Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(62)

There was another little matter. Something that didn’t show—it was still hard to pee and he hadn’t seen an erection in a long time. And what came to mind was, I pissed away my life and here I am, hardly able to piss.

Mike had been into living hard, living on the edge. The fighting Marines, the police department. Women. Lots of guy stuff—lifting, sports, poker, hunting, fishing. More women. Life in the moment. Fun, fun, fun. Ah. Instant gratification. He’d married twice because he was in the mood, married women he wasn’t really committed to, obviously. And he had pursued too many others. That was certainly not going to be an issue now. Maybe you get only so many erections, and I had all of mine, he thought.

Driving a long distance wasn’t advisable, but he managed. The right leg was good, the left arm worked fine. The doctors disapproved; they had ideas about further rehab and treatment, but he was a stubborn man and desperate to get away from it all. He threw the stuff he needed in the back of his Jeep SUV and headed north. “Stay as long as you want,” Jack had said. “You’ll have to stay with us, though. Preacher’s filled up the spare room in the bar. You might remember the woman—the one that Preacher called you about—she showed up in the bar, beat up, running from an abusive husband.”

Mike remembered, but vaguely.

What Mike wanted was a place to go where his family wouldn’t be in his business, hovering, breathing down his neck. Where his buddies from the department wouldn’t keep calling to see how he was doing, because he wasn’t doing that great. The doctor said that he might eventually get back close to a hundred percent of his arm, but it would take a long time and hard work. The other things, the peeing, the erection, that stuff would either return spontaneously or not—nothing they could do about it right now.

Virgin River had always been a place of good memories for him. Of sanctuary and challenge at once. He and the boys from his squad went a couple of times a year, camped, stayed a week or so, fished every day, did a little hunting, played poker and drank all night, laughed themselves stupid, had a good time. And what Mike had to do was work on the arm, the groin. Get his body back. Then he could think about the future. At the moment, it seemed like the things he wanted were out of his reach.

The last time he’d been to Virgin River had only been a few months ago—August—not their usual fishing/hunting/poker trip. Jack had called saying he’d had to kill a man—a lunatic from out in the woods had held a knife on Jack’s woman, demanding drugs. Jack got together a couple of guys to go clean out the woods, so Mike had rounded up the boys and, of course, they all took emergency time off from their jobs and were there by the next morning. When one of them called, they rallied. They hadn’t found anything dangerous in the woods except a big, mean, smelly, pissed-off bear.

And they’d found Jack, their leader, for the first time in his life, hooked into a woman. Mel, a petite, stunning, delicious woman. Jack, who’d always played the ladies with little care and a lot of useless charm, getting ready to commit to a woman. Now Mel was Jack’s wife and carried their child. Mike was amazed this had happened. He assumed Jack had finally stumbled on a woman who could trip him up, catch him. And make him think he was happy to be caught.

That, and the three bullets, had set up a real strong sense of regret in Mike. And a longing for a different kind of life. He felt like he’d missed out on something.

So, he went to Virgin River with his clothes, his guns, his weights, a rod and reel he wasn’t sure he’d get to use again. He was going to keep rehabing his arm, get some rest and gain some weight back eating Preacher’s food.

When he got to the bar he honked the horn and Jack came out on the porch. Mike got out of the SUV using his cane for balance. Jack was tough—he didn’t look at Mike as if he was pathetic, thin, limping slightly, his arm crimped and still useless. Instead, he embraced him like a brother would, but more carefully than in the past. And said, “Damn, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Me, too. I have so much work to do to get strong. Again.”

“You’ll get there.”

Mel came outside. She was showing now, and it made her more beautiful than ever—she was glowing with Jack’s life in her. She wore a smile that was sincerely welcoming and opened her arms to him, as well. “I’m glad you’re here, too, Mike,” she said. “I can help you with that arm. We’ll get it back.”

He hugged her with the good arm. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Come inside,” Mel said. “There’s someone you haven’t met, even though you helped her.”

Jack let Mike navigate the stairs up onto the porch himself, obviously resisting the urge to help him. When they were inside, Jack yelled for Preacher and the big man came out, wearing his apron. He cracked a rare grin when he saw Mike and he came around the bar, arms open.

“Oh, man,” Preacher said, embracing him. He gave him several pats on the back, causing Mike to wince painfully. Then he held him away and looked at him. “Damn, it’s good to see you!”

“Okay, great. Now, never do that again.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. You still in pain?”

“Some, yeah. What’s with this? Hair on my Preacher-man?”

“Head got cold,” he said, ducking shyly. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”