by Robyn Carr
“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 severa
l 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 aga
in. 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.”