Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Robyn Carr

“This book is an utter delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Road

“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters

are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here …

You won’t want to put this one down.”

RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak

“This story has everything: a courageous,

outspoken heroine; a to-die-for hero;

and a plot that will touch readers’ hearts

on several different levels. Truly excellent.”

—RT Book Reviews on Forbidden Falls

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,

it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—

I connected instantly with the characters

and just wanted more and more and more.”

–#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

Also available from ROBYN CARR and MIRA Books

The Virgin River Series PROMISE CANYON MOONLIGHT ROAD ANGEL’S PEAK FORBIDDEN FALLS PARADISE VALLEY TEMPTATION RIDGE SECOND CHANCE PASS A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS WHISPERING ROCK SHELTER MOUNTAIN VIRGIN RIVER

The Grace Valley Series DEEP IN THE VALLEY JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN DOWN BY THE RIVER

Novels A SUMMER IN SONOMA NEVER TOO LATE RUNAWAY MISTRESS BLUE SKIES THE WEDDING PARTY THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET

Don’t miss Robyn’s next book,

HARVEST MOON,

Available March 2011

WILD MAN CREEK

ROBYN

CARR

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For Martha Gould, high on my list

of most admired women, with thanks

for her loyal support and tireless affection.

Prologue

Jillian Matlock was a natural in the business world and her ability to anticipate surprises and challenges was legendary. After many successful years in communications it never once occurred to her that she’d be tricked. Set up. Taken for a fall.

One busy Monday morning Jillian wondered only briefly why Kurt Conroy hadn’t shown up for work. Kurt worked for her in Corporate Communications at the San Jose software manufacturer, Benedict Software Systems. He was the director of PR. He was also her boyfriend, though no one in the company knew that. She’d spoken to him last night but he never mentioned a thing about not feeling well or taking some personal time.

Right now she had bigger fish to fry as she had just had a call from her boss, Harry Benedict, President and CEO. As Vice President of Corporate Communications, such a summons was fairly routine for Jillian. She had several face-to-face meetings with Harry each week. He was her boss, mentor and friend.

She gave his office door a couple of short courtesy raps before entering. The question about Kurt’s absence was immediately answered—he was seated in front of the president’s desk.

“Well, good morning,” she said to Kurt. “I wondered where you were. You didn’t mention taking the morning off.”

It took several beats before she noticed that Kurt could not meet her gaze and Harry was frowning darkly. She sat in the other guest chair and it still didn’t quite register that something was wrong. Very wrong.

“We have a situation,” Harry said, looking first at Kurt, then at Jillian. “Mr. Conroy has notified me that he intends to file a sexual harassment complaint, he has hired an attorney to represent him and he is here to suggest a settlement of terms that will help us all avoid a lawsuit.” Harry swallowed and his frown darkened.

For another long moment Jillian was on another planet. Someone had been sexually harassing her boyfriend? “My God,” she said, stunned. “Why didn’t you say something, Kurt? Who would do this to you?”

Kurt finally looked her in the eye and then he smirked. “Funny, Jillian,” he said. “Very funny.”

She unconsciously drew her eyebrows together. “What’s going on here?” she asked, looking between Kurt and Harry.

Harry cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Mr. Conroy alleges that you are the guilty party, Jillian.”

“What?” she said, automatically shooting to her feet. “What the hell …?” She stared at Kurt. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Please, sit down, Jillian,” Harry said. Then he looked at Kurt and said, “Take the rest of the day off, Kurt. I’ll be in touch later.”

Without a word, without a backward glance, Kurt rose and left the office of the president, quietly closing the door behind him.

Jill looked at Harry. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“I wish,” Harry said. “I can’t wait to hear your take on this, Jill.”

She gave a short laugh of disbelief. “My take? I thought I had a boyfriend! Harry, Kurt and I have been seeing each other for months! It was completely consensual and only became—” she struggled for the right word “—serious … very recently! He pursued me! And trust me, our private relationship had nothing to do with work! He had been promoted long before I ever went out with him.”

“You were seeing him secretly?” he asked.

“I’d prefer to describe it as ‘discreetly.’ I helped Human Resources put together the corporate policy years ago, when the company was so young. No problem with dating or marrying inside the company, but not within the same department. According to that policy, one of us would have had to change departments. Obviously Kurt would have to make the change, since he’s the subordinate. But his only experience is in PR and my department was the only place he had a good fit. We worked well together! Or so I thought …”

Harry shook his head. “You were instrumental in putting that policy in place, Jillian. In fact, if I remember, it was your idea in the first place.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Yes, but it wasn’t developed because of the threat of sexual harassment! Sexual harassment is never consensual, and it’s never confused with dating—it’s always extortion of some kind. We—I mean the Human Resources team—were concerned about complaints inside departments from employees alleging promotion based on favoritism. That’s why dating within a department was a bad idea. We also created a policy saying employees shouldn’t be late, shouldn’t dress inappropriately and shouldn’t park in the president’s spot!”

She got a smile out of Harry for that. It was a small smile.

“I thought, given time and training, Kurt might be a good successor to me. And before you ask, my opinion is not because I liked him but because there was no one else more qualified. I know how you hate to go outside the company to fill positions if there’s opportunity internally for our employees.” The seriousness of this situation was becoming brutally apparent and Jill took a moment to pass her hand across her brow and then gaze across the room.

“Well, that’s a coincidence,” Harry said, passing her a folder. “Kurt sees himself as your successor, as well. Have a look at this.”

Jill’s hands actually trembled a bit as she lifted the cover of the folder and looked at a collection of memos, emails, printouts of text messages and miscellaneous notes. The first email she looked at came from her and it said, How am I doing? I could use shoulder rub! “Harry, this had nothing to do with a relationship! After a grueling meeting, he emailed me and asked me how I was holding up! In fact …” She looked closely at the date. She shook her head. “I wasn’t even dating him then!” She would have to plow through months of old emails. Months of deleted emails. Months of inane, trivial messages.

Then there was a page of text exchanges and, highlighted in yellow, from her cell phone, was the message I miss you! “But this is completely innocent,” she said, turning it toward Harry. “I’d have to check my calendar, but I think I was out of town. And I did. I did miss him!” And in that instant she knew what he’d done—he’d set her up.

“God,” she muttered. “Playful messages between two people who worked for the same company. How did I never smell this coming? How could I have been so wrong?”

A glance through some of the pages revealed similar brief, affectionate comments that any woman might have made to the man in her life, and there was no way of knowing if they were sent during work hours or at other times. In her mind these were innocent romantic gestures that were nonthreatening. But among them all she couldn’t find a single thing that came from Kurt.

He had been the seducer; most likely all his responses had been verbal … and untraceable.

“Harry, he said flirtatious and seductive things to me, but the difference is, he has no paper trail! I was never afraid to send an email or text like this—I trusted him.” She shook her head. “Do you see how slim this file is, Harry? You’d think in months of dating there would be a lot more, wouldn’t you? But we were very professional around the office. I’ll have to go through my records of emails and texts, but surely I’ll find what I need to reveal that he was his sexy, flirtatious self and I responded because I believed we were a couple!”

“I don’t suppose you can remember anything significant off the top of your head?” Harry asked with a lift of his bushy, graying eyebrow.

“Well, there’s a jewelry store manager who’d probably be happy to testify that Kurt was just as attentive and romantic as could be when he talked me into looking at rings after dinner one evening, but that wouldn’t be in print, would it,” she said with an unhappy laugh. “We had agreed to keep our relationship private until one of us had identified a part of the company to which we could move. I was the more likely candidate to make a move even though Kurt was subordinate to me. You’ve been tempting me with VP of Marketing for a year now and I warned Kurt that if that came through for me, he might not be ready to take on Corporate Communications, or that you might not be ready to give it to him. He told me our relationship was far more important than his next promotion.” She dropped her chin and fought back the tears. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She looked up. “I believed him, Harry!”

“He also has office mates who have witnessed inappropriate touching and … and he’s kept a log. A very detailed log of events.”

Thinking back over the past several months Jillian had to admit that he had charmed a lot of people—all the women in the office loved him; he was funny and cute and oh so helpful. Jillian thought she had behaved perfectly in the office; she had been very conscious of the need for that level of professionalism. But had she given his shoulder a loving pat? Touched his back in a quick caress? Smiled into his eyes? Kurt was a couple of years younger than she, handsome, sexy and bright—she’d had no idea just how bright! To orchestrate something as complex as this took planning and brainpower. He should have used those skills on his job!

Oh how she wished her denial could hang on a bit tighter, a bit longer. As the tears welled she bit down on her lower lip to keep her chin from quivering. “Does it say in his log that he had to ask me a dozen times to even meet him for a drink after work, something which is completely appropriate between coworkers? Or how about a few nights ago, when he drew a bath for me and—”

Harry held up a hand. “Stop. I’m not an idiot and I’m not angry with you. I know what’s happening here. You’ve been with me from the beginning, Jill. You helped build this company. I know you wouldn’t do something like this. But unless you have some compelling evidence to the contrary, we have ourselves a problem. And keep this in mind, please—if an accusation like this was his objective, dating his boss probably wasn’t necessary in the first place. He could have singled you out as his victim without your cooperation.”

“But why?” she asked desperately.

“I don’t know,” Harry said earnestly. “Maybe an investigation will reveal that.”

Jill had to grit her teeth to keep from crying. She’d never cried in front of Harry. She was his right arm, his sidekick, his protégé. One of the things she was most proud of was that, young as she’d been when she’d started with Harry and a brand-new company, she’d never wimped out. Their products were in the category of wealth management software—everything from customized accounting systems for businesses, to budget and bill-pay software for the average home computer. Some of their clients were huge, bringing a lot of money and challenges to the company; but she was tough and she faced everything with courage and ingenuity. Awful things could happen on the job—like failed software or the threat of losing a big client to a competitor. In PR, Jill’s job was to keep a positive face on the product and on customer service. They’d been in tight spots from time to time when the future of the company hung in the balance, but Jill didn’t cry. She fought!

Her boss saying he still believed in her almost put her over the edge. It almost made her cry. She stiffened her spine. “What does he want?” she asked weakly.

“A settlement of some kind. And your resignation.”

She lifted the folder of incriminating evidence. “Is stuff like this even admissible?”

“In civil court, very probably. In the newspapers, absolutely.”

“Harry, I thought he cared about me. He flirted first, for a long, long time! Are we going to let him win?”

Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands on the top of his desk. “I’d like nothing better than to stand and fight, Jill. Never once in ten years have I seen any indication that you were less than professional, loyal or honest. I never had an employee put in longer hours, work harder or give me more of her personal life. You’ve become a member of my family! If there’s some part of you that would take advange of a junior employee, I never saw it. Either I’m no judge of character, or the little bastard conned us all. And if I’m no judge of character, I managed to build a real successful software manufacturing company in spite of it.

“So, this is our reality—it looks like he’s stacked the deck pretty good. We’ve faced issues like this before and we’ve always managed them in-house wherever possible. HR and our attorneys will look at the complaint and evidence and meet with him. If they find it’s potentially damaging, I will do everything in my power to keep you and the company out of court. Bear in mind we have twenty-five hundred employees who shouldn’t have to take this risk with us. Much as it galls me, we might have to cut our losses.”

“And that means?” Jill asked.

“At the moment, I want you to take the rest of the week off. I want you to go home knowing that I’ll do everything I can to protect the company and you in the clinches. If I have to make a sacrifice, Jill, I won’t let you down. I’m not going to throw you to the sharks. At the very least, I’ll make sure a confidentiality agreement is a priority in any settlement so your future prospects won’t hear about this mess. Half my competitors have been after you for the past five years anyway.”

“But I made my choice a long time ago. I chose BSS.”

“I know this,” he said. “Get yourself a lawyer, Jill. Just in case you need one. Don’t go through this alone, and don’t rely on me when I have a whole company to protect.”

“Will you give him a ton of money?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She laughed ruefully and wiped a hand under her nose. “You’ve made me rich,” she said. “He’d have been better off marrying me. He’s not that good in PR. He was coming along, but he had a lot to learn. You’re getting the worst end of the deal.”

“Even if he wins, no way he’ll stay here,” Harry said confidently. “We’re a stepping stone. My bet is he would flaunt his title, take credit for some work he didn’t do and land himself a bigger job with Microsoft or Intel. Where he would promptly fall on his face.”

“Unless he finds a woman to seduce,” she said quietly.

“I know you don’t see this now, but you’re going to survive this. You’re smart, you’re good and you’re going to land on your feet. Try to be patient while we work this out. Just keep your head.”

And your heart, she thought.

“Take the week for now,” Harry said. “If there’s any way out of this, believe me, we’ll take it. I just want you to be prepared for the worst. In case. And, obviously, you can’t discuss this with anyone—litigation pending.” Harry stood. The meeting was over. He stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry this happened. I wish you’d have come to me about the relationship a long time ago. Dating someone isn’t that big a deal. We could’ve worked with that. You’re not the first office romance. You’ll hardly be the last. But by keeping him secret for professional reasons, you gave him opportunity.”

“I thought I was covering for you,” she said. “I just didn’t want to put you in a difficult position because of a choice I made.”

When she clasped her mentor’s hand, he held on. “This is so unlike you. My biggest worry about you was that you had no life—this job took everything you had and more! What was it about him, Jill?” Harry asked softly. “How did he get you to take chances like this?”

She laughed without humor. Kurt had had obvious flaws, but she overlooked them because no one’s perfect. He was cute and seemed thoughtful, but he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. If he hadn’t pursued her, she might not have noticed him! She just shook her head pathetically. Was it because he was the only man she’d had time for? No wonder office romances flourished. They were convenient! “You might not believe this, Harry, but he had to invest a lot of time to get me to take a chance on him. And maybe it all boiled down to that—he was relentless and I was lonely. If he wins this battle, you’ll be getting one lousy Corporate Communications exec. He can barely tie his shoes or make a phone call without leadership. You’re going to have to fire him.”

“I’m sure he’s figured all that out,” Harry said.

“God, I’m sorry,” she said. “Harry, I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool!”

Despite her better judgment, Jill tried to contact Kurt. He did not answer his cell or his door, and after she’d left about fourteen voice mails in a barely controlled voice she realized she was only making her situation worse. Wasn’t the plot clear? He’d benefit from her hysteria! She’d look guiltier! She made herself stop.

Jill met with a lawyer who contacted Harry, the head of HR and the BSS General Counsel. She had turned over a backup of her personal hard drive and her company computer, along with her cell phone and the contents of her desk. Since she had not been trying to set up a sting, her evidence against Kurt was just not there. But, if nothing else, Jill’s legal counsel should be able to keep the investigation in the company at the HR level and not let it get as far as the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission or a civil court.

A week turned into two and Jillian was nearly jumping out of her skin. She was getting cabin fever, holed up in her San Jose town house with nothing to do but surf the internet on her new laptop.

And then Harry called.

“It’s looking good for our side,” he said. “By far the most damaging case against you is going to be the testimony of two employees who believe they witnessed harassment—two employees who shall remain nameless. And, to be fair, if he was manipulative enough, they might just think that’s what they saw.”

“Right,” she replied with sarcasm. There were only fifteen employees in Corporate Communications; she could guess exactly who the women were. Both older than Jillian by a good fifteen years, they tended to sparkle stupidly whenever Kurt was around.

“What I’d like you to do is step out of the fight, Jillian. Rather than a resignation, I’d like you to take a leave of absence. At least three months. I’m going to put someone else in the position you’d be vacating—I’m going to bring in a consultant. Kurt will get his vested options and, unsurprisingly, he’s agreed to a confidentiality agreement.”

“Unsurprisingly?”

Harry laughed. “He doesn’t want his complaint against his supervisor to follow him any more than you’d like it to follow you. I’m telling you—he’s going to be moving along. And I’m not done looking into his past.” Harry lowered his voice and said, “You never told him what you’re worth, did you?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think so. It’s not something I talk about. Why?”

“Because if you had, he’d never settle this easily. He’s getting a nice option package, but it’s nothing by comparison to what you’ve made in ten years. He should have taken the time to read old prospectuses, or stolen a look at your portfolio.”

Jillian had a clever financial planner; she’d engaged her services after her first modest bonus. Together they decided that twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week was enough time to give one company. It made no sense to sit on the stock and options, so Jillian exercised or sold them and invested her money elsewhere. While she made more and more money from BSS, her planner made more and more in other investments.

The money hadn’t mattered to her as much as the job—or as much as Harry’s vision and faith in her.

“What am I supposed to do for three months?” Jill exclaimed.

“I don’t know. Take a breather. You have plenty of money. Take a trip or a few classes or something. Unwind and let this fade—take some time to think about where you want to go. Don’t leap into anything—I know you love to be spontaneous! Try to learn to relax and enjoy life—get your strength back. I’d venture to say that in a few months he’ll be out of here and there’s nothing in our settlement preventing you from coming back if you feel like it. There’s also nothing preventing you from making a change. You have your life back, Jillian. Think about that.”

She had thought about that. It terrified her. She longed for the days they worked till 4:00 a.m., snarfing down cold pizza and Red Bull to keep going, putting together a public offering, or preparing for a board meeting with a critical vote the following morning. She loved the deadlines, the crush to bring up the company profits before the quarterly report, the chilling fear and excitement of the audits, the gatherings of the suits to put together the prospectus. It was Jillian who was the PR guru, who put the spin on the company’s viability to the Board, the Securities and Exchange Commission, the brokers, the public. It was Jill who scrambled and took all Harry’s hard work and vision to the finish line with him.

She wasn’t sure how to slow down and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to.

Despite Harry’s instructions about confidentiality, Jill shared her current predicament with her one trusted intimate, her sister and best friend, Kelly. Kelly was a busy sous-chef in a five-star San Francisco restaurant, and their time together was limited, but they talked and texted daily. The greatest comfort in her secret dialogue with her sister was that Kelly wanted to kill Kurt—metaphorically anyway.

“Kurt better never try to have a meal in my restaurant,” Kelly said hatefully.

“I’m sure he knows better,” Jill replied. “He’s figured everything else out.”

“I’m just saying … I know how to make it look like an accident ….”

“Shush, for all I know he’s recording my phone!” Jill took a breath. “And now, having realized that’s actually a possibility, you have to let him live.”

“Bummer,” Kelly said. “He’s a pig. I never liked him. Did I tell you that?”

“No, you did like him! He charmed you, too, which makes us equally stupid. Ah, God, what happened to me? I mean, I’m no Einstein but I’ve never been so naive! Truthfully? I didn’t think he was smart enough to do something like this!”

“You’re impulsive,” Kelly said. “You always have been. You see something you want and you just go for it.”

“I wasn’t that impulsive,” Jill argued. “He courted me for a long time before … Oh never mind. Harry was right—even if I fought and won, it would become public, and his accusation would taint me for a long, long time!”

“Here’s my biggest question.” Kelly asked, “How could he get one over on everyone and yet be such a dud in PR? Isn’t that good PR? Knowing how to put a good spin on things, sell things, convince people they want what they don’t even know they want?”

“In a nutshell,” Jill said wearily. “He should have applied as much energy to his job.”

“Well—you helped build the little empire that is BSS,” Kelly said. “And it didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but you made a ton of money and your money made a ton of money. A whole bunch of software and dot-com corporations sputtered out, but yours did great. You should be able to get anything you want! Let’s think ahead for a sec. What’s your first, best idea?”

“I’m taking Harry’s advice. A little time off,” she said. “Then I’ll rethink the next job ….”

“That surprises me. My little sister would usually hit the ground running! In spite of Kurt’s efforts to wipe you out, your reputation is sterling. If anyone calls Harry for a recommendation, it’ll glow! You can go just about anywhere you—”

Jillian’s voice was so soft Kelly barely heard it. “But I’m still too wounded.”

Kelly was silent for a moment. “Oh, baby …”

“You know what I felt so guilty about while I was seeing Kurt? I worried that he cared far more for me than I did for him! But all the while he was loving me, he was plotting how he could really screw me.”

“He’s a bastard ….”

“I’ve never had trust issues before,” Jillian said very quietly. “I always had good instincts about who couldn’t be trusted. I could always tell the minute I met someone if I could trust them, and I was seldom wrong. But now …”

“You just need a little time,” Kelly said.

“Now,” she repeated, “I’ll never trust another man. If I do, it’ll be a miracle.”

There was silence between them.

“I’m taking off for a while, Kell,” Jillian said. “A vacation, some peace and quiet, a break in the action. Harry’s right—I owe it to myself to think.”

“Where will you go?” Kelly asked. “Do you need me with you?”

Jillian chuckled at the offer. “I know you can’t leave work. No, I’m going to make this trip solo. I don’t know where I’m going yet but don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need a little time to absorb this whole situation. A little time to heal.”

Kelly sighed into the phone. Then she said, “Seriously, he better never look for a meal in my restaurant because I do want him dead. And I hope he got that on tape!”

One

It gave Jillian a sense of relief to pack a few bags, lock up her small town house in San Jose and just drive away. Nothing could make a woman want to run for her life like being used and betrayed by a man.

To appease Kelly, she drove only as far as San Francisco for her first leg of an unknown trip. That night she had dinner in her sister’s restaurant. It was so hard to get a table in the five-star restaurant where Kelly was the head sous-chef that those people willing to wait usually stood around the bar for two hours after checking in with the maître d’, and that was if they had a reservation. The chef de cuisine was a man named Durant, known only by one name, and he was regionally famous. But Jillian was seated immediately, and at an excellent, semiprivate table. Then she was served every specialty the restaurant had by the best of the waitstaff. Kelly must have called in a lot of favors to make it happen.

After dinner, Jill drove over to Kelly’s small San Francisco flat where she planned to stay the night. Kelly didn’t get home from the restaurant until well after one in the morning, so the girls had their chance to visit over a late breakfast together. Kelly asked, “What now?”

“Many possibilities,” Jill said. “Maybe Tahoe. I’ve never been to Sun Valley, Idaho. The point is not where I’m going so much as just driving. Watching the miles stack up in the rearview mirror—figuratively and literally putting things behind me. I’ll stay in big, comfortable, anonymous hotels or resorts, relax, eat good food, watch all the movies I’ve missed over the past ten years and do many, many bookstore prowls. Before I go back to the grind I’m going to see if I can remember what having a life was like.”

“You have your phone, of course?”

Jillian laughed. “Yes. I’ll keep it charged in the car, but I’m not taking calls from anyone except you and Harry.”

“Will you do something for me?” Kelly asked. “Will you please just text me in the morning every day and let me know where you are? And can we talk before I start work in the kitchen? Just so I know you’re all right?”

Jillian was so far from all right it was almost laughable. She felt like an utter nutcase. Her attention span and focus were so disturbed that driving was probably not a great idea. But traveling by air to a vacation spot like Hawaii or Cancun, or being held prisoner on a cruise ship were so unappealing that she rejected those ideas immediately. She wanted her feet on the ground; she wanted to get her mental awareness back. She felt almost as if she didn’t know herself anymore. The inside of her car, alone, made total sense to her. There she could think, undisturbed, and try to get things in perspective.

But she put on a brave face. “You bet,” she said to her sister. Then she smiled. “If you call, I’ll answer if I have a signal.”

Right after they said their goodbyes Kelly left for work and Jillian got in her car and immediately drove east. She was halfway to Lake Tahoe when she remembered the vacation she’d taken with Kelly and two girlfriends the previous autumn. They’d driven to Vancouver—which was an excellent option for right now—but on the way home they’d stopped off at some dinky little town in the mountains—she couldn’t even remember the name. While they were there they’d wandered into an estate sale and the old house where it was held reminded her of the house she and Kelly had grown up in with their great-grandmother. Nostalgia had flooded her and she’d become almost teary with remembering, even though the two houses had very little in common. The other image that came to mind were the little cabins along a river where they’d stayed for a couple of days—nice little cabins, remote yet comfortable. They had left the windows open at night and slept to the sounds of nature, the river rushing by, the wind whistling and humming through the huge pines, the quacks, caws, honks and calls of wildlife. They’d put their feet in the icy river last fall, watching trout jump and turning leaves flutter into the water. It had been lovely. Soothing.

With those thoughts in mind, Jill made a turn and headed north. She’d go up through Napa—that would point her in the right direction. Those little cabins weren’t like a motor lodge or Holiday Inn, not the kind of place you could show up at midnight asking for a room. It was owned and run by a guy named Luke and his young wife; they lived on the property.

Jill spent the second night on the road at a little roadside inn in Windsor, probably halfway to her destination. First thing in the morning, she headed north again. Even a phone call to Kelly hadn’t produced the exact name of the town, but Jillian knew roughly where it was.

A couple hundred miles and a few wrong turns led Jill to a remote intersection in Northern California where she saw a couple of guys had parked their pickups at odd angles. They were clearly just passing the time. She pulled up alongside. “Hi, guys,” she said. “There’s a little town back in here somewhere. I had dinner at a place called Jack’s—I think—and there are some cabins along a river run by a guy named—”

One of the men pulled his hat off his head and smoothed his thinning hair over his freckled scalp. “Luke Riordan owns those cabins in Virgin River. Luke and Shelby.”

“Yeah!” she said. “That’s it! Virgin River! I must’ve missed the turn, never saw the sign.”

The other guy laughed. “Ain’t no sign. You didn’t miss it by much,” he said. “Up 36 a quarter mile. It’s a left. But to get to Luke’s you’re gonna wanna go another left after ’bout another mile and a half up that hill. Then you’ll go down again, then around a curve at the bottom of the mountain. Your second left ain’t marked, but there’s a dead sequoia stretched out by the side of the road right where you turn. Big mother. Then you’ll prolly see the river. Take that road along the river to the cabins. Ain’t far.”

She laughed. It might’ve been one of her first belly laughs in a couple of weeks! Yeah, she remembered the dead tree, the up, down and around of the road. “I remember now—I remember the dead tree. Thanks. Thanks so much!”

Off she drove in the direction of the first left and then the dead tree, laughing as she went. She was laughing at how different it was! She might as well have traveled to a different country—these people were as removed from iPhones and iPads and daily stock reports and board of director meetings as she was from fly-fishing and camping. And now that she’d seized on this idea and spontaneously found herself in Virgin River, of all places, she realized hardly anything in her baggage was going to be right for this kind of break. Thinking she might end up at some hotel resort in a place like Sun Valley she’d packed her country club casual—clothes she had on hand for corporate events or company picnics. She had linen slacks, a couple of stylish but casual dresses, wraparound skirts, sweater sets, that sort of thing. Low heels; lots of low heels. She had exactly one pair of Nike walking shoes and two sweat suits, and they both had designer labels.

As she recalled, Virgin River was very rugged, not to mention cooler. And boy, was it wet! It was early March; it had been drizzling on and off all day. It was a little bleak—except for the new green growth on the trees and the eruptions of plant life all along the side of the road.

Also muddy! Her pretty little Lexus Hybrid was splattered and filthy.

Jill followed the road along the river and when she came into the cabin compound she saw that Luke was on top of one of the cabins doing a little roof repair. He turned toward her as she pulled in. She stopped the car, got out and waved at him.

He smiled before climbing down his ladder. “Hi,” he said when he got to the bottom. He grabbed a rag out of his back pocket to wipe off his hands.

“Any chance you remember me, Luke?” she asked him. “I came up here last fall with my sister and girlfriends. We spent a couple of days in one of your cabins. You invited us to the estate sale—that old woman’s house.”

He laughed. “Sure I remember you, but I don’t remember your name.”

“Oh—sorry. I’m Jill. Jillian Matlock. I apologize. I didn’t even call ahead. I just thought if you had a vacancy …”

“This is a lucky time of year for vacancies,” he said, grinning. “Lucky for you, anyway. Good time of year for me to make repairs anytime the rain lets up. You have your choice of cabins. The key’s hanging on a hook inside the door.”

“Thanks, I remember. Hey, if I stayed a few days, would that be okay?”

“No hunters, very few fishermen and the summer folks don’t show up until June. June through January are busy for me, but early spring is a light load. What are you going to do around here for a few days?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Rest, sleep in, explore … It is safe to explore, right?”

“If you stay away from marijuana grows, but they’re usually hidden. Bear aren’t all the way awake yet. Fish? You fish?”

“Not since I was about seven or eight,” she said.

“Art will teach you,” Luke said. “There’s an extra rod and reel in the shed. Art knows where. In fact, anything you might need, we probably have an extra one. Just remember—the river is up—snow from the mountains is melting. And the weather is wet two out of three days. Just let us know what you need.” He looked her up and down. She was wearing jeans, heels, a silk blouse and suede blazer. “Um, Shelby’s got some waders she’d let you borrow. Those shoes will be wrecked in no time.”

“That’s so nice of you, Luke.”

“Just want you to enjoy yourself and be comfortable, Jillian.”

Jillian knew she would have to buy some knocking-around clothes; stuff that could hold up for long walks, fishing or sitting under a tree with a book. The next day she drove to a bigger town and texted her sister from the parking lot of the Target in Eureka.

You’ll never guess where I ended up! Virgin River! Remember Virgin River?

Jillian was trying on jeans before a response came back. Kelly’s text said, Why?

To relax and unwind and think, was Jillian’s reply.

Jill bought some lace-up boots for possible hiking, jeans, cargo pants, sweatshirts and sweatpants without designer labels, a rain slicker and a hoodie, some warm pajamas and a bunch of socks. She was going to just decompress in the natural, cold, wet beauty. She wasn’t giving up civilization altogether—she had her laptop, portable DVD player, iPad, iPhone and several DVDs she’d been meaning to watch.

But relaxation was easier said than done. Jill had fantasized for years about taking time off, having a break, but after a few years of such fantasies she had to admit that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted to work! Perform! Compete! Knock herself out! Win! She thrived on success, on the praise of her staff, her boss.

Jillian had been fresh out of college with a brand-new marketing degree and a bunch of credits toward her MBA when Harry Benedict offered her a low-paying job in a start-up firm. His start- up capital was limited, but he needed a few key people—a CPA, a software engineer and someone to pull together marketing demographics for his software products. Jillian could be that marketing person if she was willing and able to take a gamble. Harry had a good track record; he’d successfully started several companies, all of which he subsequently sold. What he offered her was an opportunity—to learn from him, get in on the ground floor of a new, high-tech manufacturing business and grow professionally.

Kelly was right about her—she was impulsive. She’d jumped at the chance. She had not been in a hurry to land the biggest job on the planet but the one with the most challenge and excitement. Plus, she liked Harry; liked his gruff, no-nonsense ways; liked his confidence and experience. His drive was addictive. She remembered one late night when they were still working at four in the morning, he’d said, “When we stop having fun, we’re outta here, right?” She bet on him just as he bet on her. And she missed him so much.

There was nothing more fun than helping to build a company. She became close to the Benedict family, rose in Harry’s software development and manufacturing business and, in fact, helped to formulate the company from its start-up to the day it went public. At the age of twenty-nine she had been made the vice president of Corporate Communications with a full staff and had become one of Harry’s inner circle execs. Along the way she’d collected bonuses, stock options and her salary grew along with her responsibilities. Careful investments meant that she had a significant portfolio that was well diversified.

Over the past ten years the only vacations she was successfully able to indulge in were those with her sister and their two best friends from high school. They were four women of diverse occupational interests who were all hardworking, ambitious, competitive and single. They managed to get away once a year for a week to ten days. Other than those vacations, Jillian didn’t know what to do with time off.

The thing that had always worked for both Jill and Kelly was hard work to turn their big dreams into successful realities. Kelly’s plans had been more focused right from the beginning—culinary school to line cook, to line cook in better and better restaurants, to sous-chef, to head chef to her own restaurant one day. Jillian’s path had never really wavered. After college, she jumped into the first opportunity that felt right. But both their paths proved to work. Kelly was definitely going in the direction she’d always planned and Jill had a nice nest egg from her ten successful years at BSS.

But, for now, Jill’s days were pretty simple. She enjoyed fishing with Luke’s helper, Art, a man in his early thirties who had Down Syndrome. They didn’t even talk much but she could tell Art enjoyed it immensely. She napped every afternoon, read, or watched movies late into the night, walked along the river in the early morning or dusk and drove around Humboldt County, taking in the landscape, the towns and the people—the people so unlike those she’d been used to in Silicon Valley. Though she appreciated invitations for dinner from the owners, she declined Luke and Shelby’s offers and remained on her own.

It was hard to change patterns and habits that had been ten years in the making—she bought prepared dinners that were easy to warm and eat, as if she were still putting in those long days. She was so happy to have time to read again, to indulge a few real girlie novels, but the love scenes only made her cry.

By driving to an open area, Jill was able to talk to Kelly at least once a day.

“Are you doing all right?” Kelly asked. “Any idea what’s next?”

“I’m kicking around a few ideas,” Jillian said. Truth was she had absolutely no ideas. “I don’t want to say anything out loud until I’ve done some more thinking ….”

“How about your poor battered heart?”

“Hah! My heart is fine. I hate him and I want to kill him.”

“Good for you!” Kelly said approvingly.

In fact, Jill’s heart was in shreds. She still couldn’t believe the same man had supported her, comforted her, praised her—then betrayed her. It had been so long since her heart had hurt like this—maybe since high school? College? She hadn’t been a total workaholic since joining BSS— she had dated a bit. But Kurt had the distinction of having really reeled her in.

And there was something else she was having real trouble dealing with—she wasn’t sure if she mourned more for the lost relationship or the lost job.

Ironically, it was that weird old house and the memories it invoked that had originally made her think of Virgin River as her escape. Yet it took her three days of fishing, walking, reading and just thinking before she recalled how it made her feel. She wanted to go back to see that house.

And, oh! The house had changed in the six months since she’d seen it last! It was now simply beautiful! So different from when she had last seen it. It was painted white with tan and brown trim; the shutters were dark, the trim lighter. The gables were decorated and the turrets at the front end of the structure stood as proud as those at any castle. The porch had been reinforced and painted tan and white; new doors and windows had been installed. It was a stunning, refurbished house that might be a hundred years old but that looked as fresh and new as the day it had been built.

And if the house wasn’t amazing in itself, the grounds were as fabulous as she remembered—manicured shrubs, flowers just coming up and lining the base of the house and walk, trees sprouting buds. She identified hydrangea and rhododendron along with some other bushes that would burst into flower in another month. She walked slowly around the house and lawn, taking it in, sighing and oohing and aahing. She went up onto the porch and peeked into the window, seeing that, as she suspected, the place was empty. No one lived here.

This was not really like the house she and Kelly had grown up in—her nana’s house was so much smaller, a little three-bedroom with the downstairs bedroom off the kitchen no bigger than a large closet. But it, too, had been an old Victorian clapboard with gables and a big yard, and front and back porches.

Jillian and Kelly had been on their own for several years now. When they were only five and six years old there had been a car accident; their father was killed and their mother was left an invalid. Their already-elderly great-grandmother took them on, along with their mother, who needed daily care. The girls grew up in that little house in an older neighborhood in Modesto, California. Because their mother was in a wheelchair and had very limited mobility even in that, she slept downstairs in an old-fashioned hospital bed while the girls shared one upstairs bedroom and Nana had the other one. Their mother was the first to go when the girls were in high school; their great-grandmother passed when they were in their twenties. She’d been in her early nineties.

Walking around the back porch, Jill realized that the last time she’d been here she’d sat in a rusty porch chair that the old woman who’d lived here had died in. Now she sat on the porch steps, leaned against the post and looked out at the huge yard—big as a football field up to the tree line. Most of the property was taken up by an enormous garden that needed weeding for spring planting.

It was so quiet here Jill could hear herself think. And what she thought was, How could he touch me the way he did when he knew he was going to steal my job, destroy my reputation and break my heart? How does one human being do that to another? And she began to cry again, something she only allowed herself to do when she was completely alone. How could he say the things he said? she wondered. Jillian, marry me. Jillian, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Jillian, I can’t live without you, and I mean that. You’re so much more important to me than any job.

It was the deliberateness of the premeditated lies that was incomprehensible to her. Oh, Jill knew how to tell small lies, how to tell a fat girl in a bright red dress that the color was good on her, that she was late because of traffic, that she’d only just gotten the message, that sort of thing. But how do you hold a naked person, whisper those loving things when all along your plan is to throw them under the bus? This was something she could never do to another human being.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she walked around the backyard, eventually gravitating to a large aluminum storage shed. Still sniffing, she pulled open the unlocked double doors and found a riding lawnmower along with all of the old woman’s gardening tools. She didn’t want to disturb things, but thought it was harmless enough to pull out a spade. She went to work on the huge backyard garden, turning soil in the muddy patch. The woman who had lived here was eighty-six when she died, Jill had been told. Yet she had gardened a small farm. That was just like her nana.

When they were little girls, Nana had Jill and Kelly working in the garden, the kitchen, and though Nana had never had much formal education, she taught them to read so they could take turns reading to their handicapped mother. They had garden, kitchen and house chores until they officially moved away. They worked hard through childhood, but it was good work. It probably set them up to never fear hard work. Nana used to say, “God blesses me with work.” And oh, was Nana blessed! She took in laundry, ironing, sold her canned vegetables, chutneys, sauces and relishes and helped her neighbors. There was some Social Security for herself and the girls who had lost their father. They worked to the bone and barely got by.

It was the absence of work and love that hurt Jill’s heart. She dug at the garden and cried, ignoring her tears and getting herself all muddy. When the spade didn’t pull out a weed, she was on her knees giving it a tug.

There were seeds and bulbs in the shed and judging by the new green growth all around, it was planting time. About three hours after she had arrived she had a large portion of the huge garden tilled, weeded, turned and had even pushed some old, stored bulbs of unknown type that she’d found in the shed into the ground. Instinctively she knelt and scooped up some soil, giving it a sniff—her nose was a little stuffy and rusty, but she couldn’t detect any chemicals. She hadn’t seen any pesticides in the shed; she suspected the old woman had been an organic gardener. She kept digging and weeding. And all the while she cried soft, silent, painful, cleansing tears.

“Um, excuse me,” a man said.

She was on her knees, mud up to her elbows. She gasped, sat back on her heels and wiped impatiently at the tears on her cheeks. She looked up at a very tall man; he looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Everything all right?” he asked her.

“Um, sure. I was just, um, remembering my great-grandmother’s garden and I—well I guess I got a little carried away here.” She stood up and brushed at her knees, but it did no good.

He smiled down at her. “Must have been quite the garden. Hope gardened like a wild woman every summer. She gave away almost all of her produce and complained about the wildlife giving her hell. But she must’a loved it, the way she went after it.” He tilted his head. “You miss your grandma or something?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if you’ll pardon me, seems like maybe you’re crying. Or something.”

“Oh!” she said, wiping at her eyes again. “Yes, I was missing her!”

“That isn’t going to help much, with your hands all dirty,” he said. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Here. Come on out of the mud. Wipe off your face before you get that dirt in your eyes.”

She sniffed and took the clean, white handkerchief. “This your house now?” she asked, wiping off her face, amazed by the amount of dirt that came off on the cloth.

He laughed. “Nah. I worked on it, that’s all.” He stuck out his hand, then lifted his eyebrows—her hand was caked in mud. He reconsidered and withdrew his hand. “Paul Haggerty. General Contractor. I build and rebuild and restore around here.”

“Jillian Matlock,” she said, looking down at what had happened to her perfectly manicured, executive businesswoman’s hands. Destroyed. She pulled her hand back and wiped it on her jeans. “Whose house is it then?” she asked.

“The town’s. Hope left the house, land and her trust to the town.”

“Ah, that’s right! I was here last fall. I came to the estate sale and someone told me about that. So what’s going to happen to it?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, rolled back on his heels and looked skyward. “Been a lot of talk about that. They could make it a museum, an inn, a town hall. Or just sit on it awhile. Or sell it—but with the economy down, it probably won’t pull a good sale price just now.”

“So no one really owns it?” Jillian asked.

“The town does. The guy in charge is Jack Sheridan. He has a bar in town.”

“No new owner?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Gee, I’d love to see what you did inside.”

He grinned. “And gee, I’d love for you to, but you’re a mess!”

She looked down at herself. “Yeah. I lost my head. Got a little caught up in clearing her garden and getting it ready. For what, God knows.”

“It’s not locked,” Paul said. “But I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d wipe your feet before going in.”

She was shocked; her eyes were round and amazed. “Not locked?”

“Nope,” he said with a shrug.

“So … no Realtor has the listing yet?” Jill asked.

“Not as far as I know, but then I barely finished with the redo. Jack would be the one to talk to.”

“Tell you what, this will make you happy. I’m going to go home …. Um, I’m staying in a cabin out by the river ….”

“Riordans’,” he said with a smile.

Boy, this was a tight group, she thought. “Right. If it’s all right with you, I’ll come back out here tomorrow morning and give myself a little tour. I’ll be all clean and won’t track dirt in your house.”

His grin was huge. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I painted and waxed those floors.” Then he blushed a little. “Well, I got it done.”

She smiled right back at him. “I know what a general contractor does. So, what does a place like this usually go for?”

“Who knows?” he said. “Put it in Fortuna, maybe seven hundred and fifty thousand. Restored, maybe a million. Lot of rooms in that house but only a couple of baths—I added one small one with a shower to make it three. Put it in a place like Menlo Park or San Jose—three million. Problem with real estate right now—it’s worth whatever you can get.”

“I hear that,” she said. “Listen, I’m going to take off.” She looked at the handkerchief. “I’ll, um, launder this for you.”

“Not to worry. I have a few.”

“I’m going to clean up and come back tomorrow, look through the house, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“It’s okay. Half the town’s been through the house. They’re real nice about not leaving marks or tracks and that’s appreciated.”

“Gotcha,” she said with a laugh.

“Maybe I’ll swing by, in case you have questions,” he said. “About what time you want to do that?”

She lifted her eyebrows in question. “Nine?”

“Works for me,” he said. “I thought I’d stop by Jack’s Bar and get some eggs out of Preacher first.”

“Oh yeah, I remember him. He’s the cook! Maybe I’ll join you for breakfast.”

“You’d be more than welcome.”

The next morning Jillian got up and put on some of her city clothes, as opposed to the new jeans and sweats she’d been wearing for her days on the river. Even she had to admit the difference, sans mud and tears, was pretty remarkable. She chose pleated slacks, silk tee and linen jacket along with some low heels. From what she knew of this little town, it wasn’t necessary to dress up, but she primped anyway.

And a part of her, a large part, couldn’t wait to get back to work where looking good was as much a part of the job as performing well. She smiled at her reflection and thought, Not bad. Not bad at all.

Over breakfast Paul explained to her that there were still a few things to finish in Hope’s old house, but it had come a long way in the past six months. “We found it stacked to the ceiling with junk and collectibles, but it was in amazingly sound condition for its age. It didn’t take too much restoration—mostly cosmetic work. That’s one big house. Wish I’d had stock in the paint company.”

“What’s your interest in that old house?” Jack asked as he refilled their coffee cups. “Wanna open a bed-and-breakfast?”

“God, no!” she said with a laugh. “Clean up after people? Cook for them? Nah, never! I’m just kind of curious. I grew up in an old house with a big garden out back—though the house was much smaller. But it had porches, a big yard, big kitchen …. When my great-grandmother died my sister and I sold it. It wasn’t near where either of us lived and worked. It made absolutely no sense to keep it, but I always regretted that it was gone. My great-grandmother had lived in that house since she was a teenager who was brought from France to marry a man she’d never met! She was half-French, half-Russian, and that was the way things were done then. Then she and her husband—who died long before I was born—lived there. It was her one-and-only home in this country and she nurtured it.”

They chatted for a few more minutes and then when it was time to leave, Jack decided he wanted to tag along; he hadn’t checked on the house in a good week.

Even though the house was immense from the outside, it didn’t quite prepare Jillian for the inside, which was huge and beautiful. This was the second time she’d actually been in the house; for the first time it was void of furniture and people.

Right inside the front door was what they used to refer to as a front room. Past it was the dining room; to the left a staircase and farther left on the other side of the staircase, a sitting room. The walls were textured and painted pale yellow, trimmed in white. Upstairs were three bedrooms, a large bathroom with claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, and a sunroom that stretched the length of the house over the back porch. On the third floor, two bedrooms, one medium-sized bath and what would now be referred to as a loft—a big open space between the bedrooms at the top of the stairs.

“This area was the attic and the two bedrooms were partially finished—walls up, but that’s it. It didn’t take much to finish them,” Paul said. The bedrooms on the third floor had window seats in the turrets and there was a metal spiral staircase that led to the roof and a widow’s walk. The widow’s walk was accessed through a door that pushed open easily and stood ajar. The walk was large, probably twelve feet long, but only six feet wide.

“A widow’s walk in a forest?” Jillian asked.

“I don’t know where old Percival came from—he was Hope’s husband—but I bet there was an ocean nearby. This is a sea captain’s house, complete with widow’s walk. And the view is amazing.”

Indeed, Jillian could see over the tops of the trees, down into the valley where there were vineyards. Way out west she could see what had to be sea fog; on the other side of the house she could see a couple of farms, some roads and a piece of the Virgin River. “How much of this land was hers?” Jillian asked.

“Most of the town property belonged to Percival but after he died Hope sold it off. She only kept ten acres,” Jack said. “She said when she was younger she had a couple of vegetable patches that were so big she was a legitimate farmer. When I moved to town and Hope was already in her eighties, she was still gardening in that big plot behind the house.”

Jillian looked down, and sure enough, saw a great big backyard almost completely taken up with the garden, along with a thick copse of trees that included a few tall pines, but also spruce, hemlock, maple and cedar. There were also lots of thick bushes and ferns. This long, thick copse of forest separated the backyard from another large meadow that could be easily transformed into a second huge garden, but there was no visible way to get to it except through the trees. There didn’t seem to be a path or road.

“How do you get back there?” Jill asked Jack, pointing. “To that big meadow behind the trees?”

“Drive all the way around,” he said. “Through town, past farms and vineyards. Hope gave up that second garden and let trees and brush grow over the access drive. Those trees are likely thirty years old and fully grown. I imagine she planned to sell that back meadow off, but either didn’t get around to it or had no takers.”

“This is amazing. This house should be an inn. Or maybe a commune. Or a house for a very large family. And one little old lady lived here all alone.”

“For fifty years,” Jack said. “Percival married himself a sixteen-year-old girl when he was near fifty. I bet he was hoping for a big family.”

“I wonder if they were in love,” Jillian idly commented as they headed downstairs.

“As far as I can tell they were together till he died, but no one knows much about them—at least about their personal lives. No one around here remembers Percival McCrea and there’s no question, he pretty well founded the town. He was the original landowner here and if he hadn’t left everything to his widow, and she hadn’t doled it out to friends and neighbors, there wouldn’t be a Virgin River.”

Something seemed odd about the house and Jillian wasn’t sure what it was until they arrived in the spacious kitchen. She noticed that not only were there no appliances, there weren’t any plumbing fixtures! She gasped suddenly and said, “You don’t leave the place unlocked because it’s so safe around here, but because there’s nothing in here to steal!”

Paul shrugged. “I didn’t want a door kicked in or window broken so someone could look around for something to steal. Unless they can figure out a way to get that claw-foot tub down the stairs, there isn’t anything to take. I guess they could steal the doorknobs, but that’s a real enterprising thief. I have a better front door with a leaded glass window stored in my garage for once the place is inhabited. Leaded glass is expensive. I have all the plumbing fixtures to install later. It is pretty safe around here, though. I mean, I never lock my door but Valenzuela, our town cop, says there’s the odd crime here and there and a person with a brain would just lock the damn door.”

Jillian just turned around and around in the great big kitchen while the guys talked. In addition to a lot of cupboard space and countertop, there was room for a double subzero fridge and an industrial-size stove top, two double ovens, a couple of dishwashers ….

“And I love this,” Paul said, pulling open a couple of bottom drawers in the work island. “My idea. Extra refrigeration, probably useful for fresh produce or marinating meat. On the other side—warming trays.”

At the nonworking end of the kitchen was a very large dining area, large enough for a long table that would seat twelve. Over by the back door was a large brick hearth. The entire back wall was all windows that looked out onto the porch and the yard beyond. Below the windows were built-in drawers and cupboards. On one side of the dining area was a beautiful built-in desktop.

Continuing the tour, Paul said, “We’ve got one small bedroom here and we added a small bath, which was easy to do since we had access to the kitchen plumbing. I think this was set up to be the maid’s quarters. But near as we could tell, Hope lived in this small area of the kitchen for at least the last several years. It’s where she kept a big recliner, her filing cabinets, her TV and computer. Furnace works just fine, but I think she kept warm in front of the fire and, as we know, she chopped her own wood. If I owned the house, I’d trade that wood fireplace in for a gas—”

“Not me,” Jack said. “I like the smell of the wood. I like to chop wood.”

“Wood fires are hard on the chimney and interior walls, and sparks aren’t healthy in dry forests,” Paul argued.

Jillian barely heard them. She was looking out the window into the backyard. For about three hours yesterday she had been transported. She might’ve cried as she dug in the garden, but it had been the first time since leaving San Jose that she’d truly felt like herself. She was at home in that dirt! She could imagine living in the kitchen! It seemed like a great place to live with all those windows looking out onto the garden. She’d be happy sleeping in a recliner.

Her nana had spent many a night sleeping upright. She’d fall asleep with a book in her lap and sometimes she wouldn’t even bother going up to bed. Then of course there was Jillian’s mom—there were times Nana stayed downstairs all night because she needed tending.

I should remember my early years as traumatic, difficult, Jill thought. Why don’t I? Why doesn’t Kelly?

“Jillian, look,” Paul said. He put a hand on her shoulder and pointed out the window. Right at the tree line, a doe and fawn picked their way cautiously into the yard. “Whoa, that guy’s brand-new—he can hardly stand up!”

Then a second fawn appeared, a twin, and the doe nudged him in the rear with her nose, moving him along. They stayed close to the trees.

Jillian’s chin could have hit the floor. “God,” she said in a breath. “God.”

“Probably looking for Hope’s lettuce crop,” Jack said with a laugh. “The deer used to drive her nuts.”

“She used to come in to Jack’s for her drink every night, covered in garden mud, and say she was going to start shooting ’em,” Paul added. “Jack? You think there are deer skeletons all over that back patch?”

“You know what? Now that you mention it, we never found a gun when we cleaned out Hope’s house! That old biddy was all talk!” Jack exclaimed.

Jillian whirled around and faced Jack. “Rent it to me!” she said.

“Huh?” both men replied.

“Rent it to me! The house. And yard of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “I hadn’t even considered that …”

“Well, consider it. I mean, even if the house is paid for, there’s taxes, right? And bills—water, electric, etc. You probably don’t want to try to sell it in this bad real estate market, being all the way out here in the country and all. Until you can figure out what you want to do, rent it to me.”

“For how long?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “How about a little while, like for summer.” She shrugged. “Six months?”

“Don’t you have a job or something?” Jack asked, hands on his hips.

“Nah,” she said with a smile and shake of her head. “I’ve taken a leave of absence. I need a little downtime before I go back or change directions. And yesterday I started on the garden. It reminded me of growing up, of my great-grandmother’s garden. And it felt better than just working so hard at learning to relax a little or being confused about what I want to do next. So?”

Jack took a deep breath. “Jillian, you can have full access to the garden as much as you want. Go for it. Rent something your size and come over every day, putter to your heart’s content ….”

“But if I rent this house I can put a table or recliner here and see it in the morning. Come on. At least until you have a better idea.”

“You sure you want to make a commitment like that? Because this is a big place and it might be out of your price range.”

“Well, how much?”

Jack rolled his eyes, then met hers. “I have no idea. I haven’t even had the property appraised yet,” he said.

She laughed at him. “Why don’t you do a little research and figuring and let’s at least talk about it. We could put a plan in place—one that doesn’t leave me suddenly homeless or you unable to take a good offer on the house. Really, we can work this out easy.” She looked back out the window at the deer. “Yeah, I think this might work for me for a while.”

Jillian thought about what Harry had said to her. His suggestion that she try to learn to relax seemed enormous and vague to her, but suddenly the idea of getting closer to nature not only made sense, it held a lot of appeal. After ten years in skirts and heels, racing around the pristine offices of BSS, Jill wanted to dig in the ground, enjoy the sunshine and wildlife and beauty of this remote place. While I dig and plant and weed, I’ll think about my options. I need a lot of think time, and I have to put time between my downfall at BSS and my return. Or my new start. And for sure I need to try to understand how I could be taken by a dimwit like Kurt!

Jill wasn’t naive about everything—she knew that, despite the confidentiality agreement, word would have leaked and she would be exposed as the bad guy she wasn’t.

“I don’t know …” Jack fumbled.

“Think about it,” she urged. “Talk to some folks for advice, if you have advisors. I have very good references. I have a little money socked away. I’ll come to the bar tomorrow to see if you have more questions, more ideas. What’s a good time?”

“Afternoon. Two to three-thirty.”

She stuck out her hand, which was clean, right down to the trimmed and scrubbed nails. “I’ll be there.” She shook Paul’s hand, as well, thanked them both and nearly skipped out of the house.

Two

Colin Riordan pulled up to his brother’s house and cabins still asking himself if this was a good decision. The past several months had been grueling and since he had to be somewhere, this place would serve his purposes for now. He’d been in treatment of one variety or another for so long he could hardly remember back when he had considered himself pretty tough and well-balanced. In fact, if his left arm and leg didn’t ache with such relentless regularity, he’d barely remember the accident.

And, yeah, the occasional nightmare would remind him. Lying in a tangled, burning heap that had once been an airborne Black Hawk, being pulled free by his boys before he burned to death. Yeah, that was the beginning of the end. He rubbed his short, trimmed beard; he could feel the scars on his right cheek. He was scarred on his cheekbone, down his neck and on his shoulder, back, upper arm and left side.

He’d traded in his sports car for a Jeep Rubicon; he got out of it, happy to stretch his legs. He wasn’t planning to stay here with Luke and Shelby. He’d come up to Virgin River with his brother Aiden about a month ago and had managed to find a two-room cabin buried deep in the forest beside a mountain creek. He made arrangements to rent the place until hunting season opened in the fall.

Luke stepped out onto his front porch, eight-month-old Brett balanced on his hip. “Hey,” he said. “How was the drive?”

Horrible, Colin thought, fighting the urge to rub his leg, his back, his arm. “Terrific. Quicker than I thought.” He couldn’t quite disguise the slight limp as he walked toward the porch and saw Luke’s eyes dart to his leg. “Just stiff, Luke,” Colin said. He went up the steps and reached for the baby. “C’mere, Bud. Did you remember that trick I taught you?”

Brett reached out for him with a wet, droolly smile. Of all the shocks Colin had shouldered in the past six months, this was one of the biggest—that he’d bond with a baby! He’d never been crazy about kids, didn’t want any, tended to give them a wide berth, but this one just got under his skin. In his eight months of life Colin had only seen little Brett maybe five times—right after he was born, once when Luke came to visit while he was in treatment in Tucson and brought the kid along and last month—that accounted for three. And yet …

The baby grabbed Colin’s nose; Colin made a noise and a face. Brett giggled wildly and did it again. And again. And again. Finally Colin said, “Just like your father—easily entertained.”

“Come on in,” Luke said.

“I’m not staying. I just wanted to swing by, say hello, let you know I’m in the area. I’m going out to the cabin.”

Luke looked annoyed. “Can’t you stay here just one night?”

“Can you give me a break? I’ve been living with people for six frickin’ months and I am sick of living with people!” Shelby stepped outside, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Hi, sweetheart,” Colin said, his mood instantly lightened. “Tell your husband I want my own place and I want to be alone for a while and I have earned it.”

“Yes, you have. Come in for a soda or cup of coffee. Fifteen minutes, then Luke will leave you alone.”

“You went to see Mom,” Luke accused. “You stayed with Mom for a few days. Why not one night here, till you get your bearings?”

“I have my bearings! And I only went to see Mom to placate her so she wouldn’t come to see me!”

“Oh, Colin, she’s just being a good mother,” Shelby said. “I hope I’m as good a mother as Maureen is.”

Colin looked at Brett. “You hear that, bud? You’d better look out.”

Shelby made a face at him. “That’s going to cost you five more minutes. Now come in here, let me give you something to drink at least. And we should pack you up a little care package—sandwiches or milk and eggs—something to tide you over till you can get to the grocery store.”

Colin tilted his head. “Not a bad idea,” he said. That was something he’d always liked about women—the way they seemed to want to feed you. The other things he liked, he probably wasn’t going to experience. Certainly not out here in the boonies.

Luke held the door open and Colin walked in. “Weren’t you alone for three days of driving?” he asked to his back.

“I want to be alone while I’m not driving.”

“What will you do?”

“I will unload a few things, settle in and listen to the inside of my own head for a while.”

“Well that oughta scare the shit outta you,” Luke said.

“Should we be saying shit around the kid here?”

“Aw, I forget sometimes,” Luke said.

Colin sat at their kitchen table, still holding Brett on his lap. He accepted a cup of coffee from Shelby and made sure it was pushed out of the baby’s reach.

Colin had an attack of conscience because he was being difficult, as usual. Bad stuff had happened to him, his brothers had all come running, stuck by him for six months while he tried to get his head and body back and here he was, just being an asshole. He threw Luke a bone. “Hey, any chance you have a little time this week? I got permission to install a satellite dish at that cabin. I can pick it up, but the installation is going to require some climbing.”

“You don’t want to be climbing,” Luke agreed.

“No,” Colin said, shaking his head. “I hear the only thing worse than getting a titanium rod shoved into one femur is when they do it to the other one.” He grinned. “But, I think I’m going to need internet. Stuck out in the woods, it’s my easiest way to stay in touch and buy things I need.”

“Sure. Just say when,” Luke said, clearly pleased to be allowed to do something to help.

“And with all my stuff in storage, any chance you have an extra gun? Mine are with my household goods.”

“Worried about bear?” Luke asked.

“Not necessarily. Might be a little worried about growers. I heard there are pot growers around.”

“Been a long time since we’ve had any trouble with pot growers—they tend to stay away from Virgin River and hang closer to Clear River. But, you should have a gun—bear are coming out with the cubs. Man, you get between a bear and her cub and it isn’t pretty. I have a rifle I never use.”

“Um, any chance you have a high-caliber handgun?” Colin asked, trying to stretch out his left arm and wincing at the pain.

“Still can’t get the best out of that arm, huh?” Luke asked, nodding toward the affected limb.

“It’s coming along. It’s the elbow, man. It might never be right. The breaks in the humerus seem okay now, but I went through a shoulder problem from—never mind all that. I’ll take the rifle if that’s all you have.”

“I have a Magnum locked up, but the thing is, if you shoot a bear with it, you might only piss him off.”

“The noise could scare him away, though,” Colin said.

“Hmm, yeah,” Luke said with a tilt of his head. “I haven’t fired it in a while. You’ll have to clean it, fire it, make sure—”

“Great, thanks, uhh …” Colin said. Then he smiled a bit lamely and said, “My buddy Brett seems to be very relaxed, sitting here on my lap. I think he’s going to need a little change. You might want to brace yourself.”

Colin had rented himself a pretty good little cabin. Furnished, but not fancy; electricity and indoor plumbing. It was lacking a few things—good, natural light, for one. When Colin had looked at it with Aiden the previous month, he lamented the dark shadows in the cabin, but he could live with that. He brought bright lights with him to illuminate the place for those days when it was too wet to paint outside. He looked forward to taking his painting, his easel, canvas and paints to a higher spot outdoors, to a clearing, and taking advantage of the good, natural light when the weather permitted. What the cabin did have was a quiet, secluded space in the forest with a creek. Or brook. Or whatever you called a baby river. That meant wildlife. And wildlife was what Colin wanted.

Colin had always been a gifted artist, but it had never interested him as much as flying and sports. He’d always doodled; in high school he was the one stuck with all the posters, signs, lettering, even chalk renderings of team players. High school counselors and art teachers wanted him to go to college to study art, but he’d been after something a lot more exciting.

It was ironic that Colin had wanted to fly since the first time he looked into the sky and saw aircraft above him, and yet Luke was the first in their family to do it. Luke always remarked that Colin followed him into Black Hawk helicopters, but that was not so. Luke had gone into the Army ready for any assignment from artillery to KP when he was offered a Warrant Officer School slot and from there flight school. Luke had stumbled into a flying career. Colin had dreamed of flying jets or helicopters since he’d been about six years old; he had enlisted with that as his single objective. He couldn’t wait to get off the ground!

Art was his sideline, just as it had been in high school. He was good at caricature and entertained his Army buddies with his drawings. He’d done an oil portrait of the five Riordan boys, ages ten to eighteen; he’d copied it from a photo and given it to his mother. He’d painted a huge, wall-size mural of a Black Hawk in a house he’d owned about ten years ago and when the new owner bought it he swore he’d keep it on that wall forever. But all that had been for fun. While in treatment—all kinds of treatment—he’d been drawing and painting. Ballroom dancing or squash certainly weren’t options for rehab.

The injuries Colin sustained from the crash led to addiction to Oxycontin, which led to being arrested for buying from a dealing doctor, which led to addiction treatment, which led to depression, which led to … Put all the pieces together and he’d been in one form of therapy or another for six months. Colin had been painting with oils, watercolors and acrylics for a few months now, one of the only parts of his past he’d been able to hang on to and something that was now part of his therapy. It slowed him down enough to let his mind move easily rather than crazily. He’d painted all the bowls of fruit and landscapes he could stand, but the thing that got his juices flowing was painting wildlife.

He was frighteningly good at it for a man who hadn’t been professionally trained. He could replicate some of the best wildlife portraits he found; then he discovered his own images through the lens of a camera.

He had taken one, and only one, professional art instruction in his life after high school and that was in the nuthouse. He went from the hospital to physical therapy to drug rehab to depression rehab—and it was in the third rehab that some wise guy counselor suggested a bona fide art instructor, since painting had become so crucial to Colin’s recovery.

The art instructor had said, “The hardest part of training a painter is showing him how to introduce emotion into his work, and you do it naturally.”

And Colin had said, “Don’t be ridiculous—I don’t have emotions anymore.”

After repeating this to his assigned counselor, they had decided to slowly reduce and eliminate the antidepressants and increase the group therapy sessions. To that idea Colin had said, “Can’t you just shoot me instead?”

It had worked in spite of Colin’s dislike of those touchy-feely group-hug sessions. He must have been ready to come off the antidepressants. Now he was glad; his senses were no longer dulled by drugs of any kind.

He’d never even considered art as a career. But why would he? He was into fast, edgy living; he was a combat-trained Black Hawk pilot who lived hard. He drove a sports car too fast, occasionally partied too much, played amateur rugby, had too many women, went to war too often. And then it all came crashing down on him, literally. In slowly learning to pick up the pieces of his lost life, he reclaimed his art. Art moved slow and exercised feelings he had been able to ignore for a long time.

Now, after many long months, he was released to pursue his continued healing and his art. He had a good digital camera with an exceptional zoom lens. Obviously wildlife couldn’t pose for him—but he could catch them in the wild, get several photos and work from them.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, Colin was looking forward to really getting into his art and to reclaiming the life he had nearly lost.

As promised, Luke helped Colin get the internet up and running, talking a little more than he used to. It was probably the influence of living with a woman. Colin recalled that most women had that talking gene hardwired.

Colin spent the next couple of days cautiously prowling around the forest, confirming to himself that he’d made a good choice. He liked the quiet; he enjoyed the sounds in the woods. He liked to sit on his rough-hewn porch at dawn and dusk, still and quiet, camera at the ready, and watch the wildlife that would gather at the creek—everything from a black bear fishing for trout to a puma looking for a drink. He caught a good shot of a fox; a distant photo of a buck; the head of a doe peeking out of the brush; an amazing American eagle in flight.

He went out exploring, rain or shine, but was careful with his hiking, and since spotting the bear fishing in his creek, never went out without the gun. He watched his step and moved slowly; he wasn’t kidding about the second titanium rod. He had no interest in breaking any more bones.

Being outdoors in the crisp March spring was energizing for him. It seemed to drizzle two out of three days, but although he couldn’t paint outdoors in wet weather, Colin certainly didn’t mind being exposed to the elements. And watching the new spring growth begin to emerge was a new experience for him. He’d never noticed things like new vegetation, the quality of the air and the perfect stillness of the forest before now. He’d never moved slow enough to take notice.

On a rare sunny day he took his easel and paints and drove up an old dirt road past a vineyard and a couple of farms. He set up in a meadow and went back to work on the eagle he had started a few days ago. He clipped his photo to the top of the canvas and found himself wondering, What does it feel like up there? Tell me what it’s like to know you can just step off a limb and soar …

Just then he heard a wild rustling in the trees not far away. He put down the palette and brush and pulled the .357 Magnum out of his belt at the small of his back. He took a stance in the direction of the noise, his pulse picking up speed, and aimed in the direction of the sound. But the creature who broke through the trees was not a black bear. It was a girl in sweatpants, red rubber boots, a dirty tee T-shirt and ball cap with her ponytail strung through the back. He knew it was a girl by her vaguely female shape and her deafening scream as she dived to the ground, facedown, with her hands over the back of her head.

Colin calmly engaged the safety and tucked the gun back in his belt. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not going to shoot you. You can get up.”

She lifted her head and looked up at him. “Are you crazy?”

Now there were some pretty big brown eyes, he thought. Very pretty. “Nope. Not crazy. I was expecting a bear.”

She lifted herself up slowly, sitting back on her heels. “Why in the world were you expecting a bear?” she demanded.

“They’re starting to come out of hibernation now, with cubs. I’ve seen a couple. Thankfully at a safe distance.”

She huffed. “Don’t you know they’re more afraid of you than you are of them?”

He smiled lazily. “Better to be safe. On the off chance I’m not that scary,” he offered with a shrug. He bent to pick up his palette and brush.

“Amazing,” she said with an irritated tone. “I have yet to hear anything that sounds like an apology!”

She was really pissed, and for some reason, it made him smile. He tried to keep it a small smile, asking himself why he found her so amusing. He gave a half bow, partly to conceal his grin. “Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “And sorry you startled me. You weren’t in any danger—I wouldn’t shoot something I couldn’t positively identify.”

“Very lame attempt,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

All right, he was standing in front of an easel, holding a paint palette and brush. “Taxidermy?” he responded with just a touch of his own sarcasm.

She stood and brushed at her dirty sweatpants. “Cute,” she said. “Very cute. I mean, on my property?”

“Oh, this is yours? The roads were open and there were no signs. The light’s good here. My place is buried in the forest where it’s pretty dark—all I have is artificial light. If this is a problem, I’ll move on ….”

“But how did you get here? Where is the road? Because this is my—I mean, I don’t own it, but I rent that house back there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder where the top of a large Victorian could be seen above the trees. “And aside from cutting down some trees, I couldn’t figure out how to get to this clearing back here. I could see it from the widow’s walk, but there didn’t appear to be any access.”

“And yet, here you are,” he pointed out with a smile. “Posing as a bear.”

She brushed at her cheeks, which only moved the dirt from her hands onto them. But Colin was taking closer stock of her and starting to see things he’d missed when she first burst through the trees and threw herself to the ground. Like a very delicious female shape—lean and sexy but with curves in all the right places, and a lot of chestnut-colored hair that was escaping that ball cap to fan her face. Her lips were full and peachy; her skin like ivory with a few light freckles across her nose; those eyes were amazingly large and deep and shadowed by thick lashes. He had a sudden urge to taste that mouth, that smart, sassy mouth.

“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “I plowed through those trees and bushes to ask you how you got here with all your stuff.” She turned up a palm; it was bleeding. “See, the last owner let the trees and shrubs between her backyard and this clearing grow in, and I wanted to get back here with gardening equipment, but I couldn’t see how …”

He looked at her palm, looked her up and down and asked, “Was it really dirty coming through there?”

“Huh? Oh!” she laughed. “I’ve been gardening. I mean, farming—you can’t call what I’ve been doing gardening. I’ve gone a little nuts. See, stuff is already coming up. I’ve looked up the planting cycle online and if I hurry I can catch up. I have to get all my seeds and starters in the ground before April, and that actually puts me a little behind. Vegetable seeds should be in the ground early March; tomatoes should be started. Except the squashes and melons—there’s time for them yet. And I’ve already had birds, deer, rabbits—”

He took a step toward her. “What are you doing about them?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I have a horn. A cow horn. It’s loud. The birds fly, the deer run. But I hate it. I don’t hate scaring off birds so much, but the doe come with their fawns and I don’t really want them to go, but if I don’t scare them off and they dig up the garden, all my work is for nothing. And the only reason to garden is to watch it grow. Deer trampling my new plants isn’t going to get me—”

“Don’t you garden to eat it or sell it?” he asked.

“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Right now I garden to garden.”

He took a step toward her. He stuck out a hand. “Colin Riordan,” he said.

She looked down at her bleeding palm.

“Oh, damn, let me take care of that,” he said. He went to the opened hatchback of the Jeep and found a clean rag. When he got back to her, he wrapped it around her cut. Then he stuck out his hand again.

“Jillian,” she said, shaking his hand cautiously. “Are you related to Luke and Shelby?”

“You know them?”

“I stayed in one of their cabins until this place turned up and I rented it.”

“I’m Luke’s brother, also known as Uncle Colin.”

“Pleasure,” she said. “Now how did you get here?”

He turned around and she did a quick study of his back; she had another look at the big, scary gun in his waistband. She also couldn’t help but admire his broad, muscled shoulders, narrow waist and long legs.

“See that road?” he asked, pointing. “It’s a crappy road, bumpy and overgrown from lack of use, but the Rubicon can take it, no problem. And the road kept going up, past a vineyard, past a couple of farms, and I stayed on it. Up was my objective. Up was where the sun was.”

“How far did you have to stay on that road?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe as long as a half hour?”

She sighed. “Well, Uncle Colin, you can get sun a lot easier. My place on the other side of the trees is a couple of turns off 36. You can paint in my front yard or backyard. I don’t mind and you’d be a lot less trouble that way. You won’t need a gun and I won’t need to duck all the time. But I’ve been planting bulbs around the house and drive and walk, too, so try not to step on the new plants.”

“Jillian, when does all the wildlife pester the garden?” he asked.

“Dawn. In fact, right up till eight o’clock. They’re back again at dusk. They probably hang out back here. I’m sure they stay around the trees. They’re so cautious when they come out.”

“Show me your garden,” he said.

“It isn’t easy,” she said. “You might want to go down that road and around to 36 and come up the front way.”

“If you can do it, I can do it,” he said. “So? Let’s do it.”

She sighed, shrugged and turned to walk back into the trees. With the rag wrapped around her hand she carefully parted the growth. It wasn’t exactly a narrow copse, and there was no path, and because she was not totally familiar with the property she wasn’t entirely sure of the most direct route back to the house. She hadn’t been in the house long and the only part of the property she knew was what surrounded the house.

Finally they came through and arrived at the garden area. A large, rectangle portion of it was tilled, turned and planted. The place was huge. There were stakes along some rows, marking the plants. Then there was the house. Astonishing.

Colin took off his straw cowboy hat and rubbed a hand over his head. “Whoa,” he said. “Look at that house! You rent that?”

“Mainly for the kitchen window, back porch and yard. That part of the house reminds me of where I grew up.”

He took in the garden. “That’s quite a farm you got there. You been at this a long time?”

“Like I said, I was trying to catch up …”

He looked down at her. He lifted the brim of her ball cap. “How long?”

She shrugged. “Maybe ten days. Maybe a little less. A week?”

“Did you start from scratch?”

“Oh, no. I think that garden has been there for fifty years or so, but I can’t tell how much of it was used by the woman who used to live here. If she was an experienced organic gardener, she probably planted stuff in alternating sections just to regenerate the soil. I could see the established rows. I weeded, tilled, started planting seeds. I’ve planted less than a quarter, but I’m ready to plant more.”

He whistled. “No wonder you’re covered in dirt.”

She laughed at him. “There’s a tiller in the shed, but I like the hoe and shovel and trowel and cultivator. I like to get close to the garden. My nana used to say the secret to excellent gardening was to be close to the dirt and the plants. Besides, dirt washes off.”

“You’ve been doing this for a week?” he asked. “Jesus, girl, got a little OCD going on there?”

“Maybe a little,” she said with a grin. “When I get into something, I just really get into it. I bet it’s that way with your painting.”

Colin shook his head. “It’s not like that. I’m not obsessed.”

“Well, I’m not obsessed,” she returned, insulted. “It’s just when I take on a job, I like to do a good job!”

“Yeah,” he said absently, moving closer to the garden—the long, perfect rows, the stakes, the starter plants here and there. “Mostly seeds?”

“And some seedlings,” she said. “Some bulbs around the ends—she had some in her shed. I have no idea what they are, but we’ll find out. I suspect tulips, irises, daffodils and lilies. I put some along the front of the house, too. I have some new starters up on the porch, so I’m getting the bed ready. And I have some baskets to hang around the porch—it’s a new thing, cherry tomatoes that grow out of the bottom of the hanging basket.” She grinned at him. “Very handy for dinner—go pluck your tomatoes on the porch. I wanted to try it. And all the bushes surrounding the side of the house back to these trees? Rhododendron and hydrangea. And lots of lilacs. I love lilacs.”

He took in the house—enormous, wide porch, three stories. He nodded toward it. “That’s a lot of house. You live there alone?”

She leaned on one leg, hand on her hip and threw him a look. “Where I come from, gentlemen don’t ask questions like that. I have protection and very large locks.”

He grinned at her. “I’m rarely accused of being a gentleman, but I’m not dangerous. Besides, I didn’t ask because I intend to break in and steal your gardening tools, I asked because it’s a very big house. Where do you come from?”

“San Jose.”

“Then what are you doing up here, in this big house?”

She showed him her palms, one wrapped in a rag. “Taxidermy,” she said.

He chuckled at her. Smart-ass kid, he thought. “I can see that. Before gardening, how did you pass the time?”

“I was a corporate person. Software industry. It was too stressful, so I’m taking some time off. I … ah … oh never mind …”

“What?” he asked.

“I haven’t had a proper vacation in a long time so I’m relaxing and thinking about what I want to do next. I think while I garden.”

“A multitasker,” he said with grin. “What do you do when it rains?”

“Same thing, only a lot wetter,” she said.

“Well, if you see someone prowling around out here at dawn on a clear day, don’t get scared. And no horn, okay? If there are deer, I’d like to get some shots.”

“Pictures?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why?” she wanted to know.

He turned and started to walk away from her. “Because animals won’t pose for me. Later, Jillian.”

She watched as he disappeared into the thick copse of trees behind her garden. And while he’d seemed a nuisance at best, she was suddenly sorry to see him go.

Jillian went inside, cleaned up her cut hand, bandaged it and covered it with a latex glove. She went back to her garden and worked through the afternoon, but it wasn’t quite the same. The painter showing up—it was like a little tease and she realized how much better it felt to have a little break in the day and some conversation. Then she remembered she had heard that Hope McCrea had gone to Jack’s every day for that end-of-day whiskey. Jillian didn’t crave a whiskey, but it might be nice to have a glass of wine and some dinner. And some company.

Risking the garden to the wildlife at dusk, she went inside to shower. Clean, hair dripping, dressed in her robe, she padded up to the third floor and looked out one of the bedroom windows. She could barely see over the trees, but she was able to make out Colin just now packing up the back of his Jeep. The sun was beginning to lower; his painting light was obviously dwindling.

She blew her hair dry, put on some of her nicer slacks, gave her short nails a whisk of clear polish and left the house.

Colin was sitting at the bar passing the time with a draft and a new acquaintance, Dan Brady. Colin learned that Brady worked construction for Paul Haggerty and could be found at Jack’s once or twice a week for a beer. As for Colin, this was exactly the third beer he’d indulged in since getting out of treatment. In fact, while he wasn’t particularly tempted to overindulge in beer, he never kept any at his cabin. He was on a completely different path these days.

He was just giving himself a silent pat on the back for how well he was keeping his messed-up life together when she walked in. Dan Brady was still talking but Colin didn’t hear a word he said. He didn’t even recognize her at first; he just glanced at her and thought she was one fine-looking woman when he realized it was Jillian, the gardener. She smiled right at him. In fact, she smiled like she was happy to see him. He almost glanced over his shoulder to be sure she was smiling at him. Except for the pink nose and cheeks and smattering of freckles, she looked almost entirely different.

First of all, she not only had a shape, it was an awesome shape. Oh man, that was a nice chest—not too big, not too small. She was kind of tall for a girl, but would still be small up against his six-three frame. Her chestnut hair fell to her shoulders in a smooth, silky curtain that called out for big, male hands. Narrow waist, firm butt, trim thighs. Her pink lips were heart-shaped and that smile cut right through him. Her smile almost brought him to his knees. She had a clean and classy girl-next-door look about her; not his usual type but he felt the kind of physical response that suggested he might like to make her his type.

She jumped up on the stool beside Colin. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said and nodded hello to Dan.

“Whew,” he said. “You clean up good. You don’t look like the same girl.”

She frowned right before she laughed. “Do women usually thank you for saying things like that?”

Jack was instantly in front of her, slapping down a napkin. “How’s it going, Jillian?” he asked.

“Great, Jack. What can you give me in a nice, woody Chardonnay?”

“Screw top or cork?”

“Oh, let’s go crazy and go with the cork.” He reached in his cooler and pulled out an opened bottle of Mondavi, showing it to her. “Perfect,” she said.

“You two already know each other?” Jack asked as he poured.

“I caught him painting out on the property, back behind that stand of trees.”

“Meet Dan Brady,” Jack said. “Dan, Jillian Matlock rents Hope’s old house. You did some work on that house, didn’t you?”

Dan gave her a nod. “I never painted so much in my life. How many people live with you out there?” he asked.

“Just me,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.

Dan leaned an elbow on the bar. “What in the world are you doing out there?”

“She’s gardening and thinking,” Colin answered for her.

“Gardening?” Dan asked. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Because I can. I learned as a little girl. I’m very good at it. We have some farmer’s chromosome in the family, I think.”

“What are you growing?” Dan asked.

“Salad,” she said with smile. “I got the root vegetable seeds in first, then the lettuce—three kinds. Swiss chard. Scallions, leeks, cucumbers, beans. Next I’ll sow the squashes, but I’m nursing along some tomato starters up on the porch. My great-grandmother started everything from seed, but she’d always start certain ones like tomatoes in little trays on the back porch until they were strong before they went in the ground.”

“Sounds nice,” Dan said. “And what are you thinking about that brings you out our way?”

“Well, I’m taking a leave from a corporate PR job and I intended to think about what I’d like to do next, where I’d like to work next, but all I can think about is gardening.” She got a wistful look on her face. “I’m growing the standard stuff, but you can’t imagine the stuff my nana grew! White asparagus, cherry peppers, red brussels sprouts, tomatillo, red romaine … Oh, there was Purple Cape and baby eggplant. She grew a tomato called Russian Rose that was so delicious we ate them like apples—they could get up to two pounds. The ones we didn’t eat she stewed and canned. She was French and Russian but could make the most amazing Italian sauce—the neighbors bought it from her sometimes.”

Colin made a face and shivered. “The only thing worse than green brussels sprouts would have to be red ones ….”

“What the hell is Purple Cape?” Dan asked.

“Purple cauliflower.”

“My mother gardened like mad, made all of us weed, but as far as I know no one got the bug,” Colin said. “I’ve never even seen the stuff you mentioned.”

She shook her head. “You don’t see it every day, that’s for sure. You’d see some of that stuff in five-star restaurants. They garnish their meals with them. They’re grown in small, special, commercial gardens and come at a high price. They’re always organic like my great-grandmother’s garden was and dining patrons know that if the chef is using them he or she has knowledge, skill, creativity and style. I’d give anything to grow some of that stuff.”

“Why don’t you?” Dan asked.

She laughed at him. “They don’t have seeds for that stuff at the Eureka garden shop. They’re pretty much limited to the stuff you see every day. My nana brought her first seeds from her own garden in France and reproduced them from her fruit and vegetables every year.”

“You just haven’t looked far enough,” Dan informed her. “Do you use a computer?”

“Use one?” she asked with a laugh. “The job I just left was as a corporate officer for a software manufacturer!”

“Research those seeds,” he said. “Trust me, someone has them. And if they can grow pot year-round up here, they can find a way to grow special tomatoes. A sheriff’s deputy once told me that if the same energy was put into hybrid vegetables as was put into pot, we’d have fifty-pound watermelons.”

“Pot?” she asked. “They grow pot year-round up here?”

“Sheltered,” Dan said with a nod. “Irrigated, grow lights run on generator, fertilized with chicken shit.” He grinned. “Organic!”

“Boy, you know a lot about growing pot.”

“That’s a fact. Did time, too,” he said. “I wasn’t a full-time gardener, however. I was strictly a businessman.” He drained his beer. “Wish I’d heard about these high-dollar veggies. That might’ve been a smarter move. They even sell greenhouses on the internet, but you don’t want to be growing your pot in a glass house.” Then he smiled, obviously not embarrassed at all by his experience growing illegal drugs.

For a moment Jillian was lost in thought and she wasn’t paying attention to the rest of the conversation. She knew her eyes got a little round and thought her mouth might be standing open. She absently shook Dan’s hand and said it was a pleasure to meet him, but Colin said something to her that she didn’t even hear. An onslaught of information and ideas ran through her brain so fast her eyes almost rolled back in her head. Could she actually find her great-grandmother’s seeds and grow those things very few people managed to grow?

“Hey,” Colin said, giving her arm a jiggle. “You all right?”

She shook herself and refocused. “Yeah. Fine. Jack?” she called. He came right over. “That guy? Dan?” she asked in a near whisper. “He did time for growing pot?”

Jack gave the bar a wipe. “Yup. Had some serious family crisis and needed emergency money, so he dove in. It must’ve been a bad situation to make him do something like that because he’s a real stand-up guy. But you gotta admire the guy—he did his time and got himself a legit life. He’s well liked around here.”

“Wow. How about that.”

“Lots of stories in this naked city …”

“He doesn’t seem real shy or embarrassed about it …”

“Well, first off, everyone knows, so no point in pretending. Second, I think there’s a part of him that kind of enjoys being infamous.” Jack smiled. “Notorious. When you get down to it, though, he’s just a real good guy. Lot of us have those rough patches, catch us doing things we wouldn’t ordinarily do.”

“Tell me about it,” she said thoughtfully. “Hmm. Listen, I’m going to need a hand. Like handyman help, out at the house …”

“Aw. Jillian, I’d love to help, but—”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “I want to hire someone! I’m not looking for a favor!”

“Oh. Well in that case …” Jack walked down to the end of the bar, spoke briefly with a handsome young man in his early twenties who was sitting there, then brought him back behind the bar to face Jillian. He introduced him as Denny Cutler. “Denny’s been looking for something permanent around here. He’s a friend of mine and I can vouch for him.”

“Nice to meet you, Denny,” Jill said, putting out her hand.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“I need some help with a few things. I have to buy a truck first of all, preferably an old truck that runs well. I’m going to need to haul things for the yard and garden. Know anything about trucks?” she asked.

“Some,” he said, flashing her an engaging grin.

“When you say that, I hope it means you know enough. I’m also thinking about cutting down some trees and making a path to a back meadow. Oh, and I have to erect a fence to keep the deer and rabbits out of the lettuce. It’ll be a long fence.”

“Wow,” he said. “Sounds like stuff I can get done, but I don’t have the equipment.”

“Can the equipment be rented?” she asked.

“I can certainly find out. I worked for a landscaper one summer in high school. Worked me to death, but I learned a couple of things. Thing is, it’s been a long time, so I might not be as fast as you want.”

“Do you work hard?”

“That I do,” he said with a nod. “There’s another thing—it would have to be temporary. Like Jack said, I’m looking for a good full-time position. I have résumés and applications out there, but it’s a tough job market. I could use a project, but if I get a call …”

“Understood,” she said. “What’s your fee?”

He looked a little thunderstruck. “I have no idea, ma’am.”

“Okay, that’s going to have to stop. I’m Jillian or Jill or Miss Matlock if you’re feeling very formal, but I’m thirty-two years old and ma’am kind of rubs me the wrong way. How’s sixteen an hour? That’s double minimum wage.”

“Whoa!” Colin and Denny said at once.

“What?” she asked.

Denny grinned largely. “Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am, that’ll work.”

“Jillian. It’s Jillian. I’ll see you tomorrow morning by eight. Jack can give you directions. And would you mind telling him I’ll need a dinner to go?”

“You bet, ma’—Jillian. Thanks. I’ll do my best.” And he walked away to speak to Jack.

She turned to find Colin leaning his head into his hand, elbow resting on the bar. “That was almost unbelievable.”

“I’m good at delegating,” she said, lifting her wineglass. Then she shook her head. “What the heck was I thinking? Or not thinking? Seeds on the internet? Why not?”

“Maybe you were too busy digging in the dirt?” he suggested.

“No, that’s not it. My mind was in the past, not the future. I was thinking about the old garden, not the new garden.”

“Time for a fence?” he asked.

“If the wildlife gets into my radishes and lettuce, no big deal. But I won’t sacrifice Purple Calabash, tomatillo or Russian Rose! Besides, there’s a couple of apple trees on the property—the deer will be fine. Well fed, in fact.”

“And the rabbits?”

“I’m afraid they’re on their own.”

“Thirty-two, huh?” he asked. “I woulda put you at about twenty-five.”

She laughed at him. “I guess that’s better than having you ‘put me’ at forty-five!”

Jack wandered over and she asked, “Can I get something to go, Jack? Anything? I have to get home.”

“House on fire, Jillian?” he asked.

“I hope not. I just got a tip about seeds from your local expert, Dan, and I want to get on the computer.”

“Let me go dish you up a little something,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

She took another sip of her wine, smiling.

“Just how long is your rental lease?” Colin asked.

She turned toward him excitedly. “Don’t you get it? If I can find the seeds and make it work, that’s all I need to know. I can do that in a few months, but I have that house and land through the summer. And you can’t imagine how happy it would make me to grow some of that rare stuff my nana used to grow.”

Colin left the second half of his beer on the bar and stood to leave. “Good luck with that,” he said, smiling at her. “Ma’am.”

Three

Jillian talked Jack out of what remained of that opened Chardonnay and took it home along with some of Preacher’s wonderful meat loaf, garlic mashed, green beans, bread, a small container of tomato gravy and a slice of chocolate cake. She ate the cake first with another glass of Chardonnay while browsing online, researching seeds and plants. Damn if Dan Brady wasn’t right! Specialty seed catalogues by the dozens! Of course she had no idea how authentic the seeds were or how the finished fruit or vegetables would taste, but this was the first step—seeds were available. And while they were slightly more expensive than ordinary garden shop seeds, they were still priced low.

That night, after talking with Dan, was the first of many such nights. Jillian, like Hope McCrea before her, lived in the kitchen with the fireplace, her computer and desk. From her recliner she could eat on a tray, surf the Net and see that vast garden through the kitchen windows.

That first night, though, she was up almost all night, researching, shopping, ordering, reading gardening blogs. She finally nodded off in the recliner at about 4:00 a.m. only to wake at around six, before the sun. Taking a closer look Jill realized there would be no sun this morning—it was drizzling. Perfect! she thought. She had important errands.

The best part about this climate was that the drizzle didn’t stop her from working in the garden, and there was seldom a heavy, driving rain. But it was so deliciously wet, it would quench the thirst of a garden so well!

Denny arrived at seven-forty-five, and she loved that he was early and ready to work. Jillian was also ready to roll. He came to the front door and she invited him in; she took him through the empty living room, dining room and into the kitchen. “Want a cup of coffee for the road?” she asked.

“Sure. Thanks. Where are we going?”

“First, to get a truck. I need a truck to carry supplies too large for my Hybrid. How do you take your coffee?”

When he didn’t answer immediately, she looked up to see him staring at her living quarters. Her quilt was draped in the recliner, there was a tray for eating there, a pillow for sleeping, a newly purchased small TV, computer, necessities. “Denny?” she said.

He looked back at her. Although he frowned in some confusion she couldn’t help but notice he was a tall, handsome youth. He had short-cropped hair, expressive brown brows over deep chocolate eyes. Eyes that were showing concern at the moment. “I hope you have a bed somewhere, Miss Matlock. That doesn’t look real comfortable.”

“Are you kidding? It’s fantastic! I don’t think I’ve ever been more comfortable. And it’s probably better for my back, neck and whatever …. Coffee?”

“Black,” he said. Then he just shook his head and she laughed.

By noon they had a truck—an ’02 Ford with a nice big bed. They had gone to the fencing company together to order chain-link fencing for her big garden. They loaded up the posts in the truck bed, but the rest of the chain link would be delivered in a couple of days. She sent Denny off in the truck to take care of renting equipment, a crew or both to take down some trees and grade a level passage to the back meadow. While they were off doing chores in separate vehicles, she went about the business of buying some garden supplies. She had found a company online that would test her soil for chemicals and bought the appropriate containers for shipping. Hopefully, there had been no pesticides in that dirt for many, many years. She needed to know the pH, which nutrients were present or missing, all the sort of thing the company promised to provide.

She visited more than one lawn and garden store and asked about pure poultry manure fertilizer for organic gardening and was rather surprised by the smiles and lifted eyebrows. “I’m growing tomatoes, not marijuana,” she informed the clerks who helped her.

“Some do,” was the response.

When she found a good price, she bought several large bags and had them held to be picked up by Denny in the truck. She bought a gas-powered tiller and put it in the back of her Lexus along with a gas can she could fill up on the way home.

Before heading back to the Victorian, she stopped off at Jack’s Bar. As she entered, he came out of the back. “Well, there’s my landlord,” she greeted, smiling at him. “I have a couple of things to run by you.”

“Something to drink while you run?” he asked.

“Cola?”

“Coming up.”

“I think you should come out to the house when you have time. I’d like you to come up to the widow’s walk with me so we can see a lot of the acreage. You know how the drive to the house runs up the road and forks at the southeastern corner in front? Part of the drive curves to the left in front of the house and the other part goes straight along the eastern side of the house to the back.”

“It always seemed like that was the obvious place for a freestanding garage, behind the house,” Jack said.

“It’s just a gravel drive, so I was wondering something. If I extended it through the trees for access to the back meadow, would you go along with that idea?”

“Good idea,” he said. “But I’m sorry to say, I don’t think it would be responsible for me to invest any more in that house. That’s something an owner should do. Someday.”

“Well, here’s what I’m offering,” Jill said. “I want to put a couple of portable greenhouses back in that meadow, a sheltered place to start some plants. I’m going to fence the plot behind the house to keep the wildlife out, but I’m going to use that back meadow for the greenhouses. I found them online for a few hundred dollars each and they’re easily movable.”

He leaned both hands on the bar and looked at her closely, quizzically. “Jillian, aren’t you taking this gardening thing a bit far?”

“Oh, definitely. To the next level. I want to try some special fruits and vegetables back there. Denny’s out getting estimates on excavation crews and the cost of leasing equipment. I’m not talking an asphalt drive, but more of a wide path, wide enough to accommodate one vehicle and, of course, I’ll cover the cost. It’s really not going to be that expensive—we won’t have to take out more than ten trees. In fact, getting some gravel to match what’s already down on the drive will probably be the most expensive part.”

“Um, Jillian, have you considered going a little slower? A little smaller? I mean, what you’re really doing is experimenting, and it seems like an awful big, expensive experiment.”

She smiled. “I’ve been told I can be impulsive, but it usually works for me to go with my gut instinct. Of course, I’ll be leaving the extended road when my lease is up, so it should improve the property. For right now, that’s what I need to be able to access that meadow. Oh, and thank you for Denny—bright kid. I like him. He thinks I’m a little nuts, but he’s awful cute, totally polite and he does exactly what I ask him to do. So—will you come out to the house, look over my plans and give me your approval?”

“I’ll come out after breakfast is done,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Great!” she said, slapping the bar.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Jillian, where did all this come from?”

“From my great-grandmother,” she said, taking a sip of her cola. “When she was teaching us to garden, cook, read, clean, sew, she said she was preparing us for life. Well, life has changed a lot in the years since she was my age, but somehow the lessons haven’t really changed. They’ve evolved. And I want to be part of that.”

Jillian went home and was scooping dirt from several different sections of the garden into small plastic cups with lids and labeling them when Denny returned and came over to report on his activities and progress.

“There is not a lot of work around these days so I was able to have a tree crew come out first thing tomorrow to give you a final estimate,” he said. “I hope that works for you. It’ll take them two days to cut through those trees. I found a guy who can grade the area and level it out. You can worry about the gravel after that. And I rented a posthole auger so I can get started on the fencing in the meantime.”

She smiled very happily at his business sense. “Perfect,” she said, sitting back on her heels in the dirt. “Will they come even if it’s kind of wet?”

He gave a nod. “Like I said, not so much work around these days. I think I got you a good price because of that. And you get a discount if you let them have the trees. They’ll process it into usable lumber.”

“Seriously?” she asked, standing up.

“Not huge, but still …”

“Did you shop around a little bit?”

“Three businesses,” he said with a nod. “They were pretty much in line. I went with the one who was available right away.” Then he got a worried look. “Was that all right? That I made a decision? And rented the post digger?”

“That’s what I expected you to do, get it done,” she said, balancing all her little containers to take them into the house. “Want to quit for the day or do you want to make a run to FedEx for me? I need to send in the soil samples.”

“I’ll work till you can’t take any more of me,” he said with a grin.

She stopped in her tracks, smiled at him and said, “You’re my kind of guy, Denny.”

“And you’re my kind of boss, Miss Matlock.”

Jillian thought often about the fact that her best friend was her sister and had been since they were toddlers, yet they were complete opposites in almost every way. They didn’t even look alike, Jillian being a tall, slender brunette and Kelly, a shorter, rounder, blonde. Jill’s skin tanned nicely while Kelly’s tended to burn; Jill had always leaned toward academics while Kelly, the chef, was more artistic. And while even Jill could admit she had a tendency to be impetuous, Kelly always cautiously planned every detail of her life.

Jill had always relied heavily on Kelly, who had a very nurturing personality. When Jill was twelve and started her period, it was Kelly who showed her the ropes. And whenever Jill’s heart was broken, whether it be by a boy or just a disappointment, it was Kelly, the more steady of the two of them, who propped her up and encouraged her.

Even while she was in Virgin River, busy with her new garden, Jillian talked to Kelly every day, usually right before Kelly went to work in the afternoon. She liked to climb up to the roof and sit on the widow’s walk where her cell reception was best and talk to Kelly, filling her in on her growing plans by the day. By the end of her third week she told Kelly, “There’s a bunch of construction equipment parked by the side of the house, a big stack of tree trunks waiting for a flatbed and the road to the back meadow is almost finished. The fencing finally arrived and Denny is working on the posts. Two ten-by-twelve-foot greenhouses are on the way and I’ve started to till the soil where they’re going to be positioned. I can plant both in the ground and in starter trays under the protective domes. It’s going to be a two-tiered operation.

“And,” Jillian went on, “I put my town house in San Jose on the market.”

“You did what?” Kelly nearly shrieked.

“I sent the key to my agent by FedEx along with a personal check for a cleaning crew to get it all cleaned up and spiffy. I realized I’m done with that place, Kell,” she said. “I’m not attached to it.”

“But are you staying there—in Virgin River? Is that the new plan?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“But what if Harry calls you and asks you to come back to BSS?” Kelly asked.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For right now, I’m enjoying myself here. I don’t know when I’ve had more fun.”

“But Jill, don’t you have a plan?”

“Sort of. I want to garden through the summer. I have to see what I can grow. If I had to give up and leave now, it would break my heart! Besides, even if I ended up back in San Jose in the fall, I’d want to rent something for a while. When I think about that town house, I realize it just doesn’t feel like home. This feels more like home at the moment, and it’s not really even the house, but more the property.”

“But are you relaxing?” Kelly asked. “Taking stock of your life? Thinking about what’s next?”

Jillian laughed. “In much the same way people relax by running marathons,” she said. “I’m busy all day, researching gardens on the computer till late at night.”

“And just how do you propose to make a living?” Kelly, the practical one, asked.

“Thanks to ten good years at BSS, a nice exit package and a clever financial planner, I don’t have to worry about that right now. But I’ve been thinking about selling vegetables.”

“That sounds profitable,” Kelly said facetiously. “I was thinking something a little more long-term.”

Jillian just laughed at her. “Jealous?”

“Green!” Kelly said. They both knew that in spite of the fact that Jill was known to jump into the deep end of the pool and Kelly thought everything through with relentless planning, Jill had made a ton of money from BSS and Kelly was a relatively poor sous-chef.

“I’m thinking of selling fancy high-end fruits and veggies, the kind your restaurant and other five-star restaurants would buy. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now all I want to know is if I can grow them—then I’ll think about the next step.”

“I’d better come up there,” Kelly said. “I think you’ve lost your mind ….”

Jill laughed. “It’s just the opposite, Kell. I feel like I suddenly found it! You know, when was the last time I was this excited? Probably when Harry offered me a chance to work with him to start BSS! I didn’t know anything about the software industry, but I knew I could do it! And this? Kelly, I know about this! Nana taught us in her own garden how to grow some of this stuff. The Russian Rose! White asparagus! Purple Calabash! And I found the seeds. I already have the seedling cups ready. I bought a truckbed full of chicken shit!”

“An asparagus bed takes up to three years …”

“Then I’d better get it started,” Jillian said.

“Aren’t you spending an awful lot of money?”

“Nah. My biggest expense right now is Denny, my new assistant. But he’s such a great guy and good worker he’s helping me speed up this whole process, so he’s worth every cent.”

“You could run into areas you don’t understand, like permits, licensing, agricultural restrictions, that sort of thing. I’d never buy exotic, organic fruits or vegetables from a grower who hadn’t passed all the agricultural inspections.”

“Kelly, lighten up. No one knows how to hire a consultant like I do—I’ve done it a hundred times in an industry I didn’t understand nearly as well as I do this one. Can’t you be a little more positive?”

“Maybe when I stop shaking …”

“Oh, brother. I’d better get this up and running before you buy your own restaurant. You’ll go through so many lists and checkpoints, the place will never open. You’ll never get it open without me.”

“Seriously, I might have to come up there, make sure you’re not totally crazy.”

“You’re certainly welcome, but you’ll have to bring your own recliner.”

Colin parked his Jeep near the turnoff into Jill’s driveway so the motor wouldn’t frighten off early morning wildlife. He walked up the drive and before getting far he noticed a few things. The drive was a muddy mess for one thing, marked with the tire tracks of large equipment. As he neared the house he saw there was a forklift, wood chipper and a little Bobcat backhoe all parked in a row along the tree line east of the house. As he walked around the house he saw a wide path had been cut through the copse of trees to the back meadow, all the huge, felled trees stacked and ready to be taken away.

“Morning,” she said.

He whirled around in surprise to see Jillian sitting on the back porch steps wearing purple furry slippers, draped in a quilt and holding a steaming cup of coffee in both hands. It wasn’t even 6:00 a.m.

“Morning. What’s going on here?”

“A little excavation. I needed access to that back meadow. And we’ve just about got the garden fenced. I’m afraid we scared off the wildlife for the time being, but I’m sure they’ll be back when things quiet down.”

“Are things going to quiet down?”

“Sure. Gardening is a serene occupation. But for now there’s been some noise. I’m putting up a couple of greenhouses back there behind the trees. Everything should be finished in a week, unless Denny can’t figure out how to erect the greenhouses. If we have to get more help, it could take longer. Want a cup of coffee, since you’ve come all this way?”

He held his camera out to the side, glancing at it. Useless now, he thought. “Sure.”

“I’ll get it for you and bring it out. There’s no place to sit in the house. How do you take it?”

“A little cream.”

“Will two percent milk do?” she asked.

He gave her a slight smile. “Yeah. That’ll work fine.”

She pulled the quilt around her and shuffled into the house, into the kitchen. She poured and dressed his coffee.

“There’s no furniture in here,” he said from behind her. He had followed her inside.

She turned around while stirring. “Sure there is. I have a recliner and all my important stuff—computer, printer, TV. I had to ask Jack to throw a stovetop and refrigerator in here, even though I’m sure the eventual owner will want custom stuff that actually fits the space the builder provided. There’s room for lots of large, high-end kitchen appliances—stuff with all the bells and whistles. I just needed the occasional flame and a small refrigerator. I mostly use the microwave.”

“Do you have a bed somewhere?”

“Is that important? I’m very comfortable in the recliner and, since I’m not expecting any company it’ll do just fine for now … unless my sister comes to be sure I haven’t completely lost my mind.” She smiled and said, “I told her she’d have to bring her own recliner.”

He reached for the coffee. “Why is she worried about that? Because you’re living in the kitchen and are planting the back forty?”

Jill chuckled. “You have no idea how perfect this is. When I turn out the lights and the TV I can see the stars from that chair. If it’s clear, that is. And it’s going to be clear a lot more often in summer. I stand guard, trying to train the deer and bunnies to move along to the next farm. In the early morning, just as the mist and fog are lifting, I can watch the land come to life. I don’t usually go outside before seven, but it was such a nice morning today. Actually, I half expected you to show up.”

He sipped his coffee. “Where are your clothes?”

She pulled the quilt around her. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and her cheeks kind of rosy and he wanted to pull her into his arms for just a little touch. A little taste. “I’ll get dressed in a while,” she said.

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Your wardrobe. Your luggage. You obviously don’t keep them in the kitchen.”

“Oh, that—there’s a closet in that bedroom—one of two closets in the whole house. Maid’s quarters, we think.”

“Ah,” he said. “So, I guess this means you’re going full speed ahead?”

“With the growing? Oh, yes. I’m so charged up I can hardly sleep at night. Want to go outside? Sit on the porch? I mean, there could be a totally crazy deer out there that hasn’t been completely intimidated by the excavation noise.”

“Sure,” he said. “And you can tell me about your greatest expectation for this exercise.”

“I think,” she said as they went back out the door, “that I’m trying my hand at becoming a commercial farmer. I don’t know if it’ll work until I know if I can grow the stuff, but I could farm exotic, rare, heirloom fruits and vegetables. The kind that are hard to produce. I would sell them to high-end restaurants that are looking for new and unique, fabulous foods.”

He sipped again. “Going to buy a fleet of trucks to deliver them to big cities?”

She laughed. “Nope. Going to call UPS or FedEx and send them overnight. They’re delicate—none of them have a long shelf life. And they’re not used in mass quantities, usually as side dishes or garnishes.”

“How do you make money doing that?”

She shrugged. “You become the best, with the best marketing campaign. And, of course, you start small and regionally. I’ve already identified target cities with five-star restaurants. I wouldn’t ship to New York—it’s too far. But shipping to Portland, Sun Valley, Seattle, Vancouver, San Francisco and the surrounding areas would not be a problem.”

He chuckled. “I have to admit, it’s gutsy and it actually sounds reasonable.”

“It’s completely reasonable! There is one ‘x’ factor … and that’s whether I can grow these rare, old seeds. I bought product from several different seed companies and I’ll check them out. My great-grandmother canned some, sold some fresh off the porch—we had a hard time getting by back then and she had lots of ways to supplement her income. This is a whole different story. If it works, buyers will order ahead of season, so I have to know I can deliver. It’ll take me six to eighteen months to figure that out.”

“But how long are you renting …?”

“Through summer. But things like moves and leases can be worked out. The one thing I can’t control is whether or not I can grow the stuff.”

“So, you’ll have fruit trees, too?” he asked.

“No trees,” she said, shaking her head. “There are a few apple trees on the property, but I’m not planting trees …”

“But you said fruits …”

“Tomatoes, tomatillo, melons, et cetera—are all considered fruits.” She smiled.

He felt a little pang of something. A jolt of some kind. She was awful cute. Incredibly smart and very cute.

Colin was a little startled. Cute was not in his vernacular. He felt those sizzling jolts when he was with women he would describe as hot or sexy or edible, but he had never before felt a single nerve-tingle for cute. He was too jaded for that. He reasoned this was probably only because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long and, further, because he assumed he probably wouldn’t be again, at least not for a very long time. And certainly not this one—although she was smart as a whip, she was too “girl next door.” He was attracted to women in low-cut tops with generous cleavages, microscopic skirts and four-inch heels. The kind of women you wouldn’t want your mother to meet.

“Is the eagle painting done?” she asked him.

“Done? Oh, no,” he said. “That won’t be done for a while. Maybe another few weeks.”

“Wow. Don’t you get bored, spending so much time on one painting?”

“I have several going at one time. I keep going back, improving, changing, fixing, getting them right. It’s hard to know when it’s really done. And sometimes when you think they’re finished, they’re not. More often, when you think they’re not finished, they really are. Sometimes knowing when to stop is more important than knowing when to keep working on it.”

“And then you sell them?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t ever sold one.”

She sat up straighter and her quilt slipped off one shoulder exposing her striped pajamas. They were almost little-girl pajamas. “Never sold one? How do you make a living?”

Again he chuckled. “I’m independently wealthy.”

“How nice for you. Do you plan to ever sell any or are you doing this for fun?”

“Right now painting them is more important than selling them,” he said.

“What kind of market is there for a … an eagle?”

He smiled at her. Straight to the point, wasn’t she?

“Huge,” he said. “I didn’t realize that when I got hooked on animals. Wild animals, not kittens or puppies. I liked them better than bowls of fruit ….”

She got a teasing grin on her face. “Better than nudes?”

He matched her grin. “I’ve never painted any nudes.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Was that an offer?”

She burst out laughing and he found the sound was perfectly charming. Charming? Yet another word Colin had never used before, but it suited her. And son of a bitch if it didn’t charm him!

“Oh, believe me, you can do way better than me! Maybe I could strip, wear my garden gloves, straw hat and rubber boots—that should get you a big Playboy commission!” And she laughed some more while he got an irresistible image in his head that he wanted to paint. “But seriously, who buys paintings of animals?”

“Wildlife art,” he said. “Look it up on Google sometime. It surprised the hell out of me.”

“So,” she said, sipping the coffee, “you’ve been at this for a while?”

What the hell, he thought. Everyone else probably knew, given his brother lived here. “I was in the Army. I was a pilot and crashed in a helicopter. I broke a bunch of bones, got some burns, was in therapy for six months trying to get back on my feet, and I painted.” He shrugged. “I’ve always done some drawing and painting, but it kinda looks like this is how I’m going to spend my time, at least for now. The Army retired me. So,” he said with a nod of his chin, “I’m trying to get good.”

“Oh,” she said, serious. “Sorry about the crash. You all right now?”

“Getting there. I get a little stiff and sore, but otherwise, pretty good.”

“And you’re here because …?”

“Because my brother is here and there’s also an abundance of wildlife. I have another brother in Chico, but no deer or fox or eagles around his house. I rented a cabin till hunting season opens in September. I should be ready to hit the road by then. Meantime, I can paint. My cabin is in a valley by a stream, very isolated. I’m already getting some good pictures of animals there.”

She sat up a little straighter. “What happens when hunting season starts?”

“I’ll be moving on. Oh, I’m sure I’ll visit sometimes. But before I decide where I’ll live next I’m planning to spend six months in Africa. The Serengeti. Maybe even head over to the Amazon.”

“Big game,” she said. Her eyes gently closed and he wondered if she could be visualizing it in her head the way he was—large canvases of elephants, lions, tigers, wildebeests ….

“Big game for me—tiny, weird little vegetables for you. How do you think we’re going to do?”

“I don’t know how you’re going to do, Colin, but I’m going to kick some ass. I’m a marketing and public relations expert and I was taught to grow by the best—my nana. She could throw a diamond in the ground and grow a diamond vine.” She grinned. “You don’t know me but, trust me, I haven’t been this excited in a long, long time.”

Four

Colin tried to limit dinner at Luke’s to once a week. He was accustomed to being on his own. It bothered him that he actually enjoyed it and it made him wonder if he was losing some of his independent edge. He was fond of Shelby; that sweet young thing was a treasure whom Luke surely couldn’t deserve. He got the biggest kick out of Brett. The baby was crawling now and trying to pull himself up on the furniture. Colin still had a problem with Luke and probably always would. Maybe because he was the oldest of the Riordian boys, Luke always took a patriarchal attitude—at least with Colin—acting as if he was the parent and this got on Colin’s last nerve.

There should be a statute of limitations on bigbrothering. They were only two years apart in age and Luke was not smarter or more experienced. Colin felt that after the age of thirty, brothers of all ages should become equals.

When he got to Luke’s, his brother met him on the porch. “Good, you’re here a little early. I need to talk to you. Let me get you a cola.”

“Skip it,” Colin said. “What’s on your mind?”

Luke took a deep breath. “Jack mentioned you stopped by for a beer. I asked him if he was sure that was a beer and he said he was sure.”

Colin put his hands on his hips. “So, let me guess. You informed him he shouldn’t sell me a beer?”

Luke shook his head. “No, but I’m counting on you making a decision not to order one.”

“Why don’t you just stay out of it, Luke? I’m capable of managing my own life.”

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