He drew a heavy breath. “I’ll tell you the truth, Liz—I’m afraid to. You and me, we get pretty worked up.”
“But you have those rubbers…”
“I told you before, that’s not enough. You have to get something, too. Pills or something.”
“How’m I gonna do that? I don’t even drive. You think I should say to my mom, ‘Hey, I have to get some birth control—me and Ricky want to do it’？”
“If you were here, you could see Mel. Maybe you can talk your mom into a visit to Virgin River.” But even as he said that, he cringed. And flushed so hot he thought he might faint. Was he really suggesting to a fourteen-year-old that she get herself fixed up so they could have sex? In the cab of a truck?
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I think I would hate that. I don’t think I could tell someone who’s like, grown-up. Could you?”
He already had; Preacher and Jack both knew. But he said, “I could if it was this important.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
If you couldn’t stop dreaming about a girl, if you constantly thought about the way her hair felt against your cheek, if you couldn’t get the softness of her skin out of your mind, did that mean you loved her? If you felt a little better after every time you talked to her, heard her laugh, did that mean anything, or were you just this horny sixteen-year-old boy? He knew he was that—the thought of getting inside her again almost made steam come out of his ears. But there was other stuff. He could talk to Liz; he could listen to her. Wanted to listen to her. He could almost go into a trance when she told him about something as boring as algebra. If he had one drop of courage, he’d ask Jack—what is love and what is sex? When are they the same thing?
Finally he asked, “Any news about being pregnant, Lizzie?”
“You mean…？”
“Yeah, I mean that.” Silence answered him. She was going to make him say it, once again. Every time he asked, his gut clenched just from forming the words, words alien to a boy. “Did you get your period?” he asked, grateful she couldn’t see the color of his cheeks.
“That’s all you really care about.”
“No, but I care about it a lot. Liz, baby, if I got you in trouble, I’m gonna want to die, okay? I just want the scare over, that’s all. For both of us.”
“Not yet—but that’s okay. I told you—I’m not regular. And I feel fine. I don’t feel like anything’s different.”
“I guess that’s something,” he said.
“Ricky, I miss you. Do you miss me?”
“Ohhh, Liz,” he said in an exhausted breath. “I miss you so much it scares the hell out of me.”
Mel made a few phone calls the following week, then asked Jack if he could pry himself away from the bar for a full day to run some errands with her. She wanted to drive into Eureka, she said. And she didn’t want to go alone. Of course he said he could—he did anything she asked of him. He offered to drive, but she told him she’d like to take her car, put the top down and enjoy the sunny June weather.
When they were underway, she said, “I hope this wasn’t too presumptuous of me, Jack. I made myself an appointment at the beauty shop and one for you at the clinic—that testing you offered.”
“I was going to run over to the coast, to the Naval Air Station there, but this is just as convenient. I meant it when I offered. I want you to feel safe.”
“I’m not worried, really. It’s just a precaution. And if anything turns up, I’ll get screened. I wouldn’t put you at risk, you understand. But the last seven years, it was only…” She stopped.
“Your husband,” he finished for her. “You can say it. That was your life. That is your life. We have to be able to talk about it.”
“Well,” she said, gathering herself up again. “Then, I’ve made arrangements to test-drive a vehicle and I’d like your opinion. A vehicle that doesn’t get stuck in the mud.”
“Really?” he said, surprised. “What kind of vehicle?”
She stole a glance at him, so neatly folded up in the front of her BMW, his knees sticking up so high it almost made her laugh. “A Hummer,” she said.
He was speechless. Finally he said, “I guess you know what they cost.”
“I know,” she said.
“Hope’s paying you better than I would’ve guessed.”
“Hope’s paying me practically nothing—but it also costs me practically nothing to live. Especially with that end-of-the-day cold beer on the house every night. No, this is my own investment.”
He whistled.
“I have a little money,” she said. “There were…there was…”
He reached across the console and put a hand on her thigh. “It’s all right, Mel. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t pry!” she exclaimed. “You don’t even ask, which is amazing to me. Here it is—there were investments. Retirement. Insurance. I sold the house at a ridiculous profit. And then there was a wrongful death suit—pending. It’ll settle. The little scumbag came from money. Jack, I have plenty of money. More than I really need.” She glanced over at him. “I’d appreciate it if that went no further.”
“No one even knows you’re widowed,” he told her.
She took a deep breath. “So—I had a long talk with June Hudson, the doctor in Grace Valley. I asked her what she’d do to turn an all-wheel-drive vehicle into a makeshift ambulance, and I have quite a shopping list. If it works out I’ll have a vehicle that can not only get me and Doc all over valley and into the hills, but get our patients to the hospital when we need to, without me sitting in the back of a pickup, holding an IV bag up in the air.”
“That’s a lot to do for a little town like Virgin River,” he said, and he said it very quietly.
He’d done a lot for the little town, too, she thought. He renovated a cabin into a bar and grill, served meals at low prices all day long. Drinks were cheap and it served more as a gathering place than a profit-making establishment. He probably didn’t need Ricky in there, but clearly he was a surrogate father. And Preacher—there was no question he was looking out for him, as well. But then, it probably didn’t take much for Jack to get by, either—he’d done most of the renovation work himself, collected a retirement from the military, and surely eked out a modest but completely adequate income from the place. And at the same time, enjoyed his life.
Mainly what Jack did for the town was sit at the center of it, helping anyone who needed anything. Anyone who served the needs of the town, like Doc or Mel, and lately the occasional sheriff’s deputy or highway patrol officer ate free. He’d do repairs, babysit, deliver meals and absolutely never went for supplies without phoning up little old ladies like Frannie and Maud, to ask if they needed anything. He’d done that with her, too. Behaved as though it was his mission to serve her needs.
“That little town has accidentally done a few things for me, too,” she said. “I’m starting to feel like I might live after all. A lot of that is because of you, Jack.”