Читать онлайн книгу "Harvest Moon"

Harvest Moon
Robyn Carr


Rising sous-chef Kelly Matlock's sudden collapse at work is a wake-up call.Disillusioned and burned out, she's retreated to her sister Jillian's house in Virgin River to rest and reevaluate. Puttering in Jill's garden and cooking with her heirloom vegetables is wonderful, but Virgin River is a far cry from San Francisco. Kelly's starting to feel a little too unmotivated. . . until she meets Lief Holbrook.The handsome widower looks more like a lumberjack than a sophisticated screenwriter—a combination Kelly finds irresistible. But less appealing is Lief's rebellious stepdaughter, Courtney. She's the reason they moved from L. A. , but Courtney's finding plenty of trouble even in Virgin River.Kelly's never fallen for a guy with such serious baggage, but some things are worth fighting for. Besides, a bratty teenager can't be any worse than a histrionic chef. . . right?










Praise for New York TimesandUSA TODAYbestselling author

ROBYN

CARR

“This book is an utter delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Road

“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters

are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here…

You won’t want to put this one down.”

—RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak

“This story has everything: a courageous,

outspoken heroine; a to-die-for hero;

and a plot that will touch readers’ hearts

on several different levels. Truly excellent.”

—RT Book Reviews on Forbidden Falls

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,

it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—

I connected instantly with the characters

and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber


Also available from ROBYN CARR and MIRA Books:

The Virgin River Series WILD MAN CREEK PROMISE CANYON MOONLIGHT ROAD ANGEL’S PEAK FORBIDDEN FALLS PARADISE VALLEY TEMPTATION RIDGE SECOND CHANCE PASS A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS WHISPERING ROCK SHELTER MOUNTAIN VIRGIN RIVER

The Grace Valley Series DEEP IN THE VALLEY JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN DOWN BY THE RIVER

Novels A SUMMER IN SONOMA NEVER TOO LATE RUNAWAY MISTRESS BLUE SKIES THE WEDDING PARTY THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET

Watch for BRING ME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS, the October 2011 Virgin River Christmas book from Robyn Carr


ROBYN

CARR





HARVEST MOON


















www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


For Nancy Berland, a writer’s best friend and ally. Thank you

for all you do!




Acknowledgments


Special thanks goes to Laura Osika, the Be in Virgin River Contest winner! Thanks for dropping in to visit us in Virgin River! As a part of the supporting cast, you were a fantastic addition to the story!

To my readers, your thousands of supportive letters and your amazing word-of-mouth recommendations have made this little town come alive, and I am eternally grateful for your encouragement and kindness.

For this story, as for almost every story I write, special thanks to Michelle Mazzanti for early reading and research assistance. I just couldn’t get to the end of a book without your input and help.

Once again, Chief Kris Kitna, thanks for answering questions about hunting, fishing, local law and other details about the area.

I am indebted to Kate Bandy and Sharon Lampert. Without your continual loyalty and support I would be lost.

My heartfelt gratitude to Ing Cruz for creating and managing Jack’s Bar online, where hundreds of Virgin River readers exchange book news. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RobynCarr_Chatgroup/)

Thanks to Rebecca Keene for early readings of this and many manuscripts; your feedback is incredibly valuable.

Colleen Gleason and Kate Douglas, two women whose friendship is constant and filled with humor, affection and always stimulating writer talk, I am so grateful to have found you both.

Thanks to everyone at the Nancy Berland Public Relations Agency for the support and for always watching my back. Jeanne Devon of NBPR, thanks for the hours of creative work, for reading and critiquing. And special thanks to Cissy Hartley and the entire staff at www.writerspace.com for your wonderful work.

And as always, thank you to Liza Dawson of Liza Dawson Associates and to Valerie Gray, editorial director of Mira Books, two of the toughest readers in publishing. Thank you both for being relentless, tireless, devoted perfectionists. Every push makes each book a little better and I owe you. This is always a team effort, and I couldn’t have a better team!

And my undying gratitude goes to the extraordinary opportunity given to me by the entire Harlequin team. Nobody does it better!




One


“I need to see you,” Phillip said. “My office.”

Kelly Matlock, sous chef, threw him an incredulous look. She was literally holding apart a big Italian and a big Swede; the Italian line cook had a spatula and the Swedish one was wielding a metal spoon as they fought over stove-top territory. The request that she go to the restaurant manager’s office right now was so absurd, she almost laughed. “Really too busy here, Phillip,” she said. “Not only are we having a brawl in the kitchen, but it’s seven o’clock. Prime dinner rush. Check with me at ten.”

“It’s urgent,” he said. “Otherwise, believe me, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Where’s Durant?” Kelly asked, speaking of the chef de cuisine, the head chef.

“Making his rounds in the front of the house, gloating. Let these two morons kill each other—we’re short on meat anyway.”

That suggestion did far more to separate the line cooks than Kelly had. “I’ll be right there,” she said to Phillip. He liked to be addressed as Philippe, although Kelly had learned he didn’t actually have a French cell in his body. His accent was entirely for show. She went to her locker, removed her apron and exchanged her soiled white jacket for a clean, crisp one and left her senior line cook in charge.

It never crossed her mind that it might be a real emergency; Phillip loved his melodramatic displays. His second favorite thing was making passes at the female staff and his third, screaming matches with Durant.

One day, when Kelly finally became chef de cuisine, there would be no Phillip; she would never tolerate a manager with such annoying, socially unacceptable behaviors.

She gave a couple of taps on Phillip’s office door and then pushed it open. Her heart almost stopped. Seated there, in a chair facing the restaurant manager’s desk, was Olivia Brazzi, wife of the world-famous master chef Luciano Brazzi. Although Kelly crossed her path regularly—at charity events and in this very restaurant—they didn’t know each other at all. Luca owned a controlling interest in this restaurant. Olivia was tight with Durant and her presence here was not unusual. But Olivia had always ignored Kelly, treating her as if she were a mere cook, not worthy of her time.

Olivia smiled at her with such warmth and kindness, Kelly wondered for an insane moment if she were dreaming and Olivia had come to turn Luca over to her.

While Mrs. Brazzi was stunning in her elegant black crepe dress, shiny textured stockings, three-inch heels and strategically placed diamonds, she did not look her fifty years, not by twenty. She looked like a girl. A sophisticated girl with ice-blue eyes.

Kelly’s stomach flipped. What in the world could she want with me? she thought. Could she expect me to cater a special dinner party or event?

Olivia glanced at Phillip. “A moment, Philippe? May I have the room?”

Kelly became light-headed. On her list of most unexpected events, a private meeting with Olivia Brazzi was up there with alien abduction.

“Of course, Olivia,” he said and paused to kiss the back of her hand before leaving. It made Kelly want to gag.

“Ms. Matlock, please,” Olivia purred. “Sit down a moment.” She gestured with a small, delicate hand to the chair beside her.

Kelly said a brief prayer. Whatever this is, please let it be over quickly!

“I’m sorry that our first meeting is so awkward, Ms. Matlock, but I’ve come to ask you to stop sleeping with my husband.”

Kelly’s eyes grew large in spite of her desire to remain poised. “Are you serious?” she asked, mortified.

“Oh, my, yes,” Olivia said.

“Mrs. Brazzi, I’m not sleeping with Luca!”

“Perhaps there’s not that much sleeping … Now, let’s get it sorted out quickly and quietly. Shall we?” And she lifted a brow.

Whew, at least Olivia was quick and to the point. And that sounded suspiciously as if Olivia and Luca were not as separated as Luca claimed.

Of course, Kelly wasn’t sleeping with him! But best to say nothing further, she decided, because her feelings for Luca would probably show all over her face. She swallowed those emotions with an effort.

Kelly was pretty; she knew she was pretty. But Olivia was beautiful. And chic. And seasoned; experienced. Her sophisticated and contained self-assuredness was a bit overpowering. Kelly had been up against the most diabolical chefs in the world, yet the soft spoken Mrs. Brazzi had her completely intimidated.

“Luca told me everything. How you met, how long you’ve been seeing each other, etcetera. It’s a familiar story. Of course you’re not the first,” Olivia said. “I imagine you know that by now. My husband seems to have a particular taste for blondes. Please, will you break it off?”

She knew she shouldn’t say anything at all. But this was a bit too crazy to leave alone. “With all due respect, Mrs. Brazzi, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your affair with Luca has been going on for about three months now. Maybe four? You met at a charity event—in fact, I was present. You love to exchange food. It leads to all the other things—for Luca, food equals passion. Your number was all over his cell phone, so I confronted him. It’s not the first time we’ve gone around about something like that. The messages, the texts, the pictures, all that. Please, it’s out now. I just want it to end.”

Kelly stiffened. “Really, Mrs. Brazzi, I’ve known your husband much longer than three months. I’ve been sous chef here for three years! We’ve had professional contact, sometimes frequent—this is his restaurant, even if Durant thinks he owns the place, but—”

Olivia smiled indulgently. “Please, do call me Olivia. After all, we have so much in common. And my dear, you really don’t want to pursue this. If it’s not already obvious to you, allow me to enlighten you—Luca has a short attention span. Has he told you about the other children? The ones he’s fathered outside our marriage?”

If her intention was to shock Kelly, it certainly worked. “Ah, Mrs. Brazzi, you have me at a complete disadvantage. This is sounding more and more like personal business between you and your husband. I wouldn’t know anything about—”

“We’ve managed to keep those unfortunate liaisons inside the family and company, but if you’re really close he would have told you. Luca has many conquests on his record. For all I know, there could be a dozen children. But not on the books—I keep a close eye on the finances. I’m sorry if you’re hurt, but the sooner you move away from this mess with Luca, the better, I promise you. It won’t come to a tidy end. And there’s no money in it.”

Kelly shot to her feet. “Money? You can’t possibly think—” And then she could have kicked herself. How’s that for sounding like a confession? But the suggestion that she was a gold digger was somehow even more offensive than the accusation that she was fooling around with Luca!

“I’m truly sorry,” Olivia said. “I meant no offense. I’m sure you probably love him madly. You should know that while Luca supports his children, their mothers haven’t profited. They’re forced to live simply. And sadly, my children haven’t been welcoming to them. As you might imagine, it doesn’t please them that their father has such a wandering eye. They’re very loyal to me.”

“Mrs. Brazzi, I wouldn’t know about things like children outside your marriage because I don’t believe I’m a confidante. I speak to Luca about recipes and menus, about dining venues and career opportunities. He’s been a mentor and friend. But really—”

“Just save it, Ms. Matlock. I couldn’t possibly have stayed with Luca this long by being naïve. You call or text him several times a day!”

“Those are replies,” Kelly insisted. It was the truth—if there were several texts or calls in a day, it was because she was answering him. She never initiated many calls; she didn’t want to appear needy or desperate. “I wouldn’t want to bother him! He’s a very busy man!”

Olivia leaned closer. “I’ve seen the records, dear. I know you’re in love with my husband and we have to end this here. Now.”

Fair enough, Kelly thought. The relationship, such as it was, would hereby end. But she bristled at the way she was being misjudged, as if she had gone after him, perhaps for profit. Luca had told her that he and Olivia lived separate lives under the same roof, that for over twenty years they’d had separate bedrooms, that they were together for their children and important social events that led to business success. Kelly had never been his lover!

All that being said, Kelly had long ago admitted to herself that her relationship with him wasn’t completely innocent. Luca romanced her with food and words, claimed to have fallen for her, professed to love her. And although she had said she wasn’t getting involved with a married man, she’d lapped up his praise and adoration like a thirsty puppy.

Still, she couldn’t imagine what Olivia Brazzi had seen that would lead her to assume some sexual liaison!

Kelly could play along with this until she spoke to Luca and found out what was going on. “Seriously, Mrs. Brazzi, I would never disrupt your family. Luca should have saved you the trouble of coming here. In fact, if he said it would be best to have no friendship at all, I would understand. I’m not holding him hostage.”

But what Mrs. Brazzi had said—preference for blondes, many conquests, children born outside his marriage? None of this reflected anything Luca had told her.

Of course, she chided herself. Big surprise.

Olivia actually laughed. “Who do you think sent me, darling? It’s not the first time I’ve had to clean up after him.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Kelly nearly shouted before she could stop herself.

“I know rudeness runs rampant in the kitchen.” Olivia frowned. “Believe me, I’ve witnessed that for myself on many occasions, but it’s not charming. Yes, Luca sent me to talk to you. He thought that coming from me, you would understand.”

“That’s the thing I don’t understand. Why would he do this to me? I’m certainly no threat to you.” She shook her head. “He had only to tell me that you were uncomfortable with our friendship, and that would end all communication between us.”

“Nice try, darling,” Olivia said. “While he was in the lavatory last night, I looked at his phone. I found a couple of weeks’ worth of recent calls, a couple of very sultry voice mails from you, some texts he hadn’t deleted. We fought. We negotiated. He made me an offer—if I would ask you to kindly move on, he would stop taking your calls and instruct his staff to make polite excuses. I agreed. As I have before. Can we consider this over now? “

Kelly frowned. Then she really laughed. Sultry? Not likely. “Mrs. Brazzi, you’ve got the wrong girl. I can’t imagine I’ve ever left him a sultry message!” And the Luca Kelly knew was more likely to explode in anger than whimper a confession and beg for help from his estranged wife to end a relationship over what might’ve been on his cell phone! Kelly was paranoid and nervous enough to never leave a suggestive text or voice mail. She couldn’t count the number of assistants Luca employed.

She had believed Luca, that he and his wife had an understanding and their legal separation and divorce was being negotiated. There was an occasional text: I’ll be in the restaurant office at five. I want to see you. Couldn’t he be sending that sort of text to any chef he wanted to speak to? Any colleague? To Durant? To Phillip?

Was it possible Olivia was a little nuts? Was she exaggerating, or was it possible she was a little crazy?

Frankly, it surprised Kelly that Luca was still around. Most men with the good looks, money and power of Luca Brazzi would move on to a woman more willing to throw caution to the wind and succumb to that fullblown affair Olivia apparently thought they had had.

It was irrelevant that Kelly longed for that; it was beside the point that Kelly adored him, that she believed herself to be in love with him. She’d managed to keep him at a safe distance because he was married. And … because she was woefully inexperienced with men.

“I think you need to work this out with Luciano,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “I’m not sure what’s really going on here.”

“If that’s the case, dear, then you won’t be at all upset when you can’t reach him.”

“Mrs. Brazzi, if he’s such a philanderer and cheat, having children with mistresses and spoiling your good name, why in the world are you with him?”

“That’s a fair question. Because we married for life, we have a very large family together, we’re business partners and breaking up an international company as large as ours would be dreadfully complicated. And you may rest assured, my name is on every document that matters. All that aside, despite his flaws, I do love the man. He’s a genius, a gifted and complicated man, and he couldn’t manage without someone like me. He has a habit of telling his women that there’s nothing between us, but of course it’s not true—we sleep together every night. We’re husband and wife, dear. Now, here’s what will happen,” she explained. “He has given his word he won’t contact you again. The romance dissolves here and now and you’re on your way to the next available man. Thank you for your time.”

She turned, and before Kelly could even speak, Olivia’s hand was on the office door to leave.

Kelly lost her head and blurted out her feelings before she could stop herself. “I can’t imagine running off alleged girlfriends for a man I loved! Why do you do it?”

Olivia turned toward her. She smiled patiently. “Trust me, I have my reasons. Billions of reasons, really. Good evening, Ms. Matlock.”

Kelly went back to the kitchen, which was hot, steamy and alive with action, shouting and chaos typical of seven-thirty in the evening. In something of a daze, she quickly replaced the perfectly white, starched coat with her slightly soiled one and wrapped her apron around her waist. Of course Luca could have lied to her; perhaps he was just trying to consummate the very fling Olivia suspected.

Or, Olivia could be lying about Luca sending her to ask Kelly to go away, for a billion reasons.

She wasn’t going to find out soon, so she got back in there and started directing traffic, checking the orders, moving dishes along to the waitstaff, observing the line cooks at work, stepping in whenever her assistance was needed.

Luca owned many restaurants, was a controlling partner in dozens if not hundreds worldwide, had a commercial food line and appeared regularly on a nationally syndicated television program, and yet it was not surprising Kelly knew him. He had a special fondness for French American cuisine and partnered up with Durant to open La Touche several years ago. Since Luca kept one of his large, family homes in the Bay Area, he liked to frequent his local investments. While his wife and her friends might dine, the true beauty of Luca was that cooking was still the most important thing to him, all other business or TV shows aside. And Kelly loved it when he was here—everyone held back a respectful distance, and the entire kitchen came under control like at no other time. That was probably because Durant, smart enough to step lightly around his betters, behaved like a professional when Luca was in the house.

She had adored him immediately but never imagined he’d return the emotion. That had been fairly recent, but he’d been promising her a chef de cuisine position since long before he made a romantic overture.

She tried to ignore the fact that Durant and Phillip were chatting near the freezer. When had they ever chatted? They fought like junkyard dogs over control of the restaurant. She assumed if they were talking, it had to be about her.

That light-headed feeling returned, and she ignored it. Kelly yelled that the salmon was up, the crГЁme brГ»lГ©e was ready for the flame, the filet was out of time.

She had a little trouble catching her breath, and her heart raced. Then suddenly, a burning ache in her chest. This is probably what happens when a man’s wife comes to tell you to end the affair you’re not quite having yet, she thought. This is probably what I deserve! I always knew I should have said, “Great, let’s talk again when the divorce is final!”

But the worst pain came from imagining Luca selling her out like that—admitting they were close, perhaps too close, and sending his wife to shut it down.

She was panting, couldn’t catch her breath. She grabbed her chest. A scary bit of heartburn; she never had heartburn. She broke out in a sweat.

Durant’s cruel smile appeared before her, which was easy—they were both five-five. “You slept with Luca Brazzi didn’t you, you stupid cow?”

Kelly’s eyes rolled back in her head and she went down. Lights out.

When Kelly awoke, a man in a navy blue T-shirt smiled into her eyes as he wheeled her toward a vehicle with red-and-blue flashing lights. There was a mask over her mouth and nose. She realized she was on a gurney or stretcher; she felt the motion of it as it slid into the back of an ambulance. “Well, hello,” he said after he’d closed the doors. “Feeling okay?”

She clawed away an oxygen mask. “Where … What …”

“You passed out, got a little cut on your head. Your EKG looks okay at first glance but has to be checked by a cardiologist. Your blood pressure is way up there and you were out a little on the long side.” Then he asked her a series of questions—who is the president, what year is it, where do you work? He listened to her heart, checked her blood pressure. She lifted her hand and saw the IV. “We started the IV in case we need to administer drugs. Do you have asthma? Allergies?”

It was pure instinct that prompted her to struggle to sit up. “No, I’m fine, I’m just …”

He pushed gently against her shoulder. “We’ll be there soon, Miss Matlock. Trust me, you need a little visit with the doctor.” She watched as he tinkered with the IV, then pushed something in with a syringe. Then he laughed uncomfortably. “That kitchen,” he said with a snort. “I might never eat out again …”

“Huh?”

“Seriously,” he said. “We have paramedics in the kitchen and people are yelling about spinach sides and they’re stepping over us! Don’t they take a little break when a chef could be having a heart attack?”

She put her hand to her chest, and her eyes were panicked. “Am I having a heart attack?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. You’re stable now. But you had some noticeable symptoms. One of the cooks said you grabbed your chest and had trouble breathing. You have to see the ER doc before you go anywhere. Seriously, that kitchen is a nuthouse.”

She fell back onto the gurney, suddenly very tired. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“You under that kind of stress all the time?” the paramedic asked.

She nodded, but what she thought was, Except for Luca’s wife confronting me, it was a pretty average night.

He chuckled humorlessly. “Unbelievable. I had to clear out the kitchen …”

“Huh?”

“I told them to turn off the stoves and get the hell out of the kitchen or I’d have the police do it,” he said. “Thing is, a lot of people have high-stress jobs—surgeons, stockbrokers, pilots. But I’d never work in that kitchen.”

“Don’t like to cook?” she asked tiredly.

“I love to cook. I bet I’m the best one at the house.” Then he grinned. “Firehouse. And of course there’s stress in being a paramedic. But I saw a difference the minute I was in that kitchen. We work as a team. We can count on each other.”

Kelly was fading; she could hardly hold her eyes open. “Did you give me something?”

“Valium,” he said. “The ER doc ordered it. It’ll calm you down a little. You’re anxious, which could account for the rapid pulse and high blood pressure.”

“We work as a team, too. We have to in a five-star kitchen …”

“Yeah, but on your team, they kick the injured to one side. That can go hard on your nerves.”

“Hm. Well this Valium certainly fixes that.”

He smiled. “Have a little nap. We’re almost there.”

“Do you have my purse?” she asked. “Can I have my cell phone? “

“Let’s get you to ER and let the docs have a crack at you first,” he said. “We’ll dig out your cell phone later. You’re too groggy to make good use of it right now anyway.”

Apparently she wasn’t going to die. At least not yet. And she didn’t have her cell phone. It must have fallen out of her purse when she was taken to the ambulance.

After five hours in the ER, she was released to go home. She had follow-up appointments with a cardiologist for a stress test and an internist to give her a physical and deal with her elevated blood pressure, which could be stress-related. Blood work indicated she was also anemic; her head CT was negative—no concussion.

But the first thing she did in the morning was go to the restaurant in search of her cell phone. When she couldn’t find it, she called Phillip at home, waking him. “Who got my purse for the paramedics?” she asked him.

“Me,” he said with a tired groan. “I’m the only person who can get in all the lockers. I figured you’d need ID and your insurance card.”

“But my cell phone is gone. I don’t even have a landline in my flat, and all my numbers, address book, calendar and appointments are in that phone!”

“I’ll look around when I open up, but it didn’t turn up when we were shutting down.”

“I’m at the restaurant now,” she said. “I know the alarm code!”

“Listen,” the manager said, sounding as if he came awake slowly. “You need to take a couple of days to figure out why you crashed. That disruption cost us money. What did they say at the hospital?”

“No big deal,” she reported. “I’ll be fine. But I will take a day or two. I have follow-up appointments to get some … vitamins … And I obviously have to buy a phone.”

“Look under all the equipment, lockers, etcetera. Maybe it got kicked out of the way or something.”

She sighed. “I have, Phillip.”

“Sorry, then,” he said and hung up.

She continued to talk into the silence. “Thank you, I’m feeling fine, Phillip! I’m sure I’ll be all right, but it’s so sweet of you to ask if there’s anything you can do to help!” And then she clicked off the phone and slammed it down onto the desk.

She wasn’t feeling so fine; she was still a bit groggy from the effects of the Valium. The ER doc had pointed out that not only was her blood pressure too high, but her molars were flattening out from grinding her teeth. The light-headedness and heart palpitations had probably been due to an anxiety attack—that should be verified if possible. Stress, anemia and exhaustion all added up to her fainting spell.

“Is it going to kill me?” Kelly had asked. Perhaps she could blow off the follow-up appointments.

The ER doctor had shrugged and said, “It will at least seriously affect your quality of life. You should really consider slowing things down if you can.”

There was the little matter that her heart was broken; talk about a fatal injury to quality of life.

Fortunately, she could remember the most important numbers stored in the lost cell phone—her sister Jillian’s and Luca’s. To her supreme shame, she called Luca’s phone first. His voice mail came on. Her message was, “I lost my phone and have a new number. This new number should be recorded on your phone directory, but just in case it’s not, it’s the same area code, 555-7604. Please call me, I’ve had quite a shock. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to assume your wife was telling me the truth—that you sent her to speak to me, to inform me that we can no longer have a friendship of any kind—personal or professional.” Then she sent a text to his phone with the same message. Then she attempted to send him an email with the very same message, but she had to create a new account first. Losing the phone on which she carried all her information and email accounts was incredibly complicated.

But to her complete frustration, she didn’t hear from Luca all day.

After seeing both the internist and cardiologist, she placed a call to one of Luca’s personal assistants, Shannon. “Hi, Shannon, it’s Kelly Matlock, sous chef at La Touche. I seem to have misplaced my cell phone and have a new number and new email address. I’m trying to reach Luca. I have a business matter to discuss. Will you please pass on my new number, email, and ask him to call or something?”

“Absolutely, Ms. Matlock! I’d be happy to. I should see him in an hour or so.”

But the new cell phone didn’t ring.

Kelly called Jillian in Virgin River, but all she said was that she’d lost her phone and had a new number. She’d tell all when the doctors had had their say and the crisis had passed, but she didn’t want to worry her sister. Besides, Jillian had just gone through her own difficult time and was barely reunited with her man. Instead, Kelly holed up at home, waiting for that new cell phone to ring. She betrayed her pride by making a few more attempts on Luca’s cell, but to her credit she was as professional as ever with the messages she left.

The second day brought the results of tests, which, thankfully, were far from catastrophic. She was given a shot with an iron booster. Prescriptions were called in to the drug store for blood pressure and low-dosage antianxiety medications along with the name of a good over-the-counter vitamin with extra iron. Kelly was going to be just fine; all doctors recommended a better diet—better than what a five-star chef could provide?—more rest, less pressure, reduced stress.

She laughed to herself. Yeah, right.

She had kept her flat darkened so she’d rest, but sleep eluded her. She realized she hated the apartment. It was a small two-room efficiency that cost a fortune because it was in the city, but she had only leased this particular one because it was so close to the restaurant and she rarely had to use her car.

Loved the city, hated her place. But hell, she didn’t spend much time there anyway. It seemed her life had revolved around the restaurant for three years. She had friends, good friends, but rarely saw them; hardly ever made time to play or relax with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to a movie. Work, work, work—and much of it was just to keep her position safe, not out of sheer joy. Even her love life seemed to begin and end at La Touche.

She returned after two whole days off. A couple of line cooks had beaten her to the kitchen and were slicing and dicing; they didn’t ask her how she was feeling. She got about the business of checking her inventory and the contents of the freezer while slowly the kitchen began to fill up with employees. She heard arguing and recognized the voices of Phillip and one of the cooks and resisted the urge to check it out; she wished Phillip would mind the front of the house and stay out of her territory, but he was always in everyone’s business. Before long Durant began verbally abusing a couple of cooks, then telling Phillip he was a useless idiot who should stay out of his kitchen.

Soon the kitchen was fully staffed; the noise escalated and the temperature rose along with the tension. Everyone had their territory, either vegetables or pasta or meat or fish or pastry. Durant saw something he didn’t like and poured the contents of a saute pan into the sink, calling the cook a stupid, incompetent bitch. It was a young female line cook he loved to berate because he could make her cry. “Matlock!” he yelled. “You watching this or just playing with yourself?”

She ignored him and brought out the filets and the salmon from the cooler.

Criticism poured from Durant; everything he saw sucked. Kelly felt her pulse pick up and her forehead bead with sweat. God, she hoped she wouldn’t pass out again. She was pretty sure she couldn’t afford another ambulance ride.

Her phone, which she was now keeping in her pants pocket, gave a short chime that announced a text had just come in. In spite of her good sense, she prayed it was Luca, texting her that the whole thing with his wife was untrue and that he loved her. She couldn’t imagine how that could be, but she hoped anyway. In this hot, packed, mean kitchen, she felt so alone. So alone she wanted to cry.

Funny, she hadn’t cried in the forty-eight hours since Luca’s wife had broken her down and ejected her from Luca’s life. Shouldn’t she have cried her heart out?

There was a picture in the text. A massive pile of pumpkins all tangled up in their vines came from Jillian. The message said, The leaves on the trees are changing as we watch! The pumpkins and melons are ripe and still growing! We sit on the back porch with lemonade and just soak it in—I’ve never seen such beauty. Wish you were here! xoxoxo

“Matlock!” Durant shouted. “No phones in the kitchen! Put it away or I’ll shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

She smiled and enlarged the photo of the pumpkins. I’ve never seen such beauty. Wish you were here!

“Matlock, you stupid cow, I said—”

And just like that, she’d had enough. She was done.

Kelly slipped the phone into her pocket and turned her back on Durant. She carefully slid her personal knives into the leather case, then she went to her locker. She never kept much there. She stuffed her large satchel with a couple of extra chef’s coats, a spare pair of kitchen pants, her second pair of clogs, printouts of the schedule and the menu. Her purse fit inside the satchel, though barely.

I have nothing here, she thought. I have no one. Luca isn’t going to find me my own restaurant. Durant is never going to let me get any farther ahead. Every day is going to be sheer abuse. Quality of life? Ha! All I have is high blood pressure, flat molars, anxiety attacks and no one.

She put the strap over her arm and headed through the kitchen toward the back door.

“Matlock, if you walk out of here, I’ll make sure you never work in this city again!”

She smiled over her shoulder. “Can you promise that?”

She walked out the door.

Applause and whoops of laughter coupled with Durant’s screaming and name-calling followed her exit. It was impossible to know if the line cooks were cheering because her position was opening up or because they admired her guts.

It didn’t matter. She went home to the apartment she hated to pack up her life.




Two


All Kelly really wanted was to be less lonely, relax enough to stop grinding her teeth and get away from that hellhole that was her kitchen! She looked at that picture of the pumpkins twenty times; she transferred it to her laptop so she could get it nice and big. She fantasized about sitting on the porch, watching the leaves turn.

Of course, being a chef, she envisioned hot soups, warm soft breads and a blazing hearth to go with the fall colors.

Her sister Jillian had gotten rich during her ten years with a software manufacturer, allowing her to buy a big old Victorian on ten acres of land in Virgin River, but sous chefs who didn’t have their own restaurant, trademark food line or TV show earned only decent salaries. Kelly had a little saved; she was far from flush, however. But while recuperating from Durant and company, Kelly knew Jill would be glad to give her a room and a bed. She thought she could scout around on the internet and through contacts for calmer chef’s positions. At the moment, money and prestige were far less important than a little peace of mind.

Without saying a word to Jill about all she’d just been through, Kelly packed up her place, leaving the boxes inside. She didn’t have much; it didn’t take long. With her in the car she took some clothes, her spices, recipes, knives and, because Jill wasn’t much of a cook and her kitchen not well-appointed, some of her favorite pans and table linens. She left the key with her neighbor so movers could be let in to load it all up, phoned her landlady to say this was her last month and hit the road. There was usually a long waiting list for city apartments in San Francisco; the landlady would have no trouble filling the space.

It was on her drive to Virgin River that Kelly started rehearsing her explanation for showing up without notice, without asking, without having told her sister of her circumstances. She felt the pressure build the closer she got. Of the two girls, Jill had always been the impetuous one while Kelly usually had firm, practical, long-term plans. Jill had been the one to leap into a job she’d had no training for because it intrigued her. Jill had been the one to fall in love with a man she barely knew. Kelly had always been the solid one, not the flighty one. Oh, Jill was brilliant in PR, marketing and business, no question about it. But Jill took chances. Kelly did not.

And yet Kelly had found herself working for an abusive, lunatic chef, lusting after a man who was married rather than separated, and flying off to a small town to escape before having a nervous breakdown. Kelly, who had been the one to get Jill through every trial from starting her period to starting college, had ended up acting like a flake. Kelly wasn’t sure if Jill would pity her or have a really good laugh.

By her estimation, she’d arrive in Virgin River by around six. She decided it would be a good idea to stop off at that bar in town, Jack’s, and bolster herself with a glass of wine, or something, before heading out to Jillian’s house. She had barely slept the last two nights and hadn’t eaten all day. How could she with the surprising turns her life had taken?

Lief Holbrook entered Jack’s and took a seat up at the bar. It being October and hunting season, the place was full of men in khaki shirts with red vests and hats enjoying that end-of-the-day brew. They were all in groups; however, he was the only guy in the place flying solo.

Not for the first time, Lief thought about how he fit in better here than in L.A. and definitely better here than in Hollywood. Originally from a big farm in Idaho, he was more likely to dress in jeans, boots and chambray than pleated slacks and Italian shoes.

But then, he was a writer, not an actor. Most of his work was either done at home and sometimes behind the camera, never in front of it.

He was also an outdoorsman as he was raised to be—a hunter and fisherman. It was while doing those things, either hunting, fishing or working with his hands, that the stories would come to him. Lately Lief had been doing more fishing than writing, more introspection than outpouring. His stepdaughter, Courtney, required a lot of mental energy. She had just turned fourteen, a troubled teen who’d lost her mother a couple of years ago. In just over two years, she seemed to be spiraling downward. He’d had to get her out of L.A. and to a quieter place, a place where they could try that bonding thing again.

It wasn’t happening this evening, though.

“Beer?” Jack asked him.

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

“Where’s your date?” he asked, serving up his draft.

Lief chuckled, knowing that Jack would be referring to Courtney, the only date he’d had in more than two years. “We had a slight difference of opinion and needed our space.”

“That so?” He put the beer on a napkin. “Now what could a man in his forties possibly have in conflict with a skinny little fourteen-year-old girl?”

“Wardrobe choices. Television preferences. Internet sites. Homework. General appearance. Diet. And language, as in, the kind she uses on me when she’s mad. And she’s mad regularly.”

“You check out that counselor I told you about?” Jack asked.

“She has an appointment for next week, but tell you the truth, I feel sorry for the guy. I kind of hate to put him through it. She’s really got a mouth on her.”

“I know Jerry Powell. He’s tougher than he looks. I put my young friend Rick in counseling with him. Rick was twenty at the time, just back from Iraq one leg short, and my God, was he in a mean way. I didn’t have much hope he was going to come out of it, but eventually he did. He gives a lot of credit to Jerry.” Jack wiped the bar. “He gets a lot of angry, screwed-up kids. I guess he knows what to do.” Jack leaned close. “This mostly about her mom passing?”

Lief gave a nod. “That and being fourteen in a new school, which brings all its own issues.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with that. Rick was like a son to me and when he was that age he was the sweetest kid. Iraq had him pretty messed up for a while, but he’s in a good place now, fake leg and all. Married, taking care of his grandmother, finishing college. Wants to be an architect, how about that? “

“Fine choice,” Lief said. “I built movie sets in L.A. for years. Building suited me—I could think while I did something productive.”

“No kidding? Bet that was interesting. I bet you met a lot of—”

Jack was cut off by the sudden appearance of Kelly Matlock coming into the bar. In fact, the entire bar, which was filled with men, became slowly quiet. When a beautiful blonde entered a bar full of forest-worn hunters, that was bound to happen.

“Wow,” Lief said.

Kelly took off her jacket, hung it on the peg by the door and found her way to the only seat left at the bar. Next to Lief. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had risen while she sat.

“Well, now,” Jack said. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

“I didn’t expect it myself. How are you?”

“Excellent. Meet a new neighbor, Kelly. This is Lief Holbrook. Lief, meet Kelly Matlock, a chef from the Bay Area. She has a sister here.”

Kelly put out her hand to Lief. “Pleasure.”

“What can I get you, Kelly?”

“What are the chances you have a good, chilled vodka you could marry up with about four olives?”

“Ketel One work for you? “

“Perfect.”

It was only then that Kelly looked around. “I’ve been here a couple of times and haven’t ever seen it packed like this before,” she said to Lief.

“Hunting season,” he informed her. “I think you shook �em up for a minute. They weren’t expecting a beautiful woman to show up. So, visiting your sister?”

“Uh-huh. Did I understand Jack right—that you recently moved here?”

“That’s right. About a month ago.”

Jack returned and put a drink in front of Kelly. “Give that a try, Kelly. Tell me if it fills the bill.”

She lifted the glass, took a tiny sip, let her eyes close briefly. Then she smiled. “You’re brilliant,” she told Jack.

He chuckled and reached below the counter, putting a bowl of nuts next to a bowl of fish crackers. “I love it when you flirt with me, Kelly.” Then he was off down the bar to look after the mob.

“So,” Lief began. “A chef?”

She took another sip. “Well, there’s the problem. I’m still a chef, but I walked out on my restaurant with the head chef shouting at my back that I’d never work in San Francisco again. I thought I’d probably better stop here for a little courage before I break it to my sister that I’m unemployed and homeless.”

Lief’s eyebrows shot up. “I take it she’s not expecting your visit to be … ah … extended?”

“She’s not even expecting a visit. It was pretty rash, what I did. Have you ever been in a big restaurant kitchen?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s brutal. You have to be fearless. I’ve always been a good cook, but it took me years to measure up to the backbone it required to scream back or dodge flying objects hurled by the chef in charge. And apparently it wasn’t natural for me at all. I’m more of a cook than a street fighter.”

He leaned an elbow on the bar and gave her his undivided attention. “And you know this because …?”

“Because I thought I was holding my own until I landed in the emergency room due to stress.”

“You decided to resign?” he asked, stating the obvious.

She was very quiet; she sipped the Ketel One, then fished out an olive and munched on it.

“Nothing as tidy as that. I had a dear friend and mentor. I admit, we might’ve been getting too close, but he said he was separated from his wife, that a divorce was pending. Then the wife came to see me at work. Did I mention this mentor was a partner in the restaurant? Owns many restaurants? She told me her husband sent her to tell me to go away quietly. There was a scene in the kitchen—it took about five minutes for everyone to know what I’d been accused of.” She paused for another sip. “Still,” she added, “the worst of it was that when I called him to ask why the hell he’d send his wife to tell me to go away, he never responded.” She turned her large blue eyes to Lief. “I kind of hoped the wife had been full of it. You know?”

Lief put his hand over hers and gave it a brief squeeze. “On top of everything, your heart was broken.”

“I guess so,” she admitted. “I should have known better. Now—how do I tell my sister that my boyfriend wasn’t my boyfriend? That the career I’ve been killing myself for I was literally killing myself for? And that I quit without notice and will be her uninvited houseguest indefinitely? “

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You seem to have the story down. I’m sure she’ll be very sympathetic.”

“Probably. But also very surprised. Jillian is the flighty one. I’m the stable one.”

“You know what, kid? You walked out on a bad situation. That sounds both intelligent and stable. Now you just need a little time to get on your feet.”

“You know what they say about getting out of the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat …” she said, shaking her head dismally. “I’ve become the cliché. What are you doing here anyway? In Virgin River?”

“Me?” he asked. “Just looking for a quieter place. And I like to fish and hunt. Made to order.”

Suddenly Jack was in front of them. “How are you two doing? “

“You know what? I think we’re doing great!” Kelly said. “This was just what I needed—a stiff drink and a little conversation. Amazing how much it helps.”

“You good, then?” Jack asked.

“I’ll have one more in a couple of minutes. And bring my friend Lief a beer on me. He’s a good listener.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “Dinner?”

“Not for me, but I’ll have some more nuts, thanks.” When Jack had turned away, she faced Lief again. “Quieter than?”

“Los Angeles. My wife died a couple of years ago and my daughter is still having a hard time of it. She really needed a fresh start and a slower pace. Well, so did I.”

Kelly looked stricken. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. That really puts things into perspective for me. Here I am whining about my nonboyfriend and a mean chef …”

He laughed at her. “You weren’t whining—sounds like a movie set. Lots of temper tantrums, scandal and dysfunction on the set.”

“You’re an actor?”

“Nope. I built sets for years and now I do some writing,” he said. “I don’t have to spend much time on-set, but when I do it’s usually pretty nuts and I always think about how glad I am that I don’t do it all the time.”

Their new drinks arrived. “How’d you manage working in that environment, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Cotton in the ears is very useful. I just wouldn’t participate in the insanity. And hardly anyone forced the issue.”

“How do you not need a full-time job?”

“Oh, I have a full-time job,” he corrected. “I write screenplays. The producers and directors order them rewritten and hire their own writers. Those writers have to endure the set—I’m usually just a consultant. I work alone, at home.”

“I thought all scripts were written by teams of writers,” she said.

“Not all scripts. Original screenplays are often written by a single writer.”

“Wow. I wish I could figure out a way to be a �consulting chef’ rather than some lunatic’s whipping post. Tell me what it’s like to work alone. At home.”

He took a breath. “The best word I can come up with is comfortable. I’m kind of introverted. But I can entertain myself very easily. All the things I like can be done alone. I fish—fly-fishing. I like to build—there’s nothing to build right now but I’m chopping wood for the winter. I’ve been writing since junior high, but it took me many years to sell a script. I’ve never been good at those activities where everyone looks at you. I’d rather stay home. The best part of my life is fishing and being home.” Then he grinned. “Of course my daughter hates fish, but she’s fourteen—she hates air right now.”

“Yikes. How is that working?” Kelly said.

“She’s rebellious, snotty, antisocial, experimental and so irreverent.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Underneath all that she’s a teenage girl who misses her mom and is stuck with me. She’s a beautiful girl with a high IQ and a confidence problem. I’m trying, but we’re not getting better. Next week we’ll meet with a counselor who specializes in troubled teenagers. I hope to God it works!”

“But you’re drying!” she said.

Drying? Lief frowned. He looked at her glass—second drink, half gone. It was a strong drink, but still. She shouldn’t be slurring. He wondered if it was his imagination.

“Are you slurring?” Couldn’t hurt to be sure.

“�Course not,” she said. But her eyelids started to drift lower. Then they snapped back open.

“How are you planning to get to your sister’s place?” he asked.

“I frove. Drove. I have everything I own in the car �cept my couch and recliner.”

“Kelly,” he said, leaning closer to her, speaking softly. “You know that stress you were talking about? You wouldn’t be taking medication for that, would you?”

“Hm. Just a little something for the prood blessure and xiety. I’m not taking those sleeping pills, no way. If I fall asleep, I dream about the whole thing!”

“I guess that’s good news,” he said, gently moving her second extra-dry martini out of her reach.

“Hey!”

“I bet it said something on those pill bottles about alcohol not being a good idea while taking that medication,” he said. “You’re a little loopy.”

She straightened indignantly. “I leg your bardon.”

He smiled before he laughed outright. “Drunk,” he clarified.

“I certainly am snot.”

He laughed again. Then he lifted his hand to beckon Jack. And as he did that, Kelly put her head down on the bar. Gonzo.

When Jack came back, he wore a perplexed look.

“It turns out Kelly’s been taking medication and probably shouldn’t have had a couple of power drinks,” Lief said. “She’s going to need a ride to her sister’s.”

Jack looked around. “Crap! The place is full!”

“I’ll be glad to give her a lift, Jack. I should get home anyway to see if Courtney has burned the place to the ground yet. You might want to call her sister and let her know she’s … ah … coming for a visit.” He laughed again. “And that she’s wasted.”

“What’s she taking?”

Lief shrugged. “Something for �prood blessure’ and �xiety.’“ Then he grinned. “I guess the girl’s not used to taking much prescription stuff—never crossed her mind. Just tell her sister.”

“What about her car?” Jack asked.

Lief shrugged. “Better parked here than on the road with her behind the wheel.”

“Right,” Jack said. Then Jack tapped her on the head. “Kelly?” he asked. “Kelly?”

“Hmm?”

“Um, Lief is going to drive you home. Okay?”

She lifted her head briefly. “Lief who?” Then she put her head down again.

“All right,” Jack said. “Here’s how to get there.” He grabbed a notepad near the register and scribbled out directions. “I’ll call Jillian and tell her you’re coming.”

Lief retrieved Kelly’s jacket. He sat her up, and she roused briefly as he helped her put her arms in. “I’m going to give you a lift to Jillian’s house, Kelly,” he said. “I think you just got too … tired.”

“Hmm. Thanks,” she replied.

He grabbed her purse and put the strap over his arm, making her giggle. Meeting Jack’s eyes, he said, “Put it on my tab. I’ll see you soon.”

“Drive carefully.”

With a strong arm around her waist, he stood her up and walked her out of the bar, but outside on the porch, her legs became noodles and he lifted her into his arms to take her down the steps.

“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever carried me,” she slurred. “Except maybe a paramedic—maybe he did.” She patted his chest. “You’re fun. I’m glad we met. What’s your name again?”

“Lief,” he said. “Lief Holbrook.”

“Very nice,” she said, laying her head on his chest.

He stood her up long enough to open the door to his truck. “I wish you’d try to help me get you into this truck, Kelly. It’s high. If you pull, I’ll push.”

“Shertainly,” she said, grabbing the inside.

Lief positioned her right foot on the running board,pushed her butt upward and landed her in the seat. She made a loud ooommmph when she was inside. “Good,” he said. “I shouldn’t have any trouble getting you out.”

Her head lolled against the seat all the way to Jillian’s, and she blubbered in a drunken, semiconscious state—she loved Luca. They took her away in an ambulance, yet not one person came to check on her! She was too embarrassed by how foolish she’d been to call her sister and confess everything that had happened to her.

Oh, man, he thought. A woman with almost as much baggage as me.

Courtney thought that sometimes Lief just didn’t get it.

She had all her beauty gear, for lack of a better word, spread out in her bathroom—mousse for the hair, eyeliner, lipstick. She was giving her short fingernails a once-over with the black polish.

Lief. She used to call him Dad. In fact, when he had married her mother and she was only eight, she had asked him if that would be all right—could she call him Dad? He’d said he would love that.

Of course that meant she had two of them, but since they were never in the same room at the same time, it wasn’t a great challenge. And she saw even less of her real dad after Lief and her mom married. She thought her real dad, Stu Lord, was relieved, and she knew the stepwitch was. Stu had been the first to remarry after her parents divorced; she’d been two. She had her visits with him and her stepmom, Sherry, whom she never offered to call Mom. Her dad and stepmom had a couple of kids together, boys. Aaron was born when Courtney was four, Conner when she was seven. Her visits with them became fewer and fewer.

Courtney didn’t mind that, her diminishing relationship with Stu. Stu and Sherry fought frequently, something that didn’t happen with her mom and Lief. And the little boys were wild brats who screamed, threw things, pulled her hair and messed with her stuff. She was happy with her mom and Lief. Her mom and dad.

Then, right at the end of the school year of her sixth grade, her mom died. Just died! Something they didn’t know she had exploded in her head when she was at work, and she went down, dead, never to come back. It hurt so bad, Courtney wanted to die with her.

Then there was a blur of shifting movements that she could barely remember, except that it always involved her suitcase, which seemed to stay packed. She went to live with Stu, where she didn’t even have her own bedroom. She stayed in the guest room unless Sherry’s mother visited and then she was shuttled to the toy room or family-room sofa. She visited Lief on at least a couple of weekends a month. Then, after six months of that, she went back to living with Lief and visiting Stu. Then after she cut and dyed her hair several colors, painted her fingernails black and wore black lipstick, Stu told Lief he could have her full-time, that she didn’t have to visit anymore. He actually said it way worse than that, and she’d been relieved. She’d heard her stepmother call her “that weird little monster.”

But Lief got furious that her father not only didn’t want her full-time but didn’t even want visits, so she got it—no one wanted her. Oh, Lief said he did, but he didn’t. If he did, he would have been happy with her father for giving her back, but he was not happy. There was a huge fight; her two dads were yelling and got real close to hitting and she wished they’d just beat each other to death.

She didn’t hear from her father again after that blowout. That had been months ago. The whole back-and-forth thing ending with Lief had started in seventh grade. And that was when she started calling him Lief.

She blew on her nails and checked them. They were dry. She applied the lipstick and gloss.

She had stopped growing then. She used to be a chubby little girl, and now she was a skinny short girl with a couple of bumps on her chest that were supposed to pass as boobs. Her Goth, biker-chick look meant no one would expect her to be all giggly.

She started looking up suicide clubs on the internet until Lief had caught her and taken her to a counselor who told her she was angry. Duh. She had to sit with that lame counselor every week, and on top of that, they did some stupid grief counseling with all grown-ups. She almost got back to liking Lief after he said he thought the counselor was lame, too, and that a grief group for adults was no place for her and refused to take her. She liked him for that.

They might still be in L.A. where she was born and had lived right up to ninth grade, if she hadn’t gotten in some trouble, and she might not have gotten in trouble if her friends hadn’t all disappeared on her. First it was because they couldn’t stand her feeling sorry for herself, then she wasn’t like them anymore with her black clothes and weird hair. So she found herself a few new friends who did things like get into their parents’ medicine chests, score a little pot sometimes, lift money from their moms’ purses and dads’ wallets—for the pot, of course—and, about the only thing she found any fun at all, snuck out after the folks were asleep. They didn’t really do anything; they hung out where they wouldn’t get hassled, smoked some cigarettes sometimes. Bitched about the rules. Courtney wasn’t into the pills and pot; she just experimented a little. She felt weird and bad enough; she didn’t like not knowing how she was going to feel. She pretended, mostly. She had to. She couldn’t stand the thought of being all alone again. If the good kids dumped her and the bad kids dumped her, who was left?

So Lief said, “This isn’t working, this city. You find too much trouble and I’m sick of the noise and traffic. We’re getting out of here. I’m going to find us something sane. I’d like if we could get back to at least being friends, like we used to be. And you could use a chance to start over. Maybe on the right side of the law?”

Now, Courtney had not wanted to move. Period. Even though she’d lost her old friends and didn’t like her new ones. There was something about boxing up her life and putting it on a truck, moving away from where she’d been with her mom that just freaked her out, even though she knew her mom wasn’t coming back.

She liked the idea of getting back to being friends with Lief, though she didn’t believe he meant that. She figured he meant getting back to her looking more like she used to. But the big problem was, this wasn’t going to work—rather than getting back to one hair color, she was thinking about many piercings and a few tattoos…. How long before he just gave up? How long before he just turned her in, told the cops she wasn’t his daughter anyway, go ahead and take her, find a place for her? Because she figured he was only doing this out of some promise he’d made to her mom. And she also figured that he’d get over it and have the locks changed or something. Every time he looked at her, he winced. He hated the multicolored hair, the jagged cut, the black clothes, and for some reason she couldn’t really understand herself, they couldn’t pass ten words without getting into it.

She looked in the mirror—her hair was wild and crazy, her eyes dark and scary. Perfect as far as she was concerned.

So. They’d had another argument. This one was about homework. She told him it was done; he said, “Let me see it.” She said, “No.” He said, “You’re getting a D in both math and English and you have a high IQ—I have to see the homework.” She told him he’d have to trust her and he’d laughed, said she’d have to earn that. She said she’d tear it up before she’d turn it over. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Finally, struggling with his temper, he decided to drive around for a while, maybe go to one of the coast towns and walk around, cool off, and when he got back in a couple of hours, she’d better be ready to share the homework.

Ha! Fat chance, she thought.

When he said a couple of hours, he meant three or four. She knew his drill—he’d give her plenty of time to actually do her homework and himself plenty of time to feel like he could tolerate her again. He left at five-thirty. She was good till nine.

She hadn’t made any real friends, but a couple of guys who looked a lot like her had picked up on her willingness to take a few chances, if only to have some company. Once Lief was gone, she picked up the phone and called B.A., which was short for either Bruce Arnold or Bad Ass. He was a junior who should be a senior, seventeen.

“Hey, my dad went out,” she said. She called him Lief to his face but around school he was “her dad,” just because she didn’t want to explain anything. “Wanna come over for a couple of hours?”

“What for?”

“Hang out?”

“I could …”

“Could you bring beer? Because he doesn’t keep any here.”

“I could bring a few. My old man would never miss it. How do I get there?”

She gave him some directions and it took him about twenty minutes. When he got to the house, he looked around at the rich interior, whistled and said, “Hot damn!”




Three


While Lief drove Kelly to the big Victorian in which her sister lived, Kelly was semi-passed out. But she mumbled and muttered the whole way.

He had certainly understood everything she said right up until she put her head down on the bar. Sounded like she’d had a fling with a guy she thought was available but who turned out to be very married. Oh, such an ordinary tale. Men told that story all the time. Why men stayed married to women they wanted to cheat on, Lief had no idea. Up until he’d met Lana, he’d never been in a serious relationship; he always had a woman around, was playing the field, having a little fun, but hadn’t been engaged or married. When he met her he had instantly known two things—she was the one, and he’d never want another one. In fact, here he was, widowed a little over two years, and he hadn’t been tempted even once. Of course, he had Courtney. Hard to think about anything but getting through another day.

But this lovely Kelly had gotten his attention the second she’d walked into the bar. He’d felt a little zing just looking at her. She was pretty, very fresh and lush. And nothing like Lana, which came as a relief. He wasn’t sure he could ever feel the slightest response to any woman after losing Lana. Lana had been small, dark-haired with dark eyes. Kelly was blonde, blue-eyed, had a round, full figure, and his first thought had been what it would feel like to get his hands on her, to hold her body up against his. That soft, rich, luxurious body. She didn’t have one of those Hollywood bodies—too thin with fake perky boobs. She had a real woman’s body—something to hold on to. And that mouth—full pink lips. The second he’d seen her lips, he had licked his.

Then he’d recovered his sanity and had just listened to her for a while. Sounded as if she’d gotten screwed, literally and figuratively.

The front light was on and there were two people standing on the porch waiting, no doubt in response to Jack’s call. That would be Colin and Jillian, the sister and her boyfriend. He got out of the truck, and Jillian was right there. Lief recognized her once he saw her. In fact, that’s when he realized he’d seen both the sisters at Jack’s last summer when he’d been checking on the progress of his house purchase.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“Well, I think this probably took your sister by complete surprise,” he said. “She mentioned she’d been to the doctor for something or other, and when her speech started to slur before she finished her second drink, I asked her if she’d been given some prescription medication and she said she had. So—I don’t think she realized …”

“Doctor?” Jillian asked. “Medication? She’s sick?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Lief said. “Listen, I don’t want to say too much right now. For all I know it was the drink talking, I could’ve gotten the details all wrong or something. Let her tell you why she’s up here unannounced, okay?”

“Colin?” Jillian said.

But Colin was already opening the passenger door, unbuckling Kelly and lifting her out. Lief felt a momentary pang; he’d like to be the one holding her.

“I’ll carry her up to the bedroom, Jilly,” Colin said. “You grab her purse and anything else that goes with her.”

“There’s just the purse,” Lief said, reaching into the truck for it. “Her car is locked up at the bar.”

“Should I call the doctor?” Jillian asked him.

Lief shrugged. “She’s breathing fine. She was talking all the way out here. Maybe you could look through her purse, see if there are pills or anything that, mixed with a couple of martinis, might knock her for a loop. You could call a pharmacy and ask about the effects if you find anything. I didn’t think to do that …”

“Martinis?” Jill asked. “Really? Martinis?”

“Oh, yeah, she was very specific. A good, quality, chilled vodka married to four big green olives.”

“Wow. She doesn’t do that often.”

“She said you weren’t expecting her and she had a lot to explain.”

“I’d really like to know.”

“I’m sure you will know—first thing in the morning.”

“Can I, ah, offer you a cup of coffee or anything?”

“Thanks, that’s nice of you. I need to get home. I’ll come by sometime tomorrow … just to see if she’s doing all right. And if you’re doing all right. Her car is full of her stuff.” He grinned. “Kind of looked like she’s planning to stay awhile.”

“That’s okay,” Jill said. “That’s good. But—”

“I imagine her keys are in her purse.”

“Thanks. Gee, I wish there was some way I could repay the favor …”

“No big deal. Jack would’ve brought her home, I’m sure. But the bar was full of customers, so I offered.” He looked around from where he stood beside his truck. He whistled. “Looks like an interesting place.”

She smiled at him. “It’s shaping into a real commercial organic farm. When we get things under control, I’ll have you out for a tour. You can grab the last of our crop—harvest is wrapping up. We’re concentrating on melons and berries now.”

“No kidding?” he asked with a smile. “How come I didn’t know about this place?”

“I’ve only been here since last spring. I’ve been farming a small plot through summer, just to see what I can grow. Now we’re getting more farming space prepared for spring. Maybe I’ll show you around when you come back tomorrow.” Pausing for a minute as if in thought, she said, “I hope Kelly is okay …”

“Go see for yourself. Call Doc Michaels if you’re worried. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“Thanks again,” she said, and while he got back in the truck, she hightailed it up the porch stairs and into the house.

Lief glanced at the dashboard clock as he turned to watch the road as he backed out. Eight o’clock. It seemed much later. He hoped he’d given Courtney enough time to calm down and get her homework done.

He worried whether he’d made the right decision, bringing her here, a place that made a one-horse town look like a metropolis. A strange little Goth kid like Courtney didn’t look as out of place in a big city.

Rural Idaho had been the other option for them, where his parents still owned the family farm, though they were retired. He had two brothers and a sister there, all older than he was, married with families, all living not too far from the farm. But truthfully, he’d been afraid to do that. Courtney was so crazy sometimes, he didn’t want to expose his family, his nieces and nephews, to her antics. Okay, to be honest, he didn’t want them to see how dismally he was failing her.

His sister had said, “Lief, don’t put yourself through this! Pack her up, take her to her father, let him figure it out.”

He couldn’t do that. Poor Court. He’d seen the pain in her eyes each time she wandered from the home she’d had with her mother to the unwelcome space she had with her father. God, it ripped him up all over again each time.

When he pulled up the long drive to his house he saw that all the lights were on, a beat-up old Jeep sat in front of the house, and before he even turned off the truck engine he could hear the throbbing of acid rock.

Part of him hoped, almost against hope, he’d find Courtney sitting at the kitchen table with a rosy-cheeked, normal-looking teenage girl, the two of them doing homework together despite the fact that the music was deafening.

He entered the kitchen from the garage. There was a bottle on the breakfast bar that separated the great room from the kitchen—Corona, half full. He looked into the great room and saw a tall teenage boy in ratty jeans loading DVDs from Lief’s entertainment center into his backpack. No Courtney. The kid was stuffing the disks into the backpack so frantically it almost looked like a smash-and-grab, but instinctively Lief knew better.

He walked into the large room, picked up the remote from a sofa table and killed the music. The kid jumped up, his lanky hair swinging back from his face. Right at that exact moment, Courtney appeared in the entrance from the hall leading to the bedrooms and bathrooms, holding her own Corona.

“Lief!” she said.

The boy bolted, headed for the front door.

“B.A.! Bruce!” she yelled after him.

Lief merely stood there, observing the panic, the flight, the beer, the backpack that was abandoned. The front door opening and slamming closed was the only sound. When it was completely quiet, Courtney was the first to speak.

“Well, I suppose I’m grounded again.”

“What’s the point, Court? I don’t think you’ve been off restriction for a day in the past year.” He walked to the backpack and crouched, opening it. “You can give this back to your friend tomorrow at school. If he even attends school.” He reached inside and began to pull out the movie DVDs, stacking them on the floor. “Without the movies, of course.”

“I didn’t know he was doing that,” she said. “I just went to the bathroom.”

“How well do you know him?” Lief asked. Christ, the kid had managed to get about thirty discs in his backpack.

“I just know him from school, that’s all. We were just going to listen to music.”

“And drink beer.” He left the backpack and stood to face her.

“I bet you drank beer when you were a kid,” she said with a lift of her chin.

“At fourteen? Not hardly.” He’d had farm chores; he’d played football, even though he’d been small for his age then and had gotten the stuffing beaten out of him. “Jesus, Courtney. How far are you going to push me?”

“I said I didn’t know he was doing that!”

“Maybe you should think about getting some more trustworthy friends,” he suggested.

“Don’t you get it?” she said, stepping toward him. “Nobody likes me!”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he took another couple of steps toward her. He reached out and took the beer. “Will they like you better if you let them steal from us?”

“I didn’t,” she said, and there was a slight hiccup in her voice. “I just went to the bathroom.”

“How much has your friend had to drink?” Lief asked.

“Why?”

“Because he’s driving. Because he took off out of here like a bat out of hell and while I’d really like to tan his hide, I don’t want him to get hurt.”

She shrugged. “He just got here a little while ago. He brought two beers, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he said. He went to the kitchen and poured out both beers. He went back to the great room. “I’m going to my room to read for a while before bed. I’m going to set the house alarm. I’m really not up to chasing you down in the middle of the night, Courtney. I’ll see you in the morning. Luckily, you shouldn’t have a hangover.”

To his back she said, “I’m not going to sneak out.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Good,” he said. Then he went to his room.

Sometimes Lief didn’t know if he was more pissed or hurt by Courtney. He gave her everything he had. Why couldn’t she throw him a bone now and then? Just some small gesture like please or thank-you or even homework. It didn’t have to be good homework, even though he knew she was extremely intelligent. Just finished.

How long could she nurture the pain on the inside that made her so vile on the outside?

The house fell quiet again. Lief reclined on his lonely king-size bed, book in his lap. The vision of Courtney, all of fourteen but looking more like twelve, sneering at him over her beer kept obscuring the pages. He was going to have to get with that counselor, see if there was help for them. He was not optimistic—if he couldn’t find good therapy in Los Angeles, what were the chances he’d find it here?

In the morning, the first thing he did was head down the hall toward Courtney’s bedroom to be sure she was there. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go all the way to her room; he heard the shower in her bathroom. As he passed through the great room, he noticed the DVDs were put away. Put away or maybe stuffed back into the backpack for the little felon in question. He turned off the house alarm, made the coffee, headed for his own shower. She should be ready for school on time today; it didn’t take her long to mess up her multicolored hair.

When he got back to the kitchen, her homework and a note were on the table.

I made a copy of my homework for you to look at, but I’m taking the bus today so I left. Will you pick me up after school? Please.

Bone.

* * *

The very first rays of sunlight streaming into the window stirred Kelly from sleep. She sat up in bed and took stock of her surroundings—Jillian’s guest room. And there beside her in the bed, sleeping facedown, Jillian.

“Hey,” Kelly said, giving her a jostle.

Jill turned her head and peered at her through tangled hair. “Ugh. You’re up.”

“Last thing I remember, I was chatting it up with some cute guy at the bar. Over a killer martini.”

Jill pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It didn’t kill you. But it tried to kill me.”

“Huh?”

Struggling to a sitting position, Jill faced Kelly. “Do you realize what you did? “

Kelly let her eyes briefly close. “Gave myself a very large headache?”

“I went through your purse. You were taking both blood pressure medicine and antidepressants or something like that. Both bottles say alcohol could intensify the effects.”

“I can see that now.”

“I had to count the pills left to make sure you hadn’t OD’d. But I sat up and watched over you until you started to snore at about three in the morning. And boy, can you snore! I don’t think I’ve slept for ten whole minutes.”

“Oh, man,” Kelly said, rubbing her temples. “Who knew?”

“You know, if you’d had a little glass of wine, you might’ve gotten kind of tipsy. But a martini? Overkill.”

“I needed a shot of courage before dropping in on you and spoiling your hot new romance with Colin. And about those pills—I started the blood pressure stuff as directed, but the antianxiety pills were as needed. But I was feeling pretty anxious on the way up here, so I popped one. And I was still feeling pretty anxious a few hours later, so I had another one for good measure.”

“You’ll be happy to know you weren’t at all anxious by the time you got here.”

“Whew. Kind of scary to think I’d drive like that!”

“You didn’t. Your car is at the bar. The cute guy you were talking to brought you out here. Colin had to carry you to bed.”

“Oh, please tell me you’re making that up!”

“Not making it up. Now, what has you so anxious?”

“A lot has been going on for the last week. Can we have coffee? And aspirin? And I’ll tell you all about it. I might’ve really screwed up my life.”

Lief made phone contact with the counselor Jack had recommended and had an appointment for himself, after which he could go to Valley High School and pick up Courtney. On the way to Grace Valley, he decided to swing by Jillian’s big house to check on Kelly. He didn’t have to look far; he found her sitting by herself on the back porch, her feet drawn up and a throw wrapped around her shoulders.

He was grinning as he got out of his truck and approached her. “Well, you look none the worse for wear.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “I guess it was too much to hope I’d never see you again.”

“Aw, I’m crushed,” he said. “I thought we bonded.”

“That’s one of the reasons I was hoping …”

“I’m glad you came through it. I wanted to check on you. You look fine.”

“Well, the bad news is, I don’t remember your name. The good news is, I do remember mine. That means I haven’t killed off too many brain cells.”

He chuckled and took the first step up the porch to lean against the post. “They grow back,” he said. “Takes a while, though. You could be dumb as shit for a couple of weeks.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I can live up to that.”

“How do you feel?”

“Dumb as shit,” she said. “See, I had this prescription for stuff that was supposed to make me less �anxious.’ I didn’t think it was working fast enough, so I took a second. Then I took a martini….”

“Almost two martinis, actually.”

“And you are?”

“Lief Holbrook. And you’re Kelly. And I gather you have no experience with drugs like that.”

“I have been addicted to food and love,” she said dismally.

“Ah, yes, the mentor-slash-lover,” he remembered.

“Really, did I tell you all that?”

“Enough so that I can honestly say I don’t need any more details. Sounds like you got screwed by a guy who told you he was available when he wasn’t. Legally, anyway, per the wife.”

“Oh, my God, I did tell you everything!”

In a flash of deep sympathy, Lief said, “That must have hurt you so much, Kelly. I’m really sorry.”

He saw the liquid begin to gather in her large blue eyes. He found it interesting that one so fair could have such thick, long, black lashes. “Yes. Well. Stupid me,” she said. “You’d almost have to believe I killed those brain cells months ago.”

“It’ll pass. Really.”

She wiped impatiently at her eyes. “I know. So. Do you have experience with these drugs?” she asked boldly.

“I took antidepressants for a short time and had a similar experience. Had a couple of beers one night and slept like a dead person. I woke up terrified that the house could have burned down without me knowing. A little depression was probably safer.”

She remembered suddenly. “That’s right, you lost your wife.”

“A little over two years ago. And yes, I took something for a while, not knowing how much it was really affecting me because I felt pretty much the same—devastated and pathetic. I haven’t taken anything since.”

“You recovered?”

“From being devastated and pathetic? God, I hope so. From depression? Probably. From missing her? Not yet. But I’m told that comes with time and gets easier.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Thank you. You said that last night.”

“Must have come before my magnificent exit. Listen, can I offer you some tea?”

“Thanks, but I have an appointment to get to. But I’d really like to have a look at this place—the house, the grounds. Your sister said she’d give me a tour, treat me to the last of her crop …”

Kelly finally stood, pulling the wrap around her. “Jilly Farms, as she calls it. Organic fruits and vegetables. She’s out there now, working. Colin is upstairs in the sunroom, painting. He’s an artist, among other things. The house was renovated before she bought it—it’s enormous and very interesting. If you’d like to come back when you don’t have an appointment, she’d love to take you around the gardens and house and I …” She cleared her throat. “When my headache goes away, I’d be happy to cook for you. It’s what I do—cook.”

“That would be nice,” he said, smiling. “I’ll give you a few days, then call.”

“And I’ll tell Jill that I made us a date.”

As Lief was backing out of the drive, Kelly watched and ran a hand through her mussed hair. Must my life continue to be one big practical joke? If some hot guy was going to stop by to see if she was all right, why couldn’t she have at least pulled a comb through her wild hair? Or put on clothes?

Apparently she wasn’t too emotionally upset to notice his kind of thick, floppy, Robert Redford hair, square jaw and amused brown eyes that crinkled a little bit at the corners. He was one of those blond guys who tanned well. She’d noticed that, too. She especially liked his forearms. His long-sleeved denim shirt had been rolled up a bit, and the golden hair on his muscled forearms had glistened in the sunshine.

There was something else about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it. He was dressed like all the other Virgin River guys, but he had a way of making a pair of jeans and boots look classy. Maybe it was the way he spoke—well-educated and precise. He even sounded like a professor when he swore.

She smiled. Widowed, huh? she thought. Could be he was almost ready to get on with life. She shook her head and chuckled to herself. Maybe if they ran into each other a third time she could humiliate herself in some new way, just in case he needed convincing that she was a total flake.

But he was pretty hot.

The counselor’s simple Grace Valley house that Lief pulled up to didn’t exactly encourage him; he’d visited far flashier digs for therapists without getting a whole lot of help. Then there was the counselor himself—a very, very tall, skinny … no, make that boney, scarecrow with shaggy, almost white-blond hair and large ears. And the biggest feet Lief had ever seen. He hoped to God Courtney didn’t just flat out make fun of him. Right to his face.

“Mr. Holbrook, hello,” the man said cheerily, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m Jerry Powell. How are you today?”

“Fine,” he said, shaking the hand. “I mean, not fine. I’ve never figured out what you should say to a counselor on your first visit. That you’re fine or that you need help desperately?”

Jerry laughed. “Come on into the office, Mr. Holbrook, and tell me how I can help.”

When they were seated—Jerry behind the desk and Lief facing it—Lief just launched in. “Well, my wife died a couple of years ago and my stepdaughter’s not handling it well. Her biological father and stepmother didn’t embrace her, didn’t pull her into their family, and she’s depressed and—”

Jerry held up his hand, indicating he should stop. “Okay, hold on a sec, I apologize, I should have led this discussion. I realize you’re here on behalf of your stepdaughter and that the two of you have issues. Let me just tell you a couple of things before we get deeper into the issues.

“First of all, part of my function in this county is that I’m retained by the school district for court-ordered counseling of young adults. What that means is, I usually only know what they’ve done to warrant that penalty without getting many details about their personal lives, about what might’ve motivated them acting out. Sometimes I know there’s been abuse in the family, death or divorce, that sort of thing, but there’s no one to tell me how they’re feeling but them. And I have to let the adolescent try to explain what pushed them into the behavior that caused all the trouble. It’s amazing how well it seems to be working. So—to that end—give me the basic facts, address incidents or behaviors if you think it’s pertinent. And then tell me about you. About your feelings, not hers. You and I will talk. Then Courtney will give me her feelings.”

“I bet she won’t,” he said.

“I’m relentless,” he said, and then smiled. “Besides, adolescents really can’t identify too many feelings. They’re not being stubborn. It’s an acquired skill. They’re working on growing up. It’s one of those things they have to develop.”

“Okay, then. My wife died,” he said, starting over. “A little over two years ago. At first my stepdaughter … I think of her as a daughter. Courtney seemed to grieve painfully for a while, which was quickly followed by weird, antisocial behavior. She’s kind of Goth now with the kind of friends that lie and steal and lure her out after hours. I just caught her last night with an older guy in the house stealing my DVDs while she was in the bathroom. They were drinking beer. She’s fourteen but looks nine.”

“Nine?”

“Not nine, maybe, but so small. She’s so little to act so old. One of the first things you’re going to notice about Courtney is that she’s extremely bright. High IQ. She was always in accelerated programs at school, but now she’s close to failing. She’s intellectually advanced and emotionally …” Lief lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Immature? I don’t know … Wounded?”

“How does this make you feel, Mr. Holbrook?”

“Call me Lief, please. It makes me feel like an idiot. A failure. Like I’m going to lose her to some disaster like drugs or grand theft auto or suicide.”

“Do you think suicide is an issue? I’ll take that information from you gladly—I should know.”

“It’s hard to say,” he answered with a shrug. “I found some websites that she’d looked at that deal with suicide and I almost lost it—I asked her if she was thinking about suicide. She said, �Everyone thinks about it, but I’m not going to do it.’ How do you know if something like that’s curiosity or an imminent danger?”

“We watch,” he said. “I’ll be certain to direct our dialogue to give me more information.”

“The girl barely eats. I don’t think she’s anorexic—she eats enough, I think. But she’s gotten so thin and she’s never hungry. I’m a farm boy—that bothers me more than you can imagine. Some people think I know inside stuff about her age group, about troubled teens, because I wrote a couple of screenplays about young people in crisis, but I wasn’t writing about them—I was writing about me! And my crisis was a long, long time ago and had to do with a dead horse, not a dead mother.”

Jerry sat up straighter. “What movies?” he asked.

“Deerstalker. Moonwalker. A couple of other things …”

“My God, you’re that Lief Holbrook…. You won an Oscar and an Emmy.” He almost burst with excitement. “Yes, I can see how there’d be preconceived notions. Those were brilliant scripts. I have both of those movies.”

Lief looked down briefly. “Thank you,” he said.

Jerry leaned toward him. “And tell me, Lief. Your wife died and your stepdaughter is giving you fits. Besides frustration with her behavior and appearance, how are you getting along? How do you feel?”

Lief let his eyes bore right into that silly-looking counselor’s pale blue eyes. “Lonely. Sometimes pretty miserable. Like a complete failure where Courtney is concerned. And terrified of never getting her back.”

“I understand completely. Let’s set up your appointments now, then we’ll have another forty minutes or so to chat before you have to go.”

“Our appointments?”

“I’ll do what I can for Courtney, of course. It’s really my specialty even if it’s not yours. But brother—you could use a friend who understands right now, too. If it’s not too bold, I think you should give me a try. I actually studied this stuff.”

“You any good?” Lief asked.

“I am,” he said, smiling almost shyly.




Four


Courtney didn’t see Bad Ass Hopper until almost last period at school. She’d carried his backpack around all day long, anticipating the moment. She was prepared to lug it around for the next day or week or month if he didn’t show up at school.

By the look on his face when she cornered him at his locker, he actually thought about running. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Here’s your backpack. My dad took out the DVDs you were going to rip off from us. Never come around me or my house again.” She turned to go, then turned back. “You should be called S.A. instead of B.A. For Stupid Ass.” She looked him over contemptuously. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re lucky I could talk him out of calling the cops. Infant.”

She was halfway down the hall before he found his voice, his nervous voice. “Yeah? Well, better than a devil-worshiping elf!”

It only made her smile; he certainly lacked imagination.

Her last class of the day was psychology, of all things. She thought the teacher looked at her funny, like she was someone who could certainly use a little psych. It happened Courtney found the class interesting, but she never let on.

She took her seat at the rear left, as far away from others as possible. This time Amber Hawkins chose the seat next to her. Damn those classroom tables that sat two.

“Hi Courtney,” she said almost shyly.

“Hi.”

“I heard you give it to B.A.”

“Lucky you.”

Amber giggled. “You’re a real booger, aren’t you?”

“Booger?!”

Amber giggled again.

Courtney knew that Amber wasn’t one of the real popular girls, but she fit in here far better than Courtney did. She was a farm girl or something. She wasn’t a cheerleader or on a dance squad, dressed plain and kind of out of style, didn’t wear makeup, didn’t seem to lunge after the boys as the popular girls did.

“We’re in algebra together,” Amber informed her.

“We are?” Courtney knew they were, but she decided to play it as though she’d never noticed.

“I was wondering—do you get it? I mean, get it? Algebra? Because I’m lost. Worse than lost. I think I’m dead.”

Courtney sighed. “Really, it’s not that hard.”

“Are you getting good grades?” she asked.

“Well … No. But not because I don’t get it. I admit, I haven’t been keeping up with assignments. And if you tell my dad that, I’m going to suck all the blood out of your neck!”

Stupid Amber just giggled. “Well, okay, then, I’ll have to not tell him. So, do you think you could maybe help me sometime?”

“How am I gonna do that?”

“Um, you could ride the bus home with me. My dad would drive you home after we study.”

Courtney turned in her chair to look at Amber. “Listen, Amber, you live on a farm or something, right?”

Amber looked a little startled. “Are you allergic to animals? Because I could go to your house. Or we could stay here and use the library and my dad could pick me up and drive you home. He’d do that for me to have a fighting chance in math.”

“Why’s it so important to him?”

She shrugged. “We have a family business, the farm and vineyard. And construction and other things. I have older brothers, all wizz-guys. An engineer, an accountant, an MBA.”

“That must be one helluva farm.”

“It’s just a farm,” Amber said.

“Look, chick, I’d scare your parents to death—”

Amber giggled yet again.

“Stop that!” Courtney demanded harshly.

Amber stopped. In fact, she got a little pale. “Sorry,” she said softly.

“I meant stop laughing, I was being serious. I don’t think I’d fit in around your place. You know?”

She put her hand over her mouth this time to restrain herself. “It’s okay, Courtney. It’s just all that Hollywood stuff. They wouldn’t take it seriously. But whew, they’re sure taking my D in math seriously! I gotta do something!”

“Did you ask the teacher?”

Amber nodded gravely. “He doesn’t explain it any better in private than he does in class.”

Then Courtney laughed.

“Ladies?” the psych teacher asked. “Is there something you’d like the rest of the class to know?”

Courtney stood to her full four-foot-eleven height. “Yes, Mr. Culmer. You’re going to need to hire a consultant to help with the, ah, tie selection. I think Mrs. Culmer is slipping—she really blew it on that one.”

The class fell apart with laughter. They were hysterical; Mr. Culmer was getting redder by the minute. When the class finally quieted and Courtney was again in her seat, the teacher said, “And this coming from a fourteen-year-old with pink-and-purple hair. Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure,” she said, grinning largely.

Courtney had been on plenty of farms; Lief’s parents lived on a farm, the farm he grew up on, even if it wasn’t a working farm anymore. He also had uncles and cousins with farms—in Idaho it was mostly potatoes. She hadn’t thought too much about missing visits to those farms until she was bouncing along on a yellow bus with Amber to go home with her to do homework. She was excited. She didn’t let it show, of course.

She thought it was kind of funny that when they used to visit the Holbrook farms in Idaho, Courtney had never worried about whether she could fit in, but in Virgin River she stood out like a sore thumb. When her mom was alive, she didn’t have pink-and-purple hair, black fingernails and odd, black retro clothing, either.

Courtney and Amber had planned to do homework together when they got to Amber’s house, then Courtney would stay for dinner and they might either do some more homework or play video games or whatever until Lief came to pick up Courtney and take her home. Amber’s dad had offered to drive her home, but Lief had insisted. He wanted to meet Amber’s parents, probably to make sure they weren’t satanists or serial killers.

So—Amber’s parents were much older than Courtney had expected. They were grandparents. She should have anticipated this since Amber’s older, married brothers were all college graduates who worked in the “family business.” And for older people, they were very weird—they didn’t even flinch when they took in her appearance.

First was Amber’s mother, who greeted them in a warm, good-smelling kitchen. She was wearing loose jeans tucked into her rubber boots, and her gray hair was kind of all over the place. “How do you do?” Amber’s mother said. “I’m Sinette Hawkins. It’s so nice of you to help Amber with math. I guess Hawk and me, we’re just too far past all that new math. And her brothers are busy helping their own kids.”

“I don’t mind,” Courtney said.

“Now are you sure your father doesn’t want to join us for dinner?” Sinette asked. “Because there’s always more than we can eat. I do that on purpose—someone is bound to stop by and Hawk likes a hot lunch in the middle of the day, so I keep plenty of leftovers.”

Ah, that would explain Amber leaning toward the chubby side, Courtney thought. “No. He said he has something to do.”

And right then a kid in a wheelchair zoomed into the kitchen. Amber introduced him as her nephew, Rory. He was only eight, wore thick glasses, and maneuvered that chair around like it was a Corvette. “I’m ready for my spelling words,” Rory announced. “Amber, you wanna do my spelling words? “

“I can’t, Rory. I have to do my homework with Courtney. She came all the way out here to help me with my math.”

“How long does it take to do spelling words?” Courtney asked.

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Amber answered with a shrug. “He’ll get �em all right.”

“Then let’s do �em,” Courtney said, barely recognizing herself. But he’s in a wheelchair, she thought. And even that doesn’t give you slack from homework?

During homework, Courtney found out that Rory had muscular dystrophy. When she asked if he’d get out of that wheelchair pretty soon, Amber said, “There’s no cure. Yet.” Courtney was afraid to ask any more questions. After homework, they went out to the barn where they kept one cow and two horses. There were also chickens and a couple of goats and a few dogs, one of whom seemed to move a little slow. “She’s pretty much ready to whelp,” Amber said. “The family’s got a bet going—want to get in on it? Her last litter she dropped seven pups.”

Courtney bet nine.

Hawk, Amber’s dad, was a skinny old farmer. They caught up with him while he was hosing off his tractor out by the family’s big vegetable garden. It was hard to tell if his name was the shortened version of his last name or due to his hawkish nose. He was a little hunched but strong, like maybe he’d been working real hard for a lot of years. Yet when he met Courtney, he turned out to be a little silly.

“I been looking forward to this,” he said, putting out his calloused hand to her. “Been dyin’ to see the hairdo!”

“Dad!” Amber scolded, clearly mortified.

“What? I been dyin’ to. Must take commitment, eh?”

Courtney laughed. “Sort of.”

“Courtney,” Amber said pleadingly. “He swore he wouldn’t make fun.”

“I didn’t make fun,” her father protested. “I can’t help wondering what it feels like. Can I touch it? “

“It’s just hair,” Courtney said, leaning her head toward him.

“So it is. I just have to ask—what did your dad have to say when he first laid eyes on it?”

“It totally freaked him out,” she said almost proudly.

And Hawk smiled knowingly. “Knew there had to be a good reason.”

When Lief saw that window of opportunity—Courtney making a homework date with a girlfriend from school—he was ready to get back to that Victorian on the premise of a tour and some free garden stock. It had only been a couple of days, but Courtney didn’t provide many such opportunities. He realized he’d never thought ahead enough to ask Kelly for a phone number.

The tour and veggies were an excuse, though he did find the property curious and interesting. But really, it was the brokenhearted blonde with the delicious mouth who drew him. And bless her little soul, Lief was almost glad she was overcoming lost love. That would buy him some time. Although he just couldn’t stop thinking about her, he had so many complications in his life to sort out. First of all, it wasn’t likely Courtney’s behavior was going to improve if Lief introduced a new woman into their already tenuous relationship. And any woman getting involved with them would probably be horrified by Courtney’s sass if not her style. Add to that, it had been years since he’d been attracted to a woman other than his wife and didn’t even know where to start. He used to be good with women; it never took much effort to hook up. He really hoped it was like riding a bike…

Yeah, it would probably involve years of therapy for himself and Courtney before he would even get up the courage to chance a kiss.

But when he thought of Kelly, he thought of someone whose beauty and warmth enveloped him, someone he longed to hold, to sink into, to possess. There was a softness and allure to her that made him feel as though he had no will of his own. The second she’d walked into Jack’s he’d felt it, and to his surprise, he’d kept feeling it long after she was out of sight.

But it surpassed sweet comfort—he also thought of sex. Urgent sex. She was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long time. He had a feeling he could be completely reborn in her arms.

He drove out to the house, parked in the front and rang the bell. She came to the door looking as if she’d just had a wrestling match with the Pillsbury Doughboy—tendrils of her hair escaping a scarf that tied it back, something floury on her cheek, her apron stained pink here and there. She was drying her hands on a towel. “Lief!” she said. “You’re about the last person I expected to see!”

He nodded. “That’s because I said I would call. But—I got away without a number. If you’ll give me one, I’ll leave now, drive to the bar in town, call you and drive right back. So it doesn’t look like I’m imposing on—” He sniffed. “What is that wonderful smell?”

She smiled at him and he realized at once that it was really too easy to bewitch a chef—just smell her cooking and she was as good as captured.

“I’ve been baking. The rhubarb crop is in and apparently I’m the only person in a hundred square miles who can make a good rhubarb pie. And then there’s rhubarb jam.” She shrugged. “It was going to go bad if I didn’t.”

He almost swooned from the aromas. “Thank God you came to town,” he said.

“Come in,” she invited with a laugh. “I’m just cleaning up the kitchen. I’ll see if Jill has time to take you for a tour of the house and grounds. Then, if you’re very good, I’ll give you a slice of pie.”

“Are you sure? Because I really meant to call in advance and ask you to pick a time …”

“I’m picking a time,” she said, pulling on his hand. “Come in. I’m still busy in the kitchen and kind of desperate for my shower, but maybe Jill is free. Let’s see.”

He followed her into the house and noted there was no furniture until he got to the kitchen. There, as promised, was a mess. But resting on the kitchen table in the large breakfast nook were ten pies. And there were now other smells. His head tilted back and his nose began to work the room.

She noticed. “I’m roasting a leg of lamb for dinner. Can you stay?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’m imposing …”

“On a chef?” She laughed. “I’m more likely to be insulted if you decline.”

He grinned at her. Maybe that old saying about the fastest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach was true, because suddenly he wanted her even more. Wanted! He really thought he was far past that kind of fierce yearning. He had found himself amazed even to be intrigued. This desire was just awesome, and he relished it. “I’ll stay. My daughter is doing homework with a friend and having dinner there tonight.”

“That’s right,” she said. “There’s a daughter. I apologize. I’d forgotten. I’ll have both of you next time.”

He just laughed; they’d have to revisit that idea. “Courtney is actually my stepdaughter, though she uses my last name. It’s complicated. I’ll explain later. But what are you going to do with all those pies?”

“I don’t know. I could use a bigger freezer, but only the most essential equipment is in the house at the moment. I guess I’ll spread �em around. A few for Preacher, that’s for sure—he told me he’s been trying to make a decent rhubarb pie for years. I can’t believe how much stuff Jill has that’s running out of time—tomorrow I have to get a good start on blackberries. She’s had friends and neighbors out here picking for a good month and there’s still such a big crop left, someone has to do something with it. Blackberry preserves, jam, pie filling…. I came up here to surf the Net for a job, and I’m working my tail off. Let me go out to the garden and ask her if she has time to scoot you around in her garden mobile …”

“Garden mobile?”

“It’s how she gets between her gardens. Have a seat—I’ll be a minute.”

As Kelly hurried out the back door, Lief didn’t go far. He pulled out one of the stools at the work island and just looked around. For some reason, all the messy pots and bowls around the large kitchen made him feel at peace. Ever since growing up on a farm with a lot of siblings and hands, a busy, messy kitchen full of good smells always made him feel safe and protected. And the sight of ten pies cooling on the table was familiar as well—his mother always baked en masse, sharing with family, friends, neighbors, anyone.

Kelly was back quickly. “Jill has just been kicking around the pumpkins, squash and melons. She’s right outside. While you have your tour, I’m going to clean up my mess.”

He stood. “If you wait, I’ll help. I had good training. I’m a good kitchen cleaner.”

“Maybe you’ll get your chance another time. Go on—she’s waiting for you.”

Even though Lief was more interested in the chef than the landscape, he really got into his tour. Jill drove him around acres of land that was partially prepared for organic farming. A winter crop had been started; she was drying seeds from her own fruits and vegetables for the next season’s crop, and she’d started building retaining walls to use like steppes to level the slope of the hill to maximize her planting space in the spring.

The fall harvest of pumpkins, melons and squash was amazing—pumpkins that could indeed make Cinderella’s carriage.

“I’m saving the really big ones from Kelly so the town kids have a crack at them. She has a pumpkin soup she can’t wait to get to and so I’m pushing the smaller ones at her. And these huge zucchini and winter squash—it’s more experimental than anything. Come on, let’s go see what Colin’s painting. This morning he was working on a herd of elephants. He’s just back from shooting the Serengeti—lots of beautiful big game.”

The sunroom on the second floor of the house stretched the length of the building across the roof of the back porch. That was where Colin liked to paint because the light was good. The paintings—ranging from wilderness art to big African game—were astonishing. Also in that sunroom were a sectional, entertainment center and large flat-screen TV—their living room, or a reasonable facsimile.

Lief was fascinated by the creativity in this house. Jillian stretched her imagination in the garden, Colin painted incredible animals from all over the globe, and Kelly was cooking. Today it was pies, but tomorrow it could be dishes that might only be found in a five-star restaurant in San Francisco.

“Come on, Lief,” Colin said. “Let’s get a beer and sit on the back porch. Jilly has to shower off the garden and Kelly is working on making me the shape of Santa Claus. We’re on our own.”

“I feel like I should help somehow,” Lief said. “I dropped by unexpectedly and now I’m even going to be fed and entertained. Maybe I could hose off the gardening equipment or wash the pots.”

Colin just laughed at him. “What I’ve learned is—these girls are going to do exactly what suits them and the best thing for you to do is stay out of the way.” When they got to the kitchen, Colin opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. “We have �near beer’ and high-test. What’s your pleasure?”

“The real deal, by all means,” Lief said. “How did you stumble into this nirvana? “

Sitting on the back porch in perfect October weather, Lief heard about how Colin came to Virgin River after being retired from the army, a place to recover after a helicopter crash while Jillian had escaped a corporate job in Silicon Valley. They found each other by accident, but in a town of roughly six hundred, they were bound to meet. It was the falling-in-love part that was extraordinary. “I’m not a young guy,” Colin said. “I don’t think Jilly would be offended to hear me say I’ve met a few women—quite a few. I lived a transient, military life and wasn’t ever tempted to settle down. But Jilly? She makes me want to grow my roots deep.”

“Sounds serious,” Lief observed.

“Oh, I’m serious about Jilly. But we’re winging it for right now—just one day at a time. What about you? How did you end up in a place like this?”

He retold the story—wife died, daughter having a hard time of it, needing a smaller, friendlier town than L.A., trying to get past the rough patch of losing a wife and mother, fresh start. The question about what he’d done in L.A. didn’t come until later, when they were all sitting down to dinner together. “I’m a writer,” he said.

“As in newspaper?” Kelly asked.

Right then he suspected he was completely safe from any kind of notoriety. “No, as in script writer.”

“Seriously?” Jillian asked. “Like TV or something?”

“Something like that. Movies, actually,” he said.

“How interesting,” Kelly said. “I haven’t seen a movie in years. Well, I sometimes see them after the Academy Awards, when they finally make the cable networks. I’ve been held hostage in kitchens since I was eighteen.”

“And I was taken prisoner by a software manufacturer,” Jill said.

“I’ve been either in Afghanistan or the hospital. You don’t write war movies, do you? I only go for war movies.”

Lief smiled. “Nah. Mostly just family stuff. Kind of �coming of age’ stuff.” He was completely safe. Even if they’d heard of the films, they would never have heard of him, which was absolutely perfect. “This is the best lamb I’ve ever tasted. And these potatoes—fantastic. I grew up on a potato farm in Idaho and I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I was missing one or two things, but I think it all worked out.”

“Look out, Lief,” Colin warned. “She’s a little hard on the waistband.”

“You could take it easy,” she suggested. “You don’t have to stuff yourself.”

“Then stop making everything so good!” Colin argued.

Although Kelly was prepared to clean up her kitchen and Lief offered to help, they were pushed away by Jill and Colin. They took cups of hot coffee out to the back porch and enjoyed a cold fall evening. The sky was clear and peppered with a million stars; there was no wind, but the temperature had dropped significantly.

For a long time they sat in silence, enjoying the clean air, clear sky and hot mugs in their hands. Finally it was Lief who said, “This is a wonderful, artistic house—the growing, painting, creating in the kitchen …”

“And beautiful,” Kelly confirmed.

“Will you stay awhile?”

She shrugged before she said, “Jill and Colin are kind of new together. They’ve only been a couple since summer. I don’t want to cramp their style, if you get my drift.”

“You think they need privacy,” he said.

“All new couples need privacy.”

“I don’t know about Jill, but Colin seems to enjoy having you in the kitchen.”

“Don’t get me wrong, no one is making me feel like I should move on. But I’m thirty-three—and I don’t want to live with my sister for the rest of my life. I need a little time to get over—” She stopped to think. Get over La Touche? San Francisco? Luca? Her disastrous treadmill? “I think a brief vacation is in order. Then I’d better get on with things.”

“Well … I hope it isn’t too brief,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to get to know you better.”

She chuckled. “That almost sounded like a flirt. From a Disney kind of guy …?”

He turned in his chair to look at her. “Is that how I seem?”

“Isn’t it what you said? Movies for families? Disney comes to mind …”

He smiled just slightly. “And you?” he asked. “Betty Crocker?”

“Ack! Please!” she said. But then she laughed. “All right, all right. I shouldn’t make rash judgments. I’ll be here for at least a couple of weeks, and that’s if finding my next position is very easy.”

“After eating your dinner tonight, not to mention the pie, I’m sure you’re going to find the next gig pretty quick.” He took a sip of his coffee, then glanced at his watch. “I should go. I have to pick up Courtney before she wears out her welcome. It’s her first visit to her friend’s house.”

“You act like you can’t trust her at all,” Kelly observed.

“I can’t. Like I said, she’s had a real struggle since her mom died.” He stood. “But we’ll get through this, one way or another. A normal girlfriend from an average family could go a long way to helping that effort.”

Kelly stood also. “Is this her first normal friend?”

“Her name is Amber. I talked to her folks to be sure the after-school and dinner invitation was cool with them. They’re farmers with three grown and married sons and grandchildren. I got the impression Amber is the caboose—an afterthought, maybe. Courtney describes her as kind of dorky but nice. A couple of nights ago I left her alone for two hours and went home to find her with a seventeen-year-old guy who brought beer and was liberating the DVDs from my entertainment center while Courtney was in the bathroom.” He smiled just slightly. “Dorky Amber sounds like a dream come true.”

“Lord above!”

“Yeah, one thing after another,” he lamented. “But imagine losing your mother at only eleven years old.”

“I lost my parents pretty young,” Kelly said. “I understand that it can be hard. But I have to admit, I know almost nothing about kids. Especially teenagers.”

“Have you thought about having a family?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Not really. I always thought the subject might come up if I ever met the right guy.”

“You thought you had,” he reminded her.

“Uh-huh—and he was fifty years old with five grown children. The thought that I wouldn’t have children never even bothered me. Being a mother was never a driving urge.” Then she smiled. “I wanted a restaurant.”

He smiled back. “They probably don’t talk back as much.”

“Oh, you don’t know restaurants!”

“It was really nice of you to invite me to stay, even though I dropped in without notice. I enjoyed myself. And the food.” He rolled his eyes skyward. “I like to cook, but I’d be embarrassed in front of you.”

“We’ll get you over that. Take a pie to dorky Amber’s house as a thank-you. Maybe we can get Courtney invited back, free you up for an encore meal.”

“I’ll take you up on that. I admit, I need all the help I can get.”

Lief and Kelly passed through the kitchen. When they gathered up a pie for Amber’s parents, Lief scored one for himself, as well. He said good-night to Jill and Colin, and they each carried a pie out the front door. Lief opened the passenger door and put the pies on the floor of the truck, suggesting that as the safest place. Then he closed the door to face her. She put out her hand to say good-night.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/robin-karr/harvest-moon/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.



Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке

Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения