Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(52)

“He’s pumped full of drugs and electricity, ma’am,” the other paramedic said. “Would you like us to transport?”

She sucked in a breath. “Take him to Redding for an autopsy. I have to know what happened to him.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I bet we know.”

She was shaking her head. “He didn’t have heart problems.”

The paramedic stood up. “Yeah, that’s the thing. You can treat heart problems. You just can’t make it through a massive coronary, fatal stroke or aneurysm if you don’t know the problem exists. I have some paperwork. Stay right here.”

The first paramedic went back to the chopper while the second began packing up their things. Mel went to Doc, knelt beside him and gently closed his eyes. She pulled the electrodes from the defibrillator off his chest and then, absently, affectionately, flattened out his sparse, white chest hair. She ran her fingertips across his wild white eyebrows, smoothing them. She leaned down to him and put her lips against his forehead, her tears dropping there. “You are such a pain in the ass,” she whispered. “How dare you leave me like this?” She rested her cheek briefly against his head. He was already growing cold.

When the paramedics took his body out, she followed. A small crowd had gathered outside, waiting. Some of her friends—Paige and Brie, Connie and Ron, Lydie Sudder, and others. She looked at them and a large tear ran down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I really tried.”

And then Jack was beside her, pulling her in close.



The night of Doc’s death, after Jack had helped settle the kids into bed, he went to the kitchen and poured himself and his wife each a short snifter of brandy. He went back to the great room where Mel was curled into the corner of the couch in front of the fire. He put the drinks on the side table and sat in the big leather chair, opposite her. “Come here, baby,” he said, holding up an arm.

She unfolded from the sofa and went to him, settling onto his lap. He handed her a brandy, then with one arm around her back, he picked up the second for himself.

“He was ready,” Jack said. “We’re going to let him go gracefully, so he can watch over the town from a higher place.”

“I’m having a real hard time,” she said.

“I know. That’s why we have each other.” He sipped from his glass. “We have to remember who Doc was and what he’d expect of us. He’d want to be toasted, thanked kindly for his good work and sent off with a minimum of sentiment. He was a tough old codger. He never liked mush.”

“I wish I’d told him I loved him,” she said, misting up.

Jack chuckled. “He knew you loved him, but if you’d tried that sop on him, he would have barked your head off.”

“It’s going to be hard for the town to say goodbye,” she said.

“Even so, he’s moved on, and so will we.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Call the hospital tomorrow, Mel. Tell them an autopsy isn’t necessary. Let’s not carve him up. There isn’t anything more we need to know.”

“I need to know if I could have saved him,” she said softly.

“What would he say about that?” Jack asked her quietly.

“He’d say, ‘Don’t waste your breath.’” She turned her head, looking at Jack, and a large tear spilled down her cheek. Jack pressed his lips against it.

“Okay,” she said. “There’s a lot to do. To go through his things.” Then very softly she asked, “What are we going to do without a doctor?”

“You’ll have Shelby to help out for a while. And we’ll get looking. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the clinic with you and we’ll have a look at his personal effects, see if he left any kind of journal or last wishes. We’ll make arrangements and let this town say goodbye to an old friend as soon as possible, so we can all heal.”

“You’re right,” she said. “He wouldn’t want us to carry on.”

“He wouldn’t,” Jack said.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she told him.

He smiled sweetly. “You’d be miserable.” He touched his glass to hers. “To Doc,” he said.

“To Doc. The biggest pain-in-the-ass country doctor in three counties.” She hiccupped. “God, I’m going to miss him.”



Although Mel and Doc had never discussed what would become of the clinic should something happen to him, he had no intention of leaving the town or his nurse midwife in dire straights. In documents dated shortly after Mel had married Jack two years before, Doc had willed the clinic, free and clear, to her in a living trust that would bypass probate. It was funny to think of him doing something so savvy, so modern; impossible to think of him hiring a lawyer. Also, in the top desk drawer, in plain sight if she’d ever bothered to look, was an old, worn bankbook. Doc had been squirreling away little bits of money over forty-five years—and about a year before his death, he had put Mel’s name on the account. While she thought she had signed documents so that he could payroll her, she’d unknowingly provided her signature to the account. He should have taken a big Alaskan fishing trip instead, because Mel had plenty of money. But Doc wouldn’t indulge himself any more than he’d leave town for more than a day or two. Still, she was incredibly touched. Without ever saying a word and in fact being somewhat stingy with his praise, he had seen her as a partner within six months of her arrival in Virgin River.