Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(91)

Sam looked down at Mel. “Not the medals so much as the men. He was committed to his men, not military awards. You didn’t know this about my son?”

“I knew he was in the marines. I met some of his friends. These guys,” she said, pointing at a picture.

“He’s a leader of men, Melinda,” Sam said. He glanced over his shoulder and seeing that his son was gone, said, “He tends to act embarrassed that he was only a highschool graduate when his sisters—and their husbands for that matter—all hold college degrees, and even some postgraduate degrees among them. But I think the man has accomplished more, done more good and saved more lives, than many a man or woman with more education. And if you know him, you know he’s very intelligent. If he’d gone to college, he’d have excelled there, as well, but this was his path.”

“He’s so gentle,” she heard herself say.

“He is that. I’ve seen him with each one of my granddaughters, handling them like they’re nitro and might blow up if he makes a wrong move. But he is not gentle when he’s in the fight. This man is not just a marine. He’s a highly decorated hero. His sisters and I stand in awe.”

“It must have been hard for you, when he was in combat.”

“Yes.” He looked at the pictures and medals with a wistful expression on his face.

“You can’t imagine how much his mother and I missed him. Worried about him. But he did what he was driven to do. And he did it well.” Sam smiled. “We’d better get back to the kitchen. He gets surly when I brag.”

When Mel got up the next morning, Jack was not beside her. She heard him talking with his dad in another room; she heard them laughing, so she showered and dressed before joining them. She found them in the dining room, paperwork spread out all over the table.

“Board meeting?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Sam said. “So, son, everything look okay to you?”

“Great. As usual.” He stuck out his hand and shook his father’s. “Thanks, Dad. Appreciate it.”

Sam gathered up the papers, clutched them in a stack atop an accordion file and left the room.

“My dad was an agent for a brokerage firm before he retired. While I was in the marines, I’d send him money from time to time. He’s been investing for me for twenty years.”

“I didn’t think a marine made a lot of money,” she said.

“Not really.” He shrugged. “But if you’re single and you keep re-upping and going to war, there are bonuses, incentives, combat pay, promotions. My buddies—most of them—had those benefits eaten up by housing, braces on kids’ teeth, the usual. I always lived cheap and saved. My dad,” he said, “he always made that such an issue while I was growing up.”

“Smart man,” she said, and she wasn’t speaking of Sam.

Jack grinned. “You thought I was making a killing on that little Virgin River bar?”

“I figured you didn’t need to. With a military retirement and low cost of living…”

“Nah. That aside, I’m set,” he said. “If the bar burns to the ground, all I have to do is support Preach for the rest of his life. And I’d like to make sure Ricky gets an education. That’s about it.” He reached for her hand. “Otherwise, I have everything I need.”

That afternoon the rest of the family descended on the Sheridan home—four sisters and their husbands, eight nieces. As they came, one family at a time, they flung themselves on Jack. His sisters ran to him, hugging and kissing him. His brothers-inlaw embraced him fondly. He picked up each one of his nieces and hugged them like they were his daughters, spun them around, laughed into their pretty faces. Mel wasn’t sure what she had expected them to be like. Having seen the family picture in his room and those around the house, she knew they were a good looking family; good genes. His sisters were very different from each other, but each was svelte, lovely, smart. Donna, the oldest, was very tall, probably five-ten, with short, frosted hair, Jeannie was nearly as tall, quite thin and chic, Mary was next tallest at perhaps five-five, but so trim and fragile-looking it was hard to imagine her handling a big commercial jet. Donna and Jeannie each had three daughters, Mary had two. And then there was Brie, the baby, celebrating her thirtieth birthday. She was the only sister who did not yet have children. She was just about the same size as Mel with long light brown hair that fell down her back almost to her waist—a little bitty thing who put away hardened criminals for a living. And their men, like Jack and Sam, were big guys, the nieces, each one beautiful.

Jack’s sisters brought some of Mel’s closest friends with them—Ralph Lauren, Lilly Pulitzer, Michael Kors and Coach. Each one of them had a strong sense of style, but what was more obvious than their collective taste in fashion was their warmth and humor. They all met Mel with delight, eschewing the offered handshake and immediately embracing her. It was a very physical, affectionate family. Every time Mel stole a look at Jack he had his arms around a sister or niece, frequently dropping kisses on their heads or cheeks. Just as frequently he would seek out Mel and put a possessive arm about her shoulders or waist. And to her surprise, so would Sam, as though they’d been close for years.

All Brie had wanted for her birthday was to have the family together and her brother home. “He’s not so very far away,” Mel said. “Don’t you get to see him often?”