Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,17
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