Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(114)

“Probably,” he said. “Which means he might be getting a new vehicle, new look and be back. Never go with him again, Mel. Promise me.”

She was thinking, insanely, that he was one person who treated her okay and seemed to have something of a conscience. If he came to her and said someone needed medical help, it would be hard to refuse him. “Just how many children do you think he can father?” she asked with a laugh.

“Men have lapses in judgment.”

“Do they? Hopefully you haven’t had too many,” she said.

“I haven’t had any,” he said with a smile.

“So. That’s all you got? A wrecked SUV and a bear? Must be a little anticlimactic for you,” she said.

“You calling that bear anticlimactic? Baby, that is a huge frickin’ bear!”

There must have been about twenty-five men, they all smelled bad, and they were filing into the bar. Mel sniffed Jack’s shirt. “Whew,” she said. “You smell almost as bad as the bear.”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said. “Now we’ll have beer, food and cigars. I have to get in there and start serving beer while Preacher and Ricky fire up the barbecue pit.”

“I’ll help,” she said, taking his hand. “It was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”

“Not in my mind. Our forest is nice and tidy, we’re turning a trailer full of plants over to the sheriff and we got a mean old bear.”

“You had fun,” she accused.

“Not on purpose,” he said. But his smile was very large.

“Is it over, Jack?” she asked him.

“I hope so, baby. God, I hope so.”

For once Mel was behind the bar. She helped serve beer and drinks, tossed a great big salad while Preacher turned steaks on the grill. Plates and utensils were put out for a buffet-style service. The men poked fun at each other, their laughter getting louder and wilder as the night wore on. Although Ricky was officially working, when he’d pass one of the men, he’d be pulled into a strong-armed embrace and praised as though he was a comrade. Doc wandered across the street for a whiskey, visited with the men for a while before going back to his house. Most of the locals left before the meal was served, home to claim to their wives that they shot the bear. It was about nine when the cards and cigars came out. Jack grabbed Mel’s hand and said, “Let’s get out of here. You must be exhausted.”

“Hmm,” she said, leaning against him. “My feelings won’t be hurt if you want to hang out with your boys.”

“They’ll probably be around a day or two. Since they came all this way, they’ll want to fish and stink up my bar. Fishing’s starting to get good.” He put an arm around Mel and walked her through the back of the bar. “We need to give the baby a nap.”

“We need to give the baby’s father a shower,” she said, wrinkling her nose. While Jack showered, Mel put on one of his shirts, her favorite soft chambray. She curled up on the sofa with one of Jack’s magazines in her lap, flipping through the pages. She would have to find something better than Field and Stream, she decided. She could hear the raucous laughter from the bar; she could almost smell the cigar smoke, but it made her smile. These were good people—people who came running when they thought there was a possible danger. Jack’s friends, the people in town—

they knew the meaning of being neighbors.

She had only known the neighbors on each side of her in L.A. With Mark’s long hours, they didn’t socialize as much as she’d have liked. And big cities can be less friendly. Everyone was so focused on work, on making money, on buying things. Mel used to concentrate on that, as well. Besides that Hummer, which she’d needed for work and was as much for the town as herself, she’d hardly bought a thing in six months. She patted her tummy—she would have to buy clothes soon—she couldn’t get her jeans closed. As she thought about it, she didn’t crave any particular label. It made her smile. Lately, she didn’t recognize herself. She was not the same woman who nearly slid off the mountain six months ago.

Jack came out of the shower, a towel around his waist, rubbing dry his short hair with another one. He tossed the second towel and went to his bed, lifting the covers and inclining his head toward her. She put aside the magazine and went to him. As she slipped in, she said, “You’re sure you don’t want to play poker and make yourself smell disgusting? They’re going to keep us up all night anyway.”

He dropped his towel and got in beside her. “You’re kidding, right?” He scooped her up next to him and she snuggled close.

“Have I told you how much I like sleeping with you?” she asked him. “You sleep very well. And you don’t snore. But I think maybe you wake up too early.”

“I like the mornings.”

“I can’t fit in my pants already,” she said. She lifted herself up and with her elbows resting on his chest said, “You call them and they just come.”

“I only called one of them—Mike in L.A.—he called the others. They’re just like that. And if any of them called—I’d go.” He smiled at her. “I never expected a posse like that to turn out. Says something about the way people feel about you.”

“But you didn’t actually find anyone scary out there.”