Robyn Carr - Temptation Ridge

“Bah,” he scoffed. “I’m fine. I’m old, that’s all. I’ve been ridden hard and put up wet.”

She laughed at him. He hadn’t changed much in her two years there. He was using his cane a great deal more these days—the arthritis was wearing him down. He was an old seventy-two—his life had not been an easy one. He’d worked his way through college and medical school with no help from family and spent the next forty-five years caring for the needs of a town single-handedly, with only the most rudimentary equipment, and with no liability insurance. When she had lifted her eyebrows at that, shocked, he merely shrugged and said, “We don’t sue each other here. At least not over medical aid.”

Doc had never married, had no children, and had told Mel there was no extended family. Mel had a great deal of affection for him, even if he did ruffle her feathers from time to time. He had, indeed, been ridden hard.

“If it’s acid reflux, they have some really good stuff for that now,” she said.

“I know this, Melinda. I’m a doctor.”

“And not just any doctor,” she said with a smile. “The biggest pain-in-the-ass doctor in three counties. Suit yourself.” And then she thought of something. “You know, you could ask Preacher to come up with some meals that don’t stir up that heartburn so much….”

“Why would I do that? He’s a dream in the kitchen.”

“Well, I’ve asked him for some low-fat meals. He was very agreeable, for Preacher. I’ve put on some weight since I got here.”

He lifted his glasses to his forehead and peered at her lower half. “Hmm,” he said.

“You did not just do that!”

“Did I say a word?” he asked, letting his glasses drop into place. She hmmphed and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “Quit complaining about your weight,” he said, rubbing a hand over his big belly. “At least you have the advantage of giving birth to most of yours.”

She lifted a mean little eyebrow. “You could give up that whiskey you have at the end of every day. That might help with the heartburn.”

“Melinda,” he said gravely, “I’d rather have needles in my eyes.”

It didn’t take Luke long to make enough adjustments so he could sleep in a real bed, in a real house, make use of a real shower. First, the exterminator plugged holes and placed traps. Luke did some serious clearing of trash and cleaning. Then there was a new mattress-and-box-spring set and a working refrigerator, both of which he could transport in his truck and move with a dolly. A couple of weeks made all the difference. But every day was long and dirty. His muscles ached. There was an endless amount of work to be done.

It wasn’t yet five when he was showered and headed for a beer and some of that excellent food at Jack’s. He’d only been there a minute, waiting for someone to come from the back to serve him, when Mel struggled into the bar, baby against her chest, toddler in hand, diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Right inside the door, the toddler took a tumble down onto his knees and sent up a wail. “Oh, punkin,” she said. She spied Luke and said, “Oh, Luke, here.” She thrust the baby into his hands so she could stoop to lift up the boy. “Oh, you’re okay,” she said, brushing off his knees. “Don’t cry now, you didn’t even break the floor. It’s okay.” She was just about to stand, when she heard her husband’s voice.

“Mel,” he said.

She looked up from the floor. Jack was behind the bar. He inclined his head toward Luke with a smile on his face. Luke was holding the baby out in front of him at arm’s length, a startled expression on his face while Emma kicked her little legs and squirmed.

Mel burst out laughing, then covered her mouth. She rose and went to him, taking the baby. “I’m sorry, Luke,” she said. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve been around a man who didn’t know exactly what to do with a baby.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t have much experience with this.”

“It’s okay—my mistake.” She couldn’t help but laugh again. “The first day I met Jack, there was a newborn at the clinic and he scooped her up like an old pro.”

“Because I was an old pro, Mel,” Jack said, coming around to the front of the bar. “Four sisters, eight nieces and one on the way,” he told Luke.

“Prolific family,” Luke observed. “I don’t know much about babies.”

“If you’re looking to learn babies, this is the place,” Mel said. “I don’t think there are any virgins left in Virgin River. The birth rate around here is on the rise.”

“Me and babies—incompatible. And I like it that way.”

Jack crouched in front of the bar. “Come on, cowboy,” he said, holding out his big hands to David. “Come to Dad.”

“Da!” David cried, waving his chubby arms and toddling at high speed toward Jack.

Jack hoisted the boy up onto his hip and went back around the bar. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked Luke.

“Cold draft?”

“Gotcha,” he said, expertly drawing a beer one-handed. He put it on the bar. “How’s the house look?”

Luke picked up the beer, much happier holding that than a baby. “Like a train wreck. A complete disaster. I should probably have just put a match to it.” He took a long pull. “But, I have the trash out of the house and I’ve cleaned it up enough to sleep and shower in there. I’ve started clearing out the cabins. I’m going to have to ask Paul for some advice.”

“You may have already gathered Paul is a great guy to work with if you want to do a lot of it yourself. He can step in and get the things done that are outside your expertise. Wish I’d had him around when I was working on the bar.”

With precision timing, Paul came in for a beer, still dusty in his work clothes. Right behind him, old Doc Mullins limped in and joined the men at the bar, raising one finger to Jack to set him up a whiskey, and Jack immediately knew exactly what he wanted. A few neighbors arrived, taking tables. The bar had settled into a nice little family watering hole with everyone knowing their places, relaxing into an end-of-day libation before dinner.

Paul inquired about the house and cabins and Luke said, “I’m going to ask you to take a look, but first I have to finish clearing the trash out of the cabins. I got a Dumpster from Eureka and hired an exterminator. If you saw them now, you’d run for your life.”

“I don’t scare easy,” Paul said. “But you go for it. I’m ready when you are.”

Luke tried not to watch the door. He had told himself for two weeks he wasn’t coming here to see her. He came to Jack’s because the people and the atmosphere were just what he was looking for in a small, friendly country bar. The men were good-natured and helpful, the women impossibly beautiful. The fact that he kept imagining her in his mind atop that big horse, the braid standing out as she rode, well…that was just that guy thing. He couldn’t help it.

Jack leaned on the bar and said in a low voice, “Some of my boys are coming in a few weeks to catch a piece of hunting season.”

“Jack,” Mel said from across the room. “Not again!”

He ignored her while Paul chuckled. “She thinks we torture the deer,” Jack explained, his voice normal again. “She loves to see the boys, but hates that we hunt. Why don’t you buy yourself a deer tag and license. Join us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke said.

“Luke, I had high hopes for you,” Mel shot across the room.

“Run by the bank and make a withdrawal,” Paul advised. “There will be poker.”

Luke grinned. “Deal me in.”

An old woman with muddy rubber boots, wiry white hair and big black-framed glasses came into the bar and jumped onto a stool beside Doc. Jack said, “Luke, meet Hope McCrea, town busybody.”