Mel wouldn’t leave the porch. Doc came to the bar, touched her forehead and asked her if she wouldn’t lie down for just a few minutes. “No,” she said. “I’m waiting for Jack.”
“The boys said Search and Rescue are combing the area and they’re getting ready to leave again, to look. We can wake you the second something is found.”
“Doc, it’s all right. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”
Muriel tried to press a brandy into her hand, but she shook her head. She wanted to be sure she could feel everything, because she could still feel him. He might as well have his arms around her. And then she remembered her very first night in Virgin River, the horrible cabin, the torrential rain, and the brandy from Jack’s bar that warmed her. She had snapped at him that she didn’t find him amusing, she’d had a terrible day. And he had only grinned and said, “Good thing I have the cork out of the Remy, then.”
And later, when he’d held her as she cried over her dead husband. Then he undressed her, dried her off, gave her that brandy. She’d had a huge emotional meltdown. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.
His pride in her was the greatest gift. He told her often he was proud of the care she gave, proud of her commitment to helping wherever help was needed. When a man like Jack is proud of you, it means everything. She felt herself smiling.
The volume on the TV in the bar was turned up. She’d never heard it so loud. She knew Jack’s boys weren’t resting, but glued to the news, hoping to catch something about the lost firefighters. They took turns on the porch with her, afraid to leave her alone, because they thought she was losing it. Quietly and stoically, but losing it. “I’m fine,” she told them. “Really, I’m fine.”
Inside, the men were gearing up to leave again, stuffing down sandwiches for fuel, guzzling water to rehydrate. Mel accepted water, had her baby brought to her to nurse, held her son for a bottle, but she was determined. She stayed on the porch. She never once asked if there was any news of Jack.
The morning news reported there were three firefighters confirmed dead in the blaze, names being withheld pending notification. Talking quietly among themselves, the men conferred about how some notification could be on its way soon, and they would stay on in Virgin River as long as necessary, be there for Mel. They would help her lay him to rest and for as long as she needed them, someone would be there.
The men had had a break of a couple of hours, food and water, called their families to report that they were unharmed, and were almost ready to take their personal vehicles back to the area and continue the search. Joe and Paul each sat on either side of her, occasionally reaching for her hand. She stared straight ahead.
The sound of a vehicle brought her to her feet and she stood on the porch. The rain had stopped, the ground was wet, and an old pickup pulled into town, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the bar. “Holy shit,” Paul muttered, rising to his feet. Joe stumbled running into the bar.
Jack spilled out of the back, a huge smear of red flame retardant staining his body. He balanced on one foot, his other leg disabled in some way. As he reached back into the pickup for his gear, Mel serenely walked down the porch steps toward him. He tossed his gear to the ground and the pickup drove off with a toot of the horn. His face was black with soot, his eyes red and tearing, his lips pink and cracked from dryness. The turnouts he wore were speckled with holes made by flying embers.
Mel walked right into his open arms.
“You’re late,” she said, looking up at him.
He lowered his lips to softly kiss her forehead. “Sorry. I was held up. Goddamn truck left without me.” He smiled down at her. “Do you have any idea what you look like in jeans? Melinda, you just do it to me in jeans.”
“Everyone thought you were dead and you’re talking about my butt again.”
He grimaced. “They’re going to wish I was dead. I’ve been walking for twenty-four hours and I’m in a real mood.” He brushed the hair back from her brow. “Were you scared, baby?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew you were coming.”
“You did?”
She touched her chest. “Your heart beats in here. If it had stopped, I would have known. It did beat a little fast sometimes. Was it close, Jack?”
He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. “It was so close, I have blisters on my ass.”
“I spent all night remembering every time you touched me. Every one.”