Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(83)

She laughed. “Colin, I don’t think it was a joke!”

“It was an experience, all right. Makes me want to paint even more. It doesn’t make me want to fly less, but paint more.” Then his voice quieted some. “Are you all right, Jilly? Is your sister still there?”

“Kelly is leaving early in the morning. Shouldn’t you be stopping for the night?”

“That ship has sailed,” he said. “I’m somewhere between Las Vegas and Reno, out in the middle of the desert. I pass another vehicle about once every ten minutes. There’s nothing on the road and I’m headed home. Talk me home, Jilly.”

Home. She tried not to take that particular word too seriously. She was sure he had only meant back.

“I don’t think my battery will last that long, and I don’t think my news is as exciting as yours, but I’ll tell you what’s going on around here.” So she told him about the meals they’d had and what she was saving for him. She explained that Denny was going to be a little scarce—he was taking Jack’s place at the bar over a long weekend so Jack, Mel and the family could drive up to Oregon and check on Rick and his grandmother. She gave him the farm report—what was blooming, what had buds, what was coming in. Then she talked a little bit about the stars—from the rooftop they were incredible.

And she told him she’d made a bid on the house. “If it works, I think I’m settling down,” she said.

“Farming for a living,” he said.

“If I can. I believe I can.”

“I believe you can,” he said.

He described the black desert south of Reno and every now and then he’d remember another thing he’d learned from the Navajo artist. “I plunked down six hundred dollars on my charge card for one of his new paintings—not one of the traditional paintings but one of his Native abstracts. I’m not sure what he could have sold it for, but I bet thousands. He insisted six hundred was enough—and I know I barely paid for the canvas and paint. Will you hang it in your house for me?”

They had talked for a long time before Jillian’s phone started to beep. “Colin, I’m running out of phone juice,” she said. “Are you all right to drive without me talking you home?”

He laughed a little. “You know what? I can’t remember doing this before. Talking to a woman for over an hour on the phone.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that,” she said. “I know you’ve had a million women!”

“Not like you, Jilly. I was always looking for women who would take me to bed. It never occurred to me to look for a woman who would take me to heart.”

Colin had been back in Virgin River for three days when Jillian got the call from Jack.

“I hope you were serious,” he said. “There’s no counteroffer. It’s yours.”

She beamed. “Oh, I was serious,” she said. “Thank you so much, Jack. I hope you are as happy as I am.”

Fifteen

Denny Cutler had become a family man in a manner of speaking. He’d been “adopted” by the Sheridan family. He had dinner with the family at the Sheridan home about once a week. He’d play with the little kids, pushing them on their swings, chasing them around, helping them to get washed up for dinner and in their pajamas. From time to time he helped out at the bar, serving, bussing, hauling crates of glasses, cleaning out the ice chest. On weekends he would go out to the river with Jack for a little guy time. It wasn’t his first experience with an older male role model—there had been his mom’s onetime boyfriend, Dan Duke, also a very nice guy who seemed to genuinely care about Denny. Jack, however, was special to him. There was that blood bond.

While Jack was away checking on Rick and his grandmother, Denny worked double time. He stayed at the Sheridan house at night, minding the dog. Then he checked in with Jillian early in the day and got any particularly heavy work done around her gardens and greenhouses, but he was at the bar by noon so he could tend bar, serve and bus, making sure Preacher was covered. Jack had made sure supplies were in stock before he left, so in the afternoon when things were quiet at the bar, Denny took a run out to Jack’s house to let the dog out, did any chores that needed doing like hauling trash to the Dumpster in town. Then he was back at the bar before the dinner hour.

Mike Valenzuela helped him serve drinks and dinner and kept him company, but Denny was managing very well. His days were long and productive and he was proud of what he could do. In fact, when he thought back on his life, he thought maybe he’d reached a real high point. He was very attached to Jack and Mel, liked the town and the folks who dropped in, and he was into Jillian’s farm in a big way. The only things really missing for him were a place of his own that was a bit larger than the room above the Fitch’s garage. And a female; he’d like to have a serious girl in his life. Jack might’ve avoided commitment till he was forty but Denny didn’t necessarily want that life. He’d like a steady girl, plans for a family, the whole drill. There was nothing like that on the horizon, but Denny kept his eyes peeled.

Jack was back in the bar late Monday. “Well, stranger, welcome home,” Denny said. “You just get back?”

“At about five,” Jack said. “I got Mel and the kids settled and came to town to see how everyone was holding up.”