag and rushed to Mel’s side. “Here,” she said. “He said try the nitro and get an IV started. He’ll be right here.”
“Okay, then.” She dug around in the bag, found the nitro tablets and shook one out of the bottle. “Connie, hold this under your tongue.”
She did as she was told while Mel got the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope out of the bag. Connie’s pressure was high, but within seconds some of the pain was easing. The nitro might be working. “That better?”
“A little. My arm. I can hardly move my arm.”
“Okay, we’ll take care of that.” She snapped on a pair of gloves. She pulled the rubber strap around Connie’s upper arm and started searching for a good vein, slapping her inner arm with two fingers. She tore open the package containing the IV needle and inserted it slowly. Blood eased up the clear tube and dripped on the floor. Mel then capped it off because she had no tubing or bag of fluid.
A moment later she heard a sound she didn’t recognize and looked out of the back room to see old Doc wheeling a squeaky old gurney into the store. He left it in the store aisle and picked up a bag of Ringer’s solution from its bed, handing it to Mel, while he toted a small portable oxygen canister. He put the cannula around Connie’s neck and into her nostrils while he asked, “What’ve we got?”
As Mel hooked up the tubing to the needle and the Ringer’s to the tube, she said, “Elevated pressure, diaphoretic, chest, back and arm pain... I gave her an aspirin, and the nitro.”
“Good. How’s that pill working, Connie?”
“A little,” she said.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Put her on the gurney in the back of the truck, you beside her holding the Ringer’s and monitoring her pressure, and if you think we have to stop for any reason, you bang on the window. The black bag goes with you—you have oxygen, a portable defibrillator in the truck bed, and I want you to draw an eppie and atropine right away, to have ready.” He went back to the gurney, pushed it into the very narrow space in the back room, and lowered it. He shook out and spread a large, heavy wool blanket over the sheet and said, “Okay, Connie.”
Managing the IV bag and tubing, Mel supported Connie under the arm so that she could be transferred from her chair to the lowered gurney. Doc lifted the back slightly so that she wouldn’t be lying flat, then wrapped the blanket around her and strapped her in. He put the oxygen canister on the gurney between Connie’s legs, then said to Mel, “Have Joy hold up the bag of Ringer’s while we get her out of here.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for an ambulance?”
“Not the best idea,” he said while together they lifted the gurney to its former upright position. As they rolled out of the store, Mel once again in control of the IV bag, Doc said, “Joy, as soon as we get out of here I want you to call Valley Hospital and ask them to get a cardiologist to meet us in E.R. Tell Ron to meet us at Valley.” Doc and Mel released the legs on the gurney and slid it in the back of the truck. Doc took off his heavy wool coat and draped it over Connie. As he would have headed for the driver’s door of the truck, Mel grabbed his sleeve.
“Doc, what the hell are we doing?”
“Getting her there as fast as possible,” he said. “In you go. You’re going to be cold.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, climbing into the truck bed beside Connie.
“Don’t bounce out,” Doc said. “I don’t have time to stop and pick you up.”
“Just drive carefully,” she said, already dreading those narrow, curving roads and sheer drops, squeaking by big logging trucks, not to mention the darkness and drop in temperature as they passed through the towering trees.
He jumped in, pretty spry for seventy, and put the truck in gear. He made a wide turn in the street, Mel in the back of the truck, holding the Ringer’s above Connie’s head because there was no IV stand on this old gurney. As they drove out of town, Jack was just returning. But Mel’s attention was focused on Connie. She balanced the bag of Ringer’s on the gurney above Connie’s head, and dug around in Doc’s black bag for syringes and vials, drawing her drugs quickly despite the hectic driving and bouncing. She capped the syringes and took up the IV bag again.
Just don’t arrest, Mel kept thinking. Just to be safe, she used one hand to open the portable defibrillator case, having it handy to be switched on if necessary. It was the kind used on commercial airlines; rather than paddles, there were patches that adhered to the chest. Rather than bare Connie to the cold before it became necessary, she decided not to attach the patches to her chest. Then, with one hand over her head, she leaned her body close across Connie’s to keep her warm.
She had to give Doc a lot of credit for fancy driving. He managed to move down the mountain at a pretty fast clip, braking suddenly for the sharp curves and picking up speed for the straightaways while avoiding potholes and bumps. Mel was freezing, but Connie was taking steady breaths and her pulse was even and slower, when from the sheer fright and the ride in the back of the truck, it should probably be racing.
“That Doc,” she said breathlessly into Mel’s ear. “He sure is bossy.”
“Yeah,” Mel said. “Try to rest.”
“Oh, sure,” she whispered.
Mel had to switch the arm that held the Ringer’s several times, she got so sore. And even when she stayed low in the bed of the truck, the wind was chilling her to the bone. May in the mountains, under the shade of huge, towering trees, was not warm. She tried to imagine doing this in winter, and she got colder. Her cheeks were numb, her fingers nearly without feeling.
After just over an hour ride, they pulled into a parking lot in front of a small hospital where two med techs and a nurse stood ready in the parking lot, waiting with their own gurney.
Doc jumped out of the truck. “Take her on my gurney—I’ll get it later.”
“Good,” one said, pulling the gurney holding Connie out of the back of the truck. “She have any meds?”
“Just an aspirin and a nitro tab. Ringer’s TKO.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “Emergency staff standing by,” and off they went, running with the gurney across the parking lot.
“Let’s go, Melinda,” he said, moving a little more slowly now.
Mel began to realize that waiting for emergency transport could have been a tragic mistake—it could have turned that trip into three hours. As she waited with Doc in the emergency room, she learned that Valley Hospital was small but efficient, serving the needs of many small towns. They were capable of labor and delivery, C-sections when the infant and mother were not at major risk, X-rays, ultrasounds, some general surgeries, lab work and outpatient clinic, but if something as serious as emergency heart surgery or major surgery were required, a larger hospital was needed. It was a while before the doctor finally came out. “We’re going to run an angiogram—I think we’re looking at blockages. She’s stable for the moment, but they may be considering bypass surgery as soon as possible. We’ll transport her by helicopter to Redding for that. Has her next of kin been notified?”
“He should be here any minute. We’ll wait for him here.”
Within ten minutes, Connie was wheeled past them and down the hall. Another ten minutes brought Ron with Joy into the emergency room doors. “Where is she? Is she all right?” Right behind them were Ricky and Liz, straight from school.
“They’ve taken her for an angiogram—it’s like an X-ray of blood vessels. Based on what that test tells them, they’ll decide whether or not she needs surgery. Let’s go to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee and I’ll try to explain it to you—then we’ll go see how they’re doing on that test.”
“God, Doc, thank you,” Ron said. “Thank you for getting her help.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank Melinda. She saved Connie’s life.”
Mel’s head jerked toward him in surprise.
“It was her fast action—that aspirin and calling for help—not to mention her ride in the back of my pickup, that I believe allowed us to get her to the hospital so fast.”
* * *
It was nine o’clock before Mel and Doc got back to town, and of necessity they both headed for Jack’s, more than a little grateful he had stayed open. And she knew he’d stayed open for them. Doc asked for his whiskey and Mel said, “I think I better have one, too. Maybe something a little smoother than that.”
Jack poured her a Crown Royal. “Long day?” he asked.
“Shew,” Doc said. “We spent most of it waiting for a decision. Connie’s going to have bypass surgery in the morning. We waited around until they transported her to Redding.”
“Why didn’t we just take her to Redding?” Mel asked. Both men laughed. “What? I looked at the map before I even came up here. It’s just over a hundred miles of highway.”
“It’s about a hundred forty, Mel,” Jack said. “Narrow, two-lane, over the mountains. Would take about three hours to cross at best from Eureka. Probably closer to four. Coming from Virgin River—five.”
“Jesus,” she moaned.
“I think Ricky is taking Liz to her mother’s for the night while Ron and Joy will make the long drive to Redding to spend the night at Connie’s bedside. They’re a little on the nervous side,” Doc said.
“No doubt,” Jack said. “I saw you flying out of town. I couldn’t tell who you had in the back—I just saw Mel hanging on for dear life.”
Doc took a sip. “She came in kinda handy.”
“What would you have done without a little help?” she asked him.
“I probably would’ve thrown Joy back there. But who knows if we’d have gotten that far. You know how great one little aspirin is for a heart attack?”
“Hmm.” Mel took a sip of her drink and let her eyes slowly drift closed appreciatively.
“Connie’s going to be all right?”
“Oh, better than all right,” Doc said. “People go into that surgery a little gray around the gills and they give them nice fresh, clear arteries to float their oxygen through and they come out rosy cheeked and brand-new.”
Mel took another sip. “Oh, God, I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.”
“You want me to light the fire?” Jack asked her.
“No, just let me drink this. Tell Doc I caught a fish today.”
“She did,” he said. “Wasn’t much of a fish, but she caught it herself. Even if she couldn’t take it off the hook without help.”
Doc peered at her over his specs and she lifted her chin a bit defiantly. “Careful, Melinda,” he said. “You could become one of us.”
“Not likely,” she said. “Not until you at least get a camper shell. We’d have been better off in the back of my BMW.”
“You’d have been better off,” Doc said. “That piece of shit isn’t big enough for a patient having a heart attack and a practitioner trying to keep her alive.”
“I’m not going to fight with you for saying that,” she said. “Because you at least called me a practitioner and not a nurse. You seem to be coming around, you old fart.” She looked up at Jack. “We keeping you up?”
“Nah,” he said, chuckling. “Take your time. In fact, I’ll join you.” He reached behind him and selected a bottle, tipping it over a glass. He lifted it in a toast to both of them. “Good team work, amazingly. Glad everything’s okay.”
Mel was exhausted, most of which came from the ride and long afternoon of tensely waiting at the hospital. Connie, she realized without much surprise, was more than a patient to her—she was a friend. And when you do this kind of work in this kind of place, your patients are almost always your friends. Must be hard to maintain objectivity. On the other hand, success was that much more gratifying. Fulfilling.
It wasn’t like this in L.A.
Doc finished his whiskey and got up. “Nicely done, Melinda. We’ll try to have a dull day tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doc.”
After the doctor left, Jack said, “Sounds like maybe the two of you have started to bond or something.”
“Or something,” she said, sipping.
“How was that trip to Valley Hospital?”
“Like Mr. Toad’s wild ride,” she said, making him laugh a little. She pushed her glass toward him and he gave her another splash of Crown.
“You want ice or water with that?” he asked her.
“No, this is good. Very good, in fact.”
She sipped her drink rather too quickly. She looked up at him, tilted her head to one side, then inclined it toward the glass.
“You sure? Because I think maybe that’s enough. Your cheeks are flushed and I can tell, you’re not cold anymore.”
“Just a tish.”
A tish was what she got—a couple of swallows.
“Thanks for taking me fishing,” she said. “Sorry you didn’t get in my pants again.”
A large surprised laugh escaped him. She was getting a little tiddly. “That’s okay, Melinda. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Aha! I knew it!”
“Like it’s been hard to tell.”
“You’re so transparent.” She downed the rest of her drink. “I’d better get going. I’m completely shot.” She stood up and nearly fell down. She grabbed at the bar to right herself and Jack came around to her side. He put an arm around her waist. She looked up at him with watery eyes and said, “Damn. I forgot to eat.”
“Let me make you some coffee,” he suggested.
“And ruin this perfectly good buzz? Hell, I’ve earned it.” She took a step and wavered. “Besides, I don’t think it’ll make me sober. Probably just wide-awake drunk.”
Jack tightened his hold around her and laughed in spite of himself. “All right, Mel. I can put you in my bed and take the couch...”
“But sometimes I have deer in my yard in the morning,” she said, a little whiny. “I want to go home. They might come back.”
Home. That sounded good to Jack, that she thought of that cabin as her home. “All right, Mel. I’ll take you home.”
“That’s a relief,” she said. “Because I’m pretty sure I already can’t drive. Even on a straight and undangerous road.”
“You’re a lightweight,” he said.
They took a couple of steps and her legs buckled a second time. He gave a sigh and bent to lift her into his arms. She patted his chest. “It’s good that you’re strong,” she said. “You’re good to have around. It’s like having my own personal valet.”
He chuckled under his breath. Preacher had gone upstairs for the night so he turned off the Open sign and managed to get his keys out of his pocket without dropping her. He locked the front door and took her down the steps and around to the back of the bar where he kept his truck. He put her in and she managed, though with some difficulty, to buckle her seat belt. When he got in and started the truck she said, “You know something, Jack? You’ve turned out to be my very good friend.”
“That’s nice, Mel.”
“I really appreciate this. Boy, whew. I’m sure not much of a drinker. I think I’m a one-beer girl. Two if I’ve had a side of beef and an apple pie.”
“I think you’ve assessed the situation correctly.”
“If I ask for the good stuff again, be sure to ask me if I’ve had food.”
“Sure will,” he said.
She laid her head back on the seat. Within five minutes, it lolled. And Jack spent the rest of the drive wondering a couple of things. One—what if she roused enough as he was taking her inside to invite him to stay? That would be okay, wouldn’t it? Even though she was just a “tish” disadvantaged? Or—what if she didn’t rouse and he just lay down beside her to be there in case she woke and decided it was time? That would be okay. Or maybe he could just wait on her couch, in case she needed anything...like sex. Then if she woke up during the night he’d be there. He’d be ready. He’d been ready.
He played a dozen scenarios in his mind. He would carry her to her room and she would wake and say, “Stay with me tonight.” He really didn’t have the strength to say no. Or, she would wake and he would kiss her and then she would say, “Okay.” Or morning would come, he would already be there and she would say, “Now, Jack.” Whoo boy. He was getting a little warm.
But she was still asleep when he pulled up in front of her cabin. He unbuckled her and lifted her out of the truck. He whacked her head on the door frame. “Ow!” she yelled, her hand going to her head.
“Sorry,” he said. And thought to himself, Foreplay that was not.
“S’okay.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.
Now, he thought, I should stay to be sure she doesn’t have a concussion. And that she doesn’t need sex for it. Or just to be there in case she did...
He carried her across the porch, through the door to her room and, flipping on the light, laid her on the bed. Without opening her eyes she said, “Thank you, Jack.”
“You’re welcome, Melinda,” he said. “Your head okay?”
“What head?”
“Okay. Let’s get your boots off.”
“Boots. Off.” She lifted a leg, making him laugh. He pulled the boot off. The leg dropped and the other one came up. He pulled that one off and the leg dropped. Then she curled into a cute little package, pulling the quilt around her. He looked down at her and saw that it was lights out for Melinda. Then he saw the picture.
Something hit him, and it didn’t feel particularly good. He picked up the picture and looked at the man’s face. So, you’re the guy, he thought. He didn’t look like a bad guy—but clearly he had done something to Mel. Something she was having trouble getting beyond. Maybe he’d left her for another woman—but that seemed impossible to imagine. Maybe he left her for a man. Oh, please let it be so—I can make that better—just give me five minutes. Or maybe he looked harmless but had been an impossible asshole and she’d broken off with him, but still loved him helplessly. And here she had his picture right there, to be the last face she saw before falling asleep at night.
At some point she was going to give Jack a chance to make that picture go away, but it wasn’t going to be tonight. Probably just as well. If she woke to find him there, either in her bed or ready to be, she would put the blame on Crown Royal. He wanted it to come from desire—and he wanted it to be real.
He scribbled a note. I’ll be back for you at 8:00 a.m. Jack. He left it by the coffeepot. Then he went to his truck to get something he’d purchased earlier in the day. He brought the leather case holding the dismantled fly-fishing rod and reel and the waders into the house and left them by the front door. And went home.
* * *
At 8:00 a.m. he was back in front of her cabin and what he saw made him smile. All the disappointing thoughts that had plagued him the night before vanished. She was sitting in her Adirondack chair in her new waders, idly casting her fly into the yard. A steaming cup of coffee rested on the wide chair arm beside her.
He got out of the truck, grinning. “You found it,” he said, walking to the porch.
“I love it! Did you get this for me?”
“I did.”
“But why?”
“When we go fishing, I need to stand beside you. Not in back of you, smelling your hair and feeling you against me. You need your own stuff. How do they fit?”
She stood up and turned around for him. “Perfect. I’ve been practicing.”
“Getting any better?”
“I am. I’m sorry about last night, Jack. I had been tense and hungry and freezing all day and it really hit me.”
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“I should keep this in my trunk, huh? In case we have a light day at Doc’s and can just sneak off and fish.”
“Good idea, Mel.”
“Let me put my gear away,” she said happily.
And he thought—Just give me time. I’m going to get that picture put in storage.
* * *
Ricky hadn’t been around the bar the week right after Connie’s heart attack, hanging close to the family in case they needed him for anything. When he did come into the bar, it was late and there were only two men at a table and Preacher behind the bar. Ricky sat up at the bar, his eyes downcast.
“How’s everybody doing?” Preacher asked.
He shrugged. “Connie’s doing pretty good I guess. They sent Liz back to her mom’s in Eureka.”
“Eureka isn’t the end of the world, man. You can visit her.”
Ricky looked down. “Yeah, but...probably shouldn’t,” he said. “She was...she was the first girl I felt that way about.” He looked up. “You know. That way.”
The two men at the table stood and wandered out of the bar. “Close call?” Preacher asked him.
“I wish. Holy God,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I thought I had it under control.”
Preacher did something he’d never done before. He drew a couple of cold drafts and put one in front of Rick, one in front of himself. “Tough call, that control thing.”
“Tell me about it. This for me?”
Preacher lifted an eyebrow. “I thought maybe you might need it right about now.”
“Thanks,” he said, lifting the glass. “She doesn’t look like a kid, but she’s just a kid. She’s way too young.”
“Way,” Preacher agreed. “You got a handle on it now?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Now that it’s too late.”
“Welcome to the world.” Preacher drank half his draft.
Rick just looked into his. “It’s just that I’d die if anyone got hurt, you know. If I hurt her. If I let you and Jack down.”
Preacher put his big hands on the bar and leaned toward Rick. “Hey, Ricky, don’t worry about letting us down. Some things are just nature, you know? You’re a human being. You do the best you can. Try to think ahead next time, if you get my drift.”
“I do now.”
Jack came into the bar from the back. He noticed right away that Ricky and Preacher had beers and that Ricky wore a troubled expression. “Do I need to toast anything?” He poured himself a glass of beer.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a no,” Ricky said.
“Ricky here, if I’m reading him right, has entered the world of men. And wishes a little bit he hadn’t.”
“Instead of giving me a handful of rubbers, you should’ve had me laminated,” he said to Jack.
“Oh, boy. You gonna be okay, buddy?” Jack asked. “She gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know. When am I gonna know? How am I gonna know?”
“A month,” Jack said. “Maybe less. Depends on her cycle. You’re going to have to ask her, Rick. If she got her period.”
“I’m gonna die,” Ricky said miserably.
“Okay then. Let’s toast to your continued good luck. Since you got, you know, lucky.”
“Right now I gotta wonder why they call it that,” Ricky said.