Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(11)

“Like?” she asked, sipping.

“Flood. Fire. Wildlife. Hunters who don’t follow the rules. The occasional criminal. Lotta pot growers out here, but not in Virgin River that I know of. Humboldt Homegrown, it’s called around here. They’re a tight-knit group and usually keep to themselves—don’t want to draw attention. Once in a while, though, there’ll be crime associated with drugs.” He grinned. “But you never had any of that in the city, right?”

“When I was looking for change, I shouldn’t have made such a drastic one. This is kind of like going cold turkey. I might have to downsize a little more gradually. Maybe try out a town with a couple hundred thousand people and a Starbucks.”

“You aren’t going to tell me Starbucks can beat that coffee you’re drinking,” he said, nodding at her cup.

She gave a short laugh. “Coffee’s great.” She favored him with a pleasant smile, deciding that this guy was okay. “I should’ve considered the roads. To think I left the terror of Los Angeles freeways for the heart-stopping curves and cliffs in these hills…Whew.” A tremor ran through her. “If I did stay in a place like this, it would be for your food.”

He leaned toward her, bracing hands on the bar. Rich brown eyes glowed warm under serious hooded brows. “I can get that cabin put right for you in no time,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” She put out a hand and he took it. She felt his calluses as he gently squeezed her hand; he was a man who did hard, physical work. “Thanks, Jack. Your bar was the only part of this experiment I enjoyed.” She stood and began fishing for her wallet in her purse. “What do I owe you?”

“On the house. The least I could do.”

“Come on, Jack—none of this was your doing.”

“Fine. I’ll send Hope a bill.”

At that moment Preacher came out of the kitchen with a covered dish wrapped in a towel. He handed it to Jack.

“Doc’s breakfast. I’ll walk out with you.”

“All right,” she said.

At her car, he said, “No kidding. I wish you’d think about it.”

“Sorry, Jack. This isn’t for me.”

“Well, damn. There’s a real dearth of beautiful young women around here. Have a safe drive.” He gave her elbow a little squeeze, balancing the covered dish in his other hand. And all she could think was, what a peach of a guy. Lots of sex appeal in his dark eyes, strong jaw, small cleft in his chin and the gracious, laid-back manner that suggested he didn’t know he was good-looking. Someone should snap him up before he figured it out. Probably someone had.

Mel watched him walk across the street to the doctor’s house, then got into her car. She made a wide U-turn on the deserted street and headed back the way she had come. As she drove by Doc’s house, she slowed. Jack was crouched on the porch, looking at something. The covered dish was still balanced on one hand and he lifted the other, signaling her to stop. As he looked toward her car, his expression was one of shock. Disbelief.

Mel stopped the car and got out. “You okay?” she asked.

He stood up. “No,” he said. “Can you come here a sec?”

She left the car running, the door open, and went up on the porch. It was a box, sitting there in front of the doctor’s door, and the look on Jack’s face remained stunned. She crouched down and looked within and there, swaddled and squirming around, was a baby. “Jesus,” she said.

“Nah,” Jack said. “I don’t think it’s Jesus.”

“This baby was not here when I passed his house earlier.”

Mel lifted the box and asked Jack to park and turn off her car. She rang the doctor’s bell and after a few tense moments, he opened it wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe, loosely tied over his big belly and barely covering a nightshirt, his skinny legs sticking out of the bottom.

“Ah, it’s you. Never know when to quit, do you? You bring my breakfast?”

“More than breakfast,” she said. “This was left on your doorstep. Have any idea who would do that?”

He pulled at the receiving blanket and revealed the baby. “It’s a newborn,” he said.

“Probably only hours old. Bring it in. Ain’t yours, is it?”

“Come on,” she said in aggravation, as though the doctor hadn’t even noticed that she was not only too thin to have been pregnant, but also too lively to have just given birth. “Believe me, if it were mine, I wouldn’t have left it here.”

She walked past him into his house. She found herself not in a home, but a clinic—

waiting room on her right, reception area complete with computer and filing cabinets behind a counter on her left. She went straight back on instinct and when she found an exam room, turned into it. Her only concern at the moment was making sure the infant wasn’t ill or in need of emergency medical assistance. She put the box on the exam table, shed her coat and washed her hands. There was a stethoscope on the counter, so she found cotton and rubbing alcohol. She cleaned the earpieces with the alcohol—her own stethoscope was packed in the car. She listened to the baby’s heart. Further inspection revealed it was a little girl, her umbilicus tied off with string. Gently, tenderly, she lifted the baby from the box and cooing, lay her on the baby scale. By this time the doctor was in the room. “Six pounds, nine ounces,” she reported.