Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(66)

He touched her wet cheek, unable to tell the tears from the rain. “I know,” he said.

“It was so unfair.”

“It was.”

“How do I live with it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

She let her head drop against his chest. “God, it hurt so much.”

“I know,” he said again. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back into the bar, kicking the door closed behind him. He took her to his room in the back, her arms looped around his neck. He put her down on the big chair in the sitting room. She sat there, shivering, her hands tucked between her knees, her head down, her hair dripping. He went for a clean, dry T-shirt and towels and came back to her, kneeling in front of her. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get you dry.”

She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were both terribly sad and exhausted. She was listless. Spent. And her lips were blue with cold. He peeled off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Then her blouse. He was undressing her like one might a baby, and she didn’t resist. He wrapped a towel around her and keeping her covered, reached beneath and undid her bra, slipping it off without exposing her. He pulled the T-shirt over her head, holding it for her arms, and once it covered her to her thighs, he yanked out the towel. “Come on,” he said, pulling her upright. She stood on shaky legs and he unbuttoned and pulled down her trousers before sitting her back down. He removed her boots, socks and pants; he dried her legs and feet with the towel.

Though still drenched himself, he used the towel to attempt to dry her curling hair, blotting the locks between folds of the towel. He wrapped the throw from the couch around her shoulders, then went to his bureau and found a pair of clean, warm socks. He rubbed her cold feet vigorously, warming them, and put on the socks. When she looked up at him, some sanity had seeped into her eyes, and this made him smile a small smile. “Better,” he said softly.

He went to the cupboard in his laundry and brought out a decanter of Remy Martin and two glasses. He poured her a small amount of the brandy, neat, and took it to her, kneeling in front of her. She took a sip and then in a voice both weak and strained, she said, “You’re still wet.”

“I am,” he said. “Be right back.”

He went to his closet and quickly stripped off his clothes, pulling on only a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare and his wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He poured himself a little brandy and went to her. He sat forward on the sofa at a right angle to her, putting the palm of his hand against her cheek and was pleased to note that she had already warmed. She turned her face against his hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never been taken care of like this,” she said.

“I’ve never taken care of anyone like this,” he said.

“It seemed like you knew exactly what to do.”

“I guessed,” he said.

“I crashed,” she said.

“It was a helluva crash. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.” And then he smiled.

He held her hand as it lay on her lap while she lifted her brandy to her lips with the other hand, trembling a bit. When it was gone, he said, “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”

“What if I cry all night?”

“I’ll be right here,” he said. He pulled her hand and led her to his bed, holding up the covers so that she could slip in. He tucked her in as if she were a little girl. Jack dealt with the wet clothes, spinning the water out of them and putting them in the dryer. When he checked on Mel, she was asleep, so he went back into the little laundry and behind closed doors, called Joey. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry. Mel is with me.”

“Is she okay?” Joey asked.

“She is now. She had a meltdown. Out in the rain, it was awful. I don’t think she has another tear in her, at least for tonight.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “That’s why I came! I should be with her now…”

“I got her in some clean, dry clothes and put her to bed, Joey. She’s asleep and I—I’ll watch over her. If she wakes up and wants to go home, I’ll take her, no matter what time it is. But for now, let’s let her sleep.” He inhaled deeply. “She’s had it.”

“Oh, Jack,” Joey said, “were you with her?”

“I was. She wasn’t alone. I was able to…I held her. Kept her safe.”

“Thank you,” Joey said, her voice small and shaky.

“There’s nothing more to do right now but let her rest. Have a glass of wine, get some sleep and try not to worry about Mel. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

With only a dim night-light in the room, Jack pulled a chair from his table near to the bed. His feet planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and the rest of his Remy clutched in his hands, he watched her sleep. Her hair curled across his pillow and her pink lips were parted slightly. She made little noises in her sleep—little hums and purrs.

I have a high-school education, he thought. She was married to a medical doctor. A brilliant, educated man. An emergency room hero, made even more perfect in death. How do I compete with that? He reached out and lightly touched her hair. There’s no way, he thought. I’m sunk. And my heart hasn’t beat the same since she walked into town.