Harvest Moon

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.”