Wild Man Creek

“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 …”