Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(36)

parked on the side. All clear, he thought, his pulse picking up. He opened the front door and looked around; no one. He thought to go tap on the office door, but a sound from the kitchen led him there instead.

The baby in her little Plexiglas bed on wheels sat near the warm stove and Mel was at the table, her head down, resting on her folded arms. And she sobbed. He rushed to her; he put the pie on the table and was down on one knee at the side of her chair, all in one movement. “Mel,” he said.

She lifted her head, her cheeks chafed and pink. “Dammit,” she said through her tears.

“You caught me.”

His hand was on her back. “What is it?” he asked gently. Now, he thought. Now she’ll tell me about it, let me help her through it.

“I’ve found a home for the baby. Someone came in and offered to take her and Doc endorses it.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Lilly Anderson,” she said, large tears spilling over. “Oh, Jack. I let it happen. I got attached.” And she leaned against his shoulder and wept.

Jack forgot everything. “Come here,” he said, pulling her out of the chair. He traded places with her and pulled her down on his lap. She encircled his neck with her arms, her face buried in his shoulder, crying, and he gently stroked her back. His lips were on her soft hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

“I let it happen,” she said into his shirt. “Stupid. I knew better. I even named her. What was I thinking?”

“You gave her affection,” he said. “You were so good to her. I’m sorry it hurts.” But he wasn’t sorry, because he had his arms around her and it felt as he knew it would, her little body, warm and solid, against his. She was light as a feather on his lap, her arms around his neck like ribbons, and the sweet, fragrant smell of her hair coiled around his brain and tightened, addling his thoughts.

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “I thought about taking her,” she said.

“Running away with her. That’s how crazy I am. Jack, you should know—I’m totally nuts.”

He wiped the tears from her cheeks. “If you want her, Mel, you can try to adopt her.”

“The Andersons,” she said. “Doc says they’re good people. A good family.”

“They are. Salt of the earth.”

“And that would be better for her than a single mother who works all the time,” she said. “She needs a real bed, not this incubator. A real family, not a midwife and an old doctor.”

“There are lots of different kinds of families.”

“Oh, I know what’s best.” Then the tears began to flow again. “It’s just so hard.” And she laid her head back on his shoulder. His arms tightened around her and hers tightened around his neck. He closed his eyes and just rested his cheek against her hair.

Feeling these strong arms around her, Mel let herself sink into a good, heartfelt cry. She was fully aware of him, but what really mattered to her at the moment was that for the first time in almost a year of crying, she wasn’t alone. Someone was holding her and she felt protected. There was the comfort of strength and warmth, and she welcomed it. His chambray shirt was soft against her cheek and his thighs hard beneath her. He had a wonderful scent of cologne and the outdoors and she felt safe with him. His hand stroked her back and she was aware that he softly kissed her hair. He rocked her gently as she continued to dampen his shirt. Minutes passed and her weeping slowed to a sniffle, then a murmur. She lifted her head and looked at him, though she said nothing. His brain went numb. He touched her lips softly with his, gently, tentatively. Her eyes closed as she allowed this and his arms tightened around her as he pressed more firmly against her lips. Hers opened and his breath caught as he opened his own and felt her small tongue dart into his mouth. His world reeled and he was lost in a kiss that deepened, that moved him, that shook him.

“Don’t,” she whispered against his mouth. “Don’t get mixed up with me, Jack.”

He kissed her again, holding her against him as though he would never let her go.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said against her lips.

“You don’t understand. I have nothing to give. Nothing.”

“I haven’t asked you for a thing,” he said. But in his mind he was saying, you’re mistaken. You are giving, and taking—and it feels damn good. All Mel could think, in the abstract, was that her body for once wasn’t hollow and so empty she ached. She drank it in, the feeling of being connected to something. To someone. Anchored. So wonderful to have that human contact again. In her soul she had forgotten how, but her body remembered. “You’re a good man, Jack,” she said against his lips. “I don’t want you to be hurt. Because I can’t love anyone.”

All he said was, “I can take care of myself.”

She kissed him again. Deeply. Passionately. For a long minute; two minutes, moving under his mouth with heat.

And the baby fussed.

She pulled away from him. “Oh, man, why’d I do that?” she asked. “That’s a mistake.”

He shrugged. “Mistake? Nah. We’re friends,” he said. “We’re close. You needed some comfort and—and here I am.”

“That just can’t happen,” she said, sounding a little desperate. He took charge, feeling his own sense of desperation. “Mel, stop it. You were crying. That’s all.”