Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(118)

“You jealous of him already?” she asked.

“You’re goddamn right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, drawing those fierce eyebrows together. “He’s going to spend the next six months with you and I’m not.”

“Well, he doesn’t stand a chance,” she said softly.

He thought, this must be how Peg felt when he was leaving for a long remote tour, as though there was a chance he wouldn’t come back to her. “I’ve been down this road,” he told Muriel. “Separations for work. It’s not easy, but it’s highly survivable. Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“That would be nice. It’s just to Garberville.”

“Picking up a charter?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They’re sending a jet.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I haven’t been down that road,” he said, shaking his head. “You want meat loaf? Or do you want to go upstairs, let me peel your clothes off and tell you goodbye properly?”

She grinned at him. “Let’s think about meat loaf for breakfast.”

“Good idea,” he said, standing. He reached for her hand. “Come on, honey. This is my last chance to pamper you before your Oscar. What time does your flight leave?”

“When I get there.”

The next morning, Walt drove her to the Garberville airport where there was a Lear waiting. The pilot and cabin steward, nicely uniformed, were waiting at the bottom of the airstairs and they fussed over her very impressively. She had only one small bag and traveled in her jeans and boots, leather jacket and cowboy hat. She kept them waiting while she gave Walt a long, deep kiss goodbye. “If there’s a break in the filming, I’ll be up for a visit. And I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Muriel, stop being reluctant and sad. You want this and I want it for you. You’re good, that’s why you’re getting this chance. Knock ’em dead. And if Jack Whatshisname makes a play for you, tell him to fuck off. You have a boyfriend already.”

She laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“And I’m a good shot.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks for taking on the animals. They mean a lot to me.”

“Me, too,” he said.

He stood there in the blistering cold until her private jet took her away. He watched it until it was out of sight. All he could think was, what if she doesn’t come back? What if she really does get that Oscar and is lured into one more and one more and one more? A private jet came for her and she didn’t even have to pack. And having her own jet didn’t make her the least intimidated or uncomfortable. This was Muriel’s real life.

What the hell was I thinking I could mean to her?

What if she’s all done being mine?



Mel heard a truck pull up in front of the clinic and thought it must be Bruce bringing mail and asking after specimens to be delivered to Valley Hospital. She walked out onto the porch, but didn’t recognize the truck. She frowned as a woman got out of the passenger side. This was an attractive woman in her early thirties—trim, brown hair, pink cheeks. She looked up at Mel and smiled somewhat shyly. “Hi,” she said.

Mel frowned, then returned the smile. “Hi. How can I help you?”

“Oh, you already have.” She took two steps up onto the porch. She wore light makeup, slim jeans, a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt and down vest.

And then it dawned on her. Cheryl Chreighton! Her transformation was nothing short of astonishing. In just a few months’ time her complexion had pinked up, her eyes were clear, she’d dropped about twenty-five pounds—probably most of it the edema that she carried from drinking—and she was not just clean, but actually groomed and styled. Someone had cut her hair and showed her how to fix it. She wore women’s clothes and a very happy smile. “Oh, dear God.”

“Absolutely,” Cheryl said. “Dear God and you.”

“Look at you,” Mel said in a breath.

“Thank you,” Cheryl said solemnly. “This is because of you.”

“No, it’s you,” Mel stressed. “All I did was make a few phone calls. You did the work. Have you come home?”

“No,” Cheryl said with a laugh, shaking her head. “This isn’t a good place for me. I have a job and a place with some roommates. Not exactly a group home, but close—we’re in recovery. Not much of a job, but I don’t need much of one right now.” Cheryl swallowed and looked down. “I doubt I’ll ever come back here,” she said. “There aren’t any meetings here or anything.” She looked up bravely and gave a shrug. “I don’t think I’d be happy in a place where I used to be the town drunk. Not just an average town drunk, a below-average town drunk.”

“That wouldn’t matter, you know that. But the meetings—you need the meetings. Recovery without aftercare is like major surgery without stitches.”

Cheryl chuckled. “Yeah, you got that right.”

“How long has it been?” Mel asked.

“A hundred and twenty-seven days. I don’t think we can count the day you took me. I was blitzed. I don’t see a time I’ll be skipping those meetings, even though I really don’t want a drink today…. Mrs. Sheridan, what I have right now, I don’t want to give it up. I’m at meetings all the time, sometimes twice a day. If it’s forever, that’s okay.”