Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(8)

“Sure,” Vanni said, taking charge of the baby. “Probably a good idea.”

As Paul was going out the door, Vanni was asking Abby, “Have you eaten, honey? Let me get you a little something to eat and we can talk about this.”

Two

Cameron walked into Jack’s and found at least a dozen people at different tables finishing up dinner. He sat up at the bar.

“Hey, Doc,” Jack greeted, slapping a napkin down. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” Cameron said unenthusiastically. “Can I have a scotch? Neat. Something good. Good and powerful.”

“Sure. Long day?” Jack asked as he turned to select a label that might do the trick.

“It got long. Don’t worry—I’ll have some dinner and coffee and take your wife off the hook for on-call.”

“We have that all worked out, Doc. But I thought you had dinner out with Abby tonight.”

“That didn’t exactly work out.”

Jack laughed. “That should thrill Paul. He had the idea he was going to be alone with his wife.”

“Yeah, well, it was beyond my control,” Cameron said. “Believe me.”

“Everything all right?”

“Dandy,” he said. He lifted his drink. “Swell.”

Cameron hadn’t even sipped his drink when Paul walked in. He sat next to Cam and put his elbows on the bar. “What you got there?” he asked Cameron.

“Scotch.”

“Gimme a Crown. Same recipe,” Paul said to Jack.

Jack got down a glass and poured. “I could’ve sworn you had plans for the evening,” he said to Paul.

“I thought so,” he said. He lifted his glass and took a drink. “But then Abby came home, having some kind of emotional crisis, and Vanni got all hooked up in that.” Paul glared briefly at Cameron. “Lots of crying. Carrying on.”

Cameron turned toward him. “I did not do anything to bring that on,” he said rather harshly. “I was completely courteous. Thoughtful. I was wonderful.”

“I know that,” Paul said. “I gather she brought it on herself. She said she lost her temper. Said some rude things. Mean things.” He sipped. “You’re gonna have to let it go, man. Cut her some slack. For being pregnant and out of her mind. You know?”

Jack was leaning on the bar, listening closely to this conversation that was, thankfully, not overheard by other dinner customers. Only Paul and Cameron were at the bar.

“I handled it the best way I could,” Cameron said.

“She said she feels like she has to do everything—having the babies and everything—and feels like she has no control.”

“She has no control?” Cameron asked hotly. Then he laughed bitterly.

“Yeah, well, she’s feeling real bad about it now.”

“Is that so?” Cameron said. “Well, guess what? I feel real bad about what she said, too.” Then he looked back into his drink and sulked.

“Come on,” Jack said. “What the hell could she have said?”

Cameron looked up from his drink. “She called me an unkind name.”

Jack laughed at him. “Well, you’re a big boy. What could a little pregnant girl call you that would get you so riled up?”

“Never mind. It’s over.”

“How about—sperm donor,” Paul supplied.

Cameron shot Paul an angry look. “Way to go, dipshit. Anybody ever tell you you have a big mouth?”

“When Vanni said not to tell, I didn’t think she meant you. I mean, you know. Right?”

Cameron glanced at Jack.

“Don’t worry about Jack,” Paul said. “He doesn’t talk. Well, he does, but when he has specific orders not to, he can manage to keep his mouth shut.”

Then Jack, caution drawing every word, said, “Now, why in the world would she say something like that to you?”

“I can’t imagine,” Cameron said, pouting.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better about things, Vanessa called me a dimwit for asking just about the same question.” He took a drink. “Apparently we have ourselves a situation. Dad.”

“Whoa,” Jack said, straightening up. He reached for another glass and tipped the bottle over it. Jack usually waited until closing to partake, but it seemed appropriate to commiserate with these two. “Was everything all right with the ultrasound?” he asked warily.

“Fine,” Cameron said, sipping. “Babies look great.”

“And at least one’s a boy,” Paul said, picking up his drink. After a swallow he found Cameron glaring at him again. “What? I wasn’t told not to tell that.”

“You are a dimwit,” Cameron patiently pointed out.

“Yeah? Well, I’m a dimwit who was going to get lucky once the baby was tucked in, until you got Abby all upset and crying and—” He stopped suddenly. He shook his head dismally.

“Gentlemen, I propose a toast,” Jack said, lifting his glass. “Let’s drink to silence. If this conversation ever leaves this bar, we’re all going to die. Skinless.”

“Silence,” the other men agreed.

“All right,” Jack said, “since there’s a pact of silence, I just want to know when this could have happened. How this could have happened.”