she said.
He whirled around in surprise to see Jillian sitting on the back porch steps wearing purple furry slippers, draped in a quilt and holding a steaming cup of coffee in both hands. It wasn’t even 6:00 a.m.
“Morning. What’s going on here?”
“A little excavation. I needed access to that back meadow. And we’ve just about got the garden fenced. I’m afraid we scared off the wildlife for the time being, but I’m sure they’ll be back when things quiet down.”
“Are things going to quiet down?”
“Sure. Gardening is a serene occupation. But for now there’s been some noise. I’m putting up a couple of greenhouses back there behind the trees. Everything should be finished in a week, unless Denny can’t figure out how to erect the greenhouses. If we have to get more help, it could take longer. Want a cup of coffee, since you’ve come all this way?”
He held his camera out to the side, glancing at it. Useless now, he thought. “Sure.”
“I’ll get it for you and bring it out. There’s no place to sit in the house. How do you take it?”
“A little cream.”
“Will two percent milk do?” she asked.
He gave her a slight smile. “Yeah. That’ll work fine.”
She pulled the quilt around her and shuffled into the house, into the kitchen. She poured and dressed his coffee.
“There’s no furniture in here,” he said from behind her. He had followed her inside.
She turned around while stirring. “Sure there is. I have a recliner and all my important stuff—computer, printer, TV. I had to ask Jack to throw a stovetop and refrigerator in here, even though I’m sure the eventual owner will want custom stuff that actually fits the space the builder provided. There’s room for lots of large, high-end kitchen appliances—stuff with all the bells and whistles. I just needed the occasional flame and a small refrigerator. I mostly use the microwave.”
“Do you have a bed somewhere?”
“Is that important? I’m very comfortable in the recliner and, since I’m not expecting any company it’ll do just fine for now … unless my sister comes to be sure I haven’t completely lost my mind.” She smiled and said, “I told her she’d have to bring her own recliner.”
He reached for the coffee. “Why is she worried about that? Because you’re living in the kitchen and are planting the back forty?”
Jill chuckled. “You have no idea how perfect this is. When I turn out the lights and the TV I can see the stars from that chair. If it’s clear, that is. And it’s going to be clear a lot more often in summer. I stand guard, trying to train the deer and bunnies to move along to the next farm. In the early morning, just as the mist and fog are lifting, I can watch the land come to life. I don’t usually go outside before seven, but it was such a nice morning today. Actually, I half expected you to show up.”
He sipped his coffee. “Where are your clothes?”
She pulled the quilt around her. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and her cheeks kind of rosy and he wanted to pull her into his arms for just a little touch. A little taste. “I’ll get dressed in a while,” she said.
“No,” he said with a laugh. “Your wardrobe. Your luggage. You obviously don’t keep them in the kitchen.”
“Oh, that—there’s a closet in that bedroom—one of two closets in the whole house. Maid’s quarters, we think.”
“Ah,” he said. “So, I guess this means you’re going full speed ahead?”
“With the growing? Oh, yes. I’m so charged up I can hardly sleep at night. Want to go outside? Sit on the porch? I mean, there could be a totally crazy deer out there that hasn’t been completely intimidated by the excavation noise.”
“Sure,” he said. “And you can tell me about your greatest expectation for this exercise.”
“I think,” she said as they went back out the door, “that I’m trying my hand at becoming a commercial farmer. I don’t know if it’ll work until I know if I can grow the stuff, but I could farm exotic, rare, heirloom fruits and vegetables. The kind that are hard to produce. I would sell them to high-end restaurants that are looking for new and unique, fabulous foods.”
He sipped again. “Going to buy a fleet of trucks to deliver them to big cities?”
She laughed. “Nope. Going to call UPS or FedEx and send them overnight. They’re delicate—none of them have a long shelf life. And they’re not used in mass quantities, usually as side dishes or garnishes.”
“How do you make money doing that?”
She shrugged. “You become the best, with the best marketing campaign. And, of course, you start small and regionally. I’ve already identified target cities with five-star restaurants. I wouldn’t ship to New York—it’s too far. But shipping to Portland, Sun Valley, Seattle, Vancouver, San Francisco and the surrounding areas would not be a problem.”
He chuckled. “I have to admit, it’s gutsy and it actually sounds reasonable.”
“It’s completely reasonable! There is one ‘x’ factor … and that’s whether I can grow these rare, old seeds. I bought product from several different seed companies and I’ll check them out. My great-grandmother canned some, sold some fresh off the porch—we had a hard time getting by back then and she had lots of ways to supplement her income. This is a whole different story. If it works, buyers will order ahead of season, so I have to know I can deliver. It’ll take me six to eighteen months to figure that out.”
“But how long are you renting …?”
“Through summer. But things like moves and leases can be worked out. The one thing I can’t control is whether or not I can grow the stuff.”
“So, you’ll have fruit trees, too?” he asked.
“No trees,” she said, shaking her head. “There are a few apple trees on the property, but I’m not planting trees …”
“But you said fruits …”
“Tomatoes, tomatillo, melons, et cetera—are all considered fruits.” She smiled.
He felt a little pang of something. A jolt of some kind. She was awful cute. Incredibly smart and very cute.
Colin was a little startled. Cute was not in his vernacular. He felt those sizzling jolts when he was with women he would describe as hot or sexy or edible, but he had never before felt a single nerve-tingle for cute. He was too jaded for that. He reasoned this was probably only because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long and, further, because he assumed he probably wouldn’t be again, at least not for a very long time. And certainly not this one—although she was smart as a whip, she was too “girl next door.” He was attracted to women in low-cut tops with generous cleavages, microscopic skirts and four-inch heels. The kind of women you wouldn’t want your mother to meet.
“Is
