Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(96)

“No kidding,” said June, propping Jamie on her shoulder.

I drank the water, Mel almost said.

Nursing done, Susan passed the baby to Mel. She smiled gratefully and took the little guy. His rosy round face was contented in sleep; little baby noises escaped him.

The women talked about their labors, about their men, and they brought Mel into the conversation very well with questions about her midwifery experiences. June went to the kitchen for the coffeepot and refilled them all while Mel happily cuddled with the newborn. Her breasts actually ached as she held him. Hormones are amazing, she found herself thinking.



On the way back to Virgin River, Jack said, “Your friends throw a nice little party.”

“Don’t they?” she replied, reaching across the truck’s front seat to hold his hand.

“All these babies,” Jack said. “Everywhere you look.”

“Everywhere.”

He pulled up in front of her cabin. “I’ll shower off the cigars,” he said.

“Thanks,” she answered. “It actually makes me a little nauseous.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t realize.”

“No big deal. But I’ll be glad to loan you the shower. And meet you in the bed. I’m suddenly exhausted.”



Mel was just pulling up to the clinic in the morning when beside her an old pickup was pulling into the next parking spot. She recognized the man at once—Calvin. She hadn’t seen him since that first time, when she treated his facial wounds. He jumped out of the truck as she got out of the Hummer. His hands were plunged into his pockets and he seemed to nearly vibrate with the jitters. She suddenly realized something—the man who took her to deliver his baby in the backwoods, also a grower, didn’t seem to be on anything. This guy was wired. High. She’d never have gotten in a truck, in the middle of the night, with Calvin—baby or no baby. She further realized that without a plan of any kind, she could get hurt if she refused such a request from Calvin. He was pretty scary, and clearly unstable.

Before she could even address him, he said, “I need something. Back pain.”

“What do you need?” she asked calmly, very practiced in handling his type back in the city.

“Pain medicine. I need something for pain. Fentanyl, maybe. OxyContin. Morphine. Something.”

“Did you hurt your back?” she asked, trying to avoid his eyes as she proceeded to Doc’s front porch. He was jerking and tweaking, and upright rather than sitting on a low stool, she became aware of his size. He was almost six feet and broad-shouldered. It was clear he’d gotten his hands on something not depressive. Maybe methamphetamine, as Doc had earlier suspected. He wanted a narcotic to bring him down. The pot from his garden must not be doing it for him.

“Fell off a ledge out there. Might’ve broke it. It’ll be okay, but I need a little medicine.”

“Fine. You’ll have to see Doc,” she said.

His feet moved nervously. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and grabbed at her sleeve and she jerked out of his reach.

Jack, coming from her cabin arrived behind her and was just pulling into town as Calvin made that move and for a split second she almost felt sorry for him. Jack accelerated, screeched to a stop within inches of Doc’s porch and was out of the truck in one second. “Get away from her!” he shouted.

The guy backed away, but just a little bit. He looked at Mel. “I just need something for the pain in my back,” he said.

Jack reached into his truck and had his hand on his rifle. The look in his eyes was frightening. “I’m okay,” she said to Jack. Then to the twitchy young man, “I don’t prescribe the kind of drugs you’re looking for. We leave that to the doctor. And he’ll want an X-ray, undoubtedly.”

The guy stared at her, then grinned stupidly. “You ain’t got no X-ray.”

“There’s one at Valley Hospital,” she said.

Jack pulled the rifle off the rack and held it at his side for a moment. Then he kicked the truck door closed and came up onto the porch to stand beside Mel. He put an arm around Mel and pulled her against him. “Want to see the doctor?” he asked Calvin, rifle in hand.

“Hey, man,” he laughed nervously. “What’s your deal, man?” He backed away with his hands up, palms facing Jack. “Take it easy. I’ll go to the valley,” he said. He jumped off the porch, not bothering with the steps. Must be some back pain, she thought. He got in the old pickup, started it, put it in gear and drove away. But he didn’t go toward the valley—he went toward the woods.

“You know him?” Jack asked.

“He was at that camp Doc and I went to a few months ago. When you watched the baby for us. You remember…”

“Paulis’s?”

“Uh-huh. Did you have to do that?” Mel asked. “He really hadn’t done anything threatening.”

Jack glared after the departing truck. “Yeah,” he said. “I had to. He’s wrong. He’s just wrong.”





Fourteen




Every August before school started, the Andersons played host to a huge late-summer picnic at their ranch. Everyone they knew in Virgin River and even some folks from surrounding towns showed up. Buck had a huge canvas tent he erected in the pasture outside the corral, barbecues were set up, people provided tables and chairs. The Bristols brought their miniature horses and set up pony rides. Jack always donated a couple of kegs while Preacher whipped up some of his best potato salad in a tub so big it looked as if it would feed a third-world nation. There were barrels of lemonade and iced tea, ice chests full of sodas and, in the afternoon, homemade ice-cream makers were brought out of trucks and SUVs, and the hand cranking began.