Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,40
sure nothing is seriously wrong. Maybe they had an argument or something.”
“I was hoping you’d do that.”
“Why? Are you worried?”
“Not so much that, but I was hoping you’d drive me back to the house in the garden mobile. I’ll stay on the porch until you investigate.”
Jillian was actually surprised that, by the time she was climbing to the third floor, there were still sounds of sniffles and whimpers. It made her a little scared; Kelly was not known for crying. Halfway up the staircase she stopped and knocked on the wall. “Kell?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Kelly responded, then she blew her nose.
“Can I come up?”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a loud sniff.
She found Kelly sitting on her sofa, box of tissues by her side, a bunch of wadded-up tissues on her little side table.
“Honey!” Jill said. “What in the world is the matter?”
“The movie,” she said, pointing a tissue-filled hand toward the TV screen. “The one Lief wrote and won an Oscar for! Oh, my God, it’s so sad!”
Jillian kind of slumped onto the couch beside her. “Lief won an Oscar?”
“Uh-huh. I just found out yesterday. I didn’t even have time to tell you about it—the kitchen was full of people last night, including Lief.” She gave her nose another blow. “It was really something. We took all my stuff to the bar to give to Preacher and who do you suppose we ran into but an old friend of Lief’s—Muriel St. Claire, the actress. She was in the movie and she lives here now! And she said she’s invited their other old friend to visit—Sam Shepard. Lief is famous.”
Jillian shrugged. “I’ve never heard of him…”
“Well, you’ve heard of Muriel and Sam, I trust!”
“Oh, yeah. But I barely know who famous actors are, much less writers. In fact, I can barely name two directors.”
“Me, either. Oh, Jill, this movie is just amazing! He’s brilliant.”
“And did they talk about movies and famous people the whole time?”
“Just a little. Mostly they talked about dogs, duck hunting, fly-fishing and what’s so perfect about Virgin River—basically that it’s woodsy and rugged. Would you have taken Muriel St. Claire for a hunter?” She shook her head. “Shew.”
“What’s the movie about?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. A sixteen-year-old boy runs away, gets caught up in the middle of an FBI and ATF raid, gets rescued by his family… It’s kind of like Old Yeller meets Witness.”
“There’s a dog and the Amish in it?”
“A horse. And no Amish either, but a bunch of good-hearted, hardworking country farmers with a lot of courage and faith and family commitment. You and Colin can watch it if you want—I begged a copy from Lief so I could see what he was talking about.”
“And do you see?”
A big tear rolled down her cheek. “I see we have absolutely nothing in common! He’s a brilliant writer who knows a bunch of brilliant movie stars and I barely read! I haven’t been to a movie in so long, I can’t remember the last one.”
“Didn’t seem like that was required,” Jill said.
“I could see why Luca was attracted to me and vice versa—it’s all that kitchen and food stuff. I can’t imagine what Lief would see in me—I don’t know anything about what he does.”
Jill smiled. “But you’ve figured out he does it very well.”
“So?”
“What do Colin and I have in common? I grow vegetables and he paints. But I love watching him paint. I’m so impressed by his art. And I catch him looking out the sunroom window all the time, or sitting on the back porch waiting for me to come in. I think you should tell Lief the truth—that you’re amazed and impressed and even a little intimidated.”
“He did say he likes to cook but wouldn’t be brave enough to cook for me…”
“There you go!”
Kelly gave her nose a final blow. “I have to go see Lief. Then I’m going to the farmers’ market. I’ll be home in time to throw something in front of you for dinner.”
Lief wasn’t expecting anyone, and certainly not Kelly. It had been exactly one day since he’d shown her where he lived. A phone call, maybe. But when he opened the front door, there she stood on his porch.
“You didn’t tell me it was so sad!” she said. She looked him up and down. He was barefoot and bare-chested, his hair damp, a towel looped around his neck. And oh! What a hunk! She should have expected that mat of blond hair, the broad shoulders. But