Chapter 3: The Gift of Trust
The bar was too quiet. The usual lunchtime murmur was absent, replaced by a thick, waiting silence. Jack stood behind the polished wood, wiping the same spot over and over, his gaze fixed on the door. Brady sat on a stool, nursing a Coke, his knee bouncing a frantic rhythm against the bar’s footrail. Brie was at a corner table, pretending to read a legal brief, her fingers tight on the pages.
Mel’s hand on Jack’s forearm stilled his compulsive wiping. “He’ll come back when he has something,” she said softly. “Or he won’t. But you’re going to wear a hole in the bar.”
Jack let out a breath, setting the cloth down. He covered her hand with his. Her touch was cool, steadying. “I know. It’s just… the way Brady described him. This guy wasn’t fishing. He was hunting.”
“And Mike talked to him. Mike would’ve sensed if it was straight-up harassment.” Mel leaned her hip against the bar, her nursing scrubs a soft blue in the dim light. “We have to trust that.”
From his stool, Brady spoke without looking up. “Mike looked like he’d seen a ghost when he came back in. He didn’t say two words to me. Just went straight to the back office and called you, Jack.”
“Which means it’s serious,” Jack said. He looked at Brady, his expression grim but devoid of blame. “You did right, telling him to leave. This is my place. You protected it. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
Brady’s knee stopped bouncing. He met Jack’s eyes, gave a single, sharp nod. The unspoken forgiveness in the air was almost palpable.
The door opened, and all four of them tensed. But it was just Doc Mullins, shuffling in, grumbling about his arthritis. The normalcy of it was a splash of cold water. The world kept turning, even while they braced for a quake.
“I’m going to check on Mrs. Gower’s new baby this afternoon,” Mel said, pushing off the bar. She needed to move, to do something useful. “Try not to invent catastrophes before I get back.”
Jack managed a faint smile. “No promises.”
She kissed his cheek, the scratch of his stubble familiar and comforting. As she passed Brie’s table, she paused, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Brie looked up, her green eyes shadowed. “You okay?” Mel asked quietly.
“Just thinking about missing girl cases,” Brie whispered. “How they rarely end well.”
Mel squeezed her shoulder. “We don’t know that’s what this is. Not yet.”
But the dread was a seed, planted and already pushing roots through the floorboards.
The afternoon at the Gower farm was all bright sunshine and the clean smell of hay and newborn calf. It was a world away from the grim suspense at the bar, and Mel clung to it, letting the simple miracle of a healthy baby and a relieved mother steady her nerves. By the time she drove back to the cabin, the golden hour had begun, painting the redwoods in long, dramatic shadows.
Jack’s truck was already there. She found him in the bedroom, having changed out of his work clothes. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The set of his shoulders told her everything. The PI hadn’t returned, but the waiting had carved something out of him.
She didn’t speak. She just kicked off her shoes, walked over to his recliner, and settled into it, pulling her feet up underneath her. The worn leather sighed in welcome. After a moment, he looked over at her. The fading light caught the silver threads at his temples, the deep lines around his eyes.
“Come here,” she said softly.
He did, crossing the room to sink into the space beside her. The chair was big, but they were still pressed close from shoulder to thigh. She reached out and began tracing the familiar patterns of the tattoos on his chest through his thin cotton shirt, the symbols and regiment numbers that were a map of his life before her.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Nothing to tell. That’s the problem.” His voice was gravel. “I hate inaction. I hate not knowing the threat.”
“We live with not knowing every day. That’s just life.” Her fingers slid up to his neck, kneading the tight cord of muscle there. “Remember our first time? In this cabin? I was so scared. Not of you. Of everything. Of feeling anything.”
He turned his head, his nose brushing her temple. “I remember. You shook so bad I thought you’d come apart.”
“But I didn’t. Because you were there. Solid. Just like you are now.” She tilted her face up, and he met her halfway, their lips connecting in a kiss that was less about passion and more about affirmation. A slow, deep tasting of each other’s presence.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. “I had a thought today. A stupid, jealous thought.”
“Yeah?” His hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her ginger hair.
“I regretted that you weren’t my first. That I’d wasted firsts on men who didn’t matter. Who didn’t deserve them.”
He went very still. “Mel. I never expected to be your first. Hell, I never expected you at all.”
“I know.” She kissed him again, silencing him. “But I want to give you a first. Something nobody else has ever had.”
A faint, confused frown touched his lips. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, she pushed him. Not hard, but with a firm insistence. He let himself be moved, lying back on the bed, watching her with a mix of wariness and raw curiosity. She climbed over him, her knees on either side of his hips, and settled her weight onto his chest. Her hands framed his face.
Then she shifted backwards, her body sliding down his until she was straddling his face. She was still in her scrubs. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the pants and panties beneath and pushed them down, just enough. The air in the room was cool against her exposed skin.
“Mel,” he breathed, her name a hot puff against her inner thigh.
“Just taste me, Jack,” she whispered, lowering herself onto his mouth. “Don’t think.”
He didn’t need further invitation. His hands came up to grip her hips, holding her in place as his tongue found her. It was a slow, deliberate licking at first, a reacquaintance. Then it became hungrier. He ate her pussy like a man starved, his tongue spearing into her, lapping at her clit with a rough, delicious friction that made her back arch. The scratch of his stubble on her tender flesh was a sharp counterpoint to the wet, silken heat of his mouth.
She gasped, her fingers clenching in the quilt. The anxiety of the day, the lingering dread, it all burned away in the furnace of this sensation. There was only this: the sound of his eager grunts, the slick, filthy noise of his mouth on her cunt, the tremble building deep in her belly. She came quickly, violently, her thighs clamping against his head as a broken cry tore from her throat. Pleasure electrocuted her, leaving her shuddering and dripping wet.
Before the last pulse had faded, she was moving. Sliding up his body, her skin slick with sweat and her own arousal. His cock strained against his jeans, a thick, hard ridge. She made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing him. He was fully erect, the head dark and wet already. His eyes were black with want, his lips glistening from her.
She took him in her hand, stroking him once, twice, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum. Then she positioned herself, not over his cock, but higher. She guided the broad head to a place that made his breath hitch.
“Mel,” he said again, a warning and a plea.
She didn’t hesitate. She sank down, taking him into the tight, clutching heat of her ass.
The breath left his body in a stunned whoosh. Her own gasp was sharp, a knife-edge of pain that immediately bloomed into a shocking, full ache. She’d used spit and her own wetness, but there was no preparing for this. It was an invasion, a claiming, a gift so profound it bordered on violation. She loved it.
She saw the exact moment he realized where he was. His eyes, which had been squeezed shut in pleasure, flew open. They locked onto hers, wide with disbelief. His hands flew to her hips, his thumbs pressing white circles into the soft skin of her waist.
“Fuck, Mel,” he grunted, his voice strangled. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He thought it was her pussy. For a second, she let him believe it. She began to move, a slow, tentative rock of her hips. The sensation was obscene, unbelievable. Every nerve ending was alive, screaming. The stretch was brutal, incredible. She felt every inch of him, every vein, the throbbing pulse of him inside a channel never meant for this.
“Look at me,” she panted.
He did. His gaze was hazy, dazed.
“It’s my first time here,” she whispered, riding him a little harder now, finding a rhythm that made her see stars behind her eyelids. “And yours. I’m your first in the ass, Jack.”
Understanding slammed into him. His brain short-circuited. A raw, animal sound ripped from his throat. The taboo of it, the utter trust, the sheer filthy glory of being buried in this most forbidden part of her—it undid him completely. His control shattered.
His hips bucked up off the bed, driving himself deeper into her. His grip on her hips became iron, fingers bruising as he took over, pistoning into her with a frantic, desperate rhythm. The bed slammed against the wall. The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and lewd, filled the cabin.
“Christ, your ass,” he snarled, his eyes wild on hers. “Taking my cock like a perfect little slut. God, Mel, I can feel you milking me.”
His words were filthy, a stark contrast to the reverence in his hands, in the way he was watching her face for any sign of pain. There was none. There was only a fierce, soaring pleasure, coiled tight and ready to snap. The initial burn had melted into a deep, radiant fullness that hit a spot inside her she never knew existed. Each thrust rocked through her entire body.
She came again, her orgasm a silent, seismic event. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as her inner muscles clenched wildly around him, the intense pressure triggering a cascade of sensation that left her blind and shaking. The convulsion of her body around his buried cock was the final trigger for him.
With a final, brutal thrust, he pulled her down hard onto him, burying his face in her neck as he erupted. Hot pulses of cum flooded her ass, a claiming so deep and complete it felt primal. He held her there, impaled and trembling, as he emptied himself, whispering ragged, incoherent praises against her sweat-slick skin. “My girl. My brave, beautiful girl. Fuck. Fuck.”
They collapsed together, a tangled, sticky mess of limbs. He was still inside her, softening slowly. The room was quiet except for their ragged breaths. The golden light had faded to twilight.
He gently rolled them to their sides, slipping out of her. The loss felt profound. He didn’t let go. He pulled the quilt over them and held her, his face still buried in her hair.
After a long time, his voice, rough with emotion, broke the silence. “Why?”
She knew what he was asking. “Because I wanted to give you something that was only ever yours. No ghosts. No past. Just us. A new first.”
He held her tighter. “It was.” He paused. “It is.” The words were a vow. “You overwhelm me, Melinda Monroe.”
She smiled against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart finally slowing. For a little while, the world outside, with its missing girls and prowling investigators, ceased to exist.
The peace was shattered by the aggressive buzz of Jack’s phone on the nightstand. They both flinched. The real world demanded an audience.
Jack reached for it, his arm reluctantly leaving her body. He looked at the screen. His entire body went rigid.
“It’s Mike,” he said, his voice all business again. He answered. “Yeah?”
Mel watched his face. She saw the blood drain from it, saw his jaw clench so tight a muscle leapt in his cheek. His eyes found hers, and in them, she saw the quake they’d been waiting for had finally arrived.
“We’ll be right there,” Jack said, his voice low and lethal. He ended the call.
“Jack?” Mel asked, sitting up.
“The PI,” Jack said, swinging his legs out of bed. He moved with the purposeful, deadly grace of the Marine he’d once been. “He’s back. And he brought the girl’s mother. They’re at the bar. He says he has proof she was here, in Virgin River. The day she vanished.”
He stood, pulling on his jeans. The moment of sacred intimacy was gone, sealed away. A new, darker chapter had begun, and it was waiting for them in the amber glow of his bar.