Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(29)

Five




In the mornings, after the baby had that first really early feeding and was settled back to sleep, Mel liked to take her coffee out to Doc’s front porch and sit on the steps. She found she enjoyed watching this little town wake up. First the sun would create a kind of golden path through the tall pine trees onto the street, slowly lighting it. The sound of doors opening and closing could be heard. A Ford truck drove slowly from the east to the west down the street, tossing out papers—the Humboldt News. She liked getting the paper early—though it was hardly akin to the L.A. Times.

Soon the kids started to emerge. The bus picked them up at the far west end of the main street. Those in town would walk or ride their bikes down the street and gather there, chaining their bikes to trees in someone’s front yard. That would never happen in the city—someone just allowing their yard to be used as a bike lot while the kids were in school. She saw Liz come out of Connie’s house right next to the store; Liz sashayed across the street, book bag slung over one shoulder, fanny swaying seductively. Boy howdy, Mel was thinking. That girl’s advertising like mad.

Cars and trucks began to drop off the more rural kids. It was not yet seven—a long day for these country kids—driven to the bus stop, ride the bus for who knows how long since there was no school in Virgin River, then back to town, back to the farm or ranch. The kids who gathered there, probably thirty, ranged in age from five to seventeen and the mothers of the younger ones stood around chatting while they waited for the bus. Some of them held their coffee cups and laughed together like old, old friends.

Then it would come, the bus, driven by a big happy woman who got off, said hello to the parents, herding each one of the kids on board.

Jack came out of the bar, fishing rod in one hand, tackle box in the other. He put his gear in the back of his truck and lifted a hand to her. She waved back. Out to the river for some fishing. Not long after, Preacher was sweeping off the front porch. When he looked up, he lifted a hand, as well.

What had she said about this little town? That it didn’t resemble the pictures she’d seen? In the early morning the town was lovely. Rather than looking old and tired, the homes looked sweet and uncomplicated. They were unfussy clapboards in a variety of colors—blue, light green, beige with brown trim. Connie and Ron’s house, right next to the corner store, was the same yellow with white trim as their store. Only one house on the street had been painted recently, a white house with dark green shutters and trim. She saw Rick come out of that house, sprint across the porch, jump down to the street and into his little white truck. It was a safe-looking street. Friendly homes. No one walked out of their homes to see another person and fail to greet, wave, stop and talk.

A woman came out from behind the boarded-up church down the street and seemed to be walking unevenly toward her. As she neared, Mel stood up. “Hello,” she said, holding her coffee cup in both hands.

“You the nurse?” she asked.

“Nurse practitioner and midwife, yes. Can I help you with something?”

“No,” she said. “I heard about you is all.”

The woman’s eyes were drawn down sleepily, as though she had trouble staying awake, with dark circles under them. She was a large woman, maybe five-ten, and rather plain, her greasy hair pulled back. It was possible she was sick. Mel stuck out a hand. “Mel Monroe,” she said.

The woman hesitated a minute before accepting a handshake. She wiped her palm down her pant leg first, then reached out. Her grip was strong and clumsy, her nails dirty. “Cheryl,” she said in response. “Creighton.” She pulled her hand back and put both her hands in the pockets of baggy pants. Men’s pants, it looked like.

Mel stopped herself before saying, Ahhh. That would be the Cheryl who was supposed to clean the cabin; the Cheryl Hope suspected was drinking again. Which would explain her sallow complexion and weary eyes, not to mention all the little broken blood vessels in her cheeks. “Sure I can’t do anything for you?”

“No. They say you’re leaving right away.”

“Do they now,” she said with a smile. “Well, I have a few things I made a commitment to see through first.”

“That baby,” she said.

Mel tipped her head to one side. “Hardly anything goes unnoticed around here. Do you know anything about the baby, or her mother? I’d like to find the woman w—”

“So you could go sooner? Because if you want to go—I could take care of the baby…”

“You have an interest in the baby?” she asked. “May I ask why?”

“I just mean to help. I like to help out.”

“I really don’t need much help—but I sure would like to find the baby’s mother. She could be sick, giving birth alone like that.”

Mel chanced a glance toward the bar and noticed that Preacher had stopped sweeping and watched. At that same moment, Doc came out of the house. “Cheryl,” Doc said.

“Hey, Doc. Just telling the nurse here—I could help out with that baby. Watch her for you and stuff.”

“Why’d you want to do that, Cheryl?”

She shrugged. “Jack told me about it.”

“Thanks. We’ll sure keep you in mind,” Doc said.

“’Kay,” she said with another shrug. She looked at Mel. “Nice meetin’ you. Explains a lot, now I see you.” And she turned and walked back the way she’d come.