“Can I ask—about the special circumstances?”
“Sure,” she said. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“That’d be great,” he said with a smile.
“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
Shelby was in the kitchen, sitting at the table sorting some paperwork while the kids slept—one in a playpen, one in a portable crib. Mel poured coffee and invited Shelby to join them in Doc’s office so as not to wake the children. Once there, she introduced them, and Cameron expressed his condolences again.
“I’ve been boring Shelby with stories from my years in L.A.,” Mel said. “I was widowed when I met Jack. My husband was an E.R. doctor. We worked together for years before he was killed. I was looking for a new start, out of L.A. I found Virgin River at the nurses’ registry where I’d placed my résumé. I came here, sight unseen.”
“And found it perfect for you?” Cameron asked.
“Far from it,” she said. “The town was misrepresented, the pay miserable, the cabin that was to be my rent-free home was a falling-down hovel—but just as I was running for my life, a baby was abandoned on Doc’s porch and I stayed a while.” She shrugged. “I became attached in no time. Then I fell in love with Jack. Now I’m committed. Medicine here is a whole new scene from what I was used to in the city. It’s like taking care of family. These people are my friends. And of course, if Jack is here, I’m here.”
“But what’s it like doctoring here?” Cameron asked.
“We have to be inventive and flexible. Boy,” she said, laughing, “we could sure use a pediatrician, couldn’t we, Shelby?”
“Boy howdie, as Mel would say. The babies are flowing into this town.”
“I don’t like our chances of getting a new doctor, and I’ll be honest—I lose a lot of sleep over that. I don’t want to be their only resource if something big happens, like a bad MVA,” Mel said. “Sorry, Shelby,” she said. “That’s a motor vehicle accident.” Looking back at Cameron, she said, “Or some hunting accident. But this is no place for a doctor to prosper financially. A lot of our patient fees come from services and produce from ranches, farms and vineyards. More food than I could ever eat, less cash than it takes to get by. I’ve written a grant proposal to cover malpractice insurance. The county is covering mine—they see the merits of having a certified midwife around here. And if you can believe it, Doc was never covered. Never sued, never covered. He always figured if someone got pissed off and put him out of business, so be it.” She shrugged. “I’m hopeful that if a physician can be found, the county will step up. I’ve been contacting medical schools—offering a place for a brand-new family-practice resident to practice rural medicine—he or she could intern here under John Stone or June Hudson. If you know anyone…”
“I might,” he said. “I’ll talk it around.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I lose Shelby.”
Cameron looked at the younger woman.
“I’m here temporarily,” Shelby said. “I cared for my mother who suffered from ALS for a long time and now, before I move on to my own nursing college, I’m staying with my Uncle Walt.”
“Walt Booth?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. I’m Vanni’s cousin.”
“From Bodega Bay,” he said. “Yeah, your name was mentioned.”
“No kidding? You know them?”
“I was introduced,” he said simply. “Nice people.”
“I can help Mel for a while longer, but I’ve been sending out my applications. Nursing is kind of a natural progression for me, given my years as a caregiver. It’s going to be hard,” she said. “I’ve been out of school and work for years.”
“But what you have done is extraordinary,” Mel said, grabbing her hand.
“Good luck with that,” Cam said. “So Mel—how are you getting by now? With the patients?”
“Right now, I send a lot of them to Grace Valley and sometimes either June Hudson or John Stone will spend a half day up here, taking patients,” Mel said.
“This is a helluva nice place to live,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. But a person has to make a living. What are you doing here, besides offering condolences?”
“Aw, Paul and Vanni had a sick baby while they were in Grants Pass and Paul offered me a day on the river as payment for my services. Problem is, I didn’t tell them I was coming, so I’m not going to hold him to it. I thought I’d see how you’re doing and make a house call.”
“I heard about Mattie’s croup,” she said.
“Fortunately, he did well on antibiotics, snapped right out of it. Any chance I could get a tour of your clinic?” he asked.
“You bet. It’s a pretty functional little place,” Mel said with a touch of pride. She stood up. “Right this way, Doctor.” The first thing she did was open the refrigerator and show him that they kept as much blood and plasma on hand as food, something he seemed to get a kick out of. Shelby returned to her paperwork in the kitchen while Mel showed Cameron the exam room and the treatment room. In Doc’s old office there were some boxes stacked in the corner. “Personal items of Doc’s,” she said. “I’m sending that stuff back to his college library. Come on upstairs.”
She showed him the only hospital room in town, the roomy bathroom and Doc’s old bedroom, completely vacant and freshly painted. “Doc’s furniture was almost as old as he was,” she said. “I gave it away and will buy new. If we don’t get a doctor, it’ll make a decent place for me to sleep when we have a delivery here.”
“Nice little operation,” Cameron said. “But how do you make ends meet?”
“Oh, it’s not too hard for me. Jack has income—he’s retired military and the bar won’t make us rich, but it brings in money. I have savings and no longer draw a salary. The clinic is mine now, thanks to Doc’s generosity in his trust. It’s free and clear. The uninsured patients are almost always able to cover the cost of lab work, X-rays and drugs, and then we get a twenty-dollar bill here and there. Patients on subsistence—welfare or Medicaid—their fees are paid. People around here are very grateful and they do their best—there’s often cash in the Christmas card. The most important thing is we never lose money. And all the equipment is paid for. In fact, once Jack had the bar open, he gave Doc almost all his meals. Jack does that—the forest-fire fighters, the police, the game warden or rangers, Jack serves them for free when they’ve been working here. The sheriff’s deputy and his boys drop by for a gratis meal now and then. We have a highway patrolman who visits. Anyone who serves the needs of the town gets served by Jack and Preacher.”
Cameron laughed and shook his head. “How can they afford to do that?”
Mel grinned. “When the patients bring in produce as patient fees, it goes straight to Preacher’s kitchen where we eat it later. The people in town don’t just bring stuff when they’re sick—they bring what they can spare continually, sort of like keeping us on retainer. A bushel of apples, several quarts of berries, huge sack of tomatoes, bushel of green beans… Preacher bakes and cans and freezes and loves every second of it. A big patient fee could be as much as a half calf. Or a few months of cream. And besides, Jack has everything he needs, Cameron.” Then she got a little more serious. “The first night I landed in this town, I saw Jack as the owner of a bar and restaurant. It didn’t take me long to learn he’s so much more than that. He does a little of everything, from car and truck repair to building. He never goes for supplies without checking with a half-dozen little old ladies or postpartum mothers to see what they need. And if I’m delivering a baby—Jack is up all night, in case I need something. I hate that he hunts, but when he hunts, we enjoy some of the best venison dishes you can imagine. And most of the fish served in the bar, he and Preacher and maybe even Mike catch in the river. It all evens out.” She shrugged. “This is a very simple place, Cameron. Sometimes if feels more like a commune than a town. But Jack… Ask anyone— Jack is at the center of this town, taking care of the people here.”
He smiled. “I bet if I ask, they’ll say you are, too.”
“I do my best. The women—they’re my specialty.”
“Didn’t take you long to fall in love with the place.”
“It’s rewarding,” she said. “I took home a pretty nice paycheck from the hospital in L.A., and I had some very challenging work there, but L.A. is a damn expensive place to live. I’m not sure I was further ahead with that big salary. As long as the clinic can feed me and cover the cost of my gas, it doesn’t need to provide me with much else. And I feel a lot better about what I’m doing here. These people really need me.”
He just looked at her for a moment, silent. “You’ve found your niche,” he said.
“I have. I have everything.” Then she laughed. “Except a doctor. I could sure use a doctor. It’s a small town, but we need medical service.”
“I think maybe I envy you.”
“I’m not surprised.” She smiled. “It’s a different kind of life.”
“Yeah, I can only imagine.” He squeezed her arm. “Well. I should check in at the Booth house. Let them know I’m here. You having dinner at the bar tonight?”
“I’m there at five. Just for an hour or so. It’s waterfowl hunting now, so Jack stays late and I go home to put the kids to bed.”
“I’ll see you at five,” Cameron said. “And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” she said, sticking out her hand. “He was a pain in the butt, but God, I miss him.”
Cameron went out to the Booth household, but found no one was home. He looked first in the stable, then drove out to the house under construction. There was a lot of activity around it, so he walked up the plank that led through the front door and found Paul in the center of the great room, hands on his hips, looking around the nearly finished room. “Hey,” Cameron said.
Paul turned. “Cam! What are you doing here?”
“I had a couple of days and really felt the need to express my condolences to Mel. I realize I didn’t give you any notice, so I don’t intend to hold you to that offer of fishing.”
Paul stuck out his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can snag a morning.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, plenty of time for us to go fishing. I have to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, pal. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m about to do something pretty crazy. And I can’t do that unless you’re real clear—this has nothing to do with Vanessa.”
The children were napping in the clinic, Shelby was at the bar getting a soda and Mel was sitting on the front-porch steps when Bruce brought the mail. “Any specimens for Valley Hospital today?” he asked her.
“Nope,” she said, leafing through the mail.
“Great. I get to knock off early. Have a nice day.”
Mel stood, pulled her sweater tighter around her and walked inside. The sun was out today, but it was getting darn cold. She found an envelope from Cameron Michaels and tore it open. Her first thought was that he was such a class act—it was probably a letter of condolence or a thank-you note. She pulled out a couple of pages, stapled together. At the top, in italics, it read: Résumé for Cameron Michaels, M.D., ABFM, ABP. Her mouth hung open.
She read through his credentials. He was board certified in family medicine and pediatrics with years of experience—a dream doctor. Her mouth hadn’t quite closed when she picked up the phone and dialed his office in Grants Pass. When he said hello, she said, “Have you lost your mind?”
