Harvest Moon

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, eye-liner, 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!”