Author: Robyn Carr
Paige cast her a sweet smile. “I’m so glad I could help. As for me, I’m going to get another chance. And the next time, it will be safer and easier. Sweeter.”
Mel squeezed her hand. “Have I told you how glad I am you came to town?”
The first week of February arrived, bringing with it the excavation crew. The second week in February brought two baby showers, one in Virgin River at the home of Lilly Anderson and the second one in Grace Valley, hosted by June Hudson and Susan Stone.
As February aged and Mel’s own time drew near, her step might have become slower, but her eyes were brighter and she glowed. Joe Benson brought the final plans to Virgin River and Mel sat beside her husband in his truck and watched as the foundations for their house and the one-room guest house were laid out so they could be poured.
As she grew heavier by the day, it became obvious she wasn’t going to be answering many more, if any, emergency calls with Doc. Mel had no babies due, and while she was in town every day, she came later in the mornings. And her husband was never very far from her side.
When Mel and Jack left the bar together at the end of the day, Paige leaned against Preacher and whispered, “I can’t wait until we’re like that.”
“Fat?” he asked, chuckling.
“Fat, full, ready to pop with a new baby. I’m thinking of going off those birth control pills,” she said.
“Anytime you’re ready,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I told you, I’m in all the way.”
“Hmm, that’s so nice. I’m going to give Christopher his bath while you finish up and close the bar.”
“I’ll be up in a minute,” he said, giving her a loving pat on the rump.
It was this time of day that Preacher had come to regard as the magic that made his life work. Every little piece of it. He liked the act of cleaning his kitchen and never failed to feel grateful for all that was his. Had he not been here, working the place for his best friend, he would not have found Paige, and Christopher, who had become his son.
He locked the door and went upstairs to Christopher’s bedroom and, finding him already in the bed, waiting with his book, Preacher sat on the bed beside him. Chris crept closer, climbing up on his lap and touching the pictures in the book while Preacher softly read. Before long, the little guy slept and Preacher was able to kiss him, tuck him in and turn off the lights.
In his own room, he found Paige in front of the bathroom mirror brushing out her hair. She wore her pajama top, which came to her thighs. He came up behind her and moved her hair over one shoulder to kiss her neck, running his big hand up her thigh to her hip, finding, much to his liking, that she was naked under there. It wasn’t as though she had to be psychic to anticipate him—he wanted her all the time. She wanted him to want her, and she let him know.
His hands crept higher under the shirt until he held one breast in each hand. She leaned her head back against him and hummed in pleasure. He pulled his hands out and slowly began unbuttoning her top, watching himself and her in the mirror. Her right arm came up, reaching behind herself to his shoulder, and curled her hand behind his neck. Her top unbuttoned and hanging open, he slipped one hand inside to cup her breast while his other fell over her soft pubic mound. And he looked at their reflection. Her head turned, she rested against his chest with her eyes closed, one arm lifted high above her head to embrace him, the other resting lightly atop the arm that had captured her breast. He never dared hope for this—that he would be half of a couple, a handsome, erotic, loving and perfect couple. And something surprised him—he didn’t look scary at all. He looked like a man in love, a man holding his woman with sure, strong and gentle hands. And his woman leaning into his embrace, filled with desire for him, her lips parted slightly in a soft sigh. Sighs that would soon become powerful as she gave herself over to him completely. Within her adoring, he had flourished.
Preacher had no idea he could be like this—so sexual, so confident, so deeply in love. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Baby, I’m going to make you feel so good.”
“I know, John,” she whispered. “I know.”
The night that Mike Valenzuela lay in bed and listened to Jack toss and turn after the loss of Liz and Rick’s baby, he knew it was time. And yet—time for what? He had no interest in going back to L.A., though his family was due a visit. There was nowhere else in Virgin River to stay. But three months in the same small space with Mel and Jack was already too much—though you’d never know they felt a strain.
That night he knew. They had to have their home back. That had provoked thought, which stimulated ideas.
He’d come so far—his right arm was stronger, his shoulder pained him less. His hand had a decent grip. He couldn’t cast with the right arm yet, but he saw hope for that because he could now shoot a pistol with his right hand as long as he gave it an assist with his left. Added to that, he had perfected his left-arm aim with both the rifle and the pistol. He could easily keep up with Jack, who was a decorated sharpshooter.
This was the place for him, he realized without much surprise. He didn’t know what he’d do here, but it didn’t really matter, because he could retire if he wanted to. He had his disability, his pension. And it cost nothing to live here. Until something changed in his head, he wanted this easy life in a small, uncomplicated town. By the time Jack was ready to frame his house in early summer, his right arm and shoulder would be strong enough to help. He’d add to the menu at Jack’s with his own fish; he’d help around town where needed. He’d live as Jack and Preacher had lived, at the center of a town that appreciated their good works and loyal friendship.
Now when he stood in front of the mirror, stripped to the waist, he saw a muscled chest, shoulders, arms. His right side was still smaller than his left around the shoulder and biceps, but it had come a long way and was barely noticeable. Sit-ups were easy; he had his six-pack back.
It was easier to pee, thanks to a round of antibiotics prescribed by Mel. But that other thing—it might be gone for good. He’d had two false alarms, waking up with a good pee hard. He’d gripped it like a drowning man, filled with hope. But, nothing. It just went back down, like the docile memory it had become. He was afraid to hope, but being a man, he held out for a miracle.
So, Mike drove to Eureka, where he bought an RV—his new home. It was his goal to be free and clear of the cabin before the baby came so that Jack and Mel could have their life back. He could park it anywhere he was needed—behind the bar, out at Mel’s cabin, even on the property on which Jack was going to build. When he drove it into town, towing his SUV behind, he pulled it right up to the front of the bar. It was the end of the workday—dinnertime. Preacher and Paige would be cooking, Rick would be working, Jack and Mel would be having that after-work drink with Doc. Friends and neighbors would be gathering soon.
He extended the bedroom and living room walls with the pop-outs and pressed the switch for the awnings, for the full effect. Once these walls were pushed out, the bedroom and living room became comfortably large. Then he honked the horn, bringing everyone out on the porch.
He jumped out—sans cane for weeks now—and stood in front of the RV, leaning against it. Mel was the first one out, Jack close on her heels.
“My new apartment,” Mike said.
“When…? What…?” Mel stammered.
He reached out his left hand to help her descend the porch steps. When she was down, he dropped an arm around her shoulders. “I wanted to get out of the cabin before the baby—it’s time to put that nursery together and I’ll help do that.”
“But where are you going?” she asked, looking up at him with eyes that had suddenly grown moist.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I love it here. But I need my own house. More important, you need your own house.”
And when he said that, she fell against him and wept.
“Aw,” he said, putting his good arm around her. “I hope those are glad tears.”
She lifted her head and looked up at him. “I didn’t want us to lose you,” she whispered. She wiped impatiently at her eyes. “God, I’m sorry. You have no idea what it’s like to be this pregnant. My emotions are like a landslide.”
“Naw, I’m honored, Mel. You guys—you’ve been everything to me these last few months. I started thinking I’m well enough to go home—then realized that this feels like home.”
She hugged him tightly around the waist. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”
“Want a tour?”
“Of course. Jack,” she said, “get Preacher, Paige and Rick.”
When Rick came out on the porch, his face split in a huge grin and it filled Mike up inside. Rick had been coming along real well since his loss, but the goofy kid the Marines had all come to think of as a little brother had been replaced by a somber and quiet young man. “What the heck?” Rick asked.
“My new digs. What do you think?”
“I think that’s awesome,” he said, jumping off the porch to join the tour.
They combed through the RV, admiring the accoutrements. Full kitchen with a nearly full-size refrigerator, freezer, washer and dryer, roomy bedroom with a queen-size bed, large closet that occupied a whole wall, large bathroom with a two-person shower, TVs in both the bedroom and living room with roving satellite reception. Plenty of cupboard and closet space for a bachelor and storage compartments underneath.
Before long, there were a number of people trailing dirt through the new RV—Connie and Ron, Doc, Hope McCrea, the Bristols and Carpenters. Christopher loved the big bed, tucked back in the end of the RV.
“Where you going to park this thing?” Preacher asked.
“I don’t know. Probably out at Jack and Mel’s, till I get a better idea. I could always park out there behind the bar, near the tree line, where the boys all sit when they come to town to fish. Or, I might even look around for land. But not yet. For right now, I’m just going to hang out. Near my friends.”
Over dinner they talked about the baby’s room, the spackle, paint and papering Mel wanted done. Mike told them he planned to clear out of his room in the morning and then wanted to help get that room set up for the baby. He’d take Mel to Ukiah where there was a Home Depot to pick out what she wanted. And, he told them, after that room was set, he was going to drive down to L.A. to see his folks, brothers and sisters, so he could be back when Mel delivered. “I figure to be one of the many uncles, so this is where I should be when it’s time.”
“This is where you should be,” she said, covering his hand with both of hers.
Four days later, Mel stood in the doorway of the second bedroom of that little cabin and looked at a room painted yellow, trimmed in blue, papered with tiny hand and foot imprints. A white crib and bureau changing table stood ready to catch the next Sheridan and all the little blankets, onesies, outfits, socks and miscellany had been laundered and lovingly folded away. While she was admiring the room, Jack came into the cabin carrying the most beautiful rocking chair—it seemed to match the cradle given to her by Sam.
She ran a hand along the edges and arms. She couldn’t wait to rock their baby in this chair.
The first week in March, Paige received a check for one hundred twenty-some thousand dollars—the balance left after the sale of a three-million-dollar home, the liquidation of 401(k)s and modest liquid cash, minus debts and fees. “I almost can’t touch it,” she told Preacher.
Preacher stared at the number and thought how pathetic that a man who managed to earn enough to live in a small mansion, put pretax dollars toward retirement and smoke or shoot a lot of white powder could have a net worth so low. Probably the white powder. “Put it aside for a while, but don’t lose track of it,” he said. “After the shock settles, I can help you find some kind of trust for Chris. You really don’t need it.”
