Author: Robyn Carr

“Hey, man, there aren’t all that many women around here. You just might have to do without for a bit.…”

“What do you see when you wake up in the morning, Preacher? A nice tent, huh? I see the…the…the great plains.”

Preacher frowned. “You have a pain pill tonight, Mike?” He didn’t answer. “Mike? You have a pain pill tonight?”

“I dunno.”

“Hmm. Sit tight. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Sit still? Mike thought vaguely. Like moving was an option…

Mike might not have even known he was gone when Preacher was back; he was still peering into his drink, babbling to himself, slumped over the bar. It didn’t seem like any time at all had passed when Jack was helping him to his feet.

“Come on, Mike. There you go. Forget the cane, just lean on me.”

“Wha—”

“Yeah, you’re going to sleep good tonight, that’s for sure,” Jack said.

Preacher got the door and as Jack was helping him through, said, “He might’ve had more than one pill, Jack. I asked him if he took a pain pill and he didn’t know.”

“You know how many drinks?”

“Not his usual limit, that’s for sure,” Preacher said. “A couple, maybe three.”

“I gave him a couple,” Jack said, Mike kind of lolling against him.

“I gave him one,” Preacher said. “Tell Mel. She’ll know if it’s anything to worry about.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for calling. I got it now.”

Mike didn’t get to breakfast at the bar the next morning, but by afternoon, right before his appointment with Mel, he was looking pretty decent. He called Preacher and asked for a lift into town where his SUV waited.

“How’d you sleep?” Preacher asked when Mike got himself carefully into the truck.

“Probably good,” Mike said. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“You gotta watch those pain pills and drinks. I think maybe you had a couple pills, a couple of drinks, and went straight to la-la land.”

“Yeah, could’a been. Sometimes it gets terrible…”

“Then there’s depression,” Preacher said. “Depression after major surgery is real common, you know that? Especially if it’s heart surgery or something violent. I think you qualify for violent. Three bullets.”

“Could qualify,” Mike said evasively.

Preacher reached in the pocket of his denim shirt and pulled out a folded piece of typing paper. “And then there’s the morning tent…” he said. “I looked all this stuff up last night. Erectile dysfunction—common after major surgery, after violent crimes, while taking narcotic drugs, et cetera. There was a list of things. Besides waiting until you get better, which you will, you should get checked for chronic bladder infection, which happens after being in the hospital, having those catheter things. You can tell Mel about it, no problem. Mel doesn’t even tell Jack stuff. I printed it out for you.”

Mike took the paper gingerly, unfolded it. “Aw, Jesus, I couldn’t have told you about this….”

“It’ll come back, I think. If it doesn’t, you can always get a rod put in it. But I don’t know, Mike…I don’t think I’d get a rod put in my dick. I think I’d try prayer first….”

“Aw, fuck…” Mike said.

“But one thing you oughta really think about—something for that depression. Mel can hook you up. And maybe count the pain pills. Man, you were a goner.”

“Preacher, I swear to God, if you ever—”

“Why would I say anything? Gimme a break, huh?”

Mike looked at the printed page. “Where’d you get this stuff?”

“On the computer. You just tell Mel. Or Doc. But I’d tell Mel, even though she’s a girl. She’s a lot more up on some stuff than Doc. I don’t know that Doc sees a lot of this with the sheep ranchers. You know?”

“I hate you so much right now,” Mike said.

“Yeah? You’ll get over it. Probably real soon—when you next want food.”

It took him a few days of pouting, but then Mike brought up his issues with Mel during one of their rehab sessions. He got a round of antibiotics for a chronic bladder infection and an antidepressant that he’d probably only have to take for a few months. But he’d be damned if he’d thank Preacher. Guys just don’t talk about those things. At least sober.

But he secretly found this rather amazing, coming from Preacher.

He walked into the bar early one afternoon, between lunch and dinner, and found Preacher seated on a stool with a towel around his shoulders. Paige had scissors in her hand and was trimming him up. He cocked his head and looked at this activity.

“I was a beautician,” she said, smiling. “And if John is going to have hair, he’s going to have to keep it decent. I see to that,” she said, smiling. Then, taking a comb to his bushy eyebrows, said, “Not to mention these evil things. I’ve never seen a man with so much hair here.”

“He is looking better these days, I’ve noticed,” Mike said. “I figured it was you.”

Preacher glowered.

Laughing, Mike ran a hand over his own bizarre head of hair. It was longer on one side than the other, still a little sparse over that temporal scar.

“Want me to try to straighten that up for you? While I’ve got my stuff out?”

“Hey, that would be great. You don’t mind?”

“I’d be glad to. John’s done here,” she said, whipping off the towel.

“Okay if I let your girl touch me with her scissors, Preacher?”

Preacher merely scowled and stood up from the stool. But he turned toward Paige and placed a small fatherly kiss on her forehead. Just in case there were any questions.

Then she put a hand on his forearm and looked up at him with adoring eyes. But Preacher seemed not to see it. Mike wondered if Preacher had any idea what was going on here.

“I’ll go see if Christopher is waking up,” Preacher said.

“Thanks. Then I’ll be in the kitchen to help.” And to Mike she said, “Next?”

He sat on the stool and she draped him with the towel.

“Ah, yes,” she said, “I can work with this. Does this still hurt?” she asked, gently touching the scar.

“No, it’s fine. But it seems to be having trouble growing hair.”

“I’ll fix you up. Let me take it a lot shorter, give you a chance to catch up over here. I promise, it won’t be awful. You’d look good with shorter hair.”

“Yeah, that’s what the Marine Corps thought. They thought I was cute as a button as a jarhead. Anything you do is fine. I appreciate it.”

“You must have been terrified, when it happened,” she said.

“I don’t remember anything. Instant lights out.”

“That’s good, I guess.” She snipped a bit, black hair falling to his shoulders and onto the floor. “I should thank you, I think. I know that John called you about my…situation. My ex-husband.”

“Ex now?” he asked.

“Yes, very recently. I don’t even carry the name anymore.”

“And I guess, if you’re still here—”

“I love it here. I don’t know when I’ve felt more…I don’t know, normal. And Christopher is so happy—he loves John so much.”

“It’s pretty clear how Preach—how John feels.”

“Is it?” she asked.

Mike laughed. “Okay, he’s not the most demonstrative, but you can bet I’ve never seen him act like this before. It’s pretty obvious.”

She picked up the mirror off the bar and handed it to him. “What do you think?” she asked.

“You’re gifted,” he said. “Anyone who can get a silk purse out of that mess should have her own chain of shops.”

“Not in Virgin River, I don’t think,” she laughed. “Besides, I love working with John.”

Unable to sleep one morning, Mike hoisted himself out of bed, iced down his shoulder and went outside with his 9 mm. He stood on the porch and lifted it with his left arm, peering over the barrel.

Jack came out onto the porch, dressed to go into town. “Is the wildlife in danger?” he asked.

Mike turned. “I think I should start perfecting the left hand. In case…You know. In case I don’t get it back.”

Jack shrugged. “Never hurts to know what you can do. But I wouldn’t give up on the right arm. Not yet. It hasn’t been that long, Mike.”

“It’s frustrating as hell. That’s all.” He holstered the gun. “There a place around here I can shoot?”

“There’s a range about thirty minutes from here just outside of Clear River. I’ll write down some directions for you.”

“You on your way into town?” Mike asked.

“Headed that way pretty soon,” he said. “I’m going to get Mel out of bed.”

“I’ll see you there,” he said, carefully maneuvering the steps and climbing into his SUV.

Jack stood there until Mike had driven out of the clearing. Then he pulled off his boots and left them on the porch. In his bedroom, he got down to his boxers and slipped into bed beside his wife, pulling her into his arms. “Hmm,” she said, snuggling close. She sniffed. “You’ve had coffee already.”

“Mel,” he whispered. “We’re alone.”

Her eyes popped open and she turned toward him only to find her mouth instantly covered in a blistering kiss. It took her a second to realize what he’d said, and when she did, she returned the kiss. “You’re sure?” she asked.

“I watched him leave,” Jack said, smiling down at her. “You can make as much noise as you want.”

“I don’t make that much noise,” she said. She tugged his boxers down. “Oh-oh. I might make a little noise.”

“You go right ahead, baby. I might, too.”

Mike pulled up in front of the bar and parked, but he stayed in his car. There, slumped in one of the porch chairs, was a woman. She was a big woman wearing long men’s trousers, boots that hung open unlaced, a plaid shirt and quilted down vest. Her head lolled to one side, her arms dangled over the arms of the chair, and on the floorboards of the porch, an empty bottle.

He tucked the 9 mm under the seat and left his cane in the car. He had to use the porch rail to assist in getting up the steps. He went to the woman and pressed two fingers to her carotid artery—at least she was alive.

Mike tried the front door to the bar and found it was still locked. No need to wake anyone. He went back to the SUV and pulled a blanket out of the back. He covered the woman and used a book of matches to light one of the gas space heaters Jack kept on the porch in winter. Then he took a chair on the other side of the porch. Waiting.

After about fifteen minutes, he got a clue. Jesus, he was stupid sometimes. Suddenly, he began putting the pieces together. Great detective work, Valenzuela, he found himself thinking. At night, when everyone turned in, he could hear them softly talking. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their muffled voices in late-night conversation drifted to his room. And in mornings after he’d had trouble sleeping, Mel would usually say something like, “It was a bad night, wasn’t it? You okay?” Every groan, every flush—it was one big room. They might as well be camping together.

Just because he wasn’t getting it up didn’t mean no one was. Jack and Mel needed some time alone. My God, they were newlyweds, and Mel’s pregnancy wasn’t too advanced for her to enjoy a healthy, satisfying sex life. He made a mental note to pay attention to that—to find things to do that would free up the cabin. To be sure, they knew he wouldn’t be back for quite a while so they could have a private life.