Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(39)

Inside the refrigerator, which also gleamed, there were a few staples. A bottle of white wine was chilling, a six-pack of good beer. There was milk, orange juice, butter, bread, lettuce and other salad items. Bacon and eggs. Sandwich items—lunch meat, cheese, mayo, mustard. On the kitchen table, which wore a pretty new tablecloth, sat a festive ceramic bowl holding fresh fruit. In the corner of the counter, a set of four thick, round white candles. She lowered her face and sniffed. Vanilla. She left the house, pulling the door closed behind her and went back to the truck. It made her melancholy, all that he’d done. This was not what she’d expected, either. Mel had come to terms with the fact that she’d made a mistake. Now that she’d accepted that, she was ready to move on. As soon as they could spare her.

“Why did you do this?”

“It was promised to you,” he said. “You’re under no obligation.”

“But what did you hope?” she asked.

“The town needs you. Doc needs help, you can see that. I hoped you’d give it a chance. A few more weeks, maybe. Just to see if it worked for you. I think the Virgin River folks have already made it clear—it works for them.”

“Did you do this hoping it would force me to the terms of Hope’s one-year contract?”

she asked him. “Because as the place was, we were at an impasse. She couldn’t hold me to it—she hadn’t met the terms.”

“She will not force that contract,” he said flatly.

“But yes, she will.”

“No. She will not hold you to that contract. Guaranteed. I’ll see to it. This is just for you—not leverage for Hope.”

She shook her head sadly. “You can see I don’t belong here,” she said softly.

“Aw. I don’t know, Mel. People belong wherever they feel good. It can be a lot of different places. For a lot of different reasons.”

“No, Jack, look. Look at me. I’m not a camper—I’m a shopper. I’m really not one of those homespun country midwives. I’m so citified, it’s scary. I feel so out of place here. It’s as if I’m not like anyone. They don’t make me feel that way, but I can’t help it. I shouldn’t be here, I should be at Nordstrom’s.”

“Come on,” he laughed.

She lowered her face into her hands and massaged her eyes. “You just don’t understand. It’s complicated, Jack. There’s more to this than you realize.”

“Tell me. You can trust me.”

“That’s just it—one of the reasons I agreed to come here is so I wouldn’t have to talk about it anymore. Let’s say I made a crazy decision. An insane decision. The wrong decision. This isn’t for me.”

“It wasn’t just burnout, was it?” he asked her.

“I got rid of everything that tied me to L.A. and ran for my life. It was a panicked, crazy, irrational decision,” she said. “I was hurting all over.”

“I assumed as much. A man, maybe. A heartache or something.”

“Close enough,” she said.

“Believe me, Mel. This is as good a place as any to work through a heartache.”

“You?” she asked him.

“Yeah, in a manner of speaking. But I didn’t come here in a panic. I was looking for a place like this. Good fishing and hunting. Remote. Uncomplicated. Clean air, decent values, hardworking people who help each other out. It serves.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s going to work for me in the long term.”

“That’s okay—no one asked you to make a long-term commitment. Well, no one except Hope, but no one really takes her seriously. But you shouldn’t rush out of here with the same panic as you rushed in. It’s a healthy place. It’s a loving place. Who knows? You might find it helps you get through…whatever.”

“I’m sorry. I’m such a downer sometimes. I should be so thankful. Grateful. And instead—”

“Hey, easy,” he said, throwing the truck into gear to take her back to town. “I blindsided you. You had it in your head that you could use the excuse of having no decent housing. And now Chloe isn’t holding you here. But I figured, you don’t have to stay at Doc’s now, and if someone’s going to give birth in your bedroom there, maybe it’s time you have your own place. If you want it, that is.”

“Are there bears out here?” she asked.

“It might be best if you kept your trash indoors, and drive it into town to put in the Dumpster. Bears so like garbage.”

“Oh, for the love of God!”

“We haven’t had a bad bear scare in ages.” He reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “Just give yourself a break. Work on your particular heartache. And while you do, take the occasional temperature. Give a pill now and then. No one’s holding you hostage.”

She watched him as he drove. That strong profile. He had a solid square face, straight nose, high cheekbones, bristle of stubble on his cheeks. He was a hairy guy; she noticed that he shaved his neck down to the top of his chest and she found herself wondering what was under his shirt. She remembered Mark’s complaints of his receding hairline, which did nothing to detract from his boyish good looks. But this man, Jack, wasn’t boyish. He had the hard good looks of a woodsman. And, though his hair was cropped short in that military buzz, it was so thick that it looked as if it should be thinned. The big hands on the steering wheel were calloused—he worked hard. The guy was dripping in testosterone.