She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “Of course. But have you set a price? Has anyone suggested a price?”

He shook his head. “It’s time to get it appraised. With the great work Paul has done here, it’s going to bring a nice price. Probably just over a million.”

She almost laughed but kept it to a smile. “You need to find a way to move this place to San Jose. I’m not even going to tell you what it would go for there. It would make you greedy.” Jillian’s little town house with no yard went for three-fifty in a bad economy. At least she hadn’t lost money on it, but she didn’t make much.

“I know,” he said. “I just can’t help but wonder who would want to come to a B and B in Virgin River. Not hunters, that’s for sure. They’d be happier at Luke’s or in some lean-to with an outdoor biffy where they can make noise, smoke the cigars the little wifey won’t let them have at home, get up at four to beat the deer…. Who wants to come to a place like this in summer when there’s no hunting? And if you’re fishing, you have to change out of your wet clothes on the porch and clean your fish in the yard so you don’t get someone’s pretty little B and B all messy.”

She smiled at him patiently. “You haven’t been to Ferndale lately, have you, Jack?”

“Have you?”

“Lots of B and B’s are successful around here, especially in Ferndale. People come to relax. To enjoy the landscape, the shops, the ocean, the redwoods. Some people like to hike, to sit out on a porch surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers and just read a book. They might not have a waiting list, but they’ll do just fine. Trust me.”

“Well, I owed it to you to warn you. And I’m going to have to ask you to let them see the inside….”

“Sure,” she said, but the very thought made her so sad. “When?”

“Right away, I guess. I’m told they drove up from the Bay Area a couple of weeks ago and saw the outside and they’re ready to do business if the inside suits them.”

“Just let me know,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll make sure I’m dressed and the dishes are done.”

He made a sad face himself. “If you don’t mind me asking, where will you go?”

“Oh, I have options. In fact, I can have my old job back anytime I want it. I’m just not convinced I want it.” She laughed. “Harry, my boss, told me to take a break and relax. I’m not sure I’m done relaxing just yet. That whole corporate thing—it just doesn’t appeal like it used to.”

“I suppose not,” Jack said. “I came up here after twenty in the Marines and all I brought were my rifles, fishing gear, clothes and camping equipment. And I never left. I was raised in Sacramento, no small town. But I’m just not a city boy, after all.”

“Do you have to make an appointment with that couple right away?” Jill asked.

“I can’t wait too long, Jillian,” he said. “If this was my house, I’d do as I please. But it’s not really my house. I have to do the right thing.”

“Would it kill you to give me a day or two to think about what I might do next? Where I might go? Because there’s a lot to do if I move—not the least of which is decide where.”

“Wouldn’t even make me flinch,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve taken real good care of the place for me and I appreciate it. Just call me soon as you can, will you?”

“Of course,” she said. “I totally understand. I just haven’t thought about my next home or job yet. I need to do that, don’t I?”

“I guess so,” he said. He shook his head. “Denny would work this little property forever, I think.”

She had to laugh. It was huge! Ten acres, a couple of greenhouses and an enormous garden. A house with over four thousand square feet. She glanced up to the roof, feeling a little sentimental. She’d never again have another widow’s walk.

She gave his arm a pat. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Jack. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Eleven

Jillian had gone back to her outdoor garden after Jack left. Kneeling, weeding, aerating roots, pulling a few root vegetables to check their progress, all she could do was think about the fact that this experience, her time in this house and on this land, was no longer indefinite. Even if this Bay Area couple didn’t make the right offer on the property, someone else would. She wasn’t the only person in the world who would find the fertile beauty of the land and the incredible refurbished space in that big old house irresistible.

She thought the most logical thing for her to do would be to return to San Jose in the fall and work for BSS again; it was work she understood, after all. Regardless of all Harry’s noise about how she should take on the world, start her own company now, move on to a stronger position, the only thing that felt right was the familiar. If she had to go back to corporate life, she’d go back to a company she understood.

She couldn’t be on vacation forever.

She wondered briefly if she should bite the bullet and start her next career as the owner of a B and B. That would justify staying here. With these thoughts in mind Jill worked away for a couple hours until she heard a familiar vehicle in the drive.

Colin had brought some groceries back to the house and volunteered to make their dinner. She took him up on the offer—she didn’t feel much like cooking. In fact, she rarely felt like cooking, or cleaning, or shopping for groceries. She was the kind of woman who did those things because they had to be done, not because they were fulfilling. She was the last person who should ever be the owner of a bed-and-breakfast.

She puttered in the upstairs bath for longer than usual. By the time she heard Colin’s feet on the stairs, coming for her, she was standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom that held all her clothes. She wore pale yellow capris that tied below the knees, a white tank covered by a loose-weave sweater that fell off one shoulder, and three-inch heels.

He walked into the room and came up behind her, his hands going to her hips, a smile on his lips as he met her eyes in the mirror. “Interesting look,” he muttered, kissing her neck.

She turned one ankle to get a side view of the shiny black pump. “I used to wear heels to work every day. Suits, dresses with jackets, skirts and sweater sets, even dress slacks, but I always wore heels. I liked being as tall as the men. I liked looking them in the eye.”

“You liked intimidating them,” he accused.

She turned in his arms. “I was a lot more girlie, that’s for sure. Probably more enticing to the male eye than jeans or shorts, tank tops and Skechers.”

“That might be, Jilly, but there’s almost nothing you can do to make yourself sexier to me.” He slid his hands around to her butt. “You’re the sexiest gardener I’ve ever messed around with.”

“You’re not more turned on by the capris with three-inch heels?”

“You even turn me on in those flannel pj’s pants.” He grinned. “Those babies slip off real easy….”

“Jack has someone interested in the house. My party is almost over. I’m going to have to decide where I’m going, what I’m doing.”

“Haven’t you been thinking about it?” he asked. “Hasn’t your deal with Jack always been till September?”

She nodded. “I fantasized that nothing would change and he wouldn’t have a better deal than me renting here for a long time, maybe another year. Instead of thinking about where I’d go and what I’d do, I was thinking about trying out a winter crop inside shelters with smudge pots and grow lights. But… Well, it was a respite, a vacation, sort of. A break from the real world. I can’t be on vacation forever.”

He laughed at her. “No one works harder at a vacation than you, Jilly. Up before the sun, farming all day, studying plants and gardening online all night.”

“Because it’s fun,” she said. “I guess the most rational thing would be to go back to San Jose and work at BSS. I should be so grateful I’m still welcome there.”

“You don’t sound grateful, honey.”

She turned around and faced the mirror again. “I don’t know how to explain this,” she said, tipping one foot up on its toe and peering at the reflection in the mirror. “That corporate girl in the heels?” She looked over her shoulder at him. She gave her head a little shake. “I don’t feel like her anymore.”

He tightened his arms around her waist. “Who do you feel like?” he asked softly.

“I feel like a settler, like a homesteader. I feel strangely unencumbered, like a woman who never has to set an alarm clock, like someone living off the land. Like a nature kid, but I’m not. I mean, I love organic plants because they’re a perfect challenge but I’m not one of those all-natural fanatics. I also love wearing synthetic blends, not hemp, and I’m not living off the land—I go to the grocery store. And I’m not unencumbered—I live in a huge, beautiful, restored Victorian with upkeep, with bills to pay. But I guess I can’t do this forever. I have to work.”

He laughed at her. “You work seven days a week. And maybe the reason you feel unencumbered is because you haven’t been under a lot of pressure. The plants and your staff have been cooperating. And maybe, just maybe, you could afford to do this for another year. Even if you have to find another plot of land to do it on. Jilly,” he said, squeezing her. “It’s okay to do what feels good, what feels right.”

“I have some money saved, but I’m only in my early thirties. If I don’t add income to the bottom line, I won’t have it for long.”

“Why don’t you think about it over dinner, honey? I bought us a roasted chicken fresh from the deli, some rice, and I tossed a salad—something I have to do until the salad in your garden is ready to pick.”

There was no clock in the bedroom so Jillian had no idea what time it was when she woke. It was pitch-black outside, but her eyes popped open. She slipped out of bed, found one of Colin’s T-shirts and slid it over her n**ed body. She found her furry slippers and went down the stairs to her office. She clicked on the computer and saw the hour was 2:47 a.m. She logged on and started skipping around the internet.

She was only vaguely aware of the sun coming up and the faint aroma of fresh coffee. And then Colin put a cup beside her on the desk.

“So that’s where my shirt went,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

She glanced at him and saw that he wore only his jeans, zipped but not buttoned, bare chest and bare feet. God, but he was a beautiful man!

“Colin!” she said excitedly. “Do you know how many organic farms and gardens there are in California?”

“A lot, I imagine,” he said, smiling.

“And lots of commercial farms that concentrate on specific items, like organic berries for specially created jams and jellies, or rare, high-end-market fruits and vegetables that are used by five-star chefs in exclusive restaurants, like the stuff I’m trying to grow—the white asparagus, baby beets, teardrop tomatoes, that sort of thing. Then there’s the general organic market—stuff that goes to stores and delis.”

“You have a bright flush on your cheeks and your eyes are very sparkly,” he said. “How long have you been up?”

“Since just after two, I think.” She stood from her desk chair. “Colin, I think I can find a way to do this for a living. Maybe even a good living. At least good enough so I can get by without going back to the corporate world.”

“You think?” he asked.

“A lot depends on the plants—their health, strength, reliability. Customers, especially commercial customers like delis, restaurants and health food stores want to order in advance of the season, and they want some assurance that the fruits and vegetables will come in on time and in the quantities required. So—I’ll have some of those answers in the fall.” She smiled. “I bet I can do this.”