Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(57)

The camaraderie was engaging, electrifying. These guys were tight, it was real easy to see. Mel didn’t exactly rush away—she had fun. Other folks from town who frequented the bar seemed, like Doc, to be acquainted with this band of brothers and dropped in to partake of the reunion, every bit as welcoming of them as Jack and Preacher had been.

As she left that evening, Jack broke away from his buddies to walk her to her car. “Oh, now there will be talk,” she said.

“There’s already talk, but around here, what do you expect? Listen, Mel, you shouldn’t stay away on account of them—they’re a good bunch of guys. But let me tell you what the agenda will be. There will be lots of beer and poker, fishing all day. They’ll stay in their campers, make too much noise, and fill the place up with cigar smoke. Preacher will have something on the stove everyday. And I sense a lot of fish coming our way. Preacher’s got a stuffed trout that will knock you down, it’s so good.”

She put a hand against his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. You just enjoy yourself.”

“You’re not going to ignore me for five days, are you?”

“I’ll come by after work for a beer, but you know I like my cabin, my peace and quiet. Have fun. That’s the important thing.”

“These are great guys,” he said. “But I have a feeling they’re going to get in the way of my love life.”

She laughed at him. “Your love life is pretty bleak, as a matter of fact.”

“I know. I keep trying to spool it up. And now them,” he said, giving his head a jerk in the direction of his bar, which seemed to be throbbing from the noise and laughter within. He put his hands on her waist. “Kiss me,” he said.

“No,” she said.

“Come on. Haven’t I been perfect? Haven’t I followed all your rules? How can you be so selfish? There’s no one around—they’re busy drinking.”

“I think you should go back to your reunion,” she said, but she laughed at him again.

Boldly, he picked her up under her arms and lifted her high, holding her above him, slowly lowering her mouth to his. “You’re shameless,” she told him.

“Kiss me,” he begged. “Come on. Gimme a little taste.”

It was simply irresistible. He was irresistible. She grabbed his head in her hands and met his lips. She opened hers, moving over his mouth. When he did this to her, she thought of nothing but the kiss. It consumed her deliciously. She allowed his tongue, he allowed hers, and she reached that moment when she wanted it to never end. It was so easy to become lost in his tenderness, his strength.

And then, inevitably, it had to end. They were standing in the street, after all, though it was almost dark. “Thank you,” he said. He put her on her feet and behind them, a raucous cheer erupted. There, on the porch at Jack’s, stood eight marines and Rick, their tankards raised, shouting, cheering, whistling, cat-calling.

“Oh, brother,” she said.

“I’m going to kill them.”

“Is this some kind of marine tradition?” she asked him.

“I’m going to kill them,” he said again, but he kept his arm around her shoulders.

“You realize what this means,” she said. “These little kisses are no longer our little secret.”

He looked down into her eyes. The shouts had subsided into a low rumble of laughter. “Mel, they are not little. And since it’s leaked,” he said, grabbing her up in his arms, lifting her up to him again, her feet clear of the ground, and planted another one on her, to the excited shouts of the old 192nd. Even with that riot in the background, she found herself responding. She was growing addicted to the perfect flavor of his mouth.

When it was done she said, “I knew it was a mistake to let you get to first base.”

“Hah, I haven’t even thrown out the first pitch yet. You’re invited to go fishing with us, if you like.”

“Thanks, but I have things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow night for a beer. And I’ll get myself to my car. I’m not going to make out in front of them for the next week.”



A little local research revealed to Mel that there was an ultrasound machine in Grace Valley, about thirty minutes away in northern Mendocino county. She had a long chat with one of the town doctors, June Hudson, and they worked out a deal for the use of the ultrasound—the deal was that June would provide this service out of the goodness of her heart. “The ultrasound was donated,” she said. “Women from at least a half dozen surrounding towns make use of it.”

Mel arranged to bring Sondra in for a screening that day but Sondra insisted on baking six dozen cookies that she would leave at the Grace Valley clinic. “Are you sure your husband can’t come along? It’s really something to see,” Mel said.

“It would have to be him and the kids,” Sondra said. “And I’m really looking forward to getting away for a few hours.”

The two of them set out for Grace Valley, driving down through the foothills and along back roads that led them past farms, pastures, vineyards, ranches, flower fields and through a few towns that were not even specs on a map. Sondra, having lived in this part of the country all her life, was able to give Mel a running commentary on where they were, whose ranch was whose, what kind of crops were being grown—mostly alfalfa and silage for the cattle—orchards of fruit and nuts, and the inevitable lumber harvesting. It was a gorgeous day, a beautiful drive, and when they entered the town, Mel was instantly impressed by the shiny clean appearance of the place.