Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(53)

He left a request—not even a letter, but a few sentences in his cramped old hand, tucked into the bankbook—that he be cremated and his ashes sprinkled in the Virgin River. Mel called Harry Shipton, the preacher from Grace Valley, and arranged to have him say a few words when they scattered the ashes at the widest curve in the Virgin. Notices were posted in the bar and at Valley Hospital.

Four days after his death, Mel and Jack closed the bar and the clinic and drove to the river where, it should not have surprised them, they could hardly get down the road. Hundreds of people from Virgin River, neighboring towns and medical staff who worked at Valley Hospital, had gathered on both sides of the river. As they walked toward the river there was a pickup parked in their path, the bed of the truck filled with flowers—gladiolas, carnations, baby roses, daisies and mums. A man handed Mel and Jack long stalks of flowers to hold.

June Hudson from the Grace Valley clinic, her husband, Jim Post, and her father, the Grace Valley doctor before June took over, Elmer Hudson, stood at the river’s edge beside John Stone, June’s business partner, and Susan, his wife. Mel went to stand by them, accepting and giving hugs and condolences. “If you need any help in the clinic, Mel, John and I can probably lend a hand,” June said.

“Thanks. I might have to send patients your way for a while. I don’t know what we’re going to do for a doctor.”

“Lots of little towns around here make do without one—patients just drive a little farther. Meanwhile, they still have you.”

“Look at these people,” she said, tearing up a little. “You’d think a man as crotchety as Doc wouldn’t be able to draw a crowd like this.”

“He’s always been cranky, too,” Elmer Hudson said. “In my case it came with age, but Mullins was in a piss-poor mood since I met him forty years ago.”

Mel felt a huff of laughter escape through tears. “My first night in Virgin River, he pulled my car out of a ditch. My brand-new BMW convertible. His first tender words to me were, ‘That piece of crap isn’t going to do you much good around here.’” She shook her head. “Damn, I’m going to miss that old man. He was like a grandfather to the kids.”

“When I go, I want at least this many people at my funeral, plus twenty, just to show him up,” Elmer Hudson said. He looked at his daughter. “Hire ’em if you have to, June.”

“Sure, Dad,” she said.

Harry Shipton walked to the edge of the river. The crowd parted so that he could pass. Dressed in a simple light blue chambray shirt and khaki pants, holding his bible, he said, “We’re gathered here today to say goodbye to a good friend. Doc Mullins served the medical needs of Virgin River and beyond for more than forty years, and from what I’m told by people who knew him longest, he never worried about whether he’d get thanked or paid. All that mattered to him was that his town, his family, have whatever medical attention he could provide. He saved lives, nurtured the sick, brought new life into the world and gently closed the eyes of the ones who passed. Let us pray.” Heads bowed as he recited the prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi, then the Twenty-third Psalm, and finally the Lord’s Prayer.

“There’s quite a bit more that could be said about our friend Doc, but I’m a little afraid a lightning bolt might strike us down if we get too fussy. Doc appreciated a few things in life—he liked some honest, direct words, hard work, good friends and a shot of decent whiskey at the end of the day.” He accepted the urn that contained Doc’s ashes and sprinkled them over the water. The ashes were followed by a shot glass of amber liquid—a little Jack Daniel’s. “Go with God, old friend. Peace and love.”

When the ashes began to float downstream, flowers were tossed from the banks to escort his final passage. Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, people began to turn away from the river.

And then Jack opened up the bar for anyone who wanted to raise a glass to their departed friend.



With the people in town saddened by the passing of their old doctor, it was a welcome diversion for everyone to look forward to Jack’s marine friends’ arrival a couple of weeks later. They always caught the end of deer-hunting season. It wasn’t a complete squad, especially since the full throng had just been to Virgin River in late July, lending a hand when a forest fire threatened the town. Josh and Tom from Reno arrived. Joe Benson and his new wife, Nikki, came down from Grants Pass and stayed at the general’s house with Vanni and Paul. With Mike Valenzuela, Preacher and Jack, that left only Corny and Zeke missing.

One person who was anticipating their visit but still a bit too preoccupied to take her usual full pleasure was Mel. With Shelby’s help, she had been simultaneously running the clinic, making house calls and sorting through Doc’s papers and personal effects. More than forty years of accumulation was taxing and emotional. She was clearing out his room, giving away his clothes, books and furniture, and preparing his bedroom as either a guest room or quarters for a new doctor, if one could ever be found.

She missed him so much. Once she and Doc had their little kinks ironed out, she had begun to cherish his grumpy frowns and had found humor in his cantankerous behavior.

Finally she heard the honking of a horn and lifted her head from her chore of reading through Doc’s old calendars. “They’re here,” she said to Shelby.

“Who?” the younger woman asked.