Virgin River

Page 19

Author: Robyn Carr
“I’m sorry. I’m such a downer sometimes. I should be so thankful. Grateful. And instead—”
“Hey, easy,” he said, throwing the truck into gear to take her back to town. “I blindsided you. You had it in your head that you could use the excuse of having no decent housing. And now Chloe isn’t holding you here. But I figured, you don’t have to stay at Doc’s now, and if someone’s going to give birth in your bedroom there, maybe it’s time you have your own place. If you want it, that is.”
“Are there bears out here?” she asked.
“It might be best if you kept your trash indoors, and drive it into town to put in the Dumpster. Bears so like garbage.”
“Oh, for the love of God!”
“We haven’t had a bad bear scare in ages.” He reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “Just give yourself a break. Work on your particular heartache. And while you do, take the occasional temperature. Give a pill now and then. No one’s holding you hostage.”
She watched him as he drove. That strong profile. He had a solid square face, straight nose, high cheekbones, bristle of stubble on his cheeks. He was a hairy guy; she noticed that he shaved his neck down to the top of his chest and she found herself wondering what was under his shirt. She remembered Mark’s complaints of his receding hairline, which did nothing to detract from his boyish good looks. But this man, Jack, wasn’t boyish. He had the hard good looks of a woodsman. And, though his hair was cropped short in that military buzz, it was so thick that it looked as if it should be thinned. The big hands on the steering wheel were calloused—he worked hard. The guy was dripping in testosterone.
What was this magnificent man doing locked away in a little town of six hundred, where there were no women for him? She wondered if he had the faintest clue about her—that she had no heart. He had just given so much and she had absolutely nothing to give. Nothing. She was hollow inside. If she weren’t, a man like Jack would appeal to her.
This was the worst thing about grief, she thought as she walked back to Doc’s house. It emptied you. She should be flattered and pleased with what had been done for her in the renovating of the cabin. She should be thrilled that a man like Jack was interested in her, because clearly he was. But instead she was sad. She had lost the ability to be moved by these acts of kindness. Instead, it made her feel depressed and alone, because she didn’t feel up to the task of receiving gifts and kindnesses graciously. She couldn’t respond to a handsome man’s interest. She couldn’t be happy. Sometimes she asked herself if she was paying some tribute to Mark’s memory by hanging on to the sadness of losing him.
Ricky worked at the bar after school every day and some weekends, whenever Jack wanted him. He dropped Liz at the store after school, then parked behind the bar next to Jack’s and Preacher’s trucks. As he was going in, Jack was coming out. “Grab your gear,” Jack said. “We’re going to run out to the river, see if we can make a catch.”
“There isn’t anything out there now,” Ricky said. The good catch was in the fall and winter, dwindling by spring, starting to pick up again in summer.
“We’ll cast a while,” Jack said. “See what you got.”
“Preacher coming?” Ricky asked, going to the storeroom in the kitchen to get his rod, reel and waders.
“Nah. He’s busy.”
Jack remembered the first day he’d met Ricky. The kid had been thirteen and had ridden his bike up to the cabin that would become the bar. Skinny and freckle-faced with the most engaging grin and sweetest disposition. He let him hang around, help with the carpentry during the renovation if he could pay attention. When he found out it was just Ricky and his grandma, Lydie, he kind of took him under his wing. He’d watched the boy grow tall and strong; Jack taught him to fish, shoot. Now he was damn near a man. Physically, he didn’t have far to go, but mentally and emotionally, sixteen was still just sixteen.
At the river’s edge, they cast their lines a few times and then it came. The real reason for fishing when there were few fish. “You and I should have a little talk, I think,”
Jack said.
“About?”
Jack didn’t look at him. He just cast in long beautiful arcs. And said, “About all the places you can put your dick that aren’t statutory.”
Ricky snapped his head around and looked at Jack’s profile. Jack turned his head and met the boy’s eyes.
“She’s fourteen,” Jack said.
Ricky looked back at the river, silent.
“I know she doesn’t look fourteen. She’s fourteen.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Ricky said.
Jack laughed. “Oh, gimme a break. I saw your truck over at Connie’s the first Friday night she was in town—you moved on her fast. You want to stick with that story?” He reeled in and turned toward Ricky. “Listen, son, you have to keep your head. You hear me, Rick? Because this is dangerous ground you’re on. She’s a little hottie—”
“She’s a sweet girl,” Rick said defensively.
“You’re already hooked,” Jack said, hoping they weren’t already doomed. “How hooked?”
Ricky shrugged. “I like her. I know she’s young, but she doesn’t seem that young, and I like her.”
“Okay,” Jack said, taking a breath. “Okay, maybe we should talk about the things you can do to avoid putting your sixteen-year-old swimmers in contact with her fourteenyear-old eggs. Hmm?”
“You don’t have to,” Ricky said, casting. And casting pretty badly.
“Aw, Jesus. You’re already involved. Physically, huh?” Rick didn’t answer and Jack thought, who knew what they were up to. Jack remembered only too well the things experimental kids could do to get a little satisfaction without going all the way. It was a frickin’ art form. Problem was, it just didn’t last, and the closer you got, the greater potential for slip-ups. Sometimes it made more sense to decide you were going all the way with good birth control in place, rather than risk an accident. But man, you should be older. Older. “Aw, Jesus.” Jack took a breath. He dug down into his waders, down into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a fist full of condoms. “This is tough, Rick, because I don’t want you to use these on her, and I don’t want you not to. I’m stuck here. Help me out, will you?”
“It’s okay, Jack. I’m not going to do her. She’s fourteen.”
Jack reached out and tousled his hair. Those freckles had given way to the stubble of a young beard; he wasn’t skinny anymore. The work he did at the bar plus the pastimes of hunting and fishing, not to mention chores for his grandma had bulked the kid up and his shoulders and arms were muscled. Handsome kid, he thought. Real grown-up. He had a lot of responsibility—he worked hard, maintained his grades, did every physical thing around his grandma’s house that needed doing. With Jack’s supervision, Rick had painted her house. All that built toward creating a solid, reliable man—one who shouldn’t get shot in the foot by a teenage pregnancy.
“So, how old were you?” Ricky asked him.
“’Bout your age. But the girl was much older.”
“Much?”
“Way older than Lizzie. Older than me. Smarter than me.” He handed Rick the condoms and although Rick’s cheeks took on a dark stain, he accepted them. “I know you’re at that age—I was that age once. You know what the problem is. She might not look so young, but she’s got a long way to go yet. Huh?”
A shiver went through Ricky and Jack caught it. Well, it’s not as though he had been oblivious to Lizzie’s rather over-matured charms. Thus the talk. “Yeah,” Ricky said, a little breathless.
“Let’s be sure you know some things,” Jack said. “You know that old business about pulling out in time—you know that doesn’t work. Right? And trying to not put it all the way in? Useless. First of all, if you can do that, you’re a stronger man than I am, and even if you can, it’s not good enough—you can still get her pregnant. You know these things, right?”
“Of course I know that.”
“Rick, you understand, if there’s no backing out of this relationship with her and if there’s a strong potential for it to get more serious rather than less, you might have to be the one to take charge. Draw a line in the sand—insist on birth control at least. You got a midwife in town—there’s help available. For Liz. I think she’s too young to be having sex, personally. But I know she’s too young to be pregnant. You with me here, buddy?”
“I told you, I have it under control. But thanks, Jack. I know you just want me to do the right thing.”
“Which includes not getting caught off guard. If it’s getting close, you get her fixed up. Double protection—hers and yours. You have to use the head with the brain in it. Believe me, I’ve seen more than one good man go down because he was thinking with his dick.” He watched Ricky’s chin lower as he looked down and he knew. Liz was irresistible to him. He was fighting for his life. His pants were on fire.
“Yeah,” Ricky said. “I hear ya.”
“You make sure you always have a condom, okay? It’s your responsibility to keep her safe, son. If you use even one condom, Rick, you get her to Mel. Right away.”
“Do we have to talk about this anymore?”
Jack grabbed the boy’s arm and felt solid biceps in his grasp. Damn, Ricky was nearly six feet and still growing. “You wanna be a man, son? You have to think like one. It’s not enough to just feel like one.”
“Yeah,” he said. Then, “By the way, it’s not statutory unless I’m over eighteen.”
Jack laughed in spite of himself. “Too smart for your own goddamn good, aren’t you?”
“I hope so, Jack. Holy God, I hope so.”
Chapter Seven
Mel talked to Joey at least every other day, sometimes everyday. She would place the call from Doc’s when she had a free minute and Joey would call her back so it wasn’t on his nickel. She sent her digital pictures of the renovation of the cabin from Doc’s computer and Joey, being an interior decorator, was fascinated by all the building and refinishing Jack had done. Then Mel told Joey that she was going to stay a little longer. A few weeks. At least long enough to be sure Chloe was doing well with Lilly. She loved the little cabin and wanted to see Polly through her delivery. She didn’t tell Jack. But by her daily presence at the grill, he came to realize that she was giving it a chance, and he couldn’t hide the fact that it pleased him. She and Doc played gin, Mel walked down to the store in time to watch the soap with Connie and Joy, and spent a large amount of time at the bar. Joy, who was not a librarian, was the person who opened up the little library on Tuesdays—and Mel was always there. It was about ten by twelve feet, crammed with books, mostly paperbacks with the stamps from secondhand stores inside the covers. It was the only entertainment Mel had when she went home at night.
Mel learned that Lydie Sudder had poor general health when Doc sent her down to the Sudder house to deliver diabetic testing supplies, insulin and syringes. Lydie, beside being diabetic and arthritic, had a weak heart, but Mel was surprised to find that the little house she shared with Ricky was very well kept and nicely furnished; Lydie somehow managed to keep up with things. She got around slowly, but her smile was kind and her manners delightful. Of course, she wouldn’t let Mel out of the house without tea and cookies. She was still there, visiting with Lydie on the front porch, when Ricky came home from school, driving up in his little white truck.
“Hey, Mel,” he said. He leaned down and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Hi, Gram. I’m going to work if you don’t need anything.”