Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(125)

The morning news reported there were three firefighters confirmed dead in the blaze, names being withheld pending notification. Talking quietly among themselves, the men conferred about how some notification could be on its way soon, and they would stay on in Virgin River as long as necessary, be there for Mel. They would help her lay him to rest and for as long as she needed them, someone would be there.

The men had had a break of a couple of hours, food and water, called their families to report that they were unharmed, and were almost ready to take their personal vehicles back to the area and continue the search. Joe and Paul each sat on either side of her, occasionally reaching for her hand. She stared straight ahead.

The sound of a vehicle brought her to her feet and she stood on the porch. The rain had stopped, the ground was wet, and an old pickup pulled into town, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the bar. “Holy shit,” Paul muttered, rising to his feet. Joe stumbled running into the bar.

Jack spilled out of the back, a huge smear of red flame retardant staining his body. He balanced on one foot, his other leg disabled in some way. As he reached back into the pickup for his gear, Mel serenely walked down the porch steps toward him. He tossed his gear to the ground and the pickup drove off with a toot of the horn. His face was black with soot, his eyes red and tearing, his lips pink and cracked from dryness. The turnouts he wore were speckled with holes made by flying embers.

Mel walked right into his open arms.

“You’re late,” she said, looking up at him.

He lowered his lips to softly kiss her forehead. “Sorry. I was held up. Goddamn truck left without me.” He smiled down at her. “Do you have any idea what you look like in jeans? Melinda, you just do it to me in jeans.”

“Everyone thought you were dead and you’re talking about my butt again.”

He grimaced. “They’re going to wish I was dead. I’ve been walking for twenty-four hours and I’m in a real mood.” He brushed the hair back from her brow. “Were you scared, baby?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew you were coming.”

“You did?”

She touched her chest. “Your heart beats in here. If it had stopped, I would have known. It did beat a little fast sometimes. Was it close, Jack?”

He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. “It was so close, I have blisters on my ass.”

“I spent all night remembering every time you touched me. Every one.”

“You don’t have to make do on memories. I’m going to touch you for many more years.”

“I knew you’d never leave me.”

“Baby, I’d walk out of hell to get back to you.”

“I know, Jack. You hurt yourself.”

“My ankle. I took a fall into a ditch. I’m not as agile as I was. I might’ve really screwed it up, running on it. It really slowed me down—and I was so ready to feel you against me.”

“What’s this?” she asked, wiping at the gooey red stuff on his shirt.

“Flame retardant. It got dumped right on me. Knocked me down—but there was a path out. Then I had to run on this damn ankle. It was awful. And then I got lost. You can get even worse lost at night when you can’t see the stars because of the trees and smoke. I think I’m going to give up firefighting.”

She touched his face, which appeared to be sunburned beneath the soot and ash. He winced. Then he bent down and crossed his arms under her bottom and lifted her up to his face. “Kiss me. Gimme a taste.” She lowered her lips to his for a kiss that was deep and strong. Behind them, a cheer went up from all the marines gathered on the porch. But Jack took his time, moving tenderly over her lips, grateful to dive into her sweet love once more. He’d been wanting to kiss her for twenty-four hours and he wasn’t going to be rushed. Not by them, not by anything. He hated the thought of letting her go, as in love with her today as that very first day. More.

“You taste like soot,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. “You taste so good.” He jerked his head in the direction of his bar, his boys. “I hate when they do that.”

“I think I’m starting to get used to it.” She smiled. And she kissed him again.



As anxious as Jack was to get home, he needed a few minutes alone with Mike Valenzuela. They sequestered themselves in the RV behind the bar. Jack told only Mike the details of his rescue, and stayed there while Mike called the sheriff, repeating the story as well as the license-plate number. When Mike hung up, he slowly turned to look at Jack.

“Well, they were ahead of you. A couple of growers—partners—had a little lover’s spat. One was shot, the other set him on fire to conceal evidence, thus the fire. They’re investigating a drug-related murder covered by arson. A suspect was arrested trying to get away,” Mike said.

Jack swallowed. “Was it our guy?”

“I’m guessing here, but if it was our guy, he would not have stopped for you. In fact, he might’ve put a bullet in your head to keep you from talking to the police. He definitely wouldn’t have told you anything about the fire. Jack, that guy isn’t what we think.”

“What do we think?” Jack asked.

“That he’s an ordinary grower. He might even be law enforcement, and if he is, they’ll pull him in, relocate him and we’ll never know.”