Author: Robyn Carr

“Well? You find anything?”

“Not bad guys,” he said. “Paulis’s camp was busted up and what junk they left behind, we destroyed. Henry and a couple of deputies showed up to confiscate their plants. I just don’t want them back in the neighborhood if they’re going to let a drug operation in. Truthfully, they don’t have the strength to keep them out, so we will.”

“Haven’t you ever thought—it’s only a little pot?”

“I don’t have an opinion about that,” he said with a shrug. “But if it’s legalized and pharmaceutical companies grow it, we won’t have to be afraid for our women and children.”

“What have you got in the truck? What’s that awful smell?”

“A bear. Wanna see?” he asked, smiling.

“A bear? Why on earth…?”

“He was really pissed,” Jack said. “Come and see—he’s huge.”

“Who shot him?” she asked.

“Who’s taking credit or who actually shot him? Because I think everyone is taking credit.” He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her the rest of the way. She began to pick up the voices. “I swear, I heard Preacher scream,” someone said.

“I didn’t scream, jag-off. That was a battle cry.”

“Sounded like a little girl.”

“More holes in that bear than in my head.”

“He didn’t like that repellant so much, did he?”

“I never saw one go through that stuff before. They usually just rub their little punkin eyes and run back in the woods.”

“I’m telling you, Preacher screamed. Thought he was gonna cry like a baby.”

“You wanna eat, jag-off?”

There was laughter all around. A carnival-like atmosphere ensued. The serious group that had left town in the morning had come back like soldiers from war, elated, victorious. Except this war turned out to be with a bear.

Mel glanced in the back of the truck and jumped back. The bear not only filled the bed, he hung out the end. The claws on his paws were terrifying. He was tied in, tied down, even though he was dead. His eyes were open but sightless and his tongue hung out of his mouth. And he stunk to high heaven.

“Who’s calling Fish and Game?”

“Aw, do we have to call them? You know they’re gonna take the frickin’ bear. That’s my bear!”

“It ain’t your bear, jag-off. I shot the bear,” Preacher insisted loudly.

“You screamed like a girl and the rest of us shot the bear.”

“Who really shot the bear?” Mel asked Jack.

“I think Preacher shot the bear when he came at him. Then so did everybody else. And yeah, I think he screamed. I would have. That bear got so damn close.” But as he said this, he grinned like a boy who had just made a touchdown. Preacher stomped over to Jack and Mel. He bent down and whispered to Mel, “I did not scream.” He turned and stomped off.

“Honey,” Jack said, softly. “We found one other thing today.” She looked up at him expectantly. “We found the black Range Rover. Ran off the road and went down a couple hundred feet…”

“Is he dead?” she asked fearfully, surprised that she even cared.

“There wasn’t any body.”

She gave a short, startled laugh. “God,” she said. “He came by here today at about noon. All he did was roll down the window and said that because I did him a favor he wanted me to know there was no one else out there in the cannabis trade like Thompson that he knew of, and he was leaving the area. Jack, he must have ditched the truck.”

“Probably,” he said. “Which means he might be getting a new vehicle, new look and be back. Never go with him again, Mel. Promise me.”

She was thinking, insanely, that he was one person who treated her okay and seemed to have something of a conscience. If he came to her and said someone needed medical help, it would be hard to refuse him. “Just how many children do you think he can father?” she asked with a laugh.

“Men have lapses in judgment.”

“Do they? Hopefully you haven’t had too many,” she said.

“I haven’t had any,” he said with a smile.

“So. That’s all you got? A wrecked SUV and a bear? Must be a little anticlimactic for you,” she said.

“You calling that bear anticlimactic? Baby, that is a huge frickin’ bear!”

There must have been about twenty-five men, they all smelled bad, and they were filing into the bar. Mel sniffed Jack’s shirt. “Whew,” she said. “You smell almost as bad as the bear.”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said. “Now we’ll have beer, food and cigars. I have to get in there and start serving beer while Preacher and Ricky fire up the barbecue pit.”

“I’ll help,” she said, taking his hand. “It was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”

“Not in my mind. Our forest is nice and tidy, we’re turning a trailer full of plants over to the sheriff and we got a mean old bear.”

“You had fun,” she accused.

“Not on purpose,” he said. But his smile was very large.

“Is it over, Jack?” she asked him.

“I hope so, baby. God, I hope so.”

For once Mel was behind the bar. She helped serve beer and drinks, tossed a great big salad while Preacher turned steaks on the grill. Plates and utensils were put out for a buffet-style service. The men poked fun at each other, their laughter getting louder and wilder as the night wore on. Although Ricky was officially working, when he’d pass one of the men, he’d be pulled into a strong-armed embrace and praised as though he was a comrade. Doc wandered across the street for a whiskey, visited with the men for a while before going back to his house. Most of the locals left before the meal was served, home to claim to their wives that they shot the bear. It was about nine when the cards and cigars came out. Jack grabbed Mel’s hand and said, “Let’s get out of here. You must be exhausted.”

“Hmm,” she said, leaning against him. “My feelings won’t be hurt if you want to hang out with your boys.”

“They’ll probably be around a day or two. Since they came all this way, they’ll want to fish and stink up my bar. Fishing’s starting to get good.” He put an arm around Mel and walked her through the back of the bar. “We need to give the baby a nap.”

“We need to give the baby’s father a shower,” she said, wrinkling her nose. While Jack showered, Mel put on one of his shirts, her favorite soft chambray. She curled up on the sofa with one of Jack’s magazines in her lap, flipping through the pages. She would have to find something better than Field and Stream, she decided. She could hear the raucous laughter from the bar; she could almost smell the cigar smoke, but it made her smile. These were good people—people who came running when they thought there was a possible danger. Jack’s friends, the people in town—

they knew the meaning of being neighbors.

She had only known the neighbors on each side of her in L.A. With Mark’s long hours, they didn’t socialize as much as she’d have liked. And big cities can be less friendly. Everyone was so focused on work, on making money, on buying things. Mel used to concentrate on that, as well. Besides that Hummer, which she’d needed for work and was as much for the town as herself, she’d hardly bought a thing in six months. She patted her tummy—she would have to buy clothes soon—she couldn’t get her jeans closed. As she thought about it, she didn’t crave any particular label. It made her smile. Lately, she didn’t recognize herself. She was not the same woman who nearly slid off the mountain six months ago.

Jack came out of the shower, a towel around his waist, rubbing dry his short hair with another one. He tossed the second towel and went to his bed, lifting the covers and inclining his head toward her. She put aside the magazine and went to him. As she slipped in, she said, “You’re sure you don’t want to play poker and make yourself smell disgusting? They’re going to keep us up all night anyway.”

He dropped his towel and got in beside her. “You’re kidding, right?” He scooped her up next to him and she snuggled close.

“Have I told you how much I like sleeping with you?” she asked him. “You sleep very well. And you don’t snore. But I think maybe you wake up too early.”

“I like the mornings.”

“I can’t fit in my pants already,” she said. She lifted herself up and with her elbows resting on his chest said, “You call them and they just come.”

“I only called one of them—Mike in L.A.—he called the others. They’re just like that. And if any of them called—I’d go.” He smiled at her. “I never expected a posse like that to turn out. Says something about the way people feel about you.”

“But you didn’t actually find anyone scary out there.”

“I liked what I found. I wasn’t willing to take any chances, and neither was anyone else. The same thing would happen for any other crisis—like a bear mauling or a forest fire or someone lost in the woods. People band up, go out and take care of the problem if they can. What else are you going to do?”

She played idly with his damp chest hair. “That look you get when you’re facing off with someone or something, do you have any idea how dark it is? You might want to keep that look in the closet—it’s disturbing.”

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “I asked your sister all about your husband. Mark.”

“You did?”

“Yep. I understand he was a great man. A brilliant man—and kind. He did a lot of good in the world, and he was good to you. I have a lot of respect for him.”

“She didn’t tell me this.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this to you. I might muck it up, but you have to listen. A couple of weeks ago I let you cry alone, because I was pissed. I caught you talking to his picture and I got threatened. Threatened by a dead man, which makes me a true candy-ass.” He touched her hair. “I won’t ever do that again, Mel. I understand why you love him, why you’ll always—”

“Jack—”

“No, I’m going to do this, and you’re going to listen. I know you didn’t want your life to change the way it did, and you couldn’t control it. Just like you can’t control what you feel. You don’t have to pretend you don’t think about him, or miss him. And if you have those moments when you’re sad, when you wish you could have him back in your life, you can be honest with me. You don’t have to pretend it’s PMS.” He smiled.

“We both know you don’t have PMS anymore.”

“Jack, what are you talking about?”

“I just want one thing. If I can be a sport about the fact that he’ll always be an important part of your life, can you try to not be sorry that we’re together, having this baby? Because I have to tell you, I’ve never been more ready for anything. I’ll do my best not to be jealous. I realize I’m not your first choice, but your next choice. That’s good enough for me, and I’m sorry someone died. I’m sorry for your loss, Mel.”

“Why are you saying this? It’s such nonsense.”

“It’s what I heard,” he said. “I heard you saying you were sorry you were pregnant, that it just happened, and you promised not to forget him.”

Mel gave him a look of disbelief. “I thought you were hurt by what you heard me say—but you were hurt because of what you didn’t hear!”

“Huh?”

“Jack, I’m not sorry I’m pregnant. I’m thrilled! I got myself all worked up because I realized that I was more in love with you than I thought possible. Maybe more in love than I’ve ever been in my life. I had a short insane moment of feeling that I’d betrayed his memory somehow. As though I’d been unfaithful or something. It’s true—I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I know I resisted, but you just got to me. I promised Mark I wouldn’t forget him. And I won’t because you’re right, he was a good man. And I respect him, too.”