by Robyn Carr
“Oh, lovely,” Joey said sarcastically, causing Mel to laugh.
“It was fantastic,” Mel said. “There’s another pregnant woman in town and I’m thinking of staying for her, too. The cabin is just great—you saw the pictures.”
“I saw. Mel, are you dressed for the day?”
“Yeah...?”
“Look at your feet. Tell me what’s on your feet.”
She sighed. “My Cole Haan boots. I love these boots.”
“They cost over four hundred dollars!”
“And they’re starting to look like crap, too,” she said. “If you only knew where I’ve been...”
“Mel, you’re not one of them. Don’t get them depending on you. Come to Colorado. We can accommodate your shoe fetish and you can find a good job here—close to us.”
“I sleep so well here,” she said. “I was afraid I’d never sleep well again—it’s probably the air. It’s so unbelievable, it almost wears you out—by the end of the day the bed feels so good. The pace is slower. I’ve needed a slower pace.”
“Are you that busy? With patients?” Joey asked.
“Not that much. They’re very sparse, actually. We only make well-visit appointments on Wednesdays and the rest of the week they either wander in with one complaint or another, or Doc goes to them. I go along most of the time. Or people wander in to talk, or drop off a pie, or some fresh baked dinner rolls. But the women—the pregnant ones—are so relieved after one look at my hands, compared to Doc’s.”
“What do you do with yourself?”
“Well,” she said, laughing, “every day I walk down to the corner store to watch a soap with Connie and Joy, two middle-aged best friends who have been watching televised adultery on Riverside Falls for about fifteen years. The side comments are more interesting than the show.”
“Gawd,” she said.
“I go out to the Anderson ranch and hold the baby—Chloe. She’s thriving there, and so is Lilly. More and more I know that was the right thing to do, and it just fell in my lap. Sometimes I take some of our leftover food out to this bunch of bums in the forest—they look so thin and hungry, but Doc says they’ll probably bury us all. I stop by the bar to see if anyone’s playing cribbage. If I can reel him in, Doc and I play gin—but it’s hard to catch him in the mood. He taught me to play and now he can’t beat me. Penny a point—I’m funding my retirement.”
“So—when do you think you’re going to get over this break from sanity?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just let me think about it. I’ve only been here a couple of months—it’s not an eternity.”
“But I hate to think of you rotting away in some dinky town, watching the soaps and growing bad roots.”
“I could visit Dot in that garage where she does hair...”
“Ugh. Aren’t you lonely, honey?”
“Not so much. At the end of the day, if nothing’s going on, we go to the bar—Doc has his one whiskey of the day and I get a cold beer. There are always people around. We eat dinner—someone usually says, come over and sit with us. There’s great gossip, that’s the cool part about small towns where everyone knows everyone’s business. Except, apparently, who gave birth to little Chloe. I just count it lucky that no woman who suffered postpartum hemorrhage or infection turned up. And also—no word from Social Services.”
“I miss you so much. This is about the longest we’ve been apart in years... Why do you sound happy?”
“Do I? Maybe because everyone around me is happy. They let me know they’re glad I’m here, even if my presence isn’t medically saving this town.” She took a breath. “I still feel out of place a lot, but I think I’m more content than I’ve been in eleven months and three days. I might finally be detoxing from the adrenaline.”
“Promise me you’re not going to stay in that godforsaken place, alone, watching soaps and drinking beer.”
Mel’s voice became soft. “It’s not godforsaken, Joey. It’s...” She struggled for a word. “It’s breathtaking. Oh, the architecture leaves something to be desired—most of the houses and buildings are small and old and could use paint. But the countryside is wondrous. And I’m not lonely—I have a town. I’ve never had a town before.”
* * *
Ricky and Liz were going to the spring dance at the high school. Except they didn’t. It gave Rick a twinge of guilt because he knew in his heart that Connie and Ron trusted him. And probably they shouldn’t.
The thing about living in a small town in the midst of dozens of small towns separated by forests was there were a million secluded places to park and make out. He always had a condom in his pocket, one that he was determined not to have to use, but he had it just the same. He hadn’t even needed Jack to supply him—he was on top of that. He felt protective toward Liz; he didn’t want to get her into trouble. What they were doing was working, even if it was getting them pretty worked up.
And they were doing plenty. It got off to a roaring start. Lots of deep kissing, heavy petting, incredible rubbing. They’d done a lot of bumping and grinding on the outside of clothes, but now they were getting right down to the skin, deeper than skin, but not going all the way. They were catching on real fast. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out how to have orgasms without penetration, for which Rick was sublimely grateful. Even so, he wanted more. Wanted it real bad, and so did she. He was about ready to have the big talk with her, but he knew he had to save it for the clear light of day, not the dark of night while they were pawing each other in the cab of his little truck.
He loved making her feel good; she really wanted to please him. He hadn’t imagined it could be this wonderful—holding someone, loving them, touching them, giving these feelings, receiving them. Nothing had prepared him for how you could be swept away by it all; it was as though the sheer pleasure had a life of its own.
He had moved over to the passenger seat and held her on his lap, kissing her, hard and hot while she squirmed around deliciously.
His hand wandered under her short skirt and met with... Nothing.
“Oh my Jesus,” he whispered.
“Surprise,” she said, grinding on his lap. Then her hand went there, feeling him through his clothes, making him nearly cry out.
She scooted forward on his lap a little. He slid back in the seat slightly, knowing that she would now take him in her small hand. He lived for that. As she opened his pants to free him, he massaged her with his fingers of one hand, fondling her breast with the other, drowning in her mouth, holding her tight against him. She was moving roughly against his hand, wriggling, reaching desperately for her special moment, when suddenly she shifted her weight slightly. She was straining toward him, he was straining toward her, her hands went to his shoulders, his hands grabbed her fanny, her knee went across his lap and she was over him. She moved down, he moved up and they were suddenly disastrously, wondrously, exquisitely merged. She came right down on him. He lifted right up into her; she was all around him. It was a whole new world, a lot better than a hand. He couldn’t breathe.
“Holy God, Liz,” he whispered. “Oh my Jesus.”
She was oblivious, pressing furiously into his lap, on a mission.
“Liz. Lizzie. No. Lizzie. Holy God. Holy Jesus.”
He was half trying, half hoping to fail to lift her off him, to get out of her, when it happened for her and the sensation of her body squeezing around him, clenching in hot spasms as she moaned her ecstasy, caused him to lose his mind. He thought he might have been momentarily unconscious. He lost all will. And that wasn’t all he lost. He blew it—erupted inside of her with the force of a volcano. Right after he thought Ahhhh, he thought Oh, fuck. Way to go, genius.
She collapsed into his arms and he held her, stroking her back as she calmed. As he calmed. As they caught their collective breath. Finally he said, “That could have b
een a huge mistake.”
“Oh-oh,” she said. “Oh-oh. Now what?”
“Well, I sure as hell can’t reel it back in,” he told her. “If I’d known that was going to happen... Liz, I have a condom, for Christ’s sake.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I didn’t know we were going to do that.”
“I didn’t know, either.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her head to his shoulder and cried. “I’m sorry, Rick.”
“No. I’m sorry. Okay, baby, take it easy. Can’t do anything about it now. Shh.” He held her and she rested against him, close in his arms. He kissed her cheeks and lips until her tears stopped. Then he took her open mouth again. God, her mouth was hot. And after a little while, as he held her, he began to grow firm again, and he was still there, inside. Without meaning to, without planning to, he began to pump his hips up and down again, driving himself into her. And she pushed into his lap. What the hell—the damage was done, he thought. And he said, “Can’t do anything about it now...”
Eight
There were no patients in the morning and Mel took the opportunity to drive over to Clear River for gas, there being no service station in Virgin River. She took the pager with her so that Doc could call her back if something happened, but hardly anything ever happened.
Every time she went to one of the little surrounding towns she looked in particular at the women, wondering where Jack might have gone once in a while for “something a little basic.” It didn’t take her long to realize that he probably had his pick, and that there were plenty of attractive women around these towns.
She thought she might like to get something like a salt lick or some kind of feed for the edge of her property to draw the deer, so went to the very small strip mall on the main drag. As she passed the hardware store, she saw a window display of shears mounted on pegboard. They ranged in size from tiny scissors to clippers with six-inch, thick, curved blades. She stared at them, frowning, for a long time.
“Help you?” a young woman in a green store apron asked.
“Hmm. What do you do with those?”
“Roses,” she said, smiling.
“Roses? I haven’t seen that many roses around.”
“Oh, you’re not looking hard enough,” she said, grinning.
“Hmm. Well, I’m looking for something that would draw deer,” Mel said.
“Like a doe call? But hunting season is months away.”
“God, I wouldn’t shoot at them! I like seeing them in my yard in the early morning. Can you tell me where to find that?”
“Um, if you want deer in your yard, you’re the only one. Just plant some lettuce or a couple of apple trees. With deer, if you don’t want them in your produce, you can hardly keep them away.”
“Oh. If I throw some lettuce out there, will that work? Because I don’t garden.”
The woman tilted her head and smiled with eyes that frowned. “Where you from?”
“Los Angeles. Concrete jungle.”
“I mean, now.”
“Up in Virgin River. Kind of back in the woods, you know...”
“Listen, don’t try the lettuce, okay. Because there are also bear. Just keep your food indoors and don’t press your luck. If you get deer, you get deer.” Then she looked down and said, “Nice boots. Where can I get a pair like that?”
Mel thought a second, then said, “Can’t really remember. Target, I think.”
* * *
Rather than going back to Doc’s, she drove out to the river. She saw that there were six anglers in the river, and that one of them was Jack. She pulled up, parked, and got out to lean against the front of her car to watch. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiled a hello, but went back to his sport. He’d pull out some line and let it slack, then gracefully cast out, the line reaching behind him in a large S before sailing smoothly out over the river, touching down on the top of the water as lightly as a leaf floating lazily down from a tree. And again, and again.
She loved to watch the arc of the lines, the whir of them going out, the clicking of them reeling in. They seemed almost synchronized, choreographed, the air above the water filled with flying lines. The men, in waders and vests, would walk around the swirling shallow waters while fish jumped now and then in the river. If there was a catch, the fish would either be released or go in the creel dangling from a shoulder strap.
After a peaceful interlude, Jack came out of the river with his rod and reel in hand. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just watching.”
“Want to try?”
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“It’s not very hard—let’s see if I can scrounge some boots or waders.” He went to his truck and dug around in the back. He came up with some huge rubber hip boots. “This’ll keep you dry—but you won’t be able to wade too far out.”
She stepped into them. His legs were so much longer than hers that he had to fold them down twice at the top of her thighs, not an unpleasant sensation. They were so big that she had to shuffle rather than walk, dragging them along. “I won’t be able to run for my life, either,” she said. “Okay, what do I do?”
“It’s all in the wrist,” he said. “Don’t worry about aim so much as a nice clean arc and a little distance—getting you into the deeper part of the river where the fish are more plentiful.” He took her hand, led her to the water’s edge, and showed her his casting. “Don’t snap it hard, just roll it off nice and easy. Give it a little arm, but don’t throw your body into it.”
He handed her the rod, showed her where to unlock the reel. She gave it a try and the fly plunked down right in front of her. “How’s that for distance?”
“We’re going to have to work on that,” he said. He stepped behind her and guiding her hand, helped her cast. Twenty-five feet, maybe. Probably a fourth of the distance he could achieve, and her fly came down hard, making a splash. “Hmm, better,” he said. “Reel her in, slowly.”
She brought it back and repeated the process, this time without his hand guiding hers. “Good,” he said. “Watch your footing—there are spots where you can drop, trip, slip off a rock. You wouldn’t want to fall in.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” she said, casting again. That time she flicked her wrist too hard and the hook flew back behind them, whooshing past their heads. “Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, but be careful. I’d hate to have that thing pulled out of the back of my head. Here,” he said. He stood behind her and put a hand on her hip. “Don’t throw your body into it—just use your arm and wrist—and go easy. You’ll get the distance. Eventually.”
She did it again, and it was good. A nice, graceful arc, a respectable distance into the river. A fish jumped out where her fly had landed. “Oh, he’s a big one.”
“Brown trout—a beauty. You get him today and you’ll show up all of us.”
Something slithered past her feet and she jumped with a gasp. “Lamprey eel,” he said. “They like to suck the roe and fluids out of the salmon.”
“Ew. Charming.” She cast again. And again. This was fun. Now and then Jack would take her wrist and cast with her, reminding her of the wrist action. The other hand stayed on her hip, holding her still. “I like this,” she said. Then she had a hit and reeled in a fish. It wasn’t a very big fish, but it was a fish. And she’d caught him by herself.
“Not bad,” he said. “Take it off the hook carefully.”
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“I’ll show you, but then you have to do it. If you’re going to fish, you’re going to take the fish off the hook. Like this.” He demonstrated, sliding his hand from the fish’s head to his wriggling body, holding it firmly, disengaging the hook cautiously. “His mouth is okay. We’re going to let hi
m grow into a civilized meal,” he said, tossing the fish back.
“Aw,” she said.
“You got lucky. Come on,” he said, turning her back to the river. He stood behind her, holding her body straight and still with that large hand on her hip, his other hand guiding her wrist. She cast again, reeled in again.
“Jack, are there an awful lot of roses around here in summer?” she asked.
“Hmm? I don’t know. Sure, some.”
“I stopped by the hardware store this morning and they had this huge display of rose clippers. All sizes. I guess I’ve never noticed anything like that before...”
When she brought in her line, he turned her around slightly. He frowned. “Rose clippers?”
“Uh-huh. From little tiny ones to great big ones with curved blades and leather grips.”
“Where?”
“Clear River. I went over for gas and—”
“Mel, those aren’t rose clippers. Well, I guess you could use ’em for that. More likely, they’re for marijuana harvests. Little ones for manicuring buds, big ones for cutting down plants.”
“Naw. Come on.”
He turned her back toward the river. “There are towns around here that stock a lot of the stuff illegal growers need. Clear River’s one. What were you doing at the hardware store?”
“I thought I’d pick up something that would invite the deer to my yard, like a salt lick or feed or something, but—”
He turned her back to face him again. “Salt lick?”
“Well, cows like that, right? So I thought...”
He was shaking his head. “Mel, listen—don’t do anything to invite wildlife to your yard. You might get some unfriendlies. Okay? Like maybe a buck who’s more interested in rutting than having his picture taken. Or a bear. Understand?”
“Rutting?” She frowned.
He smiled patiently and touched the end of her nose. “Making love.”
