Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(31)

“I have absolutely no idea, Melinda,” he said, grinning.

“You know what I’ve noticed about this town? Everyone has a satellite dish and at least one gun.”

“A couple of items that seem to be necessary. No cable TV out here. You shoot?” he asked.

“I hate guns,” she said with a shudder. “Try to imagine the number of gunshot deaths in a trauma center in L.A.” She shivered again. He has no idea, she thought.

“The guns around here aren’t the kind people use on each other. Hardly a handgun in the town, although I have a couple, just because I’ve had them for a long time. This is rifle and shotgun country—used for hunting, euthanizing a sick or wounded animal, protection from wildlife. I could teach you to shoot, so you’d be more comfortable with guns.”

“No way. I hate to even be around them. All these guns I see in the gun racks in the trucks—are they loaded?”

“You bet. You don’t take a minute to load your rifle if a bear is charging you. Bear fish in the same rivers we do.”

“Whew, fishing just took on a whole new meaning. Who shot all the animals on the walls in the bar?” she asked.

“Preacher got the buck. I caught the fish and shot the bear.”

She was shaking her head. “How can you get any satisfaction out of killing innocent animals?”

“The buck and fish were innocent,” he admitted. “But that bear wasn’t. I didn’t want to shoot her, but I was working on the bar and she was poking around right back there, maybe looking for trash. Bear are scavengers—they’ll eat anything. It was a real dry summer. Her cub wandered too close to me and riled her up. Pissed her off. She must have gotten the idea I was going to interfere with the cub. So…?”

“Aw. What happened to the cub?”

“I locked him in the bar until Fish and Game could come out for him. They relocated him.”

“That’s too bad. For her. She was just being a mother.”

“I didn’t want to shoot that bear,” he said. “I don’t even hunt bear. I carry repellent—

sort of a pepper spray. That day the repellent was in the truck, but the rifle was handy. I wouldn’t have shot her, but it kind of got down to her or me.” He grinned at her.

“City girl,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m just a city girl. With no dead animals on my walls. Think I’ll keep it that way.”

Friday night, big night in Virgin River. There were more than the usual number of cars parked around the bar, though the people Mel knew best would have walked over. Mel had said to Doc, “There’s a potluck for Joy’s birthday at Jack’s tonight. I assume you’re going over. Maybe later, if you could spell me for a half hour, I can just drop in and wish her a happy birthday.”

Doc scoffed at that idea. All he wanted was to go collect his one whiskey of the day, have a bite to eat and turn in. So Mel fed and settled the baby while he was across the street. She fluffed her hair and put on a little lipstick, ready for what she expected to be a fairly dull evening, but an evening with a few friendly faces nonetheless. It was seven-thirty before Chloe slept and she was able to leave. “I won’t be long,” she told Doc.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Dance till dawn for all I care.”

“Will you call me if you need me?” she asked Doc.

“Hardly ever have a party in this town,” he said. “You should take advantage of it. I know how to change and feed. Been doing it a lot longer than you.”

When she walked in, she found the place nearly full of people. The jukebox, which was hardly ever playing, provided background music. Country. Jack and Preacher were behind the bar, Ricky was busy bussing tables. She looked around until she found Joy.

“Sorry to be showing up so late, Joy. The baby didn’t really want to settle down tonight.” She plucked her sweater away from herself and gave a little sniff. “I think I might smell like cheese.”

“You’re fine—and there’s still plenty of food left so grab yourself a plate.”

A few tables had been pushed together to line a wall and upon them, dish after casserole dish of delicious-looking food. Right in the center was a sheet cake practically covered with candles. After she’d put some food on her plate, people started wandering over to say hello and chat. She greeted Fish Bristol, noted fisherman in these parts, and his wife Carrie. Harv, who was found in the bar almost every morning, was a lineman for the telephone company, but before getting out on the road he had his breakfast at Jack’s. “My wife can’t be bothered to get out of bed just to cook breakfast,” he said with a laugh. She noticed that Liz was tucked away in the corner, looking miserably bored, her long, shapely legs crossed, her short skirt just barely covering her privates. Mel gave her a wave, coaxing a very small smile out of Liz. Mel was introduced to a sheep rancher and his wife, Buck and Lilly Anderson—

Buck, tall and skinny and balding and Lilly, short and round and rosy cheeked. “Any news on that baby?” Lilly asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Is she a good baby?”

“Oh, God, she’s perfect. An angel.”

“And no one’s asked if they can take her? Adopt her?”

“I haven’t even heard from social services yet,” Mel said. Connie brought a friend over to introduce. “Mel, this is Jo Fitch. She and her husband live on the end of the street—the biggest house there.”