Excerpt of Jack And Jillian by Mary Anne Wilson

Silver Creek, Nevada
Three years later

Jack Prescott looked around the suite he lived in at The Inn at Silver Creek and faced a basic fact in his life. He had everything. He had enough money to do anything he wanted. He had a handful of close, really good friends, and he had this resort he'd built from the ground up. His accountant had once told him that if he spent money every waking hour for the rest of his life, he'd die rich. Then they'd both laughed. He wasn't laughing now. His wealth didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

He raked a hand through his dark brown hair, flecked with gray, and exhaled on a rough sigh. When had everything stopped mattering? God, he wished he knew.At thirty-eight, he should have had the world by the tail. Instead, he felt as if the world had him. He crossed the shadowed suite, poured a drink then sank into one of two leather couches and stared at the fire in the stone hearth.

He took a long swallow of whiskey, let the fire burn through him, then he eased low in the supple pillows and stretched his booted feet out in front of him. He was here, and he didn't want to be here. Yet he wasn't sure where he did want to be. All he knew was, he wanted to wake up in the morning and be excited about another day. He couldn't remember when that had last happened, but he remembered when he'd realized he'd lost the ability to be excited.

He'd managed to get a hold of a chunk of land he'd wanted to incorporate into the grounds of The Inn for years. It had the best skiing imaginable, and it butted up against the north end of The Inn's property. It had been a self- imposed test for him: get the land and everything would be right; get the land and nothing would be right.

So he'd gone after the land, focused on it — and then he'd gotten it. The land had fallen into his lap with an ease that had been startling.

And that was when he knew. At that moment nothing had been right. Nothing mattered.

That was when he'd made the final decision to leave Silver Creek. He'd secure things here at The Inn, maybe sell off some of his holdings, including the new acquisition, which didn't mean a thing to him now, and he'd walk out the door. He'd go, and keep going until that one morning when he'd awaken and he'd be excited about the new day. That was when he'd know he'd found what he was looking for.

He finished off his drink, then stood and headed into his bedroom. He stepped out of his boots, stripped off his chambray shirt and jeans, and fell onto the cool linen on his huge, four-poster bed. He stretched out on his back and stared into the deep shadows that surrounded him. In a week, two weeks tops, he'd go.

As he settled that, a huge weight seemed to lift off him and he rolled onto his side. It was his life, and he'd make it what he wanted it to be. Whatever that turned out to be. He'd do it, and he'd do it alone, the way he'd pretty much done everything in his life.

IT WAS LATE December, just a couple of days to the new year, and Jillian was working. She'd worked most holidays in the past few years, usually thankful for the distraction of work. Christmas this year had been empty for her, alone in her apartment, then spending an hour at the care facility with Johnny. But over the New Year's holiday, she'd work and make the money she needed. But for some reason, as she drove into the small skiing town of Silver Creek, she felt vaguely depressed at what her life had become.

Self-pity wasn't something she ever indulged in and she wouldn't start now. She was on her way to one of the most exclusive resorts in the country, so that wasn't all bad. She'd be paid to stay there for a week, and all she had to do was take notice of what made The Inn at Silver Creek so desirable and exclusive. "A piece of cake," she muttered, and paid attention to her driving.

The snow that had been falling ever since she'd started her climb into the Sierra Nevada Mountains had finally stopped. Plows were busy clearing the main street in the town, and traffic backed up behind the lumbering machinery. She didn't mind. It gave her a few extra moments to take in her surroundings.

The valley slashed through the mountains, rugged peaks that disappeared into dark clouds on the west and east sides. Whoever had laid out the town had taken the path of least resistance, which had resulted in a route that gave visitors a view of the scenery that was awe-inspiring.

Silver Creek was a nice little town. It had a perfect location in the mountain range that ridged between California and Nevada. It was the right size, not overly large, not too small, and easily accessible from Las Vegas or from northern California. A nice little package.

The main street wandered north and south in the natural cut, with side streets fanning out and up into the foothills. Skiers were everywhere, taking their time crossing the streets, going from one specialty shop to another, housed in the two-and three-story brick buildings that lined the way. Many held cups of hot coffee or chocolate in their hands, the steam from which mingled in the frigid air with their exhaled breaths. Cars filled every space set aside for parking, and the lights from the businesses flashed with every imaginable color.

Although she was driving the luxury SUV she had rented in Las Vegas at a pace that would rival a snail's, she felt the back tires lose traction for a moment when she braked. Almost immediately, the car was stable again, and she realized she was at the end of a long line of cars waiting to get into the parking lot for the public lifts. An attendant bundled in heavy clothes came walking down the line, stopping at each car, saying something, then moving on.

He reached her car, and as she slid down the window, he said quickly, "Only got B parking, in the satellite lot. Twenty dollars for the day, and two by the hour."

"I just want to get past," she said, her breathing clouding into the frigid air.

He motioned her to the right. "Go around the car in front of you, and there's enough room for you to keep going."

"Thanks," she said. She put up the window and did as he said. In less than a minute, she was past the long line and heading out of the main town. The last of the businesses fell away, and a scattering of houses could be seen well back from the road.

As she headed out of town on a narrow two-lane highway, climbing higher into the mountains, the phone in the console rang. Only one person had this number, so it wasn't a stretch for her to answer it with "Hi, Ray."

"Hello there," her boss, Ray Shelley, said cheerfully. Jill had a vivid mental image of the stocky man back in San Francisco, sitting in his ridiculously huge leather chair in his overdone office, running a hand over his almost bald head and frowning intently. An ever-present cigar would be haloing smoke over him, despite the no- smoking signs everywhere. "I'm on my way out the door for a party," he said, "but I wanted to check and make sure you're all in place."

"I just passed through Silver Creek and I'm heading to The Inn," she murmured.

"Great. I'm also calling to let you know that Prescott is going to be at The Inn for a week after New Year's, but not much longer."

Jack Prescott, the man who literally built The Inn at Silver Creek from the ground up, was going to be there when she got to The Inn. That could be a good thing. "Well, your spies have been busy little beavers, haven't they?" she murmured as she eyed the great mounds of snow that plows had deposited on both sides of the highway.

"You're the only spy I have anywhere near The Inn at the moment."

She frowned at the term "spy," but she realized that her job really didn't have an easy title. She observed businesses, analyzed their operations and wrote reports for her client, whoever that was at the time. Sure, she did it anonymously, blending in any way she could to get the information she needed to get, but spy wasn't a word she liked to use. She got her assignments through Ray and his Platinum Group's development division, and if anyone asked, she'd say she was an evaluator. They didn't know what that meant, but so far, no one had asked her to elaborate.

"Then how do you know Prescott's going to be there when I arrive? The last I heard no one knew if he'd be there at all."

"He called Dennis Wright, our head attorney, and said he'd heard through his channels that we might be brokering a deal for one of his holdings. He wanted to verify it."

"And what was he told?"

"Wright told him the truth."

She involuntarily slowed the car at this admission and got a sharp retort from the horn of a car behind her. She sped up and said, "Everything?"

"No, of course not. Just what he needed to know." She exhaled. "Okay, tell me what he was told. I don't want to get tripped up while I'm there, especially if he's in the vicinity and there's any chance of my meeting him."

Ray said that the attorney had verified that they were "considering" being a broker for some land in that area. As she listened, the impatient car behind her cut out into the oncoming lane to pass her. It was a fire- engine-red Porsche and it roared alongside her, so close she felt the SUV almost shudder; then the driver gunned the engine and cut back into the lane right in front of her.

The Porsche went even faster now, disappearing around a curve ahead, and she fully expected to hear screeching brakes and a crash. She didn't, but at least the car was gone, and she slowed again. "And he didn't ask any more questions?" she finally said when Ray paused.

"I don't know, but I'm sure Wright used the old 'I'm not at liberty to say." I suspect Prescott has people digging into it right now. He'll find out that Platinum is considering a number of properties in the area. His is just one of them."

That wasn't what she'd been told. Their client wanted Prescott's property, period. "So he's selling for sure?"

"I don't know. He recently acquired the land our client wants, but his people sent out the word that he was considering turning over some of his assets, that land included — if things go right and if he likes what's brought to him." Ray released a hiss of air over the line.

"He seems in a hurry to leave Silver Creek and I figure he wants to streamline his holdings. It's just not easy dealing with a man who is so personally involved in every business decision, even when he's letting go of some holdings."

People who owned most of any town seldom let go of it. A large chunk of Silver Creek belonged to Prescott. He'd be a fool to throw away his holdings, and from what Jill knew of the man, he wasn't a fool. She spotted a high fence all but covered with the snow off to the left. It ran north as far as she could see. "Then this is all on speculation until he decides?"

"And until our client decides if they can do what they think they can with that land," Ray said.