by Robyn Carr
“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.”
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br /> “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.”