Brie came in from the RV behind the bar, her home until her house was finished, and damned if each one of those men didn’t have his hands all over her belly like he’d been the one to put that baby in there. After a quick feel, they’d compliment Mike on his excellent potency. “You got her cooking a good one here, brother,” Josh said. “Baby, you are more gorgeous than ever!” said Tom.
Then came Vanessa and Nikki and the whole process was repeated again, with bone-rattling hugs and sloppy kisses. It was a whole new experience for Luke. Even in his own family of biological brothers, he hadn’t seen anything like it. But it interested him, the way these men behaved toward each other’s women, as though it was expected. As if they idolized each other’s wives as much as their own, treating them with a fondness that was hardly superficial; an intimacy that was at once deep and completely respectful. The trust was implicit; the affection appeared genuine. The security they felt in their relationships was obvious.
Luke had never lived in this kind of world.
Preacher was poaching fish, steaming rice and vegetables, putting out snacks. The man’s typically serious expression had turned happy and his grin was bigger than Luke had ever seen. Drinks and food were served, the noise grew louder as the evening grew later. Then slowly, the women began to disappear to take care of their children.
Luke had gratefully allowed himself to be pulled into the brotherhood. It scratched an itch he’d had for a while; he’d been missing his own military brothers. But when he noticed that the women had begun to depart, he stole a glance at Shelby. Mel had put on her jacket and with Jack’s help with the children, she made her way out of the bar, leaving Shelby momentarily alone.
Their relationship had just started heating up when Doc died. In the couple of weeks since he’d had his arms around her now and then, but she only laid her head on his chest and sighed heavily, tired and sad. The load of Doc’s passing had been heavy, both emotionally and workwise. It derailed what would have been a serious seduction from him.
Luke went to her before she could leave or get caught up in conversation with someone else. When he approached her it gave him a lift to see her smile.
“I haven’t seen as much of you as I’d like,” he said.
“It’s been a difficult time. Are you doing okay?” she asked.
“Busy. I’ve gotten a lot done without you to distract me. Tell me about you.”
She shrugged. “We’ve been going through Doc’s things. It hasn’t been easy for Mel. I think her heart is breaking, but she’s so strong.”
“How about
your
heart?” he heard himself ask.
“I wasn’t as close to him as Mel was. I gather their
relationship was intense, humorous, conflicted but trusting. They gave each other so much crap, it wouldn’t be obvious at first sight—but they loved each other. She’s been telling me stories about him for days on end—about him going into the backwoods to camps full of transients who could be dangerous, trying to help them without worrying about his own neck. About the way he used to bend the rules to be sure everything would work out for his town, his people. Really, he was an icon. I’m learning a lot.”
“You’re tired,” he said, running a finger along her soft cheek.
“It’s hard work. I don’t know what Mel would do without me right now, lucky I happen to be here. How’s the house coming?”
“The roof leaks, Paul’s going to be coming back out to help,” he said, smiling. “But I’ve sanded and varnished the floors, textured and painted the walls, put in new doors, windows and baseboards in the house, installed new cupboards and countertops. The porch is solid and the cabins all have new roofs, thanks to crews Paul could give me.” His grin became wider. “I can have a fire at night and the bathroom is functional, though I have to do a lot in there to make it nice. Art has a good little home next door. He’s real proud of that. It’s the first time he’s ever had his own house.”
“When we get through Doc’s things, I’ll come check it out.”
“We need some time, you and me.”
“That would feel good. But there’s hunting…”
“There’s hunting,” he confirmed. “Then hunting will be done and we’ll think of something.”
“I’ve committed to Mel and the clinic every week-day,” she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But I’m going to be fine.”
“Then follow me out on the porch,” he said. “Let me get my arms around you for a minute before you go.”
“That’s the best part of my day,” she said, walking out the door with him, arm in arm.
When all the women had gone, the cards and cigars came out. The tables were pushed together and hands were dealt. Luke pulled up a chair and eagerly accepted a fat cigar. Everyone sat down except Jack. “I’m going home, guys,” he said. “Mel told me to stay, but she’s going through a hard time since Doc…”
“Yeah,” someone said.
“The girl’s hurting,” said someone else.
“Tell her we love her,” a third chimed in. “This crap’s hard on the heart.”
“I’ll tell her,” Jack said. “She’s real tough, but there are times that me being around helps. Four a.m.?” he asked.
“Four a.m. Loaded,” Preacher said.
“Listen, if I’m not here…” Jack said.
“No need to explain, buddy,” Paul said. “Mel comes first.”
“She hates it when I shoot at animals. And ordinarily, I’d shoot at them anyway…”
“No explanation necessary, Sarge,” Joe said. “This is one of those times…”
“Don’t burn the place down,” Jack said, going for his jacket.
A few tense and disappointing weeks passed for Cameron with no word from Brandy after their night together. Story of my life, he thought. It seemed that every time he found a woman who came to life in his arms, a woman he
could fall in love with, she disappeared before he could grab hold of her.
He went back to the Davenport when the same bartender was on duty. Cameron didn’t know the bartender’s name, but the latter addressed him personally. “How you doing, Doc? Get you something?”
“Yeah, I sure hope so. You remember the woman I met here a few weeks ago? I haven’t been in here since then.”
“Vaguely,” he said with a shrug that was very telling. Cameron was sure he remembered exactly, as the bar had been nearly empty, but it was his job not to see things.
“I’m trying to find her. I didn’t get her name.”
“Sorry, Doc. Neither did I.”
“Well, how’d she pay for her drink before I got here?”
“Signed for it. She was a guest.”
“Thank God! Can you go through your receipts? Anything?”
“That,” he said gravely, “would get me fired.”
“She said she was at a wedding. What are the chances I can find out what wedding?”
“The manager might give you the names on the billing. There was a marquee up in the lobby. Last names won’t tell you anything much, but I bet if you called the newspaper, you could find out if they published an announcement.”
That was Cameron’s next quest, and it proved easy enough. Of course it didn’t turn up any information about the woman to end his search, but he managed to learn it was the Jorgensen-Benson wedding, Joe Benson being an architect in Grants Pass.
He went to Joe’s firm, handed him a business card and said, “I met one of your wedding guests in the bar at the Davenport the night of your wedding. Her name was
Brandy and I didn’t get a last name. I’d like to ask her out. Can you help me?”
“Brandy? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You sure? Beautiful woman, about five-three, dark blond or real light brown hair and large, dark eyes. Thirty-one, wearing a gold dress…”
“Buddy,” he laughed. “You just described half the women at the wedding. The bridesmaids wore gold. My wife was a flight attendant and the place was crawling with gorgeous women about that age. How’d you lose track of her?”
“You don’t want to know,” Cameron said, looking down briefly. “Turns out I’m not real slick with women anymore.”
“Doc, I’m sorry. I’ll keep your card and ask my wife. Will that help?”
“Not enough, but I’ll take it. Did most of the people at your wedding come from Grants Pass?”
“No, as a matter of fact—most came from out of town. My family is here but Nikki’s family is from San Francisco. And her girlfriends are from everywhere. Literally.”
Cameron was quiet for a minute. “She and I really hit it off.”
“Yet you didn’t get her name and number?” Joe asked.
Cameron laughed without humor. “She asked that I let her get in touch with me. And she hasn’t. I have no idea why. Really, it was…” He gulped. “I have no idea why,” he repeated.
Joe put his hands in his pockets, looked down and shook his head. “Believe me, pal. I feel your pain. I’m just not sure I can help.”
“But you’ll ask your wife?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Cameron said.
A few days later he called Joe only to be told that Mrs. Benson had no friends at the party named Brandy. The description of the woman he was looking for could match three of her girlfriends, all married.
The possibilities were endless. She made up her name, maybe she’d had a fight with the husband, it could be a real complicated divorce. Or maybe she was rethinking the divorce. Or he was. If he had a brain, that SOB wouldn’t let her go.
Whatever the truth was, she didn’t intend to get in touch, or she would have.
That’s it,
Cameron said to himself.
I’m through. I’m done. No more talking to pretty, lonely girls in bars.
He realized this did nothing to put him in a carefree mood. One of his partners remarked that he’d seemed depressed lately. He brushed him off, saying it was nothing, but he knew what it was. She had disappeared into thin air. He kept asking himself why. Everything he remembered about that night told him they had a chance together. He had concentrated on treating her as though she was the most special human being alive, and in fact, it hadn’t taken any effort. She had been.
One evening when he was the last to leave the medical practice he took it upon himself to tidy up the waiting room. Toys and magazines were scattered everywhere and their current receptionist didn’t do a very good job of straightening up at the end of the day. With just another fifteen minutes, he could have it cleared out so the housekeeping staff could do a thorough cleaning. After stowing away the toys, he began to stack the children’s books and magazines for the parents.
And there she was—her face stared back at him from a little corner photo on the cover of
People
magazine. He sat
heavily in a child-size chair in the waiting room, staring. If it wasn’t her, it sure looked like her. Kid Crawford Divorces Third Wife.
He read the story. Oh, it was her. Kid Crawford, a notorious rock star, had chosen for his third wife a flight attendant he’d met while traveling. They’d been married less than a year. He did some math—she had said she’d been served divorce papers nine months before, which made their actual marriage somewhere less than three months. Ouch. Given the source of his current sulk, he could well imagine how tough that would be on the ego. No wonder she was depressed.
There were more pictures in the body of the story, plus pictures of his first and second wives and the new girlfriend, who he had reportedly lived with for six months prior to his divorce. Perhaps the hardest thing to accept was that this classy young woman, so squeaky clean and sweet, had been married to this awful, bearded, greasy guy in torn jeans, dark glasses, gaudy tattoos and chains.
This would explain her pain and loneliness. He took the magazine with him to Joe Benson’s architectural firm. Joe stood, stretching out a hand. “Hey, Doc. Sorry, I don’t know anything more to tell you about the mysterious wedding guest.”
Cameron flashed the magazine. “Do you know her?” he asked.
The look on Joe’s face said it all. He couldn’t reel in the expression to cover it.
“Abby,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, Doc. I had a feeling it might be her.”
“But you wouldn’t have told me.”
Joe shrugged. “I couldn’t do that, Doc. To tell the truth, I sympathize with you, I really do. But you have to be careful
about making women vulnerable to men you don’t know. And even though I’m sure you’re sterling, I don’t know you.”
“I understand,” he said.
“According to my wife, Abby’s had a real bad year. I’d hate to complicate it further.” Joe tapped the magazine. “It’s been just awful.”
Cameron frowned and shook his head. “How’d she end up with a loser like this?”
“Oh, he’s a loser, but this is all theatrics. He doesn’t look like this. I’m sure half his fans wouldn’t even recognize him. His name is Ross and I’ve never met him, but my wife was at their little secret wedding and she says he’s a good-looking, clean-cut, charming kind of guy. Except not for long, I guess.”
Cameron hung his head for a second, taking it in. “Gotcha. You still have my card?” he asked, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.
Joe held up a hand. “I’ve got it,” he said.
“If you could just get word to her that I’d like to hear from her sometime….”
“I could try that.”
“If I don’t hear from you, I’ll consider the matter closed.”
“Sure. I’ll ask my wife to get in touch with her.”
A couple of days went by with no phone call and he knew—there wouldn’t be one. If she had any interest, this was a good time for her to reach out to someone who cared about her, wanted to begin a relationship that wasn’t like this loony rock-star thing. He forced himself to accept the facts—it was a one-night stand. It was over.
A
bby MacCall Crawford, aka Brandy one time only, had had a very simple plan when she returned to L.A. from the wedding in Grants Pass. She was going to sign the divorce papers, be free in two shakes and work on rebuilding her life. After all, her marriage to Ross Crawford had been over almost as soon as it began and while technically she’d been Mrs. Crawford for nine months, he’d lived with another woman for over six and she hadn’t seen him or talked to him in ten. This should be a mere formality. Long overdue.
It wasn’t going to be that easy for Abby.
First of all, she had to hire a lawyer because there were “terms” in Ross’s settlement offer. Her husband had run up some impressive bills on credit cards, most of them during their separation, and she was stuck for her half, even though her income wasn’t a tenth of his. Just negotiating the amount down to a third of what Ross demanded cost her huge attorney fees and still left her with a bill she could never pay. And she was asking herself for the millionth time how she’d gotten herself in this mess.
Ross Crawford had swept her off her feet with his prac
ticed flirtations and she had fallen hard and fast. He was a musician, the bass guitarist in a band that had several popular albums out. She had met him on the airplane. His appearance in first class was so different from the one he presented while onstage. He was clean-cut in his khakis and crisp white shirt, his hair neatly cropped, face clean shaven, smile dazzling. He had such
charisma,
such
humor!
Onstage he wore ripped jeans, chains, and affected a scruffy three-day growth of beard that he only let grow out before he performed, and long shaggy hair that wasn’t his. She knew the band; it made her laugh to think it was the same man. Abby fell in love with a semifamous rock star and even saw her own face on the cover of a tabloid more than once.
When she met him, Ross had been returning to Los Angeles after being in drug treatment, a secret carefully guarded from the public. But the secret wasn’t that Ross
had
used drugs, but rather that he’d stopped; there was a certain druggie mystique about rock stars that made them seem more edgy and dangerous, more popular. The fact he was in recovery didn’t deter her from seeing him; she was proud of him. He went to meetings every day and couldn’t talk about anything but his program. His sincerity was riveting. The other guys in the band didn’t use, he said. In fact, they were the ones that did the intervention, demanded the life change if he was going to stay with them. He spoke the gospel; he was clean as a whistle, proven by regular urine tests. He wanted a stable life, a wife, a family, something genuine to come home to.
Abby had married him too quickly because she was with him every day and night anyway. After only a few weeks of marital bliss, Ross was back on tour with the band. The daily phone calls lasted only a couple of weeks and though she could arrange her flying schedule around
his tour pretty easily, he told her he was just too busy with the band, rehearsals, travel and grueling performances. But she knew—he started using again right away. She could hear it in his voice—first the slur of alcohol, then the sharp euphoria of cocaine as well. Then he stopped picking up her calls; she went straight to voice mail.
Her own naivete had so embarrassed her that for weeks that turned into months she tried pretending everything was all right, that it was simply difficult being separated while he was on tour with the band. Then his picture started appearing in the media with other women. Then his lawyer called her; she was served papers. Ross had never bothered calling, himself. By the time she gathered with some of her girlfriends at Nikki’s wedding in Grants Pass, everyone knew it had fallen apart long ago and she was faced with their pity. So she had slipped away from the reception before it was over, then out of town first thing in the morning.
A turning point for her had been a night of wonderful love in the arms of a stranger. It had been a complete accident. When he left her in the bar to book a room, she had no intention of spending the night with him. She got up from her table and went to the elevators to go to her own room. But when he saw her there, thinking she was waiting for him, the look on his face was so sweet and sexy, she melted. When he took her hand and pulled her carefully into his arms, the need to be held and treated with love surpassed any common sense she might’ve possessed.
At the time she was glad to have had that night. Something about it showed her that life wasn’t over, that after the divorce was final she might actually find happiness someday. It had been her intention to just go back to work, careful not to allow herself to get close to any flirtatious passengers, and go about the business of recovering from
the shattered expectations she had had of love. Then she would start anew. When the divorce and her recovery were complete, she thought she might get in touch with that beautiful stranger and maybe get to know him better.
But in the chilly days of late October, her divorce still not final, she was sitting in her doctor’s office, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I just don’t see how this could have happened. I’ve been on the pill forever and never before…”
Dr. Pollock took her hand in both of his. “I can tell you exactly how,” he said. “You were taking antibiotics for an ear infection and it rendered your oral contraceptive ineffective. Didn’t they warn you about that at the clinic? When they prescribed the antibiotic?”
“They might have,” she said with a sniff. In fact, who knows what they said? There were many colliding facts—one, she had to have something to heal her ears—she was flying after all. When she realized she couldn’t clear her ears without pain and would be on duty in three days, she went to the airline’s outpatient clinic right away. If they’d said anything about her birth control being useless to her, she wouldn’t have given it a thought—she wasn’t making use of her birth control. Her husband was gone; his lawyers had called her every week about that divorce. And then, a handsome young doctor had found her sad and lonely in a hotel bar, bought her a couple of champagne cocktails, led her upstairs and made incredible, unforgettable love to her.
A complete stranger. She had become pregnant by a complete stranger.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “What am I going to do?” she wept.
“You have a few options,” her doctor said. “But you should make a decision about whether to continue the
pregnancy as soon as possible. The longer you put it off, the more complicated it gets.”
It briefly crossed her mind to get in touch with Cameron Michaels. Nikki had called her to ask her if she’d met the man; he’d gone to Joe’s office, looking for a way to get in touch with a woman who fit her description. Abby played dumb; she wasn’t about to tell even her closest friends what had happened before she had a plan. “Gee,” she’d said to her friend, “I ran into a couple of real nice guys in the hotel bar, but that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Now it was too late. Now if she saw him again, he’d know he had fathered her child and she’d be stuck with him for life, if only as the baby’s father. And what if she learned she didn’t want a permanent relationship with him? She couldn’t take the risk. That he had been perfect that one night didn’t mean anything! Even Ross had been perfect longer than that!
Then everything had become a horrible mess; as if the divorce wasn’t enough, being followed constantly by people with cameras, hungry for the ugly details, made it so much worse. Ross had made himself excellent tabloid fodder.
And then there was that other sticky thing—the prenup. Ross’s attorney would begin sending her a settlement every month—ten thousand dollars—predicated on her fidelity during their marriage. When she signed the agreement, it seemed almost silly—if she promised to be completely faithful during her marriage, he would pay her that amount in the event of divorce, up to the date of her remarriage. Rich guys had to make deals like that—so short-term wives didn’t walk away with millions. She hadn’t expected to be a short-term wife.
If her pregnancy became obvious, it was possible Ross or his legal beagles would be able to prove she’d had sex
with another man more than a month before the divorce was final. To give up the alimony was nothing to her; she didn’t care about that. But the bills Ross had left her with were huge. Cheating him out of alimony wasn’t on her mind, but those bills that claimed more than forty grand owing were his, not hers.
She could have this baby if she could find a way to conceal her pregnancy, or at least the time of conception. She had left Grants Pass, returned to Los Angeles, called a lawyer and signed the papers within a couple of weeks—but it was another month before she was a single woman—and a good OB could determine the due date extremely closely with the use of an ultrasound. Any doubt would send her to court, which would cost even more. Abby wasn’t a millionaire rock star, she was a flight attendant whose income was completely eaten up by her living expenses, her savings and equity in her small town house zapped by legal fees. She’d have to go into deep cover; she couldn’t even return to her family in Seattle to wait out the delivery.
She decided quickly. She was going to give birth, but no one would know about it until it was over and the baby, hopefully, a few months old at least.
When Paul Haggerty decided to relocate part of his construction company to Virgin River from Grants Pass, his mother’s only requirement was that he bring the grandchildren back to visit once a month. The only child since his union with Vanessa so far was little Matt, her son from her previous marriage, but to Marianne Haggerty, little Matt was as much her grandson as if he was Paul’s very own. And for Vanessa, these little trips to Paul’s family were a delightful respite. In fact, she used the trip to make
sure Mattie had at least an afternoon with his biological grandparents, Carol and Lance Rutledge, as well.
On this particular early-November weekend, Matt wasn’t finding the visit quite as enjoyable as usual. He’d been teething and had developed diarrhea and a bad cold. When, on Saturday morning, a scary-sounding cough settled into his chest, Vanni and Paul were strongly considering a trip to the emergency room.
But Paul wanted the baby treated by a doctor he knew he could trust. On impulse, he picked up the phone and called Cam. “It’s Paul Haggerty, Cameron. Hey, man, I’m real sorry to bother you at home, but we’re visiting my folks here in town and the baby’s sick. He’s got a fever, diarrhea and an awful thick cough. Any chance you’re on call? Or maybe you could recommend someone for us to take him to?”
“I’m not busy, Paul. Bring the baby over to the office and let’s have a look,” Cameron said. “I’ll be there in half an hour to unlock the door.”
“Hey, man, you don’t know how much I appreciate this. I think Vanni’s getting herself worked up. Hell, what am I saying—I’m getting worked up.”
Cameron beat them to the peds office and when Vanni and Paul arrived with the baby, Vanni was tearing up from worry. “Hey now,” Cameron said, dropping an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s not get all upset until we know what to get upset about, huh? Hey, big fella,” he said, taking the baby out of her arms. “Wow, you’ve just about doubled in size!”
“Cameron, I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “I was doing fine until he started coughing.” Right on cue, Mattie let go with a large, deep, gravelly cough that turned him red in the face.
Cameron put the baby on the exam table and listened
to his chest first. He took his temperature, looked in his ears and throat, and palpated his chubby little body. “Is he still on the breast?” Cameron asked.
“A couple of times a day. Maybe three—morning, afternoon nap, bedtime.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do—he’s not going to love this. This could be croup. At least bronchitis. His color is still good and he isn’t having trouble breathing, but that crowlike barking cough is a dead giveaway. I’ll need an X-ray, but I’ll call ahead for you—I don’t want him sitting around a roomful of sick people, or infecting a roomful of people with sprained ankles. I’m going to give him antibiotics and a little oxygen before you leave here, and a nice big dose of baby Tylenol for the fever. You’re going to have to keep him on clear liquids—Pediolyte works. No breast milk, no formula, no juice, no food. Antibiotics tend to cause diarrhea and you’ve already got some of that going on—we don’t want to aggravate it. When you get home, I want you to spend a lot of time in a steamy shower to loosen up his chest. Do that as often as you can stand it.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Watch him closely. If he has trouble breathing at all or if his color takes on a bluish tint, call me to meet you in the E.R.—I’ll give you my cell number. But I think we caught it in time. Lots of clear liquids, Vanni. Tylenol every four hours. Do you know what to do if he spikes a high fever?”
“Cool bath?” she asked.
“Not cold, not warm. Tepid,” he said. “Don’t leave him in there long, just give him a nice dunk, run a cloth over his little body and dry him off. He’s only 101.4 now, before the Tylenol—not scary high for his age. If he gets close to 103, call me immediately. You should be able to keep it under control with regular Tylenol.”
Cameron dosed the baby from his drug cabinet. Then he hooked up the oxygen and, holding the baby on his lap, managed to get the cannulas in the baby’s nostrils despite his squirming. He held him while the oxygen drifted in and the baby calmed in his experienced hands. “When are you planning to head back to Virgin River?”
“We were going to go tomorrow afternoon,” Paul said.
“I’d like you to stick close until it’s clear he’s recovering. You don’t want to be out on the road and have this thing rear its ugly head. I can’t think of anything more likely to bring that on than hours on his back in a car seat. Attacks of croup tend to come in the night—you might not get much rest tonight or tomorrow night. Can you shoot for Tuesday for going back?”
“We’ll do whatever you say,” Paul said, slipping an arm around Vanni’s waist.
“Okay, if you don’t have to bring him back to me before, let me take a look at him, listen to his chest, on Tuesday morning. If it sounds good, you can hit the road. You should probably have Doc Mullins take a look when you get back to Virgin River. He’s probably treated a bucketful of croup in his years there.”