Virgin River (4 page)

“Doctor Mullins doesn’t seem to appreciate her efforts,” Mel said, blotting her lips with the napkin.

“He’s territorial. He’s in no way ready for retirement. Maybe he’s worried that someone will show up and take over, leaving him with nothing to do. Man like Doc, never married and in service to a town all his life, would balk at that. But…see… There was an incident a few years ago, just before I got here. Two emergencies at the same time. A truck went off the road and the driver was critically injured, and a kid with a bad case of flu that turned to pneumonia stopped breathing. Doc stopped the bleeding on the truck driver, but by the time he got across the river to the kid, he was too late.”

“God,” she said. “Bet that leaves some hard feelings.”

“I don’t think anyone really blames him. He’s saved some lives in his time here. But the feeling he could use some help gets more support.” He smiled. “You’re the first one to show up.”

“Hmm,” she said, taking a last sip of coffee. She heard the door open behind her and a couple of men walked in.

“Harv. Ron,” Jack said. The men said hello and sat at a table by the window. Jack looked back at Mel. “What made you come up here?” he asked.

“Burnout,” she said. “I got sick of being on a first-name basis with cops and homicide detectives.”

“Jesus, just what kind of work did you do?”

“Ever been to war?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact,” he replied with a nod.

“Well, big-city hospitals and trauma centers get like that. I spent years in the emergency room in downtown L.A. while I was doing my post-grad work to become a family nurse practitioner, and there were days it felt like a battle zone. Felons transported to E.R. after incurring injuries during arrest—people who were still so out of control and impossible to subdue that three or four cops had to hold them down while one of the nurses tried to start an IV. Addicts with so much junk in them, three hits with an officer’s Taser wouldn’t even slow ’em down, much less a dose of Narcan. O.D.s, victims of violent crimes and, given it was the biggest trauma center in L.A., some of the ugliest MVAs and GSWs… Sorry. Motor vehicle accidents and gunshot wounds. And crazy people with no supervision, nowhere to go, off their meds and… Don’t get me wrong, we did some good work. Excellent work. I’m real proud of what we got done. Best staff in, maybe, America.”

She gazed off for a second, thinking. The environment was wild and chaotic, yet while she was working with and falling in love with her husband, it was exciting and fulfilling. She gave her head a little shake and went on.

“I transferred out of E.R. to women’s health, which
I found was what I’d been looking for. Labor and delivery. I went to work on my certification in midwifery. That turned out to be my true calling, but it wasn’t always a sweeter experience.” She laughed sadly and shook her head. “My first patient was brought in by the police and I had to fight them like a bulldog to get the cuffs off. They wanted me to deliver her while she was handcuffed to the bed.”

He smiled. “Well, you’re in luck. I don’t think there’s a pair of handcuffs in town.”

“It wasn’t like that every day, but it was like that often. I supervised the nurses on the L&D ward for a couple of years. The excitement and unpredictability zooped me up for a long time, but I finally hit a wall. I love women’s health, but I can’t do city medicine like that anymore. God, I need a slower pace. I’m wiped out.”

“That’s an awful lot of adrenaline to leave behind,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve been accused of being an adrenaline junky. Emergency nurses often are.” She smiled at him. “I’m trying to quit.”

“Ever live in a small town?” he asked, refilling her coffee.

She shook her head. “Smallest town I’ve ever lived in had at least a million people in it. I grew up in Seattle and went to Southern California for college.”

“Small towns can be nice. And they can have their own brand of drama. And danger.”

“Like?” she asked, sipping.

“Flood. Fire. Wildlife. Hunters who don’t follow the rules. The occasional criminal. Lotta pot growers out here, but not in Virgin River that I know of. Humboldt
Homegrown, it’s called around here. They’re a tight-knit group and usually keep to themselves—don’t want to draw attention. Once in a while, though, there’ll be crime associated with drugs.” He grinned. “But you never had any of that in the city, right?”

“When I was looking for change, I shouldn’t have made such a drastic one. This is kind of like going cold turkey. I might have to downsize a little more gradually. Maybe try out a town with a couple hundred thousand people and a Starbucks.”

“You aren’t going to tell me Starbucks can beat that coffee you’re drinking,” he said, nodding at her cup.

She gave a short laugh. “Coffee’s great.” She favored him with a pleasant smile, deciding that this guy was okay. “I should’ve considered the roads. To think I left the terror of Los Angeles freeways for the heart-stopping curves and cliffs in these hills… Whew.” A tremor ran through her. “If I did stay in a place like this, it would be for your food.”

He leaned toward her, bracing hands on the bar. Rich brown eyes glowed warm under serious hooded brows. “I can get that cabin put right for you in no time,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” She put out a hand and he took it. She felt his calluses as he gently squeezed her hand; he was a man who did hard, physical work. “Thanks, Jack. Your bar was the only part of this experiment I enjoyed.” She stood and began fishing for her wallet in her purse. “What do I owe you?”

“On the house. The least I could do.”

“Come on, Jack—none of this was your doing.”

“Fine. I’ll send Hope a bill.”

At that moment Preacher came out of the kitchen
with a covered dish wrapped in a towel. He handed it to Jack.

“Doc’s breakfast. I’ll walk out with you.”

“All right,” she said.

At her car, he said, “No kidding. I wish you’d think about it.”

“Sorry, Jack. This isn’t for me.”

“Well, damn. There’s a real dearth of beautiful young women around here. Have a safe drive.” He gave her elbow a little squeeze, balancing the covered dish in his other hand. And all she could think was, what a peach of a guy. Lots of sex appeal in his dark eyes, strong jaw, small cleft in his chin and the gracious, laid-back manner that suggested he didn’t know he was good-looking. Someone should snap him up before he figured it out. Probably someone had.

Mel watched him walk across the street to the doctor’s house, then got into her car. She made a wide U-turn on the deserted street and headed back the way she had come. As she drove by Doc’s house, she slowed. Jack was crouched on the porch, looking at something. The covered dish was still balanced on one hand and he lifted the other, signaling her to stop. As he looked toward her car, his expression was one of shock. Disbelief.

Mel stopped the car and got out. “You okay?” she asked.

He stood up. “No,” he said. “Can you come here a sec?”

She left the car running, the door open, and went up on the porch. It was a box, sitting there in front of the doctor’s door, and the look on Jack’s face remained stunned. She crouched down and looked within and
there, swaddled and squirming around, was a baby. “Jesus,” she said.

“Nah,” Jack said. “I don’t think it’s Jesus.”

“This baby was not here when I passed his house earlier.”

Mel lifted the box and asked Jack to park and turn off her car. She rang the doctor’s bell and after a few tense moments, he opened it wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe, loosely tied over his big belly and barely covering a nightshirt, his skinny legs sticking out of the bottom.

“Ah, it’s you. Never know when to quit, do you? You bring my breakfast?”

“More than breakfast,” she said. “This was left on your doorstep. Have any idea who would do that?”

He pulled at the receiving blanket and revealed the baby. “It’s a newborn,” he said. “Probably only hours old. Bring it in. Ain’t yours, is it?”

“Come on,” she said in aggravation, as though the doctor hadn’t even noticed that she was not only too thin to have been pregnant, but also too lively to have just given birth. “Believe me, if it were mine, I wouldn’t have left it here.”

She walked past him into his house. She found herself not in a home, but a clinic—waiting room on her right, reception area complete with computer and filing cabinets behind a counter on her left. She went straight back on instinct and when she found an exam room, turned into it. Her only concern at the moment was making sure the infant wasn’t ill or in need of emergency medical assistance. She put the box on the exam table, shed her coat and washed her hands. There was a stethoscope on the counter, so she found cotton
and rubbing alcohol. She cleaned the earpieces with the alcohol—her own stethoscope was packed in the car. She listened to the baby’s heart. Further inspection revealed it was a little girl, her umbilicus tied off with string. Gently, tenderly, she lifted the baby from the box and cooing, lay her on the baby scale.

By this time the doctor was in the room. “Six pounds, nine ounces,” she reported. “Full term. Heartbeat and respirations normal. Color is good.” The baby started to wail. “Strong lungs. Somebody threw away a perfectly good baby. You need to get Social Services right out here.”

Doc gave a short laugh just as Jack came up behind him, looking into the room. “Yup, I’m sure they’ll be right out.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I guess I’m going to rustle up some formula,” he said. “Sounds hungry.” He turned around and left the exam room.

“For the love of God,” Mel said, rewrapping and jiggling the baby in her arms.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Jack said. “This isn’t L.A. We don’t put in a call to Social Services and get an immediate house call. We’re kind of on our own out here.”

“What about the police?” she asked.

“There’s no local police. County sheriff’s department is pretty good,” he said. “Not exactly what you’re looking for, either, I bet.”

“Why is that?”

“If there’s not a serious crime, they would probably take their time,” he said. “They have an awful lot of ground to cover. The deputy might just come out and
write a report and put their own call in to Social Services, which will get a response when they’re not overworked, underpaid, and can rustle up a social worker or foster family to take over this little…” He cleared his throat. “Problem.”

“God,” she said. “Don’t call her a problem,” she admonished. She started opening cupboard doors, unsatisfied. “Where’s the kitchen?” she asked him.

“That way,” he said, pointing left.

“Find me towels,” she instructed. “Preferably soft towels.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to wash her.” She left the exam room with the baby in her arms.

Mel found the kitchen, which was large and clean. If Jack was delivering the doctor’s meals, it probably wasn’t used that much. She tossed the dish rack onto the floor in the corner and gently laid the baby on the drain board. Under the sink she found cleanser and gave the sink a quick scrub and rinse. Then she tested the temperature and filled the sink with water while the baby, most annoyed at the moment, filled the kitchen with the noise of her unhappiness. Fortuitously, there was a bar of Ivory soap on the sink, which Mel rinsed off as thoroughly as possible.

Rolling up her sleeves, she lifted the naked little creature into her arms and lowered her into the warm water. The cries stopped. “Aw,” she said. “You like the bath? Does it feel like home?”

Doc Mullins came into the kitchen, dressed now, with a canister of powdered formula. Behind him trailed Jack, bearing the towels he was asked to fetch.

Mel gently rubbed the soap over the baby, rinsing
off the muck of birth, the warmth of the water hopefully bringing the baby’s temperature up. “This umbilicus is going to need some attention,” she said. “Any idea who gave birth?”

“None whatsoever,” Doc said, pouring bottled water into a measuring bowl.

“Who’s pregnant? That would be a logical place to start.”

“The pregnant women in Virgin River who have been coming here for prenatal visits wouldn’t give birth alone. Maybe someone came from another town. Maybe I’ve got a patient out there who gave birth without the benefit of medical assistance, and that could be the second crisis of the day. As I’m sure you know,” he added, somewhat smugly.

“As I’m sure I do,” she returned, with equal smugness. “So, what’s your plan?”

“I imagine I will diaper and feed and become irritable.”

“I think you mean
more
irritable.”

“I don’t see many options,” he said.

“Aren’t there any women in town who could help out?”

“Perhaps on a limited basis.” He filled a bottle and popped it in the microwave. “I’ll manage, don’t you worry.” Then he added, somewhat absently, “Might not hear her in the night, but she’ll live through it.”

“You have to find a home for this baby,” she said.

“You came here looking for work. Why don’t you offer to help?”

She took a deep breath and, lifting the baby from the sink, laid her in the towel being held by Jack. She cocked her head in appreciation as Jack took the infant
confidently, wrapping her snugly and cuddling her close. “You’re pretty good at that,” she said.

“The nieces,” he said, jiggling the baby against his broad chest. “I’ve held a baby or two. You going to stay on a bit?” he asked.

“Well, there are problems with that idea. I have nowhere to stay. That cabin is not only unacceptable for me, it’s more unacceptable for this infant. The porch collapsed, remember? And there are no steps to the back door. The only way in is to literally crawl.”

“There’s a room upstairs,” Doc said. “If you stay and help out, you’ll be paid.” Then he looked at her over the rims of his reading glasses and sternly added, “Don’t get attached to her. Her mother will turn up and want her back.”

Jack went back to the bar and placed a call from the kitchen. A groggy, thick voice answered. “Hello?”

“Cheryl? You up?”

“Jack,” the woman said. “That you?”