“You have gas in that truck, Mr. Creighton?” Mel asked. When he nodded, she asked, “You all right to drive? It would be better for you to follow us to the hospital so you have transportation.” He nodded again and started fishing in his pocket for his keys.
And something happened during this whole operation that Mel would never comment to anyone about but that filled her with a warm pride. Dahlia had had a little accident, possibly from stark fear that she was dying, or maybe fear that the men would drop her. She’d wet herself and, in the process of moving her, Jack’s sleeve had been soaked.
Cam and Mel jumped in the back of the Hummer. Mel asked Preacher to call the hospital and tell them they were en route. The door slammed behind them and, without a word, Jack and Preacher unbuttoned their shirts and exchanged them. Jack was swimming in Preacher’s dry shirt; Preacher was walking back to the bar in a sleeveless T-shirt in the cold late-March afternoon, carrying Jack’s soiled shirt. And within ten seconds, Jack was behind the wheel of the Hummer, driving out of town.
Oh God, she thought. Where do you find men like these? Men who will do absolutely whatever it takes to help people, no matter what? She’d chosen this profession; she’d chosen to be up to her shoulders in whatever medical problem or mess came her way. She’d been bled on, crapped on, peed on, puked on, and it never discouraged her from providing whatever was needed medically. But Jack was just Jack. Preacher, a cook! They weren’t nurses, doctors or medics, and yet she couldn’t count the times they jumped in and helped, even if it left them covered with blood or amniotic fluid or—this time—the wet accident of a woman he barely knew who was in a traumatic, life-threatening situation.
They were made of gold.
Dahlia Creighton made it all the way to Valley Hospital before she arrested. She was resuscitated in the emergency room and the staff cardiologist was conferring over the phone with a doctor at a larger hospital about transporting her for an angiogram and possible bypass surgery.
Cameron, Jack and Mel didn’t hang around—there was nothing more they could do for her now. The drive back to Virgin River was long and quiet in the Hummer. When they got to town, there wasn’t enough day left to open the clinic. Jack pulled up in front of the clinic and Mel said, “I’ll get a bucket of soapy water to clean out the back.”
“I’ll help,” Cam said. “We’ll get it done quickly.”
“Need another hand?” Jack asked.
“Nah,” Mel said. “Your dinner crowd will be showing up pretty soon. I’ll stop by the bar before I head out to Brie’s to pick up the kids.”
Donned in latex gloves with twin buckets, Cam and Mel scrubbed things down. Mel took the gurney out and was working on it while Cam crawled inside the back of the Hummer, washing it down, standard procedure between uses. When everything was shining, supplies in the Humvee and medical bags refreshed, buckets of water tossed in the flower beds around the porch, Cam said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I’m going to have to make a few adjustments in my schedule. I’m going to have to find another job in a few months.”
She smiled at him and dried off her hands. “I figured something would have to change.”
“I invited Abby to come here for dinner tonight. I want to talk to her about things. I’m going to try to convince her we should be roommates.”
“Roommates? How romantic,” Mel said.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t have romantic feelings, but I want to take better care of my family. Whether she likes it or not, she’s my family. At least, she’s giving birth to my family. In another month, she’s going to realize how much she needs me nearby. After they’re born…” He shook his head. “After they’re born, she’s going to need me even more.”
“So. You have a plan?”
“I don’t want to let the town down. But if I can find a hospital or practice nearby that could use a doctor, at least part-time, I’ll live in Virgin River and keep appointments here as often as possible. I’d like to be on hand either in the mornings or afternoons, and evenings and weekends for house calls. The problem is the emergency care.”
“Cam, we have an emergency that needs medical intervention and transport about three or four times a year. There’s a fair chance you’d be taking a day off or out of town visiting your family when those emergencies occur. On the other hand, there’s an equal chance you could keep a job in Fortuna or Eureka and be right here when we have an emergency. What I really need is a physician who keeps appointments and makes a few house calls, not an E.R. doctor. We call the sheriff’s department or paramedics—it might take them a little longer, but that’s how it is when you live in a rural area. Our people understand that. If you hadn’t been here today for Dahlia, I could have called Mercy Air, medical transport.” She smiled. “I might hang on to you a little longer if you have a way to take care of your family.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “In the end, where I live isn’t going to be up to me. I’m not letting them get away. If Abby insists on living in some godforsaken place like London, I’ll follow.”
Mel couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “Godforsaken London? I’d give my eyeteeth to spend a year in London.”
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“I understand—you got your head wrapped around being a small-town doctor, living in the mountains, a low-stress lifestyle, and then, whoops—you’re going to be a father.”
“As you would say, boy howdie.”
“So—tell me your plan,” she said. “I know you have one.”
“The beginning of one. I’m solvent for a while yet. I won’t be desperate for more income before the end of summer, but I should start looking. I want to hang close for now because those babies could come in a couple of months, hopefully not earlier, and then after they’re born, I want to help Abby get a couple months under her belt before I start working two or three jobs. There’s room for her in the clinic while I look around for something to rent that will hold all of us, something real close. I can give her my room and sleep in the patient room. If there’s a God, I’ll find a nice, comfortable three-bedroom not far from here.”
“I can help you out there. The cabin’s empty. Two bedrooms and a loft, ten minutes from town, no farther away than I am.”
“Don’t you need it for family and friends?”
“Now that Luke Riordan has those cabins on the river all fixed up, we’re in great shape. The Sheridans show up from time to time, but we have a guest room and guesthouse. We bought the cabin to have a handy alternative for emergencies. This qualifies.”
He hung his head and shook it. “You must think I’m a complete idiot.”
Her laughter brought his head up. “Me?” she asked. “Cameron, I never planned a pregnancy in my life, and I’m the expert! Just work it out if you can. I want the best for all of you.”
He smiled. “I’ll work out some rent agreement with you and Jack.”
“Don’t be absurd. You practically work for free. The longer I can keep you around, the better. Besides, that cabin has good fortune. I gave birth to David there.” She laughed at the shudder she saw pass through him. He was no doubt imagining his twins coming out in that cabin. She put a hand on his arm. “Work things out any way you can, Cameron. You can have the cabin for as long as you need it.”
“Should you check with Jack about that?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Jack will do anything I ask.” Then she grinned. “Besides, Jack would approve of this idea. If it works for you.”
Six
Abby was primping in front of the mirror, Vanessa standing in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed over her chest, watching. “My face is fat,” Abby said.
“It’s not,” Vanessa argued. “You look beautiful. Amazing. And huge.”
Cameron was cooking Abby dinner at the clinic tonight. He thought they should talk about a few things, which was totally reasonable. Abby plucked at the mother-to-be top Vanni had loaned her. “Are you sure you wore this the very last week of your pregnancy?”
“I was only having one, remember. Abby, you look wonderful. You do want to look wonderful, don’t you?”
“I’ll be content if I don’t spoil his appetite with the way I look,” she said, but she leaned closer to the mirror to carefully line her lips. Then she ran the comb through her shiny hair one more time. Then she licked a finger and smoothed it over one finely arched eyebrow, shaping it.
“Uh-huh,” Vanni said doubtfully. “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? What does he want to talk about?”
“Not sure,” Abby said. Then she ran her hands over her belly. “It’s not like we don’t have plenty on the roster. Vanni, I’m only six months pregnant and I look like I’m going to drop them tomorrow. I don’t know if I can stretch anymore!”
“Bet you can.” Vanni laughed. “I won’t wait up.”
“I’ll be home early,” Abby promised.
“Please, not on my account. Why don’t you just throw caution to the wind and try to enjoy yourself.” She glanced at Abby’s big belly. “You enjoyed yourself once. I bet you can again. Cam’s a great guy.”
Abby knew this, and not just because Vanni wouldn’t let her forget it. If she had to get knocked up by a virtual stranger, at least she picked a decent guy. And it was just too bad that their relationship was so rife with complications, with unknowns. The only things that were for sure—Abby was a nice person, Cameron was a great guy, and two babies were going to come barreling out of her in about two months, give or take. She could already tell she’d never make it to term.
Abby got to town promptly at six and found the clinic door unlocked. “Hello?” she called after stepping inside.
Cam looked down the hall from the kitchen, a plain white apron wrapped around his hips and a spoon in his hand. He smiled at her. “Hi. Go ahead and lock that door, Abby. They have to knock after clinic hours.”
“Sure,” she said, throwing the dead bolt. When she got to the kitchen, he had discarded the spoon and helped her out of her coat. He hung it on the peg by the back door and said, “You look pretty, Abby. Beautiful, in fact.”
“Thanks. I look full-term and I’m not even close.”
“You look perfect. Healthy and strong and very pregnant.” He grinned at her. “You feel okay?”
“Sure,” she said. “Fine.” In fact, her back was aching, her ankles were swelling and she was getting these mysterious pains in her lower abdomen that Mel and John Stone described as ligament-stretching pains that felt at least like a pulled muscle, sometimes every bit as powerful as a knife thrust. Sleeping was getting difficult and heartburn had settled in with a vengeance. “I get some heartburn” was all she admitted to. “It’s a good excuse to eat ice cream at night. What did you cook?”
“Spaghetti with meatballs and sausage,” he answered with a grimace. “I don’t have ice cream, but I do have Tums. I never even thought of heartburn.”
“I might go light on the sausage, but I so love it,” she said, sitting down. He’d set the table in mismatched stoneware. She ran a finger around the plate in front of her.
“Doc’s old stuff,” he said. “If I’d known the kitchen wasn’t very well stocked, I could have brought my own stuff. I don’t mind cooking and I’m kind of good. All my kitchenware is in storage at the moment.”
“So is mine,” she said. “We’re both like a couple of Gypsies right now, aren’t we?” She leaned back in her chair and rubbed the small of her back.
