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“Hmm.” Mel took a sip of her drink and let her eyes slowly drift closed appreciatively.
“Connie’s going to be all right?”
“Oh, better than all right,” Doc said. “People go into that surgery a little gray around the gills and they give them nice fresh, clear arteries to float their oxygen through and they come out rosy cheeked and brand-new.”
Mel took another sip. “Oh, God, I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.”
“You want me to light the fire?” Jack asked her.
“No, just let me drink this. Tell Doc I caught a fish today.”
“She did,” he said. “Wasn’t much of a fish, but she caught it herself. Even if she couldn’t take it off the hook without help.”
Doc peered at her over his specs and she lifted her chin a bit defiantly. “Careful, Melinda,” he said. “You could become one of us.”
“Not likely,” she said. “Not until you at least get a camper shell. We’d have been better off in the back of my BMW.”
“You’d have been better off,” Doc said. “That piece of shit isn’t big enough for a patient having a heart attack and a practitioner trying to keep her alive.”
“I’m not going to fight with you for saying that,” she said. “Because you at least called me a practitioner and not a nurse. You seem to be coming around, you old fart.”
She looked up at Jack. “We keeping you up?”
“Nah,” he said, chuckling. “Take your time. In fact, I’ll join you.” He reached behind him and selected a bottle, tipping it over a glass. He lifted it in a toast to both of them.
“Good team work, amazingly. Glad everything’s okay.”
Mel was exhausted, most of which came from the ride and long afternoon of tensely waiting at the hospital. Connie, she realized without much surprise, was more than a patient to her—she was a friend. And when you do this kind of work in this kind of place, your patients are almost always your friends. Must be hard to maintain objectivity. On the other hand, success was that much more gratifying. Fulfilling. It wasn’t like this in L.A.
Doc finished his whiskey and got up. “Nicely done, Melinda. We’ll try to have a dull day tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doc.”
After the doctor left, Jack said, “Sounds like maybe the two of you have started to bond or something.”
“Or something,” she said, sipping.
“How was that trip to Valley Hospital?”
“Like Mr. Toad’s wild ride,” she said, making him laugh a little. She pushed her glass toward him and he gave her another splash of Crown.
“You want ice or water with that?” he asked her.
“No, this is good. Very good, in fact.”
She sipped her drink rather too quickly. She looked up at him, tilted her head to one side, then inclined it toward the glass.
“You sure? Because I think maybe that’s enough. Your cheeks are flushed and I can tell, you’re not cold anymore.”
“Just a tish.”
A tish was what she got—a couple of swallows.
“Thanks for taking me fishing,” she said. “Sorry you didn’t get in my pants again.”
A large surprised laugh escaped him. She was getting a little tiddly. “That’s okay, Melinda. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Aha! I knew it!”
“Like it’s been hard to tell.”
“You’re so transparent.” She downed the rest of her drink. “I’d better get going. I’m completely shot.” She stood up and nearly fell down. She grabbed at the bar to right herself and Jack came around to her side. He put an arm around her waist. She looked up at him with watery eyes and said, “Damn. I forgot to eat.”
“Let me make you some coffee,” he suggested.
“And ruin this perfectly good buzz? Hell, I’ve earned it.” She took a step and wavered. “Besides, I don’t think it’ll make me sober. Probably just wide-awake drunk.”
Jack tightened his hold around her and laughed in spite of himself. “All right, Mel. I can put you in my bed and take the couch…”
“But sometimes I have deer in my yard in the morning,” she said, a little whiny. “I want to go home. They might come back.”
Home. That sounded good to Jack, that she thought of that cabin as her home. “All right, Mel. I’ll take you home.”
“That’s a relief,” she said. “Because I’m pretty sure I already can’t drive. Even on a straight and undangerous road.”
“You’re a lightweight,” he said.
They took a couple of steps and her legs buckled a second time. He gave a sigh and bent to lift her into his arms. She patted his chest. “It’s good that you’re strong,” she said. “You’re good to have around. It’s like having my own personal valet.”
He chuckled under his breath. Preacher had gone upstairs for the night so he turned off the Open sign and managed to get his keys out of his pocket without dropping her. He locked the front door and took her down the steps and around to the back of the bar where he kept his truck. He put her in and she managed, though with some difficulty, to buckle her seat belt. When he got in and started the truck she said, “You know something, Jack? You’ve turned out to be my very good friend.”
“That’s nice, Mel.”
“I really appreciate this. Boy, whew. I’m sure not much of a drinker. I think I’m a one-beer girl. Two if I’ve had a side of beef and an apple pie.”
“I think you’ve assessed the situation correctly.”
“If I ask for the good stuff again, be sure to ask me if I’ve had food.”
“Sure will,” he said.
She laid her head back on the seat. Within five minutes, it lolled. And Jack spent the rest of the drive wondering a couple of things. One—what if she roused enough as he was taking her inside to invite him to stay? That would be okay, wouldn’t it? Even though she was just a “tish” disadvantaged? Or—what if she didn’t rouse and he just lay down beside her to be there in case she woke and decided it was time? That would be okay. Or maybe he could just wait on her couch, in case she needed anything…like sex. Then if she woke up during the night he’d be there. He’d be ready. He’d been ready.
He played a dozen scenarios in his mind. He would carry her to her room and she would wake and say, “Stay with me tonight.” He really didn’t have the strength to say no. Or, she would wake and he would kiss her and then she would say, “Okay.” Or morning would come, he would already be there and she would say, “Now, Jack.”
Whoo boy. He was getting a little warm.
But she was still asleep when he pulled up in front of her cabin. He unbuckled her and lifted her out of the truck. He whacked her head on the door frame. “Ow!” she yelled, her hand going to her head.
“Sorry,” he said. And thought to himself, foreplay that was not.
“S’okay.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.
Now, he thought, I should stay to be sure she doesn’t have a concussion. And that she doesn’t need sex for it. Or just to be there in case she did…
He carried her across the porch, through the door to her room and, flipping on the light, laid her on the bed. Without opening her eyes she said, “Thank you, Jack.”
“You’re welcome, Melinda,” he said. “Your head okay?”
“What head?”
“Okay. Let’s get your boots off.”
“Boots. Off.” She lifted a leg, making him laugh. He pulled the boot off. The leg dropped and the other one came up. He pulled that one off and the leg dropped. Then she curled into a cute little package, pulling the quilt around her. He looked down at her and saw that it was lights out for Melinda. Then he saw the picture. Something hit him, and it didn’t feel particularly good. He picked up the picture and looked at the man’s face. So, you’re the guy, he thought. He didn’t look like a bad guy—but clearly he had done something to Mel. Something she was having trouble getting beyond. Maybe he’d left her for another woman—but that seemed impossible to imagine. Maybe he left her for a man. Oh, please let it be so—I can make that better—just give me five minutes. Or maybe he looked harmless but had been an impossible asshole and she’d broken off with him, but still loved him helplessly. And here she had his picture right there, to be the last face she saw before falling asleep at night.
At some point she was going to give Jack a chance to make that picture go away, but it wasn’t going to be tonight. Probably just as well. If she woke to find him there, either in her bed or ready to be, she would put the blame on Crown Royal. He wanted it to come from desire—and he wanted it to be real.
He scribbled a note. I’ll be back for you at 8:00 a.m. Jack. He left it by the coffeepot. Then he went to his truck to get something he’d purchased earlier in the day. He brought the leather case holding the dismantled fly fishing rod and reel and the waders into the house and left them by the front door. And went home. At 8:00 a.m. he was back in front of her cabin and what he saw made him smile. All the disappointing thoughts that had plagued him the night before vanished. She was sitting in her Adirondack chair in her new waders, idly casting her fly into the yard. A steaming cup of coffee rested on the wide chair arm beside her. He got out of the truck, grinning. “You found it,” he said, walking to the porch.
“I love it! Did you get this for me?”
“I did.”
“But why?”
“When we go fishing, I need to stand beside you. Not in back of you, smelling your hair and feeling you against me. You need your own stuff. How do they fit?”
She stood up and turned around for him. “Perfect. I’ve been practicing.”
“Getting any better?”
“I am. I’m sorry about last night, Jack. I had been tense and hungry and freezing all day and it really hit me.”
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“I should keep this in my trunk, huh? In case we have a light day at Doc’s and can just sneak off and fish.”
“Good idea, Mel.”
“Let me put my gear away,” she said happily.
And he thought—just give me time. I’m going to get that picture put in storage. Ricky hadn’t been around the bar the week right after Connie’s heart attack, hanging close to the family in case they needed him for anything. When he did come into the bar, it was late and there were only two men at a table and Preacher behind the bar. Ricky sat up at the bar, his eyes downcast.
“How’s everybody doing?” Preacher asked.
He shrugged. “Connie’s doing pretty good I guess. They sent Liz back to her mom’s in Eureka.”
“Eureka isn’t the end of the world, man. You can visit her.”
Ricky looked down. “Yeah, but…probably shouldn’t,” he said. “She was…she was the first girl I felt that way about.” He looked up. “You know. That way.”
The two men at the table stood and wandered out of the bar. “Close call?” Preacher asked him.
“I wish. Holy God,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I thought I had it under control.”
Preacher did something he’d never done before. He drew a couple of cold drafts and put one in front of Rick, one in front of himself. “Tough call, that control thing.”
“Tell me about it. This for me?”
Preacher lifted an eyebrow. “I thought maybe you might need it right about now.”
“Thanks,” he said, lifting the glass. “She doesn’t look like a kid, but she’s just a kid. She’s way too young.”
