Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(42)

“Not a great deal,” Mel said. “But since Jack went to such a lot of trouble to work on that cabin, I thought I owed it to him to give it a few weeks. I can deliver Polly’s baby.”

Connie glanced at the bar where Jack was setting up lunch in front of a couple of fishermen. She gave a nod in his direction. “Bet that makes Jack real happy.”

“He seems to think the town can use me, even if Doc doesn’t think so.”

Connie laughed at her. “Girl, you need glasses. The way Jack looks at you, I don’t think it’s about Doc. Or the town.”

“You don’t see me looking back in any particular way, do you?”

“You should. There isn’t a woman within a hundred square miles wouldn’t leave her husband for him.”

“Even you?” Mel asked with a laugh.

“I’m different,” she said, drinking her coffee. “I married Ron when I was about seven.” She took a drink of her coffee. “But okay—if he begged me, I’d leave Ron for him.”

Mel laughed at her. “It is pretty strange that no one’s latched on to him.”

“I heard he was seeing a woman in Clear River. Don’t know how serious it is. Might be nothing.”

“Do you know her? The woman he’s seeing?”

She shook her head, but lifted one curious brow at Mel’s obvious interest. “He’s private, isn’t he? Doesn’t let anything slip. But he can’t hide those looks he sends your way.”

“He shouldn’t waste his time,” she said. I’m not available, she didn’t add. In her new abode, Mel had put her own favorite books on the shelves—all of which she had already read and reread—and Mark’s picture on the table beside the bed. Each night she told him how much she missed him. But she cried less. Maybe because of the way Jack looked at her. The soothing way he talked to her. The house Mel sold in L.A. was almost four thousand square feet and it had never seemed too big; she had loved the spaciousness of the rooms. Yet the cabin, maybe twelve hundred square feet total, felt right. Like a cocoon. It hugged her. One of her favorite parts of the day was at the end, before she drove out to her new cabin. She would go to the bar for a cold beer and some chips or cheese and crackers. Once in a while she had dinner, but she didn’t mind being by herself at her cabin where there was now food in the cupboard.

Jack put her cold beer in front of her. “We have macaroni and cheese tonight,” he said. “I can talk Preacher into putting a slice of ham with that.”

“Thanks, but I’m going home for dinner tonight.”

“You’re cooking?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I cook things like sandwiches. Coffee. The occasional fried egg. And takeout.”

“A modern woman.” He laughed. “But that place is working out for you?”

“It’s wonderful, thanks. And I need the quiet. Did you know Doc snores like a freight train?”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“I picked up a little gossip about you. That you’re seeing a woman in Clear River?”

He didn’t look all that surprised. He lifted his brows and his coffee mug. “Seeing?

That sounds a little delicate for this crowd.”

“I was glad to hear you have someone in your life.”

“I don’t,” he said. “Ancient history. And I wasn’t exactly seeing her. It was a lot more basic than that.”

Somehow, that made her smile. “Sounds like maybe you had some kind of arrangement.”

He sipped from his mug and gave a shrug. “It was—”

“Wait,” she said, laughing. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

He put both hands on the bar and leaned toward her. “We had an understanding. I went to her place once in a while. For an evening. Nothing deep. No love affair. Casual sex, Mel, between consenting adults. When I realized it didn’t work for me, we parted as friends. I’m not with a woman.”

“Well, that’s kind of too bad,” she said.

“It’s not necessarily a permanent condition,” he said. “That’s just how it is right now. Want a slice of pie to take home?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

Mel had been in Virgin River four weeks. In that time, patients and friends dropped by frequently. Some had a little cash for medical services, a few had insurance, but the majority had produce from their farms, ranches, orchards, vineyards or kitchens. The latter, knowing that a single loaf of bread or pie probably didn’t cover the cost of an exam and treatment or medication, tended to stop by with a little something even when they were well. The unprepared food—a bushel of apples or nuts, canned or fresh fruit, vegetables, berries, lamb shank or veal, would go right over to Preacher, who could make good use of it, later feeding some of it to Mel and Doc. In some ways, it was like a commune.

That usually left Doc and Mel with more food than they could use, especially since they were getting most of their meals at Jack’s. Mel packed up a box of some stuff that was likely to go bad soon—some eggs, bread, sliced ham and a brick of cheese, a pie, apples and nuts. A carton of orange juice she’d picked up from Connie. She put the box in the passenger seat of Doc’s old truck before she asked him, “Could I borrow your truck for a couple hours? I want to drive around some and I don’t really trust the BMW. I promise, I’ll be real careful with it.”