by Robyn Carr
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.