The first paramedic went back to the chopper while the second began packing up their things. Mel went to Doc, knelt beside him and gently closed his eyes. She pulled the electrodes from the defibrillator off his chest and then, absently, affectionately, flattened out his sparse, white chest hair. She ran her fingertips across his wild white eyebrows, smoothing them. She leaned down to him and put her lips against his forehead, her tears dropping there. “You are such a pain in the ass,” she whispered. “How dare you leave me like this?” She rested her cheek briefly against his head. He was already growing cold.

When the paramedics took his body out, she followed. A small crowd had gathered outside, waiting. Some of her friends—Paige and Brie, Connie and Ron, Lydie Sudder, and others. She looked at them and a large tear ran down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I really tried.”

And then Jack was beside her, pulling her in close.

The night of Doc’s death, after Jack had helped settle the kids into bed, he went to the kitchen and poured himself and his wife each a short snifter of brandy. He went back to the great room where Mel was curled into the corner of the couch in front of the fire. He put the drinks on the side table and sat in the big leather chair, opposite her. “Come here, baby,” he said, holding up an arm.

She unfolded from the sofa and went to him, settling onto his lap. He handed her a brandy, then with one arm around her back, he picked up the second for himself.

“He was ready,” Jack said. “We’re going to let him go gracefully, so he can watch over the town from a higher place.”

“I’m having a real hard time,” she said.

“I know. That’s why we have each other.” He sipped from his glass. “We have to remember who Doc was and what he’d expect of us. He’d want to be toasted, thanked kindly for his good work and sent off with a minimum of sentiment. He was a tough old codger. He never liked mush.”

“I wish I’d told him I loved him,” she said, misting up.

Jack chuckled. “He knew you loved him, but if you’d tried that sop on him, he would have barked your head off.”

“It’s going to be hard for the town to say goodbye,” she said.

“Even so, he’s moved on, and so will we.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Call the hospital tomorrow, Mel. Tell them an autopsy isn’t necessary. Let’s not carve him up. There isn’t anything more we need to know.”

“I need to know if I could have saved him,” she said softly.

“What would he say about that?” Jack asked her quietly.

“He’d say, ‘Don’t waste your breath.’” She turned her head, looking at Jack, and a large tear spilled down her cheek. Jack pressed his lips against it.

“Okay,” she said. “There’s a lot to do. To go through his things.” Then very softly she asked, “What are we going to do without a doctor?”

“You’ll have Shelby to help out for a while. And we’ll get looking. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the clinic with you and we’ll have a look at his personal effects, see if he left any kind of journal or last wishes. We’ll make arrangements and let this town say goodbye to an old friend as soon as possible, so we can all heal.”

“You’re right,” she said. “He wouldn’t want us to carry on.”

“He wouldn’t,” Jack said.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she told him.

He smiled sweetly. “You’d be miserable.” He touched his glass to hers. “To Doc,” he said.

“To Doc. The biggest pain-in-the-ass country doctor in three counties.” She hiccupped. “God, I’m going to miss him.”

Although Mel and Doc had never discussed what would become of the clinic should something happen to him, he had no intention of leaving the town or his nurse midwife in dire straights. In documents dated shortly after Mel had married Jack two years before, Doc had willed the clinic, free and clear, to her in a living trust that would bypass probate. It was funny to think of him doing something so savvy, so modern; impossible to think of him hiring a lawyer. Also, in the top desk drawer, in plain sight if she’d ever bothered to look, was an old, worn bankbook. Doc had been squirreling away little bits of money over forty-five years—and about a year before his death, he had put Mel’s name on the account. While she thought she had signed documents so that he could payroll her, she’d unknowingly provided her signature to the account. He should have taken a big Alaskan fishing trip instead, because Mel had plenty of money. But Doc wouldn’t indulge himself any more than he’d leave town for more than a day or two. Still, she was incredibly touched. Without ever saying a word and in fact being somewhat stingy with his praise, he had seen her as a partner within six months of her arrival in Virgin River.

He left a request—not even a letter, but a few sentences in his cramped old hand, tucked into the bankbook—that he be cremated and his ashes sprinkled in the Virgin River. Mel called Harry Shipton, the preacher from Grace Valley, and arranged to have him say a few words when they scattered the ashes at the widest curve in the Virgin. Notices were posted in the bar and at Valley Hospital.

Four days after his death, Mel and Jack closed the bar and the clinic and drove to the river where, it should not have surprised them, they could hardly get down the road. Hundreds of people from Virgin River, neighboring towns and medical staff who worked at Valley Hospital, had gathered on both sides of the river. As they walked toward the river there was a pickup parked in their path, the bed of the truck filled with flowers—gladiolas, carnations, baby roses, daisies and mums. A man handed Mel and Jack long stalks of flowers to hold.

June Hudson from the Grace Valley clinic, her husband, Jim Post, and her father, the Grace Valley doctor before June took over, Elmer Hudson, stood at the river’s edge beside John Stone, June’s business partner, and Susan, his wife. Mel went to stand by them, accepting and giving hugs and condolences. “If you need any help in the clinic, Mel, John and I can probably lend a hand,” June said.

“Thanks. I might have to send patients your way for a while. I don’t know what we’re going to do for a doctor.”

“Lots of little towns around here make do without one—patients just drive a little farther. Meanwhile, they still have you.”

“Look at these people,” she said, tearing up a little. “You’d think a man as crotchety as Doc wouldn’t be able to draw a crowd like this.”

“He’s always been cranky, too,” Elmer Hudson said. “In my case it came with age, but Mullins was in a piss-poor mood since I met him forty years ago.”

Mel felt a huff of laughter escape through tears. “My first night in Virgin River, he pulled my car out of a ditch. My brand-new BMW convertible. His first tender words to me were, ‘That piece of crap isn’t going to do you much good around here.’” She shook her head. “Damn, I’m going to miss that old man. He was like a grandfather to the kids.”

“When I go, I want at least this many people at my funeral, plus twenty, just to show him up,” Elmer Hudson said. He looked at his daughter. “Hire ’em if you have to, June.”

“Sure, Dad,” she said.

Harry Shipton walked to the edge of the river. The crowd parted so that he could pass. Dressed in a simple light blue chambray shirt and khaki pants, holding his bible, he said, “We’re gathered here today to say goodbye to a good friend. Doc Mullins served the medical needs of Virgin River and beyond for more than forty years, and from what I’m told by people who knew him longest, he never worried about whether he’d get thanked or paid. All that mattered to him was that his town, his family, have whatever medical attention he could provide. He saved lives, nurtured the sick, brought new life into the world and gently closed the eyes of the ones who passed. Let us pray.” Heads bowed as he recited the prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi, then the Twenty-third Psalm, and finally the Lord’s Prayer.

“There’s quite a bit more that could be said about our friend Doc, but I’m a little afraid a lightning bolt might strike us down if we get too fussy. Doc appreciated a few things in life—he liked some honest, direct words, hard work, good friends and a shot of decent whiskey at the end of the day.” He accepted the urn that contained Doc’s ashes and sprinkled them over the water. The ashes were followed by a shot glass of amber liquid—a little Jack Daniel’s. “Go with God, old friend. Peace and love.”

When the ashes began to float downstream, flowers were tossed from the banks to escort his final passage. Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, people began to turn away from the river.

And then Jack opened up the bar for anyone who wanted to raise a glass to their departed friend.

With the people in town saddened by the passing of their old doctor, it was a welcome diversion for everyone to look forward to Jack’s marine friends’ arrival a couple of weeks later. They always caught the end of deer-hunting season. It wasn’t a complete squad, especially since the full throng had just been to Virgin River in late July, lending a hand when a forest fire threatened the town. Josh and Tom from Reno arrived. Joe Benson and his new wife, Nikki, came down from Grants Pass and stayed at the general’s house with Vanni and Paul. With Mike Valenzuela, Preacher and Jack, that left only Corny and Zeke missing.

One person who was anticipating their visit but still a bit too preoccupied to take her usual full pleasure was Mel. With Shelby’s help, she had been simultaneously running the clinic, making house calls and sorting through Doc’s papers and personal effects. More than forty years of accumulation was taxing and emotional. She was clearing out his room, giving away his clothes, books and furniture, and preparing his bedroom as either a guest room or quarters for a new doctor, if one could ever be found.

She missed him so much. Once she and Doc had their little kinks ironed out, she had begun to cherish his grumpy frowns and had found humor in his cantankerous behavior.

Finally she heard the honking of a horn and lifted her head from her chore of reading through Doc’s old calendars. “They’re here,” she said to Shelby.

“Who?” the younger woman asked.

“The boys. Jack’s squad. We’re done for today. We need their laughter. Trust me.” And with that command, Mel snatched up the baby and Shelby grabbed David. They made their way across the street to the bar.

They were barely in the door when Mel found herself instantly whirled around by Tom Stephens, while Josh immediately grabbed David out of Shelby’s arms and hefted him into the air to check his weight.

“Shelby, meet Josh Phillips,” Mel said a little breathlessly. “He’s a paramedic from Reno. And this wild man is Tom Stephens, a news chopper pilot from the same place.”

With an arm around her shoulders, Tom said to Mel, “I know you’ve had a bad couple of weeks, sweetheart. Anything I can do to make it better?”

She patted his chest and said, “Just miss him with me, Tom. That’s all we’re left with right now.”

“Aw, baby—you know no one wanted to see the old boy go. I bet wherever he is, the fishing’s good.”

“Given his surly behavior, the fish might be fried where he is,” she joked. “I’m glad you’re here. We need some of what you boys have. This bar has been really quiet. Well, except for the pounding.”

“Well, we don’t exactly specialize in quiet.” He laughed and took Emma out of her arms. “Let’s have a look at our girl. Whoa, she’s putting on some weight. Thank God, she looks like you, Mel. I’d hate for her to have a face like the ugly mug you married.”