The grass grew tall in the pastures, the ewes fat with lambing imminent. The cows were ready to calve and Sondra Patterson was almost to term.
Sondra was expecting her third child, and the first two had come to her quickly and easily, so she and Doc claimed. She had decided to have this one at home, as she had the first two. This would be the first home birth for Mel, and she looked forward to it with nervous delight.
May aged bright and sunny—and brought with it a bunch of men in pickups and campers. There was a great deal of horn-honking at the bar in the afternoon and Mel looked out to see this gathering descend on Jack’s. She watched as he came out on his porch and greeted them with bear hugs and shouts and whistles.
“What’s going on?” she asked Doc Mullins.
“Hmm. I think it’s another Semper Fi reunion. Jack’s old buddies from the Marine Corps. They come up here to hunt, fish, play poker, drink and yell into the night.”
“Really? He never mentioned that.” And, she thought, is this my cue to be scarce? Because that after-work beer, the occasional kiss, had become the best part of her day. She was further bewildered by the fact that he hadn’t tried anything more. And yet, if he had, she would have worried about the consequences. She shouldn’t be involved with anyone, even Jack. Not until she was sure she could handle it. Thing was, she just couldn’t bring herself to give up that little bit of kissing. She was sure that Mark would understand. If their situations had been reversed, she told herself, she would.
But with the marines in town, there would be none of that.
Doc seemed to have no inclination to stay away, and at the end of the day he took himself over to the bar. “Coming?” he asked her.
“I don’t know... I don’t want to distract anyone from their reunion...”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “The whole town looks forward to seeing these boys.”
She went with him and found that of course Doc was greeted by these visiting men as if they were old friends. Jack dropped a possessive arm around Mel’s shoulders and said, “Boys, meet Mel Monroe, new nurse midwife in town. She’s been working with Doc. Mel, meet Zeke, Mike Valenzuela, Cornhusker—Corny for short, Josh Phillips, Joe Benson, Tom Stephens and Paul Haggerty. There will be a test later—no name tags.”
“Doc, you are a fine and smart gentleman,” Zeke said, grinning, reaching for her hand, obviously under the impression Doc had hired her rather than resisted her. “Miss Monroe, it’s an honor. An honor.”
“Call me Mel,” she said.
The noise with which they descended on her was invigorating. The next surprise for her, and perhaps it shouldn’t have been, was that Preacher was one of them. And of course they drew Rick in as though he were a younger brother.
Mel learned that Preacher had served under Jack when he was just a kid of eighteen in the first conflict in Iraq—Desert Storm—it turned out he was much younger than he looked. During that same time a cop from L.A. by the name of Mike Valenzuela and a builder from Oregon by the name of Paul Haggerty also served with them, but the two latter marines, being reservists, were called up for the latest Iraq conflict, again with Preacher and Jack, who were still on active duty at that time. The others, all reservists, were called up for Iraq where they were united in Baghdad and Fallujah. Zeke was a fireman from Fresno; Josh Phillips, a paramedic, and Tom Stephens, a news helicopter pilot—were both from the Reno area. Joe Benson was an architect from the same Oregon town as Paul Haggerty—Paul often built Joe’s houses. And Corny, another firefighter, came the farthest, from Washington state, but he was born and raised in Nebraska, thus the nickname.
Jack was older than these men by four years or more, the next oldest in the crowd being Mike at thirty-six. Four of them were married with kids—Zeke, Josh, Tom and Corny. Mel was fascinated by the way they talked about their women with lusty smiles and glittering eyes. No jokes about the old ball and chain here. Rather, they sounded as though they couldn’t wait to get home to them.
“How’s Patti doing?” someone asked Josh.
He curved his hands over his flat belly to indicate a pregnant tummy and grinning boastfully, said, “She’s ripe as a tomato. I can hardly keep my hands off her.”
“If she’s ripe as a tomato, I bet you get slapped down like crazy,” Zeke laughed. “I got another one on Christa.”
“No way! I thought she said you were through!”
“She said that two kids ago—but I snuck one more by her. She’s cooking number four. What can I say—that girl’s been lightin’ my fire since high school. You should see her, man. She’s lit up like a beacon. Nobody cooks ’em like Christa. Whew.”
“Hey, buddy, congratulations, man! But I don’t think you know when to quit.”
“I don’t. It’s like I can’t quit. But Christa says she’s all done with me. She said after this one, snip snip.”
“I think I can go one more,” Corny said. “Got my girls. I feel a boy coming on.”
No one could better appreciate this kind of enthusiasm for pregnant women than a midwife. Mel was loving it. Loving them.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot,” Jack said. “Eight nieces later, no one got their boy. My brothers-in-law have run through all their chances, I think.”
“Maybe you’re packin’ a boy, Jack.”
“I don’t even kid myself about that,” he laughed.
Jack was among the five single men with Preacher, Mike, Paul and Joe. Confirmed bachelors, Mel was warned. They loved women, but couldn’t be caught. “Except Mike,” Zeke said. “He gets caught regular.” Mel learned that Mike was twice divorced and had a girlfriend back in L.A. who was trying to be wife number three.
The camaraderie was engaging, electrifying. These guys were tight, it was real easy to see. Mel didn’t exactly rush away—she had fun. Other folks from town who frequented the bar seemed, like Doc, to be acquainted with this band of brothers and dropped in to partake of the reunion, every bit as welcoming of them as Jack and Preacher had been.
As she left that evening, Jack broke away from his buddies to walk her to her car. “Oh, now there will be talk,” she said.
“There’s already talk, but around here, what do you expect? Listen, Mel, you shouldn’t stay away on account of them—they’re a good bunch of guys. But let me tell you what the agenda will be. There will be lots of beer and poker, fishing all day. They’ll stay in their campers, make too much noise, and fill the place up with cigar smoke. Preacher will have something on the stove every day. And I sense a lot of fish coming our way. Preacher’s got a stuffed trout that will knock you down, it’s so good.”
She put a hand against his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. You just enjoy yourself.”
“You’re not going to ignore me for five days, are you?”
“I’ll come by after work for a beer, but you know I like my cabin, my peace and quiet. Have fun. That’s the important thing.”
“These are great guys,” he said. “But I have a feeling they’re going to get in the way of my love life.”
She laughed at him. “Your love life is pretty bleak, as a matter of fact.”
“I know. I keep trying to spool it up. And now them,” he said, giving his head a jerk in the direction of his bar, which seemed to be throbbing from the noise and laughter within. He put his hands on her waist. “Kiss me,” he said.
“No,” she said.
“Come on. Haven’t I been perfect? Haven’t I followed all your rules? How can you be so selfish? There’s no one around—they’re busy drinking.”
“I think you should go back to your reunion,” she said, but she laughed at him again.
Boldly, he picked her up under her arms and lifted her high, holding her above him, slowly lowering her mouth to his. “You’re shameless,” she told him.
“Kiss me,” he begged. “Come on. Gimme a little taste.”
It was simply irresistible. He was irresistible. She grabbed his head in her hands and met his lips. She opened hers, moving over his mouth. When he did this to her, she thought of nothing but the kiss. It consumed her deliciously. She allowed his tongue, he allowed hers, and she reached that moment when she wanted it to never end. It was so easy to become lost in his tenderness, his strength.
And then, inevitably, it had to end. They were standing in the street, after all, though it was almost dark. “Thank you,” he said. He put her on her feet and behind them, a raucous cheer erupted. There, on the porch at Jack’s, stood eight marines and Rick, their tankards raised, shouting, cheering, whistling, catcalling.
“Oh, brother,” she said.
“I’m going to kill them.”
“Is this some kind of marine tradition?” she asked him.
“I’m going to kill them,” he said again, but he kept his arm around her shoulders.
“You realize what this means,” she said. “These little kisses are no longer our little secret.”
He looked down into her eyes. The shouts had subsided into a low rumble of laughter. “Mel, they are not little. And since it’s leaked,” he said, grabbing her up in his arms, lifting her up to him again, her feet clear of the ground, and planted another one on her, to the excited shouts of the old 192nd. Even with that riot in the background, she found herself responding. She was growing addicted to the perfect flavor of his mouth.
When it was done she said, “I knew it was a mistake to let you get to first base.”
“Ha, I haven’t even thrown out the first pitch yet. You’re invited to go fishing with us, if you like.”
“Thanks, but I have things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow night for a beer. And I’ll get myself to my car. I’m not going to make out in front of them for the next week.”
* * *
A little local research revealed to Mel that there was an ultrasound machine in Grace Valley, about thirty minutes away in northern Mendocino County. She had a long chat with one of the town doctors, June Hudson, and they worked out a deal for the use of the ultrasound—the deal was that June would provide this service out of the goodness of her heart. “The ultrasound was donated,” she said. “Women from at least a half dozen surrounding towns make use of it.”
Mel arranged to bring Sondra in for a screening that day but Sondra insisted on baking six dozen cookies that she would leave at the Grace Valley clinic. “Are you sure your husband can’t come along? It’s really something to see,” Mel said.
“It would have to be him and the kids,” Sondra said. “And I’m really looking forward to getting away for a few hours.”
The two of them set out for Grace Valley, driving down through the foothills and along back roads that led them past farms, pastures, vineyards, ranches, flower fields and through a few towns that were not even specs on a map. Sondra, having lived in this part of the country all her life, was able to give Mel a running commentary on where they were, whose ranch was whose, what kind of crops were being grown—mostly alfalfa and silage for the cattle—orchards of fruit and nuts, and the inevitable lumber harvesting. It was a gorgeous day, a beautiful drive, and when they entered the town, Mel was instantly impressed by the shiny clean appearance of the place.
“It’s kind of brand-new,” Sondra said. “A flood nearly wiped them out not long ago and they did a lot of rebuilding and painting. You can still see the high water marks on some of the big old trees.”
There was a café, a service station, a big church, the clinic and lots of well-kept little houses. Mel pulled up to the clinic and got out. Inside she was immediately faced with Dr. Hudson, a trim woman in her late thirties, dressed much like Mel. She was clad in jeans and boots, chambray shirt with a stethoscope around her neck. She smiled and stuck out her hand. “It’s such a pleasure, Ms. Monroe,” she said. “I’m delighted you’re working with Doc Mullins—he’s due a little assistance.”
“Please, call me Mel. You know the doctor?”
“Sure. Everybody knows everybody.”
“How long have you been in Grace Valley?” Mel asked.
June laughed. “I’ve been here all my life. Except for medical school.” June stuck her hand out toward Sondra. “This must be Mrs. Patterson.”
“I’ve brought you cookies,” she said. “It’s really generous of you to do this for me. I never had one with the other two kids.”
“It’s a very convenient precaution,” June said, gladly taking the box of cookies. She opened it up, inhaled deeply and said, “Oh, these are sinful looking.” Then looking back at Sondra and Mel she said, “If you knew how many people from the neighboring towns helped us rebuild after the flood, then you’d know generosity. Come on, let’s see what we’ve got. Then if you have time, we can go grab a bite to eat at the café.”
Over the course of the next hour, they determined that Sondra would give birth to a baby boy, the baby was already in position and there was nothing to indicate there would be complications. They met Dr. Stone, a drop-dead gorgeous blond man June referred to as a city-boy transplant. At the café, they met June’s father, the town doctor before her, and he asked after Old Mullins, who couldn’t be any older than Doc Hudson. “He still as ornery as ever?” Doc Hudson wanted to know.
“I’m softening him up,” Mel said.
“So, what’s your story?” June asked over lunch. “How long have you been in Virgin River?”
“Just a couple of months. I came up here from L.A., looking for a change, but I admit, I wasn’t prepared for country medicine. I took all of our resources and hospital technology for granted.”
“How do you like it so far?”
“It has its challenges. There are aspects of rural living that I think might be growing on me,” Mel said. “But I’m not sure how long it’s going to work out for me. My sister is in Colorado Springs, married with three children, and she really wants Aunt Mel nearby.” She took a bite of a delicious hamburger and said, “I don’t want to completely miss out on her kids’ childhoods.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Sondra said.
“Not to worry,” she said, patting her hand. “I’m not going anywhere before you deliver, which from the look of things is going to be real soon.” She laughed and added, “I just hope we don’t have to pull off to the side of the road on our way home today.”
“I hope you’ll stay on,” June said. “It’ll be nice to have you so close by.”
“Close by? It took us over a half hour of twisting, turning and inching past logging trucks, just to go one way! And I bet it’s not twenty miles!”
“I know,” June said. “It’s just over fifteen miles. Isn’t it great that we’re neighbors?”
Before they were done with lunch a man came into the café carrying a baby. He reminded Mel just slightly of Jack—equal in height, muscled, rugged-looking in his jeans and plaid shirt, fortyish, and handling a baby with ease. He bent, gave Dr. Hudson a kiss on the cheek and handed over the baby. “Meet Jim, my house husband. And our son, Jamie.”
All the way back to Virgin River Mel was thinking, I didn’t feel so out of place today. She loved June and John Stone. Even old Doc Hudson was a kick. After she dropped Sondra off at her farm and drove back into town, it seemed as though the town was cuter somehow. Not quite the falling-down little burg she’d first thought. It seemed oddly like home.
She pulled up in front of Doc’s house and noticed as she did so that the men were just getting back to Jack’s from fishing all day. She went into the house to find Doc in the kitchen assembling something at the kitchen table. It looked as though he’d gotten himself a new bag. “Doc Hudson sends his regards, as do June and John. What are you up to?”
He put a couple of things in the bag and pushed it toward her. “Time you had one of your own,” he said.
* * *
It was fun to watch the marines load up their gear and head for the river in the early morning. Mel waved to them from her spot on Doc’s front steps where she took her morning coffee, and though they’d been up half the night playing poker and drinking, they seemed full of energy and enthusiasm. They’d shout and wave, and whistle at her. Flirt. “Oh, baby, you are so beautiful in the morning,” Corny yelled across the street. His reward was a playful whap on the back of the head from Jack.
They were barely gone when a large, dark SUV pulled into town, driving slowly down the street. To Mel’s surprise, the driver stopped in front of Doc’s. The door opened, but the engine continued to run. A man got out and stood in the street next to the open door, half-hidden. He was a tall guy, broad-shouldered. He wore a black ball cap and his hair curled out beneath it. “This doctor make house calls?” he asked.
Mel stood up. “Someone’s sick?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Someone’s pregnant,” he answered.
She felt a smile reach her lips. “We can make house calls, if necessary. But it’s a lot more convenient to do prenatal checks here in the clinic. We see well patients on Wednesdays.”
“You Doc Mullins?” he asked, his eyes crinkling doubtfully.
“Mel Monroe,” she said with a chuckle. “Family nurse practitioner and midwife. Doc hasn’t been doing much women’s health since I got here. Where does your wife plan to have the baby?”
He shrugged. “That’s up in the air.”
“Well, where do you live?”
He tilted his head. “She’s on the other side of Clear River. Almost an hour from here.”
“We have a hospital room here. Is it a first baby?”
“I think so, yeah.”
She laughed. “You think so?”
“It’s the first one I’ve been around for,” he said. “She’s not my wife.”
“Sorry,” Mel said. “I made an assumption. Bring the lady in for a prenatal checkup,” Mel said. “I can show her our room and talk to her about her options.”
“How about if she has it at home?” he asked.
“Well, that’s an option, too,” Mel said. “But really, Mr....?” The man didn’t respond as he should, with his name. He just stood there, big in his denim jacket, tall in his boots. Serious. “Really, the person having the baby needs to be involved in the discussion. Want to make an appointment?”
“I’ll call,” he said. “Thanks.” And he got in the SUV and proceeded out of town.
She found herself chuckling; she’d never had a consultation go quite like that. She hoped the man would confer with the pregnant woman about where she’d like to give birth.
* * *
The marines left at the end of the week and the town quieted down, but after getting to know them, she was actually sorry to see them go. While the boys were in town, Preacher was a lot more animated, laughing easily, scowling so much less. And each one of them grabbed her and hugged her goodbye, like she was part of their family.
Mel found herself looking forward to having Jack to herself again, but it was not to be. Jack was oddly morose and somewhat distant. He didn’t lift her off the ground or pester her for kisses, and for someone who had resisted and complained of the inadvisability of same, she was disappointed. Bereft. When she questioned his strange mood, he said, “I’m sorry, Mel. I think the boys wore me out.”
When she went to the bar for lunch, Preacher reported that Jack was fishing. “Fishing?” she said. “Didn’t he get enough of that last week?” To which Preacher merely shrugged.
Preacher didn’t seem particularly worn-out. He presided over the bar with the help of Ricky, polishing glasses, serving food, busing tables and partaking of the occasional game of cribbage. “What’s the matter with Jack?” Mel asked.
“Marines. They take their toll,” he replied.
Four days later, a week ahead of schedule, Mel got the call from the Patterson farm that it was time. Given the fact that Sondra reported easy, quick births and had already been experiencing contractions through the night, Mel went immediately.
Babies are odd—they do as they please. Having a history of short labors didn’t necessarily mean they would all be that way. With the support of her mother, mother-in-law and husband, Sondra labored hard through the day. Finally in the early evening, the little boy arrived. He didn’t emerge with a lusty cry and Mel had to suction, stroke and cajole him into the world. Sondra bled a little too much and the baby wasn’t interested in nursing right away. Even Sondra quickly knew the difference between this and her previous two experiences.
Getting a slower than usual start in the world doesn’t necessarily mean trouble, and the baby’s heart, respirations, coloring and cry caught up right away. Still, Mel stayed a bit longer than she ordinarily might have. She rocked the baby for three hours past the time she felt everything was fine, playing it extra safe.
It was ten at night by the time Mel finally decided to give them back their lives, their family, that it was perfectly safe to leave them. “And I’m wearing my pager,” she said. “Don’t hesitate, if you think anything is amiss.”
Instead of going right back to her cabin, she went into town. If Jack’s was dark and closed up, she’d go home. But the light was on in the bar, though the Open sign was not lit.
When she pushed open the door, she was greeted by a most unexpected sight. Preacher was behind the bar, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, but Jack sat at a table with his head down on his arms. In front of him was a bottle of Scotch and a shot glass.
When Preacher saw her enter, he said, “Throw the latch on that door, Mel. I think this is enough company.”
She did so, but the look on her face was completely nonplussed. She walked over to Jack and put a hand on his back. “Jack?” she asked. His eyes briefly opened and then rolled back in their sockets and closed again. His head lolled and one arm fell off the table and dangled at his side.
Mel went to the bar, hopped up on a stool in front of Preacher and said, “What’s the matter with him?” Preacher shrugged and made a move to reach for his coffee mug, but before he could connect with it, Mel virtually lunged across the bar, grabbed the front of his shirt in her fist and said, hotly, “What’s the matter with him?!”
Preacher’s black brows shot up in surprise and he put up his hands as if being arrested. Mel slowly let go of his shirt and sat back on the stool. “He’s drunk,” Preacher said.
“Well, no kidding. But there’s something wrong with him. He’s been different all week.”
Again the shrug. “Sometimes when the boys are here, it dredges things up. You know? I think he’s having some remembering of things not so good.”
“Marine things?” she asked. Preacher nodded. “Come on, Preacher. He’s the best friend I have in this town.”
“I don’t think he’d like me talking.”
“Whatever this is, he shouldn’t go through it alone.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Preacher said. “He’ll snap out of it. He always does.”
“Please,” she implored. “Can’t you guess how much he means to me? I want to help, if there’s any way I can.”
“I could tell you some things, but they’re very ugly things. Not for a lady to hear.”
She laughed a little. “You can’t imagine the things I’ve seen, much less heard. I worked in a trauma center for almost ten years. It could get pretty ugly at times.”
“Not like this.”
“Try me.”
Preacher took a deep breath. “Those boys that come up every year? They come to make sure he’s okay. He was their sergeant. My sergeant. Best sergeant in the marines. He’s been in five combat zones. The last one, Iraq. He was leading a platoon into interior Fallujah and one of the boys stepped on a truck mine. Blew him in half. Right away we were pinned down by sniper fire. Our boy who stepped on the mine, he didn’t die right away. Something about the heat of the explosion—it must’ve cauterized arteries and vessels and he didn’t bleed out. Didn’t have pain, either—it must have done something to his spine. But he was fully conscious.”
“My God.”
“Jack ordered everyone to take cover in the buildings, which we did. But he sat with his man. He wouldn’t leave him. Under sniper fire, leaning against a fat tire on an overturned truck, he held him and talked to him for a half hour before he died. Kid kept telling Jack to go, take cover, that it was okay. You know he didn’t go. He’d never leave one of his men behind.” He took a drink of coffee. “We saw a lot of stuff back there that will give you nightmares, but that’s the one that sometimes gets to him. I don’t know what hits him harder—the kid’s slow death or the visit he paid his parents to tell them all the things he said before he went.”
“And he gets drunk?”
“Fishes a lot. Maybe goes into the woods and camps awhile to get his stability back. Sometimes he’ll try to drink it away, but that’s pretty rare. First, it doesn’t work too well and second, he feels like crap afterward. But it’ll be okay, Mel. He always comes out of it.”
“Jesus,” she said. “I guess everyone has baggage. Gimme a beer.”
He poured one from the tap and put it before her. “So maybe the thing to do is just let him be awhile.”
“Is he going to wake up soon?”
“No. He’s tanked. I was just about to carry him to bed when you walked in. I’ll sleep in the chair in his room, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case he’s not just drunk. In case he gets sick or something. He carried me down a road in Iraq—about a mile. I’m not letting anything happen to him now.”
She drank some of her beer. “He’s carried me a little, too,” she said. “I don’t think he knows it, though.”
They sat in silence for a little while. She drank about half her beer. “I’m trying to get a picture of him carrying you,” she said. “Must’ve looked like the ant and the rubber tree.”
He surprised her with a chuckle.
“How’d he get you to come here? To this little town?”
“He didn’t have to talk me into it. I kept in touch with him when he got out, and when I got out, I came up. He said I could stay and help around the bar if I wanted to. I wanted to.”
A noise behind her made her turn. Jack fell off the chair and crashed to the floor, sprawling there.
“Nightie-night time,” Preacher said, coming around the bar.
“Preacher, if you’ll get him to his room, I’ll stay with him.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mel. Could be unpleasant. You know?”
“Not a problem,” she said. “I’ve held many a bucket, if it comes to that.”
“Sometimes he cries out.”
“Sometimes, so do I.”
“Is it what you want?”
“It is. I want to.”
“You really do care about him, then?” he asked.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Well, okay. If you’re sure.”
Preacher crouched and pulled Jack upright. Hands under his armpits, he got him to a limp standing position, then putting a shoulder to his midsection, hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mel followed him to Jack’s bedroom.
She’d never been in Jack’s quarters. It was set up like a little efficiency apartment with two means of entry—either through the kitchen behind the bar or the back door that led out to the yard. It was L-shaped, the bedroom being in the short end of the L and the living area larger. There was a table with two chairs by the window and while there was no kitchen, there was a small refrigerator.
Preacher put Jack on the bed and unlaced and removed his boots. “Let’s get the jeans off,” she said. To Preacher’s dubious look, she said, “I assure you, I’ve seen it all.” She undid the leather belt and unsnapped the jeans. Mel took the right pant leg, Preacher took the left and they pulled, leaving him in his boxers. Mel unbuttoned his shirt and rolling him from side to side, removed it. She took the clothes to his closet. Hanging on a peg just inside the door was a holster with a handgun in it and it made her gasp. She hung the pants and shirt over the gun.
Preacher was staring down at Jack, clad only in boxers. “He’s gonna kill me for this,” Preacher said.
“Or thank you,” she supplied, giving him a small smile. “If my pager goes off, I’ll come for you.” She pulled the comforter over Jack.
“Or if you have any problems,” the big man said.
When Preacher had gone, Mel pulled off her boots and in stocking feet, she poked around a little. He had a roomy bathroom with cupboards and drawers. She opened one and found that he kept underwear and socks in there. Towels were stored there, as well, and remembering that first day in Virgin River, she sniffed one. Downy, like he had said.
The closet was a medium-size walk-in. There was a small laundry room with cabinets in addition to the washer and dryer. The bathroom and laundry room had doors that closed, but the bedroom was in full view of the living room.
Looking around, it was so obviously Jack. Very masculine; very functional. He had a leather couch and big leather chair. There was a television on the facing wall and beside it, a glass-and-wood gun case filled with rifles, the key dangling from the lock. There was a heavy wood coffee table and a side table between the sofa and chair with a lamp on it. The walls were of rough-hewn wood and there were only two framed pictures on the side table. A family photo showing all of them, Jack, four sisters, four brothers-in-law, eight nieces, one silver-haired father as large as Jack. Beside it, a rather older portrait of his mother and father.
She picked up the family photo. This was a family of strong good looks, the men all tall and handsome, the women trim and pretty, the girls adorable—the youngest just little, like three or four, the oldest a teen. She thought Jack the best looking of them all, and he stood in the middle of the group, an arm around a sister on each side.
She took the throw off the couch, wrapped it around herself, and curled up in the large chair. Jack hadn’t moved a muscle. Eventually she, too, nodded off.
Somewhere in the night, sounds came from Jack’s bed. He was fitful, rolling around, muttering in his sleep. Mel went to the bed, sat on the edge and touched his brow. He grumbled something unintelligible and curled toward her, grabbing her and pulling her into the bed. He rested his head against her. She took his head in the crook of her arm and lay down beside him. “It’s okay,” she said to him. And he quieted at once, draping an arm over her.
She pulled the comforter over them both and snuggled up to him. She sniffed the pillow—Downy. Who was this guy? she found herself asking. Looks like Paul Bunyan, runs a bar, has all these guns, and cleans and launders like Martha Stewart.
In his sleep, he pulled her closer. His breath smelled of Scotch. Whew, she thought. She put her face against his hair, which smelled of his musk combined with the wind and trees. She inhaled deeply; she’d already begun to love his particular scent and the taste of his mouth. She had wondered what was under the shirt—a nice mat of brown hair on his chest and a couple of tattoos. On his upper left arm an eagle, globe and anchor, almost as big as her hand. On the upper right, over a ribbon, the words:
SAEPE EXPERTUS,
SEMPER FIDELIS,
FRATRES AETERNI
She couldn’t resist, she rubbed her hands over the mat of hair on his chest and over his smooth shoulders. She pulled him close. Within minutes, she had fallen back to sleep, cradling Jack in her arms, his arm comfortably embracing her.
* * *
In the dim light of early morning, Jack awakened with a pounding head. He turned his face to the side and the first thing he saw were Mel’s golden curls against the pillow next to him. She clutched the covers under her chin, sleeping soundly. He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her face. Her pink lips were parted in sleep; sooty lashes lay against her cheek. He lifted a soft curl off the pillow and held it to his face, inhaling. Then he leaned toward her and lowered his lips to gently touch hers.
Her eyes came open. “Morning,” she whispered sleepily.
“Did we do it?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” he said.
She smiled at him. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“When we do it, I want to remember it. I don’t even know why you’re here.”
“I stopped by the bar for a beer just about the time Preacher was scraping you off the floor. Headache?”
“It went away the minute I saw you. I must have had one too many.”
“Did it work? Did you scare away all the demons?”
He shrugged. “It got you in my bed. If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have gotten plastered weeks ago.”
“Lift the covers, Jack,” she said.
He did so. There he was, boxer clad and sporting quite a healthy morning erection. And there she was, fully clothed. “Don’t look down,” he said, dropping the comforter. “You have me at a huge disadvantage.” She laughed at him. “We could do it now,” he suggested. He felt the texture of her hair between his thumb and finger. “I’ll treat you real, real good.” He grinned.
“No, thank you,” she declined.
“Did I try anything?” he wanted to know.
“No.” She laughed. “Why?”
“I drank enough so that could have been really humiliating. Assault with a dead weapon.”
She ran her fingers over the tattoo. “I sort of expected this,” she said.
“Rite of passage. I bet every young marine wakes up with a splitting head and a little remembrance of the Corps.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, running her fingers over the words on the other arm.
“Often tested, always faithful, brothers forever.” He touched her cheek. “What did Preacher tell you?” he asked her.
“That the boys come up here and stir up some of your roughest memories of the wars you’ve been in. But I suspect that now and then you’d have those memories anyway, whether they came or not.”
“I love those boys,” he said.
“And they’re devoted to you. So—maybe it’s worth a little discomfort now and then. Friendships like that don’t come cheap.”