by Robyn Carr
It was at once a huge surprise to her, and also what she had secretly expected when she took the job.
* * *
By six o’clock, Mel was exhausted, but the day had flown. She held the baby on her shoulder, gently jiggling her. “Have you had anything to eat?” she asked Doc Mullins.
“When, during our open house, would I have eaten?” he shot back. But it was not nearly as sarcastic as Mel imagined he wished it to be.
“Would you like to walk across the street while I feed the baby?” she asked. “Because after you and little Chloe have eaten, I really need some fresh air. No, make that—I’m desperate for a change of scenery. And I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
He put out his old, gnarled hands. “Chloe?” he asked.
She shrugged. “She has to be called something.”
“Go,” he said. “I’ll see that she’s fed. Then I’ll poke around here for something.”
She handed over the baby with a smile. “I know you’re trying to act miserable and just can’t pull it off,” she said. “But thank you—I’d really like to get out of here for an hour.”
She grabbed her jacket off the peg by the front door and stepped out into the spring night. Out here, away from the smog and industry of city life, there were at least a million more stars. She took a deep breath. She wondered if a person actually got used to air like this—so much cleaner than the smog of L.A., it shocked the lungs.
There were quite a few people at Jack’s—unlike that stormy night when she’d arrived. Two women she’d met earlier in the day were there with their husbands—Connie and Ron of the corner store, and Connie’s best friend, Joy, and husband, Bruce. Bruce, she learned, delivered the mail and was also the person who would take any specimens to the lab at Valley Hospital, if needed. They introduced her to Carrie and Fish Bristol and Doug and Sue Carpenter. There were a couple of guys at the bar and another two at a table playing cribbage—by their canvas vests she took them for fishermen.
Mel hung up her jacket, gave her sweater a little tug to bring it over the waist of her jeans, and popped up on a bar stool. She did not realize she was wearing a smile. That her eyes shone. They had all come out to see her, welcome her, tell her about themselves, ask her for advice. When the day was full of people who needed her—even those who weren’t necessarily sick—it filled her up inside. Passed for happiness, if she dared go that far.
“Lot of action across the street today, I hear,” Jack said, giving the bar a wipe at her place.
“You were closed,” she said.
“I had things to do—and so did Preacher. We stay open most of the time, but if something comes up, we put up a sign and try to get back by dinner.”
“If something comes up?” she asked.
“Like fishing,” Preacher said, putting a rack of glasses under the bar, then he went back to the kitchen. Out of the back came the kid, Ricky, busing tables. When he spied Mel he grinned hugely and came over to the bar with his tray of dishes. “Miss Monroe—you still here? Awesome.” Then he went to the kitchen.
“He is too cute.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Jack advised. “He’s at the crush age. A very dangerous sixteen. What do you feel like?”
“You know—I wouldn’t mind a cold beer,” she said. And it instantly appeared before her. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“Meat loaf,” he said. “And the best mashed potatoes you’ll ever experience.”
“You don’t have anything like a menu, do you?”
“Nope. We get whatever Preacher’s in the mood to fix. You wanna enjoy that beer for a minute? Or, you want your supper fast?”
She took a pull. “Give me a minute.” She took another sip and said, “Ahhh.” It made Jack smile. “I think I met half the town today.”
“Not even close. But the ones who came out today will spread the word about you. Have any real patients, or were they all just checking you out?”
“I had a couple. You know, I really didn’t have to come over here—the house is full of food. When they come, they bring food, whether they’re really sick or not. Pies, cakes, sliced meat, fresh bread. It’s very...country.”
He laughed. “Careful,” he said. “We’ll grow on you.”
“You have any use for a couple of jars of canned berries? I think it was a patient fee.”
“You bet. Preacher makes the best pies in the county. Any news about the baby’s mother?”
“I call the baby Chloe,” she said, expecting a sting of tears that, remarkably, didn’t come. “No. Nothing. I hope the woman who gave birth isn’t sick somewhere.”
“With the way everyone around here knows everyone’s business, if there were a sick woman out there, word would get out.”
“Maybe she did come from another town.”
“You look almost happy,” he said.
“I almost am,” she returned. “The young woman who brought the berries asked me to deliver her baby. That was nice. The only problem seems to be that she’s going to be having her baby in my bedroom. And she could be doing that pretty soon, too.”
“Ah,” he said. “Polly. She looks like that baby’s ready to fall out of her.”
“How did you know? Oh, never mind—everyone knows everything.”
“There aren’t that many pregnant women around,” he laughed.
She turned on her stool and looked around. Two old women were eating meat loaf at a table by the fire and the couples she had met, all in their forties or fifties, seemed to be socializing; laughing and gossiping. There were perhaps a dozen patrons. “Business is pretty good tonight, huh?”
“They don’t come out in the rain so much. Busy putting buckets under the leaks, I suppose. So—still feel like getting the hell out of here?”
She drank a little of her beer, noting that on an empty stomach the effects were instantaneous. And, actually, delightful. “I’m going to have to leave, if for no other reason than there’s nowhere around here to get highlights put in my hair.”
“There are beauty shops around here. In Virgin River, Dot Schuman does hair in her garage.”
“That sounds intriguing.” She lifted her eyes to his face and said, “I’m getting a buzz. Maybe I better do that meat loaf.” She hiccupped and they both laughed.
By seven, Hope McCrea had wandered in and took the stool next to her. “Heard you had a lot of company today,” she said. She pulled her cigarettes out of her purse and as she was going to shake one out, Mel grabbed her wrist.
“You have to wait until I’m done with dinner, at least.”
“Oh, foo—you’re a killjoy.” She put the pack down. “The usual,” she ordered. And to Mel, “So—how was it? Your first real day? Doc scare you off yet?”
“He was absolutely manageable. He even let me put in a couple of stitches. Of course, he didn’t compliment my work, but he didn’t tell me it was bad, either.” She leaned closer to Hope and said, “I think he’s taking credit for me. You might want to stand up for yourself.”
“You’re staying now?”
“I’m staying a few days, at least. Until we get a couple of things that need attention ironed out.”
“I heard. Newborn, they say.”
Jack put a drink down in front of Hope. “Jack Daniel’s, neat,” he said.
“Have any ideas on the mother?” Mel asked Hope.
“No. But everyone is looking at everyone else strangely. If she’s around here, she’ll turn up. You done pushing food around that plate yet? Because I’m ready for a smoke.”
“You shouldn’t, you know.”
Hope McCrea looked at Mel in impatience, grimacing. She pushed her too-big glasses up on her nose. “What the hell do I care now? I’ve already lived longer than I expected to.”
“T
hat’s nonsense. You have many good years left.”
“Oh, God. I hope not!”
Jack laughed and in spite of herself, so did Mel.
Hope, acting like a woman with a million things to do, had her drink and cigarette, put money on the bar, hopped off the stool and said, “I’ll be in touch. I can help out with the little one, if you need me.”
“You can’t smoke around the baby,” Mel informed her.
“I didn’t say I could help out for hours and hours,” she answered. “Keep that in mind.” And off she went, stopping at a couple of tables to pass the time on her way out.
“How late do you stay open?” Mel asked Jack.
“Why? You thinking about a nightcap?”
“Not tonight. I’m bushed. For future reference.”
“I usually close around nine—but if someone asks me to stay open, I will.”
“This is the most accommodating restaurant I’ve ever frequented,” she laughed. She looked at her watch. “I better spell Doc. I don’t know how patient he is with an infant. I’ll see you at breakfast, unless Doc’s out on a house call.”
“We’ll be here,” he offered.
Mel said goodbye and on her way to her coat, stopped at a couple of the tables to say good-night to people she had just met. “Think she’ll stay on awhile?” Preacher quietly asked Jack.
Jack was frowning. “I think what she does to a pair of jeans ought to be against the law.” He looked at Preacher. “You okay here? I’m thinking of having a beer in Clear River.”
It was code. There was a woman in Clear River. “I’m okay here,” Preacher said.
* * *
As Jack drove the half hour to Clear River, he wasn’t thinking about Charmaine, which gave him a twinge of guilt. Tonight he was thinking about another woman. A very beautiful young blonde woman who could just about bring a man to his knees with what she looked like in boots and jeans.
Jack had gone to a tavern in Clear River for a beer a couple of years ago and struck up a conversation with the waitress there—Charmaine. She was the divorced mother of a couple of grown kids. A good woman; hardworking. Fun-loving and flirtatious. After several visits and as many beers, she took him home with her and he fell into her as if she were a feather bed. Then he told her what he always made sure women understood about him—that he was not the kind of man who could ever be tied down to a woman, and if she began to have those designs, he’d be gone.
“What makes you think all women want to be run by some man?” she had asked. “I just got rid of one. Not about to get myself hooked up to another one.” Then she smiled and said, “Just the same, everyone gets a little lonely sometimes.”
They started an affair that had sustained Jack for a couple of years now. Jack didn’t see her that often—every week, maybe couple of weeks. Sometimes a month would go by. He wasn’t sure what she did when he wasn’t around—maybe there were other men—though he’d never seen any evidence of that. He never caught her making time in the bar with anyone else; never saw any men’s things around her house. He kept a box of condoms in her bedside drawer that didn’t disappear on him, and he’d let it slip that he liked being the only man she entertained.
As for Jack—he had a personal ethic about one woman at a time. Sometimes that woman could last a year, sometimes a night—but he didn’t have a collection he roved between. Although he wasn’t exactly breaking that rule tonight, he wasn’t quite sticking to it, either.
He never spent the night in Clear River and Charmaine was not invited to Virgin River. She had only called him and asked him to come to her twice—and it seemed a small thing to ask. After all, he wasn’t the only one who needed to be with someone once in a while.
He liked that when he walked in the tavern and she saw him, it showed all over her that she was happy he’d come. He suspected she had stronger feelings for him than she let show. He owed her—she’d been a real sport about it—but he knew he’d have to leave the relationship before it got any more entangled. So sometimes, to demonstrate he had a few gentlemanly skills, he’d drop in for just a beer. Sometimes he’d bring her something, like a scarf or earrings.
He sat down at the bar and she brought him a beer. She fluffed her hair; she was a big blonde. Bleached blonde. At about five foot eight, she’d kept her figure, mostly. He didn’t know her exact age, but he suspected late forties, early fifties. She always wore very tight-fitting clothes and tops that accentuated her full breasts. At first sight you’d think—cheap. Not so much tawdry or low-class as simple. Unrefined. But once you got to know Charmaine and how kind and deep down earnest she was, those thoughts fled. Jack imagined that in younger years she was quite the looker with her ample chest and full lips. She hadn’t really lost those good looks, but she had a little extra weight around the hips and there were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“Hiya, bub,” she said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks, I think.”
“More like four.”
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Busy. Working. Went over to Eureka to see my daughter last week. She’s having herself a lousy marriage—but what should we expect? I raised her in one.”
“She getting divorced?” he asked politely, though in truth he didn’t care that much. He didn’t know her kids.
“No. But she should. Let me get this table. I’ll be back.”
She left him to make sure the other customers were served. There were only a few and once Jack showed up the owner, Butch, knew that Charmaine would want to leave a little early. He saw her take a tray of glasses back behind the bar and talk quietly with her boss, who nodded. Then Charmaine was back.
“I just wanted to have a beer and say hello,” Jack said. “Then I have to get back. I have a big project going on.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m fixing up a cabin for one of the women in town. I put on a new porch today and tomorrow I’m going to paint it and build back steps.”
“That so? Pretty woman?”
“I guess you could say she’s pretty. For seventy-six years old.”
She laughed loudly. Charmaine had a big laugh. It was a good laugh that came from deep inside her. “Well, then, I guess I won’t bother being jealous. But do you think you can spare the time to walk me home?”
“I can,” he said, draining his beer. “But I’m not coming in tonight.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
When they were outside, she looped her arm through his and began to talk about her last couple of weeks, as she always did. He liked the sound of her voice, deep and a little raspy, what they called a whiskey voice though she wasn’t much of a drinker. She could go on and on about next to nothing but in a pleasant way, not an irritating way. She would talk about the bar, the people in the town, her kids, what she’d bought lately, what she’d read. News items fascinated her—she would spend the mornings before work watching CNN, and she liked to tell him her opinion of breaking stories. She always had some project going on in her little house—wallpaper or paint or new appliances. The house was paid for; an inheritance of some kind. So the money she made, she spent on herself and her kids.
When they got to the door he said, “I’ll shove off, Charmaine. But I’ll see you before long.”
“Okay, Jack,” she said. She tilted her head up for a kiss and he obliged. “That wasn’t much of a kiss,” she said.
“I don’t want to come in tonight,” he said.
“You must be awful tired,” she said. “Think you have enough energy to give me a kiss that I’ll remember for an hour or two?”
He tried again. This time he covered her mouth with his, allowed his tongue to do a little exploring, held her close against him. And she grabbed his butt. Da
mn! he thought. She ground against him a little bit, sucked on his tongue. Then she hooked her hand into the front of his jeans and pulled him forward, letting her fingers drift lower against his belly.
“Okay,” he said weakly, a little vulnerable, stirred up. “I’ll come in for a few minutes.”
“That’s my boy,” she said, smiling at him. She pushed open the door and he followed her inside. “Just think of it as a little sleeping pill.”
He dropped his jacket on the chair. Charmaine wasn’t even out of hers when he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against him and devoured her with a kiss that was sudden, hot and needy. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and walked her backwards toward the bedroom and dropped with her onto the bed. He pulled at her top and freed her breasts, filling his mouth with one and then the other. Then off came her pants, and down came his. He ran his hands over her lush body, down over her shoulders, hips, thighs. He reached over to the bedside table, retrieved one of the condoms kept there for him, and ripped the package open. He put it on and was inside her so quickly, it startled even him. He thrust and plunged and drove and she said, “Oh! Oh! Oh, my God!”
He was ready to explode, but held himself back while her legs came around his waist and she bucked. Something happened to him—he went a little out of his mind. Didn’t know where he was or with whom. When she finally tightened around him, he let himself go with a loud groan. She panted beneath him, the sound that told him she was completely satisfied.
“My God,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “What’s got you so hot?”
“Huh?”
“Jack, you don’t even have your boots off!”
He was shocked for a moment, then rolled off her. Jesus, he thought. You can’t treat a woman like that. He might not have been thinking, but at least he wasn’t thinking about anyone else, he consoled himself. He had no brain power involved in that at all—it was all visceral. His body, reaching out.
“I’m sorry, Charmaine. You okay?”
“I’m way more than okay. But please, take your boots off and hold me.”
It was on his mind to say he had to go, he wanted to go, but he couldn’t do that to her after this. He sat up and got rid of the boots and pants and shirt, everything hitting the floor. After a quick visit to the bathroom he was back, scooped her up in his arms and held her. Her heavy, soft body was cushiony against his.
