Wild Man Creek
Page 49

“Good idea. Hear anything from Colin?”
“A couple of emails, some amazing pictures of wildlife. I’ll try to remember to forward on to your email if you write down the addy for me.”
“That’d be great.” He put the sealed envelope in his back pocket. “You doing all right?”
She smiled. “I’m a little lonelier now than I was yesterday, but I’m all right. First Colin, then Denny.” She shrugged. “Not everyone is content with the same old thing.”
“If you need me for anything, call,” Jack said. “Not a good time for you to feel overwhelmed…”
“Speaking of overwhelmed, I’m growing some of the biggest pumpkins in the county. I’m going to make up a poster for free pumpkins, decorate the house and grounds and hold a pumpkin picking party. When that comes around, I might need a little help.”
“Could be fun. We might get Preacher to load up the barbecues and make a day of it.”
“That would be awesome,” she said. “You know, I’ve had my ups and downs…more ups than downs… But this is a good place for me.”
“Yeah. I guess not for everybody, though—like Denny for example.”
“I know,” she said. “You going to be all right?”
“Yeah. I’m disappointed, but that’s the way it goes.”
She covered his hand with hers. “Hey, call if you need me. I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks,” he said. “We’ll be fine around here. Plenty to do to keep us busy.”
It being Virgin River, it didn’t take long for the word to get out regarding Denny’s clandestine departure. All day long, as people stopped in the bar for lunch or pie and coffee or a drink, they asked. “Hey, did I hear Denny took off for San Diego? He didn’t like it here?”
“San Diego is home for him, remember,” Jack said.
“I thought he was getting to think of this as home,” someone said.
“Apparently not quite,” Jack said.
“Think we’ll be hearing from him?” someone else asked.
“Of course!” Jack said, though he felt sadly doubtful. Their goodbye had felt very final.
At around two in the afternoon, when the bar was typically quiet, Mel walked across the street from the clinic to check on Jack. “Try not to be too upset with Denny, Jack. Young men are driven by all kinds of things. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with the realization that you’re not related by blood.”
“I’ve decided it’s a good thing,” Jack said. “I’ll miss the kid, no question about it, but if he’d stayed here just because he thought I was his biological father, it might not have been enough for him. You know? He should do everything he feels an itch to do and not be held in some little town by DNA.”
She leaned across the bar and kissed him. “Very wise,” she said.
But Jack wasn’t feeling wise. He felt like he was compensating. Compromising. He’d started to feel like one of the luckiest guys alive. Not only did he have a perfect little family, the best friends in the world, but he had a couple of amazing young men like Rick and Denny who looked up to him, felt that he was more than a friend, thought of him as worthy of being their father. Now they were both away doing what young men had to do to get their lives together. He wanted to just count his blessings, but he was a little disappointed. He went from slightly overwhelmed by his good fortune to a cup less than half full.
Until about four that afternoon. The door to the bar opened and who should walk in but the prodigal son. Denny wore a hangdog expression, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes downcast.
Jack quickly picked up a spotless glass and his towel, as a means of keeping his hands busy, to keep from grabbing the young man up into a fierce hug. He wasn’t sure he was able to keep the grin off his face, however. “How far did you get?” he asked Denny.
“Almost all the way to San Francisco,” he said.
“What turned you around?”
“Just some little, insignificant thing. Turns out the guy that really is my biological father not only never married my mother, never tried to support us after he left, but he also never once tried to have a relationship of any kind with me. I got in touch with him when my mom died. He said he was real sorry to hear that. That guy was my father, and he always seemed to ignore the fact. You, on the other hand, seemed real sorry to learn you weren’t my father.”
“True,” Jack said with a nod. “Once I got used to the idea, I liked it. You and Rick, a couple of guys a man would be proud to claim.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain in your ass.”
“Sons. I believe it’s one of those predictable things.”
“I do like it here,” Denny said. “I did feel like I belonged. I felt like you were at least a father figure. You didn’t have to make me feel that way, but you still did.”
“Don’t should on me, and I won’t should on you,” Jack said.
Denny laughed. “I hope you’re not too pissed.”
Jack put down the glass and rag and walked around the bar. He got real close to Denny. “I’m a little pissed, but I think I can get over it. People have been asking about you all day. They seemed disappointed that you were gone.”
“Really?”
“And Jillian needs help.”
“I’ll get right out there and try to explain.”
“And I need you, too. No particular reason.”
Denny’s eyes clouded a little. “Thanks, Jack.”
Jack grabbed a fistful of the kid’s shirt and pulled him hard against his chest, wrapping a big arm around him, hugging him closely, pounding his back. “You don’t ever have to thank me, son. You just have to be who you are. I’m good with that.”
Colin sent Jillian a picture of Mount Kilimanjaro with a note that said,
Someone else can climb her. But isn’t she spectacular? Nice pumpkins, baby. Love, Colin.
That message made her laugh so hard that Denny came to the kitchen to ask her if she was all right. She couldn’t bring herself to share his email, but not sharing made her feel guilty. Really, she still wanted the man all to herself!
Although Halloween was still a few weeks away, she had Denny begin decorating. They had filled up the back of the truck with hay bales, lanterns, spiders and witches to hang from the trees, and since Jillian hadn’t grown gourds, she bought them along with straw horns of plenty. When the holiday drew near, she’d carve her own pumpkins for the front porch. Being out here in the middle of nowhere, there would be no trick-or-treaters, but she’d be ready for the pumpkin pickers.
Nice pumpkins, baby.
She missed him, but with a kind of joy and possessiveness in her heart. She knew he thought about her. The picture of the mountain had not been sent to everyone, but just to her.
Jill liked to go up to the widow’s walk every afternoon and look at her grounds from that great height; she liked to watch Denny at work. He was staking scarecrows in the pumpkin patch. She was so glad to have him back.
She enjoyed watching the advancing color of the leaves, still just in the early stages. And then she would lie on her back on the roof, bask in the warm afternoon sun and fantasize about that first time they made love on the roof. She could remember every single touch, every kiss, every sweet word Colin spoke. She smiled to remember half their clothes disappearing off the top of the house because they’d been so lost in pleasure, in sweet satisfaction.
Sometimes she actually dozed while she thought about her gardens, her harvest, her faraway lover. Life was not as perfect as it was when Colin was here, but it was good. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she wasn’t losing weight or prowling the big house in search of memories and solace late at night.
After a nice half-hour stretch in the sun, she sat up and looked down at the grounds, the garden nearly plucked naked, the lilac, rhododendron and hydrangea bare of flowers. Her six months had been well spent. She planned to experiment through the winter with smudge pots, grow lights and inside irrigation in the greenhouses to see what could be done during the off-season. She stood up and was able to see Denny driving the garden-mobile through the trees to the back meadow where two greenhouses stood. Her hands on her hips, faced toward the back of the property, she heard a piercing whistle. She turned and looked down in the opposite direction and saw a mirage…. It was a man in fatigue pants, long-sleeved green Army T-shirt, camel-colored vest and straw cowboy hat. He carried a great big duffel and a worn brown leather camera case.
“Now I’m just hallucinating,” she murmured to herself.
He dropped the duffel and camera case and waved his arms at her.
“Dear God, if I’m crazy, can I please stay crazy?” And then she scrambled, stumbling, breathing like a marathon runner, down three flights of stairs to the front of the house. She burst out the front door, crossed the porch, leaped off the porch stairs and ran like her pants were on fire across the yard and down the drive toward him. She was crying as she ran; he was laughing as he walked toward her, his arms open to catch her. She flew into his arms with such force she caused him to laugh harder and stumble backward while he grabbed her. Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist and she shut him up with her lips.
“God, oh God, oh God,” she said as she took possession of his mouth. His hands were running up and down her back; she grabbed his hat off his head and threw it, plunging her fingers into his hair. “You’re here,” she whispered, kissing him, wanting him, holding him so hard he might never get away.
“Yeah,” he finally said against her mouth.
“It was supposed to be six months!”
“I know,” he said. “What was I thinking, huh?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“By the time I could call you, I was in San Francisco. I woke up one morning in a small African village and thought, this isn’t working without Jilly. And I bought a ticket home. You have no idea what I had to go through to get here on such short notice. I’ve been on way too many props, flying over the jungle. I was in San Francisco before I could have called you.” He grinned. “Right then I decided to surprise you. See if you acted like you were happy to see me.”
She looked over his shoulder. There was no car. “But how did you get here?”
“An airport shuttle, then I hitched.”
She whacked him on the shoulder. “You should have told me you were coming! So I could have been ready! Cleaned up and pretty!”
He lifted her with hands under her butt. He shook his head. “I like you dirty,” he said, laughing. “You couldn’t get any prettier, Jilly. And I just can’t make it without you.”
“Is this just a visit? Are you leaving me again?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But never for long. And if you can find times the farm doesn’t need you, maybe you’ll come with me. I’ll paint while you grow—we’ll travel when we can. Maybe I’ll get to be a better painter and Shiloh can send me money for plane tickets.” He held her up with one hand and with the other, he smoothed her hair back away from her face. “Did you miss me?”
“A little bit,” she said with a shrug.
“You have tears running down your cheeks,” he said with a grin. “I think you missed me more than a little.”
“You never called me! You barely emailed me!”
“I was in the jungle. And I missed you so much my whole heart felt broken. I don’t ever want to miss you that much again.”
“And the flying?”
He gave a shrug. “I took a chopper up, just to see how it felt. Felt pretty good. But not as good as being with you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Not as good as being inside you. I think it’s time I made a few minor changes.”