Harvest Moon (3 page)

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

A
ll 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!”