Wild Man Creek
Page 11

“And just how do you propose to make a living?” Kelly, the practical one, asked.
“Thanks to ten good years at BSS, a nice exit package and a clever financial planner, I don’t have to worry about that right now. But I’ve been thinking about selling vegetables.”
“That sounds profitable,” Kelly said facetiously. “I was thinking something a little more long-term.”
Jillian just laughed at her. “Jealous?”
“Green!” Kelly said. They both knew that in spite of the fact that Jill was known to jump into the deep end of the pool and Kelly thought everything through with relentless planning, Jill had made a ton of money from BSS and Kelly was a relatively poor sous-chef.
“I’m thinking of selling fancy high-end fruits and veggies, the kind your restaurant and other five-star restaurants would buy. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now all I want to know is if I can grow them—then I’ll think about the next step.”
“I’d better come up there,” Kelly said. “I think you’ve lost your mind….”
Jill laughed. “It’s just the opposite, Kell. I feel like I suddenly found it! You know, when was the last time I was this excited? Probably when Harry offered me a chance to work with him to start BSS! I didn’t know anything about the software industry, but I knew I could do it! And this? Kelly, I know about this! Nana taught us in her own garden how to grow some of this stuff. The Russian Rose! White asparagus! Purple Calabash! And I found the seeds. I already have the seedling cups ready. I bought a truckbed full of chicken shit!”
“An asparagus bed takes up to three years…”
“Then I’d better get it started,” Jillian said.
“Aren’t you spending an awful lot of money?”
“Nah. My biggest expense right now is Denny, my new assistant. But he’s such a great guy and good worker he’s helping me speed up this whole process, so he’s worth every cent.”
“You could run into areas you don’t understand, like permits, licensing, agricultural restrictions, that sort of thing. I’d never buy exotic, organic fruits or vegetables from a grower who hadn’t passed all the agricultural inspections.”
“Kelly, lighten up. No one knows how to hire a consultant like I do—I’ve done it a hundred times in an industry I didn’t understand nearly as well as I do this one. Can’t you be a little more positive?”
“Maybe when I stop shaking…”
“Oh, brother. I’d better get this up and running before you buy your own restaurant. You’ll go through so many lists and checkpoints, the place will never open. You’ll never get it open without me.”
“Seriously, I might have to come up there, make sure you’re not totally crazy.”
“You’re certainly welcome, but you’ll have to bring your own recliner.”
Colin parked his Jeep near the turnoff into Jill’s driveway so the motor wouldn’t frighten off early morning wildlife. He walked up the drive and before getting far he noticed a few things. The drive was a muddy mess for one thing, marked with the tire tracks of large equipment. As he neared the house he saw there was a forklift, wood chipper and a little Bobcat backhoe all parked in a row along the tree line east of the house. As he walked around the house he saw a wide path had been cut through the copse of trees to the back meadow, all the huge, felled trees stacked and ready to be taken away.
“Morning,” 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 cle**ages, microscopic skirts and four-inch heels. The kind of women you wouldn’t want your mother to meet.
“Is the eagle painting done?” she asked him.
“Done? Oh, no,” he said. “That won’t be done for a while. Maybe another few weeks.”
“Wow. Don’t you get bored, spending so much time on one painting?”
“I have several going at one time. I keep going back, improving, changing, fixing, getting them right. It’s hard to know when it’s really done. And sometimes when you think they’re finished, they’re not. More often, when you think they’re not finished, they really are. Sometimes knowing when to stop is more important than knowing when to keep working on it.”
“And then you sell them?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t ever sold one.”
She sat up straighter and her quilt slipped off one shoulder exposing her striped pajamas. They were almost little-girl pajamas. “Never sold one? How do you make a living?”
Again he chuckled. “I’m independently wealthy.”
“How nice for you. Do you plan to ever sell any or are you doing this for fun?”
“Right now painting them is more important than selling them,” he said.
“What kind of market is there for a…an eagle?”
He smiled at her. Straight to the point, wasn’t she? “Huge,” he said. “I didn’t realize that when I got hooked on animals. Wild animals, not kittens or puppies. I liked them better than bowls of fruit….”