Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(54)

He played a dozen scenarios in his mind. He would carry her to her room and she would wake and say, “Stay with me tonight.” He really didn’t have the strength to say no. Or, she would wake and he would kiss her and then she would say, “Okay.” Or morning would come, he would already be there and she would say, “Now, Jack.”

Whoo boy. He was getting a little warm.

But she was still asleep when he pulled up in front of her cabin. He unbuckled her and lifted her out of the truck. He whacked her head on the door frame. “Ow!” she yelled, her hand going to her head.

“Sorry,” he said. And thought to himself, foreplay that was not.

“S’okay.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.

Now, he thought, I should stay to be sure she doesn’t have a concussion. And that she doesn’t need sex for it. Or just to be there in case she did…

He carried her across the porch, through the door to her room and, flipping on the light, laid her on the bed. Without opening her eyes she said, “Thank you, Jack.”

“You’re welcome, Melinda,” he said. “Your head okay?”

“What head?”

“Okay. Let’s get your boots off.”

“Boots. Off.” She lifted a leg, making him laugh. He pulled the boot off. The leg dropped and the other one came up. He pulled that one off and the leg dropped. Then she curled into a cute little package, pulling the quilt around her. He looked down at her and saw that it was lights out for Melinda. Then he saw the picture. Something hit him, and it didn’t feel particularly good. He picked up the picture and looked at the man’s face. So, you’re the guy, he thought. He didn’t look like a bad guy—but clearly he had done something to Mel. Something she was having trouble getting beyond. Maybe he’d left her for another woman—but that seemed impossible to imagine. Maybe he left her for a man. Oh, please let it be so—I can make that better—just give me five minutes. Or maybe he looked harmless but had been an impossible ass**le and she’d broken off with him, but still loved him helplessly. And here she had his picture right there, to be the last face she saw before falling asleep at night.

At some point she was going to give Jack a chance to make that picture go away, but it wasn’t going to be tonight. Probably just as well. If she woke to find him there, either in her bed or ready to be, she would put the blame on Crown Royal. He wanted it to come from desire—and he wanted it to be real.

He scribbled a note. I’ll be back for you at 8:00 a.m. Jack. He left it by the coffeepot. Then he went to his truck to get something he’d purchased earlier in the day. He brought the leather case holding the dismantled fly fishing rod and reel and the waders into the house and left them by the front door. And went home. At 8:00 a.m. he was back in front of her cabin and what he saw made him smile. All the disappointing thoughts that had plagued him the night before vanished. She was sitting in her Adirondack chair in her new waders, idly casting her fly into the yard. A steaming cup of coffee rested on the wide chair arm beside her. He got out of the truck, grinning. “You found it,” he said, walking to the porch.

“I love it! Did you get this for me?”

“I did.”

“But why?”

“When we go fishing, I need to stand beside you. Not in back of you, smelling your hair and feeling you against me. You need your own stuff. How do they fit?”

She stood up and turned around for him. “Perfect. I’ve been practicing.”

“Getting any better?”

“I am. I’m sorry about last night, Jack. I had been tense and hungry and freezing all day and it really hit me.”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“I should keep this in my trunk, huh? In case we have a light day at Doc’s and can just sneak off and fish.”

“Good idea, Mel.”

“Let me put my gear away,” she said happily.

And he thought—just give me time. I’m going to get that picture put in storage. Ricky hadn’t been around the bar the week right after Connie’s heart attack, hanging close to the family in case they needed him for anything. When he did come into the bar, it was late and there were only two men at a table and Preacher behind the bar. Ricky sat up at the bar, his eyes downcast.

“How’s everybody doing?” Preacher asked.

He shrugged. “Connie’s doing pretty good I guess. They sent Liz back to her mom’s in Eureka.”

“Eureka isn’t the end of the world, man. You can visit her.”

Ricky looked down. “Yeah, but…probably shouldn’t,” he said. “She was…she was the first girl I felt that way about.” He looked up. “You know. That way.”

The two men at the table stood and wandered out of the bar. “Close call?” Preacher asked him.

“I wish. Holy God,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I thought I had it under control.”

Preacher did something he’d never done before. He drew a couple of cold drafts and put one in front of Rick, one in front of himself. “Tough call, that control thing.”

“Tell me about it. This for me?”

Preacher lifted an eyebrow. “I thought maybe you might need it right about now.”

“Thanks,” he said, lifting the glass. “She doesn’t look like a kid, but she’s just a kid. She’s way too young.”