Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(113)

“Sure you’re okay at that cabin?” Jack asked, pouring him a shot. “There’s room at the house.”

“Oh, Jack—it’s terrific. I’ll have the sheets washed and back on the bed in the morning before I leave. Then we’ll get Preacher’s family in there and start tearing up his apartment.”

“It’s really not necessary to do laundry. There are a lot of women around town who like a little housekeeping work.…”

“Nah, I’ll handle it. I appreciate the hospitality.”

“And that other matter?”

“What other matter?”

“The woman. The one who has you all f**ked up.”

He laughed. “No change,” he said. “I’m still f**ked up. But I’ll get over it. I have experience getting over women. I had a wife I loved once—she ripped me up good.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. There’s practically no one I’d rather see happy…”

“You know, that’s one of the problems with this place,” Joe said. “You guys. When you opened this bar, there were five of us at loose ends, and not looking to settle down. The only ones settled with women were Zeke, Corny, Phillips and Stephens. The rest of us were getting well into our thirties, pretty damn happy to be single. Plenty of women out there to keep us busy for a little while. Then you guys—Jesus. You not only hooked up, you found these incredible…”

Jack poured himself a shot to join his friend in commiseration. “We got lucky,” he said.

“It goes way past luck,” Joe said. “Some god was smiling on you.” He looked into his glass. “I’m just an idiot. I had my arms around this woman for one long, incredible night and I thought—this is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life. And she slipped away from me that fast,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I woke up alone.” He lifted his drink to his lips.

Chairs scraped back as the Hot Shots got up to leave. They all hollered their thanks, a couple of them coming forward to shake Jack’s hand, then filed out the door.

Alone in the bar, Preacher in the back with his family, Jack said, “How about going after her?”

“I tried. She’s gone.”

Jack leaned on the bar. “I’m sorry, man. I thought that was going to happen to me with Mel. From the second she hit town, she said she was leaving.”

“When did you know? Or think you knew? With Mel?”

“Oh, man,” he said, and laughed. “It was real slow. Took me five or ten minutes. It was the jeans. Have you ever noticed how my wife looks in a pair of jeans? Maybe you shouldn’t answer that…”

“With me it was a pink dress…”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Whoa, damn.”

“You shouldn’t give me alcohol,” he said. “Makes me talk.”

“Nikki,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “Yeah, buddy. I saw her. And I think I saw you see her.” He shook his head. “I feel your pain.”

“Vanni was furious with me. Paul was sympathetic but pissed. Well,” he amended, “they’re getting over that now. But the girl won’t talk to me. Won’t return calls. I can’t figure out what I did. I was as good to her as I knew how to be.”

“Whew, that bites,” Jack said. “But, buddy, that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there, just waiting for you to find her. I was forty, man. I thought I was way past having this life. Mel—she makes me feel like a teenager.”

“Yeah, maybe it’ll happen. But not while I’m like this. I’m stung. I have to get over this before I can dip into the market again. You know?”

“Hang in there, pal. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” he said. He threw back the rest of his shot and stood. “You should get home to the family. I’m going to borrow your porch for a cigar, since you have the sand can out there, then to the cabin to get some sleep.”

“Sure. I’ll lock you out and take off from the back. There’s coffee in the fridge, but that’s it. Want a beer or bottle to take to the cabin?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m good and tired,” he said. “And I’m planning to get out of here early.”

“You bet. And, brother? Don’t lick this wound too long, huh?”

He shook Jack’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

Joe stepped out onto Jack’s porch and looked up at the sky. He heard the door lock behind him; the Open sign clicked off. The stars were fewer, dimmer, and he hoped it wasn’t smoke in the sky. He pulled out his cigar from his shirt pocket, clipped the end and struck a match on his shoe. It flared.

And illuminated her.

She was wearing tight jeans and high-heeled sandals, a little blue knit shirt, a gold necklace. She leaned against the porch post in the corner, legs crossed, arms crossed, that shiny black hair resting on her shoulders. He took a step toward her, bewildered, and the match burned down to singe his fingers.

“Ah!” he said, shaking it out. He put his boot over it, crushing it for sure. Then he lit another match and took another step toward her.

There wasn’t much light besides the match, but he could clearly see the tracks of tears down her cheeks, her large dark eyes shining in the glow of the match. He shook it out. He put the cigar back in his pocket. “This is about where we started,” he said, not getting too close.