Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(108)

“I understand if you can’t wear it often, given your work. And if you don’t like the design—”

“Are you kidding? It’s gorgeous!”

“I went ahead and got a band like it, no diamonds. Is that okay?”

“Only perfect. Where in the world did you find this thing?”

“Not the Virgin River jewelry store, that’s for sure. I had to drive over to the coast. Are you sure you like it?”

She threw her arms around his neck. “You gave me a baby,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting this, too!”

“I didn’t know I was giving you a baby,” he said, grinning. “This, I did on purpose.”

She laughed at him and said, “People will think we’re uppity.”

“Mel—I got it a while ago. When I first thought you might be pregnant. Probably before you did. Even if it had turned out you weren’t, I was set on this. This idea to marry you, to have my life with you…It’s not something I feel like I have to do. It’s what I want.”

“God, how did this happen?”

“I don’t care how,” he said.

He went with her the next day to pick up Doc and bring him home. Mel got him settled in his bed at home where he proved to be a very annoying patient; however, it seemed he would make a full recovery and be back to his old schedule in no time. He might not be seeing patients by the time Mel and Jack slipped down to Sacramento for a couple of days, but he’d be able to look after himself.

Meanwhile, with all Mel had to do, running the clinic and looking after Doc, Jack, Preacher or Ricky were bringing his meals, and Mel was able to escape to the bar for an hour here and there, just for a change of scenery. Nights she spent in the hospital bed down the hall from Doc. Alone.

After just a few such nights, she was startled awake by noise downstairs. She sat up sleepily and listened. It was unusual, but not unheard of for someone to come pounding at the doctor’s door after hours, so when Mel heard the knocking, she rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 1:00 a.m., which implied an emergency and as she was shrugging into her robe, she began to form contingency plans if she had to go out on a call. Jack could come to the house to look after Doc—or maybe go with her, leaving Doc to sleep through till morning without her.

She remembered hearing about that near-fatal truck accident some years ago and thought, what if I’m not enough help? Who could I call?

When she opened the front door, no one was there. Then the pounding came again and she realized that whoever it was had come to the back, to the kitchen door. She looked through the glass to see the face of that man from the compound. Calvin. If he was coming to fetch her out to that camp, she wouldn’t go. She’d have to send him away. If he’d come to ask her for drugs, she thought she might have to call Jack. She opened the door with an excuse on her lips when he rushed her, the back of his forearm against her neck. He shoved her backward with enough force that she knocked over a chair, crashed into the countertop and sent coffee cups that were drying in the dish rack hurtling to the floor. He had a snarl on his lips, a glazed look in his eyes, and a big hunting knife in his hand. She screamed, a noise that was quickly cut off as he grabbed her by the hair and put the knife to her throat.

“Drugs,” he said simply. “Just gimme what you got, then I’m getting the hell out of these mountains.”

“They’re in there…I have to get the key,” she said, indicating the drug cabinet.

“Forget it,” he said. As he held her, he tried kicking the wooden door. The whole cabinet shook and wobbled; she could hear the contents bouncing around.

“Don’t!” she cried. “You’ll break the vials! You want the drugs or not?”

He stopped. “Where’s the key?” he said.

“In the office.”

He pulled her backward, flipped the lock on the back door and said, “Come on. Let’s move it.” With one arm around her waist and the knife at her throat, he walked her out of the kitchen. She had no option but to lead him to the office. He held her in front of him, hostage style, as they slowly shuffled down the hall to the office. As she opened the drawer to reach for the key, he started to laugh. He grabbed her hand. “I’ll take this,” he said, pulling at her ring.

“Oh, God,” she cried, retreating. But he easily pulled her back by the hair and threatened her with the knife right in front of her face. She froze and let him pull off the ring.

He shoved it in his pocket and said, “Hurry up. I ain’t got all night.”

“Don’t hurt me,” she said. “You can have anything you want.”

He laughed. “And what if I want you, too?”

She thought she might vomit on the spot. She willed herself to be brave, to be strong, to let this ordeal end.

But he was going to kill her. She knew who he was, what he’d done, and suddenly she knew—he was going to kill her. As soon as he had what he wanted, that knife would slice across her throat.

Lying on top of the desk were the Hummer keys, obvious by the trademark and remote. He scooped them up, put them in his pocket with the ring and steered her out of the office back toward the kitchen. And he muttered, “Asshole doesn’t pay me enough to sit in the woods with Maxine and a bunch of old bums. But this should catch me up.” And then he laughed.