Wild Man Creek

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-grand-mother 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.