by Robyn Carr
On the television a very pretty woman looked into the eyes of a very handsome man and said, “Brent, I never loved anyone but you! Ever!”
“Oh, she is such a liar!” Connie said.
“No, she’s not—she didn’t love any of them. She just screwed ’em all,” Joy said.
On the TV: “Belinda, the bab—”
“Brent, the baby is yours!”
“The baby is Donovan’s,” Joy told the TV.
Mel leaned a hip against the desk. “What is this?”
“Riverside Falls,” Connie said. “Brent and the slut Belinda.”
“This is what Lizzie is going to be doing if Connie can’t get her out of those slutty clothes.”
“I have a plan,” Connie said. “As she grows out of her clothes and I replace them, we’re going to get a more conservative wardrobe.”
Joy laughed loudly. “Connie, it looks like she already grew out of them!”
The camera pulled back and Mel saw that the couple on screen were in bed together, their naked bodies barely concealed by a sheet. “Whew,” she said. “Soaps have come a long way.”
“You ever watch any soaps, honey?” Connie asked.
“Not since college. We watched General Hospital.” Mel put down her magazine and book on the desk and helped herself to a cup of coffee. “We used to get our patients to keep an eye on it for us. I had one long-term care patient—an old guy—and I used to give him his bath at two every afternoon and we’d watch it together.”
“There is only one man left on this show that Belinda hasn’t done—and he’s seventy. The patriarch.” Connie sighed. “They’re going to have to bring in some new talent for Belinda.”
Back on TV, Belinda bit at Brent’s lip, then his chin, then slipped lower in the bed and disappeared under the sheet. All three women in the back room leaned toward the TV. The lump in the sheet that was Belinda’s head went lower and momentarily Brent threw back his head and let a delicious moan escape.
“My God,” Mel said.
Connie fanned her face.
“I think that’s her secret weapon,” Joy said. And the program cut to commercial.
Connie and Joy looked at each other, giggled and got up out of their chairs. “Well, not much has changed since yesterday. That baby’s gonna be in college before it gets out who the daddy is.”
“I’m not even sure it is Donovan’s. She was with Carter, too.”
“That was a long time ago—it couldn’t be his.”
“How long have you two been watching this soap?” Mel asked.
“Oh, God, fifteen years?” Connie answered by way of a question.
“At least.”
“You find a magazine, honey?”
Mel made a face and held up the Playboy.
“My, my,” Connie said.
“I’m not too interested in trucks, fish, guns or game,” she said. “Don’t you ever get any others in?”
“If you tell me what you want, I’ll have Ron pick ’em up on his next run. We only carry what we sell.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “I hope I haven’t just snatched up some poor guy’s Playboy that he’s looking forward to.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Connie said. “Hey, there’s a little potluck at the bar tonight for Joy’s birthday. Why don’t you come on over?”
“Aw, I don’t have a present!”
“We don’t do presents, honey,” Joy said. “Just come and party.”
“Well, happy birthday anyway, Joy. I’ll check with Doc,” she said. “What time? If I can come, should I bring something for the potluck?”
“We’ll get over there about six, and no, don’t you worry about bringing anything. I don’t guess you do any cooking at Doc’s and we have the food covered. Nothing new on that baby, huh?”
“Not a peep.”
“Damnedest thing,” Joy said. “Bet whoever’s it is came from another one of the towns.”
“I’m starting to think that, too,” Mel said. She pulled some bills out of her pocket to pay for her stuff. “Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”
On her way back to Doc’s she passed the bar. Jack was sitting on the porch with his feet up on the rail. She wandered over. Sitting beside him was a fishing tackle box full of beautiful feathery flies. Small pliers, scissors and a razor blade were sticking out of the tackle box, as well as little plastic envelopes that contained colorful feathers, silver hooks and other paraphernalia.
“Break time?” he asked her.
“I’ve been on break all day, except for a little diaper changing and feeding. The baby’s asleep, there aren’t any patients and Doc is afraid to play gin with me. It turns out I can beat his socks off.”
Jack laughed. He leaned forward and peered at the book and magazine. He looked at her face and raised an eyebrow. “Little light reading?” he asked.
She lifted the magazine. “It was either this or guns, trucks, hunting or fishing. You want to borrow it when I’m through?”
“No, thanks,” he laughed.
“You don’t like naked women?”
“I love naked women—I just don’t feel like looking at pictures of them. It seems like you’d get enough of that in your line of work,” he said.
“Like I said, the choices were pretty limited. I haven’t seen one of these in years, but when I was in college my roommates and I used to laugh ourselves stupid at the advice column. And they used to have some interesting stories. Does Playboy still run fiction?”
“I have absolutely no idea, Melinda,” he said, grin-ning.
“You know what I’ve noticed about this town? Everyone has a satellite dish and at least one gun.”
“A couple of items that seem to be necessary. No cable TV out here. You shoot?” he asked.
“I hate guns,” she said with a shudder. “Try to imagine the number of gunshot deaths in a trauma center in L.A.” She shivered again. He has no idea, she thought.
“The guns around here aren’t the kind people use on each other. Hardly a handgun in the town, although I have a couple, just because I’ve had them for a long time. This is rifle and shotgun country—used for hunting, euthanizing a sick or wounded animal, protection from wildlife. I could teach you to shoot, so you’d be more comfortable with guns.”
“No way. I hate to even be around them. All these guns I see in the gun racks in the trucks—are they loaded?”
“You bet. You don’t take a minute to load your rifle if a bear is charging you. Bear fish in the same rivers we do.”
“Whew, fishing just took on a whole new meaning. Who shot all the animals on the walls in the bar?” she asked.
“Preacher got the buck. I caught the fish and shot the bear.”
She was shaking her head. “How can you get any satisfaction out of killing innocent animals?”
“The buck and fish were innocent,” he admitted. “But that bear wasn’t. I didn’t want to shoot her, but I was working on the bar and she was poking around right back there, maybe looking for trash. Bear are scavengers—they’ll eat anything. It was a real dry summer. Her cub wandered too close to me and riled her up. Pissed her off. She must have gotten the idea I was going to interfere with the cub. So...?”
“Aw. What happened to the cub?”
“I locked him in the bar until Fish and Game could come out for him. They relocated him.”
“That’s too bad. For her. She was just being a mother.”
“I didn’t want to shoot that bear,” he said. “I don’t even hunt bear. I carry repellent—sort of a pepper spray. That day the repellent was in the truck, but the rifle was handy. I wouldn’t have shot her, but it kind of got down to her or me.” He grinned at her. “City girl,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m just a city g
irl. With no dead animals on my walls. Think I’ll keep it that way.”
* * *
Friday night, big night in Virgin River. There were more than the usual number of cars parked around the bar, though the people Mel knew best would have walked over. Mel had said to Doc, “There’s a potluck for Joy’s birthday at Jack’s tonight. I assume you’re going over. Maybe later, if you could spell me for a half hour, I can just drop in and wish her a happy birthday.”
Doc scoffed at that idea. All he wanted was to go collect his one whiskey of the day, have a bite to eat and turn in. So Mel fed and settled the baby while he was across the street. She fluffed her hair and put on a little lipstick, ready for what she expected to be a fairly dull evening, but an evening with a few friendly faces nonetheless. It was seven-thirty before Chloe slept and she was able to leave. “I won’t be long,” she told Doc.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Dance till dawn for all I care.”
“Will you call me if you need me?” she asked Doc.
“Hardly ever have a party in this town,” he said. “You should take advantage of it. I know how to change and feed. Been doing it a lot longer than you.”
When she walked in, she found the place nearly full of people. The jukebox, which was hardly ever playing, provided background music. Country. Jack and Preacher were behind the bar, Ricky was busy busing tables. She looked around until she found Joy.
“Sorry to be showing up so late, Joy. The baby didn’t really want to settle down tonight.” She plucked her sweater away from herself and gave a little sniff. “I think I might smell like cheese.”
“You’re fine—and there’s still plenty of food left so grab yourself a plate.”
A few tables had been pushed together to line a wall and upon them, dish after casserole dish of delicious-looking food. Right in the center was a sheet cake practically covered with candles. After she’d put some food on her plate, people started wandering over to say hello and chat. She greeted Fish Bristol, noted fisherman in these parts, and his wife, Carrie. Harv, who was found in the bar almost every morning, was a lineman for the telephone company, but before getting out on the road he had his breakfast at Jack’s. “My wife can’t be bothered to get out of bed just to cook breakfast,” he said with a laugh. She noticed that Liz was tucked away in the corner, looking miserably bored, her long, shapely legs crossed, her short skirt just barely covering her privates. Mel gave her a wave, coaxing a very small smile out of Liz. Mel was introduced to a sheep rancher and his wife, Buck and Lilly Anderson—Buck, tall and skinny and balding and Lilly, short and round and rosy cheeked. “Any news on that baby?” Lilly asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Is she a good baby?”
“Oh, God, she’s perfect. An angel.”
“And no one’s asked if they can take her? Adopt her?”
“I haven’t even heard from Social Services yet,” Mel said.
Connie brought a friend over to introduce. “Mel, this is Jo Fitch. She and her husband live on the end of the street—the biggest house there.”
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” Jo said. “No one expected such a young, pretty girl. We—”
Before Jo could finish she was joined by a man who slipped an arm about Jo’s waist and, while swirling a drink in his glass, boldly looked Mel up and down and said, “Well, well, well...so this is our little nurse? Ohh, nurse, I’m not feeling so good!” And then he treated himself to a great big laugh.
“My husband, Nick,” Jo said. If Mel wasn’t mistaken, she said it somewhat nervously.
“How do you do,” Mel said politely, deciding that he’d had a bit too much to drink. She turned to Connie and said, “Everything is so delicious.”
“So, nurse Melinda—how do you like our little town?” he asked her.
“Please, just call me Mel,” she said. “It’s great. You’re very lucky.”
“Yep,” he said, looking her over again. “We really got lucky. Where do I sign up for an examination?” And he laughed at himself some more.
It came back to her then—Jo Ellen and that husband of hers. This was the guy. He’d been slapped down by more than one woman, Hope had said. He couldn’t possibly be more obvious. “Gosh, excuse me just a second, I’ll be right back. I need something to drink.”
He grabbed her arm and said, “Let me—”
She shook him off firmly, smiling all the while. “No, no. You wait right here,” and she scooted away as fast as she could. On her way to the bar she stopped to say hello to Doug and Sue Carpenter, frequent visitors at Jack’s. She met the elder Fishburns—Polly’s mother-and father-in-law. When she got to the bar and hopped up on a stool in front of Jack, setting her plate down, she didn’t have his attention right away. He was looking into the crowded room, frowning.
Finally he looked at her. “Could I have a beer?” she asked him.
“Sure,” he said.
“You don’t look too happy,” she observed.
His expression relaxed. “Just keeping an eye on things,” he said. “Having fun?”
“Hmm.” She nodded, taking a sip. “Have you eaten this stuff? It’s almost as good as Preacher’s. These country women can cook!”
“That’s why most of them are—how should I put it? Robust?”
She laughed at him. Leaving her beer for a moment, she ate a little more off her plate. “Yet another reason for me to get back to civilization.”
She stayed there for a moment longer, then he was beside her again. Nick. “I waited,” he said.
“Oh, Nick. Sorry—but I have to mingle. I’m new in town you know.” And off the stool she leaped, beer in her hand, leaving the plate behind.
As Nick made to follow, he found his wrist clamped down on the bar. Jack looked into his eyes darkly. “Your wife is waiting for you over there.”
“Be a sport, Jack,” Nick said, laughing.
“You’d better behave yourself,” Jack warned.
Nick laughed heartily. “Now, Jack—you can’t have all the pretty girls to yourself. I mean, come on, man! All our wives are hot for you—cut a guy some slack.” And he made his escape.
Jack watched closely from behind the bar. He was able to serve drinks and draw drafts without taking his eyes off the room. Nick seemed to follow Mel around like a smitten puppy, sidling up as close as possible, but Mel was quick. She’d go around to the far sides of tables to crouch to speak to people, get other men between her and Nick, slip across the room as if there was someone she just had to see, always leaving Nick in her dust. Preacher was behind the bar with him and at a point said, “Want me to give him a little advice before he gets his nose broken?”
“No,” Jack said flatly. Jack was thinking that breaking his nose was going to feel very good. If Nick put one hand on her, he was going to come apart.
“Good,” Preacher said. “I haven’t been to a good bar fight in years.”
In keeping an eye on things, he saw Connie’s young niece stand up and walk over to the buffet, stick her finger into the icing on the cake and then into her mouth, slowly, so slowly pulling her finger back out while glancing over her shoulder at Rick—and his boy Ricky froze at one of the tables where he was picking up glasses. Jack saw him see her; saw Ricky almost tremble for a moment, mouth open slightly, eyes wide, taking her in—those long legs, full breasts. Oh, boy, Jack thought.
Someone lit the candles on the cake and everyone got up from their tables and came from the edges of the room to gather round, sing and watch Joy knock herself out trying to blow out fifty-three of them.
Mel stood at the rear of the crowd; Jack’s eyes were back on her. Jack scowled blackly as Nick came up behind her. He couldn’t see what was happening through the crowd, but he noted that a smile grew on Nick’s face just as Mel’s chin rose up, her eyes grew r
ound and startled and she threw a panicked look in Jack’s direction. Jack pushed himself off the bar and was making fast tracks to the other side when Mel reacted.
Mel felt a hand run over her bottom and inch between her legs. She was stunned for a moment, disbelieving. Then her instincts kicked in and shifted her beer to her other hand, threw an elbow back into his gut, brought that same elbow up under his chin, swept his legs out from under him with one booted foot, lifting him off his feet to send him crashing to the floor, flat on his back. She put her foot on his chest and glared into his eyes. “Don’t you ever try anything like that again!” All this without spilling a drop of her beer.
Jack froze at the end of the bar. Whoa, he thought. Damn.
A second passed. Then Mel looked around the now silent room in some embarrassment. Everyone was shocked and staring. “Oh!” she said, but her foot still held Nick on his back. Nick who, it seemed, couldn’t draw a breath, just lay there, stunned. She removed her foot. “Oh...” she said.
A laugh broke out of the crowd. Someone clapped. A woman yelped approvingly. Mel backed away somewhat sheepishly. She ended up at the bar, right in front of Jack. Right where she felt safest. Jack put a hand on her shoulder and glared in Nick’s direction.
* * *
Mel felt awfully sorry for Jo Ellen. What’s a woman from a town this size supposed to do with an obnoxious husband like that? Once Jo peeled him off the floor and took him home, the party became much more fun, and the jokes were fabulous. Several men asked her to arm wrestle and she had clearly become a hero to the women.
The stories of Nick’s antics were both shocking and entertaining. Once, when he was feeling invincible and couldn’t resist a breast, he’d been coldcocked by a woman. Up till tonight that was the most legendary put down he’d suffered. He’d collected a number of slaps, but by some miracle had not yet been beat to a pulp by an angry husband; he was apparently regarded as a pathetic joke. It seemed that when there was some kind of community or neighborhood party, like tonight, he’d have a couple of pops and get frisky, take chances that, by the light of day, he managed to keep under control. His reputation was firmly established.
