Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(78)

“Kelly! Get me a pen!” She jumped up and ran to the back door. She opened it and yelled, “Jack! Jack, come back here!”

She grabbed the pen out of Kelly’s hand and sat back down, scribbling on the paper. She’d refolded it by the time Jack was standing in the kitchen again. She passed it to him.

He was slow to open it and when he did, his eyes rounded in pure shock. He looked at the paper, at Jillian’s eyes, back at the paper.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, giving a nod.

“This is quite a big move, Jillian. Have you thought about this? Carefully?”

“That’s my sister,” Kelly said, though she didn’t know the financial details. “She likes to charge into things. Impetuous. Impulsive. She moves on things real fast.”

And suddenly Jillian let go a laugh, a big, belly laugh. She’d just realized a few things—important things.

“Sure you can do this?” Jack asked.

“Yes, Jack. I’ll qualify. But this is confidential information, right?”

“Right. Of course. Well, I guess you’ve made a decision about that city job,” he observed.

She laughed. “I guess I have.”

Written on the page was: $1,500,000.00.

“This might be a little crazy,” Jack said. “Shouldn’t you inch up to this number? I mean, give them a chance to push you up to this number?”

“I think it makes sense to be perfectly clear. I’m not screwing around. I’m serious. I’d prefer not to be challenged by a counteroffer.”

He whistled. He stuck out his hand to shake. “Good luck with this. I’ll let you know what the response is.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

He slipped that folded piece of paper into his shirt pocket and left. By the time the sound of the departing truck motor was fading, Kelly was standing behind a kitchen chair across the table from Jillian, holding her own glass of wine.

“Big business?” Kelly asked. “Did you bet it all?”

“Not all, but a nice share. You know what I just realized? When I act on my gut instinct, I do pretty well. I’m seldom wrong. Going with Harry right out of college, many rapid-fire PR decisions, right up to falling for Colin in the space of a few days… It’s when I don’t act fairly quickly, when something I can’t quite identify is cautioning me, that’s when something is wrong. That happened with Kurt—it took me months to give in to him! Months! Somewhere in my gut I knew there was something wrong, I just didn’t know what.

“Once I made up my mind about the garden, I knew right away I wanted to expand and do it on a grand scale, and I knew I wanted to do it here. I don’t want a bidding war on the house and land,” Jill said. “I’d be very surprised if I didn’t just win. I topped the other potential buyer’s offer by a couple of hundred grand.”

Kelly went pale; she sank weakly into the chair. She knew her sister had made lots of money at BSS, but lots to Kelly was far, far less than that! “Are you kidding me?” she asked in a whisper.

“Nope, that’s a fact.” She held up her wineglass for a toast. “Now. What were you going to tell me about Luca?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Kelly said. “Nothing. Nothing. You’ll like him, I’m sure of it.”

“I can’t imagine not liking someone you care about.”

Fourteen

Colin had planned from the beginning to visit Shiloh Tahoma’s Sedona gallery first. It wasn’t quite what he expected—it surpassed his expectations. It was a bit off the beaten tourist track for one thing. The sign posted above the shop said, simply, Art. On the glass door, stenciled in gold, it said, The Navajo. Colin stood on the sidewalk for a long while, just looking in the front window at the paintings displayed—Native American men in traditional costume, braids or flowing hair, Native women alone and with children, natural settings, chiseled faces, exquisite shadows, stunning renditions.

Colin had looked the artist up online and felt he was somewhat familiar with his work, but up close and personal these paintings were magnificent. Colin didn’t want to go inside. He felt like an imposter, a fraud. This artist was beyond his wildest imaginings.

“May I help you with something?”

In the shop’s doorway stood a beautiful Native woman with traditional long, straight black hair and high cheekbones. “I…ah… I’m here to see Mr. Tahoma.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“I think so. I’m Colin Riordan.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Come in. He’s in the back. I’ll take you.”

Colin had only a moment to glance through the storefront on their way to the rear of the gallery; there were many more items than just the incredible oils—there were trinkets, dream catchers, mobiles, photographs, postcards, books, stacks of prints, painted rocks, turquoise. Lots of turquoise. There was a glass case that appeared to hold silver jewelry.

But he passed all that as he followed the young woman. The storefront was actually small, but they came to a very large back room. It was a workroom, paintings in progress everywhere. There was a kitchenette, table and chairs, bathroom, lots of shelves and cabinets.

“Dad, Mr. Riordan is here.”

Dad? Colin wondered.