Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(50)

“How do you know he hasn’t? Given in.”

“Have you taken a good look at him? At his posture, his eyes? Believe me, he’d be a lot looser. He hasn’t unloaded in a long time.”

“Jack!” she said.

“And the funny thing is, Shelby’s downright serene,” Jack said, completely ignoring his wife’s scold. “She’s a very unusual woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror when it’s been a long time for us?” he asked. “It’s all over your face when you need to be taken care of.” He grinned at her.

“It is not!” she said, giving him a whack on the arm. But she laughed at him, and secretly knew he was right. She also knew why Shelby didn’t look that way. Shelby, virginal, hadn’t been satisfied by a man yet; she didn’t ache with longing for her lover. “It’s hardly ever been a long time for us,” she pointed out.

“Which is how I like it,” he said. “Then take the general,” he said. “Talk about a satisfied man…”

“You can’t possibly know that. Walt neither looks nor acts any differently than he ever did,” she insisted.

“The general looks like a beautiful woman moved in next door and he’s doing his best to be a good neighbor. He’s got a twinkle in his eye and a very sly grin.”

Mel turned toward him and narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think you know what facial expressions correspond exactly to a man’s getting laid?”

“I do,” he said with a smile. “In fact, I consider myself something of an expert.”

She sat with him for an hour, talking mostly about the new budding romances. In fact, a lot of people were preoccupied with that. No one knew what was going on outside the bar, but Shelby and Luke were there frequently for a beer, sometimes dinner as well, and they were inseparable. They tended to look at each other as though they’d been waiting days to be together just for that little while.

By contrast, the general was seen around town a little less, leaving people to wonder if he wasn’t spending that time with the movie star down the road.

It was three o’clock when the empty school bus barreled through town, Molly headed for her pickups. Like all little towns in the area, she had kids at elementary, middle and high schools to gather up at the end of the school day and bring back to town. It was a long day for the farm and ranch kids whose parents drove them into town to meet the bus in the morning, picking them up in the afternoon. As she passed the bar, she gave the bus horn a blast and waved at Mel and Jack on the porch.

“That woman is going to heaven,” Mel said. “My idea of hell is being trapped in a school bus full of noisy, bratty kids twice a day. I don’t know how she does it.”

Mel glanced at her watch; you could set it by Molly’s bus run. Her kids were due to wake from their naps and she ambled across the street to the clinic. Her pace was leisurely; it was a perfect autumn day. When she neared the porch, she heard her children crying. In itself, that wasn’t a bad sign—they could be just waking up. But Doc would usually alert them if he knew they were nearby. Absent that, he would comfort the little ones.

Something was wrong. She knew it at once, felt it in her gut, and ten steps before Doc’s porch she broke into a dead run. Up the steps, through the door, and what she saw threw her into a panic. Doc was sprawled, facedown, on the floor. Little Emma, only five months old, was right beside him, lying on her back, her face red with pain or fear or both. David, still in his playpen in the kitchen, was screaming loudly.

She honestly didn’t know who to reach for first, Doc or Emma. Emma was crying, so she was at least conscious, while Doc was motionless. She did what her instincts seemed to always urge her to do—she turned at the opened front door and screamed, “Jaaaacccckkkk!”

He had seen her break into a run up to the porch and inside. He was already on his way. By the time she screamed for him, he was there, totally in tune with her, sensing her. When she saw him coming, she lifted Emma right into his arms. Then she went to Doc, tucking his left arm to his side so she could roll him onto his back and into a supine position. “See if Emma’s all right,” she shouted to Jack. “He might’ve dropped her as he fell.”

When she got Doc on his back, his eyes were open and sightless. She checked him quickly—no pulse, no breath. “Oh, goddamn,” she said right before starting cardiopulmonary resuscitation. She began by tilting his head back, made sure his airway was clear and blew into his lungs twice—two long breaths. Next she pressed the crossed palms of her hands on his sternum to try to get his heart started and asked Jack, “Is she okay?”

“I think so,” Jack said helplessly. “She’s pissed off but not bruised or bleeding.”

Mel covered Doc’s mouth with hers and blew into his lungs again. Then, during thirty more cardiac compressions, she asked. “Any lumps on the head?”

Jack ran a hand over Emma’s smooth, bald head. “Don’t see anything.”

Mel finished pumping and went for the respiratory inflations again. Then, breathless, she said, “Check David, and if he’s okay, call someone. Mercy Air,” she said. “I need the defibrillator. I need my bag.”

Jack bolted for the kitchen. David was standing in his playpen, screaming. The second he saw Jack his cries turned to little gasps and he reached a hand toward him. “Da!” he yelled. “Da!”