Virgin River. Робин Карр

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      “Well, it’s irrelevant now,” Mel said, sipping again. “Jack, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had. Either that, or I had a bad couple of days and am easily impressed by some creature comforts.”

      “No, it’s really that good.” He frowned and reached out, lifting a lock of her hair off her shoulder. “Do you have mud in your hair?”

      “Probably,” she said. “I was standing on the porch, appreciating the beauty of this nice spring morning when one end gave way and spilled me right into a big, nasty mud puddle. And I wasn’t brave enough to try out the shower—it’s beyond filthy. But I thought I got it all off.”

      “Oh, man,” he said, surprising her with a big laugh. “Could you have had a worse day? If you’d like, I have a shower in my quarters—clean as a whistle.” He grinned again. “Towels even smell like Downy.”

      “Thanks, but I think I’ll just move on. When I get closer to the coast, I’m going to get a hotel room and have a quiet, warm, clean evening. Maybe rent a movie.”

      “Sounds nice,” he said. “Then back to Los Angeles?”

      She shrugged. “No,” she said. She couldn’t do that. Everything from the hospital to the house would conjure sweet memories and bring her grief to the surface. She just couldn’t move on as long as she stayed in L.A. Besides, now there was nothing there for her anymore. “It’s time for a change. But it turns out this was too big a change. Have you lived here all your life?”

      “Me? No. Only a little while. I grew up in Sacramento. I was looking for a good place to fish and stayed on. I converted this cabin into a bar and grill and built on an addition to live in. Small, but comfortable. Preacher has a room upstairs, over the kitchen.”

      “What in the world made you stay on? I’m not trying to be flip—there doesn’t seem to be that much of a town here.”

      “If you had the time, I’d show you. This is incredible country. Over six hundred people live in and around town. Lots of people from the cities have cabins up and down the Virgin River—it’s peaceful and the fishing is excellent. We don’t have much tourist traffic through town, but fishermen come in here pretty regularly and some hunters pass through during the season. Preacher is known for his cooking, and it’s the only place in town to get a beer. We’re right up against some redwoods—awesome. Majestic. Lots of campers and hikers around the national forests all through the summer. And the sky and air out here—you just can’t find anything like it in a city.”

      “And your son works here with you?”

      “Son? Oh,” he laughed. “Ricky? He’s a kid from town. He works around the bar after school most days. Good kid.”

      “You have family?” she asked.

      “Sisters and nieces in Sacramento. My dad is still there, but I lost my mother a few years back.”

      Preacher came out of the kitchen holding a steaming plate with a napkin. As he sat it before Mel, Jack reached beneath the bar and produced silverware and a napkin. On the plate was a luscious-looking cheese omelet with peppers, sausage patties, fruit, home fries, wheat toast. Ice water appeared; her coffee was refilled.

      Mel dipped into the omelet and brought it to her mouth. It melted there, rich and delicious. “Mmmm,” she said, letting her eyes close. After she swallowed she said, “I’ve eaten here twice, and I have to say the food is some of the best I’ve ever had.”

      “Me and Preacher—we can whip up some good food, sometimes. Preacher has a real gift. And he wasn’t a cook until he got up here.”

      She took another bite. Apparently Jack was going to stand there through her meal and watch her devour every bite. “So,” she said, “what’s the story on the doctor and Mrs. McCrea?”

      “Well, let’s see,” he said, leaning his back on the counter behind the bar, his arms wide, big hands braced on either side of him. “They tend to bicker. Two opinionated, stubborn old farts who can’t agree on anything. The fact of the matter is, I think Doc could use help—but I imagine you gathered he’s a bit on the obstinate side.”

      She made an affirmative noise, her mouth full of the most wonderful eggs she’d ever eaten.

      “The thing about this little town is—sometimes days go by without anyone needing medical attention. Then there will be weeks when everyone needs to see Doc— a flu going around while three women are about to give birth, and right then someone will fall off a horse or roof. So it goes. And although he doesn’t like to admit it, he is seventy.” Jack gave a shrug. “Next town doctor is at least a half hour away and for rural people out on farms and ranches, over an hour. The hospital is farther yet. Then, we have to think about what will happen when Doc dies, which hopefully won’t be too soon.”

      She swallowed and took a drink of water. “Why has Mrs. McCrea taken on this project?” she asked. “Is she really trying to replace him, as he says?”

      “Nah. But because of his age, it’s about time for some kind of protégé, I would think. Hope’s husband left her enough so she’ll be comfortable—she’s been widowed a long time now, I gather. And she seems to do whatever she can to keep the town together. She’s also looking for a preacher, a town cop and a schoolteacher, grades one through eight, so the little ones don’t have to bus two towns over. She hasn’t had much success.”

      “Doctor Mullins doesn’t seem to appreciate her efforts,” Mel said, blotting her lips with the napkin.

      “He’s territorial. He’s in no way ready for retirement. Maybe he’s worried that someone will show up and take over, leaving him with nothing to do. Man like Doc, never married and in service to a town all his life, would balk at that. But… see… There was an incident a few years ago, just before I got here. Two emergencies at the same time. A truck went off the road and the driver was critically injured, and a kid with a bad case of flu that turned to pneumonia stopped breathing. Doc stopped the bleeding on the truck driver, but by the time he got across the river to the kid, he was too late.”

      “God,” she said. “Bet that leaves some hard feelings.”

      “I don’t think anyone really blames him. He’s saved some lives in his time here. But the feeling he could use some help gets more support.” He smiled. “You’re the first one to show up.”

      “Hmm,” she said, taking a last sip of coffee. She heard the door open behind her and a couple of men walked in.

      “Harv. Ron,” Jack said. The men said hello and sat at a table by the window. Jack looked back at Mel. “What made you come up here?” he asked.

      “Burnout,” she said. “I got sick of being on a firstname basis with cops and homicide detectives.”

      “Jesus, just what kind of work did you do?”

      “Ever been to war?” she asked.

      “As a matter of fact,” he replied with a nod.

      “Well, big-city hospitals and trauma centers get like that. I spent years in the emergency room in downtown L.A. while I was doing my post-grad work to become a family nurse practitioner, and there were days it felt like a battle zone. Felons transported to E.R. after incurring injuries during arrest—people who were still СКАЧАТЬ