Author: Robyn Carr
“Way,” Preacher agreed. “You got a handle on it now?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Now that it’s too late.”
“Welcome to the world.” Preacher drank half his draft.
Rick just looked into his. “It’s just that I’d die if anyone got hurt, you know. If I hurt her. If I let you and Jack down.”
Preacher put his big hands on the bar and leaned toward Rick. “Hey, Ricky, don’t worry about letting us down. Some things are just nature, you know? You’re a human being. You do the best you can. Try to think ahead next time, if you get my drift.”
“I do now.”
Jack came into the bar from the back. He noticed right away that Ricky and Preacher had beers and that Ricky wore a troubled expression. “Do I need to toast anything?”
He poured himself a glass of beer.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a no,” Ricky said.
“Ricky here, if I’m reading him right, has entered the world of men. And wishes a little bit he hadn’t.”
“Instead of giving me a handful of rubbers, you should’ve had me laminated,” he said to Jack.
“Oh, boy. You gonna be okay, buddy?” Jack asked. “She gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know. When am I gonna know? How am I gonna know?”
“A month,” Jack said. “Maybe less. Depends on her cycle. You’re going to have to ask her, Rick. If she got her period.”
“I’m gonna die,” Ricky said miserably.
“Okay then. Let’s toast to your continued good luck. Since you got, you know, lucky.”
“Right now I gotta wonder why they call it that,” Ricky said.
Chapter Nine
T he grass grew tall in the pastures, the ewes fat with lambing imminent. The cows were ready to calve and Sondra Patterson was almost to term. Sondra was expecting her third child, and the first two had come to her quickly and easily, so she and Doc claimed. She had decided to have this one at home, as she had the first two. This would be the first home birth for Mel, and she looked forward to it with nervous delight.
May aged bright and sunny—and brought with it a bunch of men in pickups and campers. There was a great deal of horn-honking at the bar in the afternoon and Mel looked out to see this gathering descend on Jack’s. She watched as he came out on his porch and greeted them with bear hugs and shouts and whistles.
“What’s going on?” she asked Doc Mullins.
“Hmm. I think it’s another Semper Fi reunion. Jack’s old buddies from the Marine Corps. They come up here to hunt, fish, play poker, drink and yell into the night.”
“Really? He never mentioned that.” And, she thought, is this my cue to be scarce?
Because that after-work beer, the occasional kiss, had become the best part of her day. She was further bewildered by the fact that he hadn’t tried anything more. And yet, if he had, she would have worried about the consequences. She shouldn’t be involved with anyone, even Jack. Not until she was sure she could handle it. Thing was, she just couldn’t bring herself to give up that little bit of kissing. She was sure that Mark would understand. If their situations had been reversed, she told herself, she would. But with the marines in town, there would be none of that. Doc seemed to have no inclination to stay away, and at the end of the day he took himself over to the bar. “Coming?” he asked her.
“I don’t know…I don’t want to distract anyone from their reunion…”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “The whole town looks forward to seeing these boys.”
She went with him and found that of course Doc was greeted by these visiting men as if they were old friends. Jack dropped a possessive arm around Mel’s shoulders and said, “Boys, meet Mel Monroe, new nurse midwife in town. She’s been working with Doc. Mel, meet Zeke, Mike Valenzuela, Cornhusker—Corny for short, Josh Phillips, Joe Benson, Tom Stephens and Paul Haggerty. There will be a test later—no name tags.”
“Doc, you are a fine and smart gentleman,” Zeke said, grinning, reaching for her hand, obviously under the impression Doc had hired her rather than resisted her.
“Miss Monroe, it’s an honor. An honor.”
“Call me Mel,” she said.
The noise with which they descended on her was invigorating. The next surprise for her, and perhaps it shouldn’t have been, was that Preacher was one of them. And of course they drew Rick in as though he were a younger brother. Mel learned that Preacher had served under Jack when he was just a kid of eighteen in the first conflict in Iraq—Desert Storm—it turned out he was much younger than he looked. During that same time a cop from L.A. by the name of Mike Valenzuela and a builder from Oregon by the name of Paul Haggerty also served with them, but the two latter marines, being reservists, were called up for the latest Iraq conflict, again with Preacher and Jack, who were still on active duty at that time. The others, all reservists, were called up for Iraq where they were united in Baghdad and Fallujah. Zeke was a fireman from Fresno; Josh Phillips, a paramedic, and Tom Stephens, a news helicopter pilot—were both from the Reno area. Joe Benson was an architect from the same Oregon town as Paul Haggerty—Paul often built Joe’s houses. And Corny, another firefighter, came the farthest, from Washington state, but he was born and raised in Nebraska, thus the nickname.
Jack was older than these men by four years or more, the next oldest in the crowd being Mike at thirty-six. Four of them were married with kids—Zeke, Josh, Tom and Corny. Mel was fascinated by the way they talked about their women with lusty smiles and glittering eyes. No jokes about the old ball and chain here. Rather, they sounded as though they couldn’t wait to get home to them.
“How’s Patti doing?” someone asked Josh.
He curved his hands over his flat belly to indicate a pregnant tummy and grinning boastfully, said, “She’s ripe as a tomato. I can hardly keep my hands off her.”
“If she’s ripe as a tomato, I bet you get slapped down like crazy,” Zeke laughed. “I got another one on Christa.”
“No way! I thought she said you were through!”
“She said that two kids ago—but I snuck one more by her. She’s cooking number four. What can I say—that girl’s been lightin’ my fire since high school. You should see her, man. She’s lit up like a beacon. Nobody cooks ’em like Christa. Whew.”
“Hey, buddy, congratulations, man! But I don’t think you know when to quit.”
“I don’t. It’s like I can’t quit. But Christa says she’s all done with me. She said after this one, snip snip.”
“I think I can go one more,” Corny said. “Got my girls. I feel a boy coming on.”
No one could better appreciate this kind of enthusiasm for pregnant women than a midwife. Mel was loving it. Loving them.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot,” Jack said. “Eight nieces later, no one got their boy. My brothers-in-law have run through all their chances, I think.”
“Maybe you’re packin’ a boy, Jack.”
“I don’t even kid myself about that,” he laughed.
Jack was among the five single men with Preacher, Mike, Paul and Joe. Confirmed bachelors, Mel was warned. They loved women, but couldn’t be caught. “Except Mike,” Zeke said. “He gets caught regular.” Mel learned that Mike was twice divorced and had a girlfriend back in L.A. who was trying to be wife number three. The camaraderie was engaging, electrifying. These guys were tight, it was real easy to see. Mel didn’t exactly rush away—she had fun. Other folks from town who frequented the bar seemed, like Doc, to be acquainted with this band of brothers and dropped in to partake of the reunion, every bit as welcoming of them as Jack and Preacher had been.
As she left that evening, Jack broke away from his buddies to walk her to her car.
“Oh, now there will be talk,” she said.
“There’s already talk, but around here, what do you expect? Listen, Mel, you shouldn’t stay away on account of them—they’re a good bunch of guys. But let me tell you what the agenda will be. There will be lots of beer and poker, fishing all day. They’ll stay in their campers, make too much noise, and fill the place up with cigar smoke. Preacher will have something on the stove everyday. And I sense a lot of fish coming our way. Preacher’s got a stuffed trout that will knock you down, it’s so good.”
She put a hand against his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. You just enjoy yourself.”
“You’re not going to ignore me for five days, are you?”
“I’ll come by after work for a beer, but you know I like my cabin, my peace and quiet. Have fun. That’s the important thing.”
“These are great guys,” he said. “But I have a feeling they’re going to get in the way of my love life.”
She laughed at him. “Your love life is pretty bleak, as a matter of fact.”
“I know. I keep trying to spool it up. And now them,” he said, giving his head a jerk in the direction of his bar, which seemed to be throbbing from the noise and laughter within. He put his hands on her waist. “Kiss me,” he said.
“No,” she said.
“Come on. Haven’t I been perfect? Haven’t I followed all your rules? How can you be so selfish? There’s no one around—they’re busy drinking.”
“I think you should go back to your reunion,” she said, but she laughed at him again. Boldly, he picked her up under her arms and lifted her high, holding her above him, slowly lowering her mouth to his. “You’re shameless,” she told him.
“Kiss me,” he begged. “Come on. Gimme a little taste.”
It was simply irresistible. He was irresistible. She grabbed his head in her hands and met his lips. She opened hers, moving over his mouth. When he did this to her, she thought of nothing but the kiss. It consumed her deliciously. She allowed his tongue, he allowed hers, and she reached that moment when she wanted it to never end. It was so easy to become lost in his tenderness, his strength.
And then, inevitably, it had to end. They were standing in the street, after all, though it was almost dark. “Thank you,” he said. He put her on her feet and behind them, a raucous cheer erupted. There, on the porch at Jack’s, stood eight marines and Rick, their tankards raised, shouting, cheering, whistling, cat-calling.
“Oh, brother,” she said.
“I’m going to kill them.”
“Is this some kind of marine tradition?” she asked him.
“I’m going to kill them,” he said again, but he kept his arm around her shoulders.
“You realize what this means,” she said. “These little kisses are no longer our little secret.”
He looked down into her eyes. The shouts had subsided into a low rumble of laughter.
“Mel, they are not little. And since it’s leaked,” he said, grabbing her up in his arms, lifting her up to him again, her feet clear of the ground, and planted another one on her, to the excited shouts of the old 192nd. Even with that riot in the background, she found herself responding. She was growing addicted to the perfect flavor of his mouth.
When it was done she said, “I knew it was a mistake to let you get to first base.”
“Hah, I haven’t even thrown out the first pitch yet. You’re invited to go fishing with us, if you like.”
“Thanks, but I have things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow night for a beer. And I’ll get myself to my car. I’m not going to make out in front of them for the next week.”
A little local research revealed to Mel that there was an ultrasound machine in Grace Valley, about thirty minutes away in northern Mendocino county. She had a long chat with one of the town doctors, June Hudson, and they worked out a deal for the use of the ultrasound—the deal was that June would provide this service out of the goodness of her heart. “The ultrasound was donated,” she said. “Women from at least a half dozen surrounding towns make use of it.”
