Jack rolled out of bed to answer the ringing phone. “Mel’s in trouble,” came Doc’s gravelly voice. “Someone’s trying to get in the back of the house. Downstairs. She’s down there. Glass broke.”

Jack dropped the phone and grabbed his jeans off the chair. No time for a shirt or shoes, he took his 9 mm handgun out of the holster that hung on a hook in the closet, checked to be sure it was loaded and that he had one in the chamber and bolted out the door. He crossed the street at a dead run. He didn’t think—he was on automatic. His jaw ground, his temples pulsed and his blood was roaring in his ears. There was an old truck at the clinic beside Doc’s truck and Mel’s Hummer. He knew exactly who was in there.

He looked into the front door window in time to see Calvin pushing Mel into the office, and they had come from the direction of the kitchen where the drug cabinet sat. He ran around to the back of the house and looked into the kitchen door window; they were still out of sight. Then they came back into view from down the hall and Jack ducked—but not before he saw that Calvin had a big, serrated knife against her neck. He waited; he wasn’t going to give him the time or opportunity to flee or to do any damage to Mel before fleeing. It was a long few seconds as he waited for them to get back into the kitchen. He could hear their movements, the man’s hostile voice as he held Mel.

They were almost to the drug cabinet when Jack kicked the door. It crashed open and bounced off the opposite wall, but he was already inside. Legs braced apart, arms raised, pistol pointed at the man who held his woman, he said, “Put down the knife. Carefully.”

“You’re gonna let me out of here, and she’ll come with me to be sure,” Calvin said. Knife against her throat, Mel looked at Jack and saw a man she had never seen before. The expression on his face should be enough to terrify the man who held her. Bare chested, barefoot, his jeans zipped but not buttoned, his shoulders and arms frighteningly huge, big tattoos on his swollen biceps, he looked like a wild man. He looked over the barrel of the gun, his eyes narrow, and a set to his jaw told her he was going to act. There was no question. He did not look at Mel, but at Calvin. And for a woman terrified of guns, she was unafraid. She believed in him. She knew, in that instant, that he would risk his life for her, but he would never put her at risk. Never. If he was going to make a move, she wouldn’t be in danger. Her expression went from frightened to trusting.

Jack had less than a four-inch target—the left side of the man’s head. Right next to that was Mel’s head, Mel’s beautiful face. At her throat, the blade. He didn’t even have to think about it—he wasn’t going to lose her like this.

“You have one second.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw her cast a look his way, a look that in that split second told him she loved him, believed in him. Then her eyes dropped closed and her head dipped ever so slightly to the right.

“Back off, man—”

Jack took his shot, blowing the man backward, the knife flying out of his hand. Mel ran to Jack. The arm that held the gun was dangling at Jack’s side and his other arm went around her. Jack held her close as she let out a long slow breath against his bare chest, clinging to him. He never took his eyes off the offender. A nice, neat hole was bored right into his head, a growing pool of blood spreading under him as he lay motionless.

They stood like that for a while, Mel trying to catch her breath and Jack watching. Ready. She pulled away enough to look up at him and was nearly startled anew by an expression so fierce, so angry. “He was going to kill me,” she said in a whisper. His eyes remained on the man as he said, “I will never let anything happen to you.”

The sound of running footfalls came up behind them, but Jack didn’t turn. Preacher stopped suddenly in the doorway, a hand braced on each side as he leaned in, panting. He looked into the kitchen, saw the man on the floor, Mel in Jack’s protective embrace, the gun dangling at Jack’s side. And Preacher’s expression went dark, his brows drawn close, his mouth turned down in a scowl. He walked into the kitchen, kicked the knife across the floor and bent to the man. He felt the man’s neck for a carotid pulse. He looked over his shoulder at Jack and shook his head. “It’s okay, Jack. It’s done.”

Jack put the gun on the table and, with Mel still protected against him, turned to the wall phone. He lifted the receiver, punched a few numbers and said, “This is Jack Sheridan in Virgin River. I’m at Doc Mullins’s—I just killed a man.”

Chapter Sixteen

I t took the sheriff’s deputy, Henry Depardeau, longer to arrive in Virgin River than it took him to determine that Jack had acted in defense of Mel, whose life was in danger. Just the same, Jack’s second call that night had been to Jim Post, June Hudson’s husband. That background in law enforcement could come in handy. Jim was there faster than Henry. And, Jack learned that night, Jim was a former DEA agent who had actually worked in the area prior to retirement.

“We better have a little look at Calvin’s camp,” Jim said. “If it’s just a little compound of vagrants, I don’t see that as a problem. But I suspect it might be more than that. If so—we’ll want to tell the sheriff.”

Jack was invited to spend what was left of the night with Mel at Doc’s. She saw a side of him she didn’t know existed. This gentle, tender giant was gripped with fury, and it was a silent and impressive fury. He held her through the night, both of them in one small hospital bed. Sleep was difficult for her and she was fitful, but every time she opened her eyes and looked at him, she found him awake, watching over her. She would look up at his face, his tense jaw and eyes narrowed in anger, but when she put her hand against his cheek, he would relax his features and turn soft eyes on her. “It’s all right, baby,” he said. “Try to get some sleep. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid while I’m with you,” she whispered, and this was the truth. The next morning, early, June and Jim arrived in town. June came over to the clinic while Jim went to Jack’s. “I just wanted to make sure you aren’t having any stressrelated problems with your pregnancy,” June said. “Any cramping, spotting?”

“Everything seems to be fine. Except for those frequent shudders I feel when I think about what might have happened.”

“I’m just going to spend a couple of hours in town,” June said. “If you have patients, I’ll help. Do you need to rest?”

“Jack was here last night. I don’t think he slept, but I got a little rest. Where’s the baby?” Mel asked.

“Susan has Jamie, and John and my dad have the clinic.” She smiled. “We country folk have to be flexible.”

“What’s Jim doing?” Mel asked.

“He’s with Jack and Preacher. They won’t be long. They’re going to have to take a look at that place the man came from, Mel. Be sure there’s no one else out there that will come into town and threaten a life.”

“Oh, God,” she said.

“I think they can handle it,” June said. “I guess it has to be done.”

“That’s not it, June. I’ve been out to that camp a dozen times. I didn’t see Calvin Thompson there except the very first time, when I went with Doc to help him treat some injuries. But I went, though I’d been told not to. And I was a little nervous and scared, but it never once occurred to me that someone from there might hold a knife to my throat and—” She stopped, unable to go on.

“Good Lord,” June said. “What were you doing?”

Mel shrugged. Her voice was small when she answered. “They looked hungry.”

A slow smile grew on June Hudson’s face. “And you thought you weren’t one of us. What hooey.”

Jack, Preacher and Jim piled into Jack’s truck and drove back into the woods. The compound was less than twenty miles away, but traversed by so many old logging roads and concealed roads, it took almost an hour to get there. They were so buried, one would never be inclined to worry that these people would pose a dangerous threat. The young man with the knife, Calvin Thompson, hadn’t been with them long. He wasn’t just a vagrant, but a violent felon. It hadn’t taken Henry Depardeau long to learn he had a long drug-related criminal record from other California cities and had been hiding in the forest to dodge felony warrants for his arrest. It was likely that Maxine had brought him to her father’s hideaway in the forest. When they got to the camp, Jim Post said, “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He pointed to the camouflaged semitrailer, a generator beside it. The three men from Virgin River got out of the truck, brandishing rifles of the caliber that would kill a black bear with one shot. Rifles that would cut a man in half. Of course there was no one in evidence.

“Paulis!” Jack called.

A skinny, wasted-looking, bearded man came out of a hut. A shack. Behind him was a stringy-haired, skinny young woman. Slowly a few more men came around from the back of dilapidated trailers. This small crowd didn’t display arms, but they stayed back, having knowledge of the firearms Jack, Jim and Preacher carried. Jack approached Paulis. “Are you growing?” Jack asked.

The man shook his head.

“Did Thompson bring that operation in here?”

The girl made a sound and covered her mouth with her hand. Paulis gave a nod.

“He tried to kill a woman last night. For drugs and property. He’s dead. Who brought in the trailer?”

Paulis shook his head. “We don’t exchange names around here.”

“What’d he look like?” Jim asked.

Paulis just shrugged.

“Come on, man. You want to go to jail for him? What’d he drive?”

Paulis shrugged again, but Maxine stepped around her father, tears on her pale cheeks.

“A big black Range Rover. Lights up top. You know the kind. He paid Calvin to watch the grow.”

“I know who he is,” Jack said quietly to Jim. “Don’t know where he is, but I have a good idea this isn’t his only grow. And I happen to know the license number on that big SUV.”

“Well, that could come in handy.”

Then to Clifford Paulis, Jack said, “You have twenty-four hours to clear this camp and move out. The sheriff’s deputy will be out here to close down this spot real quick, and if you’re here, you’ll be arrested—that shit’s in your possession now. You have to move on now. I don’t want you around. You hear me?”

Paulis just nodded.

“That woman was my woman,” Jack said more quietly. “I’m going to look for you, and if I can find you, you haven’t moved far enough, you understand me?”

Paulis dipped his chin once more.

The differences in the men—those from the camp and Jack, Jim and Preacher, left no doubt as to who would be the winners in any kind of conflict. Just to drive the point home, Jack raised his 30-06 caliber, bolt action rifle, aimed it at the generator beside the half-buried trailer in the compound, and fired, decimating it. The report was loud enough to shake the trees. The men in view flinched, raised their hands to cover their faces or cowered back.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” Jack said. “Early.”

When they were back in the truck, Jack asked Jim, “What do you make of them?”

“Vagrants. Just living in the forest. They didn’t have the means to put that trailer in there—that was arranged by whoever Calvin was working for. They’ll go, most likely. Deeper in the forest, where they can set up camp again and be left alone. We’ll let Henry know where to find it. But you should make good on your advice just the same. They can’t be here anymore. If they’re not dangerous, they’re willing to be taken advantage of by dangerous people.”