Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(66)

“Mel,” he whispered. “We’re alone.”

Her eyes popped open and she turned toward him only to find her mouth instantly covered in a blistering kiss. It took her a second to realize what he’d said, and when she did, she returned the kiss. “You’re sure?” she asked.

“I watched him leave,” Jack said, smiling down at her. “You can make as much noise as you want.”

“I don’t make that much noise,” she said. She tugged his boxers down. “Oh-oh. I might make a little noise.”

“You go right ahead, baby. I might, too.”

Mike pulled up in front of the bar and parked, but he stayed in his car. There, slumped in one of the porch chairs, was a woman. She was a big woman wearing long men’s trousers, boots that hung open unlaced, a plaid shirt and quilted down vest. Her head lolled to one side, her arms dangled over the arms of the chair, and on the floorboards of the porch, an empty bottle.

He tucked the 9 mm under the seat and left his cane in the car. He had to use the porch rail to assist in getting up the steps. He went to the woman and pressed two fingers to her carotid artery—at least she was alive.

Mike tried the front door to the bar and found it was still locked. No need to wake anyone. He went back to the SUV and pulled a blanket out of the back. He covered the woman and used a book of matches to light one of the gas space heaters Jack kept on the porch in winter. Then he took a chair on the other side of the porch. Waiting.

After about fifteen minutes, he got a clue. Jesus, he was stupid sometimes. Suddenly, he began putting the pieces together. Great detective work, Valenzuela, he found himself thinking. At night, when everyone turned in, he could hear them softly talking. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their muffled voices in late-night conversation drifted to his room. And in mornings after he’d had trouble sleeping, Mel would usually say something like, “It was a bad night, wasn’t it? You okay?” Every groan, every flush—it was one big room. They might as well be camping together.

Just because he wasn’t getting it up didn’t mean no one was. Jack and Mel needed some time alone. My God, they were newlyweds, and Mel’s pregnancy wasn’t too advanced for her to enjoy a healthy, satisfying sex life. He made a mental note to pay attention to that—to find things to do that would free up the cabin. To be sure, they knew he wouldn’t be back for quite a while so they could have a private life.

He could look around for another place to stay and get out of their hair. But Jack was pleased that Mike had come to him. Mel was happy to be helping with his rehab. It would be better if he could just delicately find ways to give them the place to themselves for a few hours here and there.

He looked over at the woman, wondering who she was and what she was doing here. That bottle could be bar stock. Did Preacher give her the whole bottle and send her on her way so he could lock up? But if she’d been passed out here since last night, she might be frozen by now. The temperatures at night were pretty low; it was getting damned cold. Cold enough to give her some serious hypothermia.

It was thirty minutes before Jack’s truck pulled in next to his SUV. When he got out of the truck, his brow was furrowed. “What’s this?” he asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Mike said.

“Preacher’s not up yet?”

“I don’t know. He might be back in the kitchen, but the door is still locked and I didn’t want to take a chance on waking up the house. You know?”

“Hey, buddy, I’m sorry. I—”

“Jack. You don’t have to explain. I should be the one trying to explain. Sometimes I just don’t think.”

“Jeez, Mike…”

Mike tilted his head and laughed suddenly. “Holy shit, are you blushing?” he asked, astonished. “The woman’s your wife, for God’s sake. I’ve been whoring with you and you never—”

A strong hand was clamped on his good shoulder. “That’s where we’re going to stop talking about it,” Jack said.

“Except to say, luckily for you, I am now sensitized. You and the comadrona deserve the life of man and wife.”

“Comadrona?”

Mike laughed. “The midwife. I’ll be a better houseguest from now on.”

“Don’t worry about it. Getting strong is your first priority. Our first priority.”

Mike laughed. “This is when you really know who your friends are,” he said. “Now, who’s this?”

“Her name is Cheryl Chreighton. I’m afraid she’s an alcoholic.”

“She wind up here a lot?”

“No. This is a first.”

“She get that bottle out of your bar?”

“No. We don’t serve her,” he said. “I can’t say where she got the bottle. She used to stick to that nasty Everclear, kind of hard to find around here. We’re the only place in town with a bar.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “We should probably get her out of here.”

“Where you going to take her?”

“Home,” he said.

The lock on the door moved and it opened. Preacher stood in the doorway, looked out, assessed and said, “Oh, crap.”

“Preacher, you have coffee yet?” Jack asked.

“Yeah.”