Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(77)

“Only business partners!” he barked. “She has her own love life! Has for years!”

Indeed, he had relied on Olivia to stand as his partner for the many public appearances he made, official and unofficial. And she did so willingly, he said, but it was all for show. He proclaimed theirs a discreet understanding and explained that Olivia was sleeping with a younger man, a tennis pro or something. Kelly secretly hoped it was the truth but she was no fool. And to be fair, Luca had not needed to share all those details to win her heart. She wanted him. She so wanted him. And between them, besides cooking, many conversations both on their phones and in their kitchens, there had only been one kiss.

But oh such a kiss. She almost fainted.

Maybe she was a fool.

“I do miss you, my darling,” he said. “When are you coming back?”

“What does it matter, Luca? You can’t escape family.”

“I feel better when you’re near. Where I know where to find you.”

She laughed, then laughed at herself because as foolish as it was, it felt so good to hear that. “A couple more days,” she said. “But of course I’ll be working when I get back.”

“Of course. As will I. But we always manage, don’t we, sweetheart?”

All this romantic, seductive talk and yet, there was nothing more between them. She wondered how long it would be before she couldn’t stand it anymore and would succumb, give in, and become the other woman in his life.

She suddenly envied Jillian, even with her man poised on the brink of a departure that could be permanent. It would be so nice to have the man in her life available to her, laughing with her, loving her through the night. She would die to spend an entire night with Luca.

“Bella, I need you,” he said, his voice rough in the phone.

And it made her quiver in her panties.

Several hours later, when Jillian came in for the day, showered and returned to the kitchen, Kelly handed her a glass of wine and said, “I have something to tell you. I’ve been holding back a bit about Luca, the chef I’ve mentioned.”

“I can’t wait!” she said, grinning. Jillian took a seat at the table with her wine, but no more had she done so than she heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive along the house. It was clearly a truck and she frowned. “UPS? I’m not expecting anything.” She went to the door and had reached for the knob just as the sound of Jack Sheridan’s boots striking the porch floor could be heard. She pulled open the door. “Jack? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in, Jillian? I have to talk to you right away. I’ve had an offer on the house.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m afraid I only have nonalcoholic beer or wine to offer—”

“Nothing for me, thanks. I left Denny to help out with the dinner crowd and I told him I’d get right back. Can we sit down?”

Jill went to her place where the glass of wine waited and Jack sat down opposite. “The couple from the Bay Area liked the house.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “The top number is the appraisal figure, the second number is their offer.” He took a breath and looked pained. “You know how I feel, Jill. I like having you here and I like what you’re doing. I just want to say that.” He slid the paper across the table toward her.

She stared at it for a second before she unfolded it. The top number was $1,245,000.00. Their offer, the second number, was $1,300,000.00.

She lifted her eyes to Jack’s face. “They really want it, don’t they?”

He gave a nod. “According to the Realtor, they’ve been looking for about a year. This house seems to meet their requirements, but it’s the land that tilts the price. Ten acres is a nice spread for a B and B. They’d have room for horses or whatever for guests. If there’s any thinking to do, you should do it in the next day or two.”

“Right,” she said. She stared at the small paper and felt the threat of tears gather. She looked over her shoulder at her garden. She took in the flood of lilacs and hydrangea bordering the backyard.

“Just give me a call, Jill,” he said, standing.

“Sure,” she said. She had bought one piece of property in her entire life—the town house. She paid three hundred thousand.

“I’m pretty surprised by the appraisal, but I shouldn’t be. If times were better, it would’ve been even higher.”

“I know,” she said. She looked up from the paper and smiled weakly. “They must be pretty well fixed, this couple from the Bay Area.”

“They’re older than you, and they retired early. They’re in their fifties, old enough to have amassed some money, still young enough to be able to run the place for a good while.”

And she thought, But I’m thirty-two. If this works out, I’ll be running the place for a long, long time. If it doesn’t work out, I’d have to sell. Maybe in a few years the economy will be better and it would go for more. Or maybe the economy will be worse, interest rates even higher and it’ll be a huge loss.

“Just let me know,” he said.

“Thanks, Jack. Nice of you to drive out here.”

He went to the door.

The problem was, she had had a number in her head—just over a million. She’d gotten used to that number and was seeing it as a hundred thousand an acre with a free house on the land. The thought of herself going back to the corporate world in panty hose and shiny black pumps made her grimace. But the thing that shifted her mind very quickly was the thought of wanting to keep Colin’s easels standing in the sunroom, ready, for whenever he might come back.