Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(106)

Someone else can climb her. But isn’t she spectacular? Nice pumpkins, baby. Love, Colin.

That message made her laugh so hard that Denny came to the kitchen to ask her if she was all right. She couldn’t bring herself to share his email, but not sharing made her feel guilty. Really, she still wanted the man all to herself!

Although Halloween was still a few weeks away, she had Denny begin decorating. They had filled up the back of the truck with hay bales, lanterns, spiders and witches to hang from the trees, and since Jillian hadn’t grown gourds, she bought them along with straw horns of plenty. When the holiday drew near, she’d carve her own pumpkins for the front porch. Being out here in the middle of nowhere, there would be no trick-or-treaters, but she’d be ready for the pumpkin pickers.

Nice pumpkins, baby.

She missed him, but with a kind of joy and possessiveness in her heart. She knew he thought about her. The picture of the mountain had not been sent to everyone, but just to her.

Jill liked to go up to the widow’s walk every afternoon and look at her grounds from that great height; she liked to watch Denny at work. He was staking scarecrows in the pumpkin patch. She was so glad to have him back.

She enjoyed watching the advancing color of the leaves, still just in the early stages. And then she would lie on her back on the roof, bask in the warm afternoon sun and fantasize about that first time they made love on the roof. She could remember every single touch, every kiss, every sweet word Colin spoke. She smiled to remember half their clothes disappearing off the top of the house because they’d been so lost in pleasure, in sweet satisfaction.

Sometimes she actually dozed while she thought about her gardens, her harvest, her faraway lover. Life was not as perfect as it was when Colin was here, but it was good. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she wasn’t losing weight or prowling the big house in search of memories and solace late at night.

After a nice half-hour stretch in the sun, she sat up and looked down at the grounds, the garden nearly plucked naked, the lilac, rhododendron and hydrangea bare of flowers. Her six months had been well spent. She planned to experiment through the winter with smudge pots, grow lights and inside irrigation in the greenhouses to see what could be done during the off-season. She stood up and was able to see Denny driving the garden-mobile through the trees to the back meadow where two greenhouses stood. Her hands on her hips, faced toward the back of the property, she heard a piercing whistle. She turned and looked down in the opposite direction and saw a mirage…. It was a man in fatigue pants, long-sleeved green Army T-shirt, camel-colored vest and straw cowboy hat. He carried a great big duffel and a worn brown leather camera case.

“Now I’m just hallucinating,” she murmured to herself.

He dropped the duffel and camera case and waved his arms at her.

“Dear God, if I’m crazy, can I please stay crazy?” And then she scrambled, stumbling, breathing like a marathon runner, down three flights of stairs to the front of the house. She burst out the front door, crossed the porch, leaped off the porch stairs and ran like her pants were on fire across the yard and down the drive toward him. She was crying as she ran; he was laughing as he walked toward her, his arms open to catch her. She flew into his arms with such force she caused him to laugh harder and stumble backward while he grabbed her. Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist and she shut him up with her lips.

“God, oh God, oh God,” she said as she took possession of his mouth. His hands were running up and down her back; she grabbed his hat off his head and threw it, plunging her fingers into his hair. “You’re here,” she whispered, kissing him, wanting him, holding him so hard he might never get away.

“Yeah,” he finally said against her mouth.

“It was supposed to be six months!”

“I know,” he said. “What was I thinking, huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“By the time I could call you, I was in San Francisco. I woke up one morning in a small African village and thought, this isn’t working without Jilly. And I bought a ticket home. You have no idea what I had to go through to get here on such short notice. I’ve been on way too many props, flying over the jungle. I was in San Francisco before I could have called you.” He grinned. “Right then I decided to surprise you. See if you acted like you were happy to see me.”

She looked over his shoulder. There was no car. “But how did you get here?”

“An airport shuttle, then I hitched.”

She whacked him on the shoulder. “You should have told me you were coming! So I could have been ready! Cleaned up and pretty!”

He lifted her with hands under her butt. He shook his head. “I like you dirty,” he said, laughing. “You couldn’t get any prettier, Jilly. And I just can’t make it without you.”

“Is this just a visit? Are you leaving me again?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But never for long. And if you can find times the farm doesn’t need you, maybe you’ll come with me. I’ll paint while you grow—we’ll travel when we can. Maybe I’ll get to be a better painter and Shiloh can send me money for plane tickets.” He held her up with one hand and with the other, he smoothed her hair back away from her face. “Did you miss me?”

“A little bit,” she said with a shrug.