Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,58

a guy who didn’t take to kids, he certainly had a way with Courtney.

Tonight would mark their fourth dinner together—the five of them. Then it was suddenly reduced to a three some as Colin and Jillian announced last-minute plans to meet Colin’s brother and sister-in-law, Luke and Shelby, at a restaurant in Arcata for a nice dinner out. Apparently Colin’s mother, Maureen, had arrived early for the Thanksgiving holiday and was babysitting Luke’s son, little Brett.

“Will you manage?” Jill asked.

“Sooner or later we’re going to have to find out if she’s going to let her father have a girlfriend.” Kelly fanned her face. “My arms are aching from holding him off!”

Jill just giggled. “Good luck with that,” she said.

Kelly made a decision. She’d make it one of the best dinners ever. If she was flying solo, she was going to figure out how to win Courtney over. The menu was already geared to a teenage girl’s tastes—ravioli. Courtney was not impressed by her culinary achievements; in fact, there didn’t seem to be anything about Kelly that impressed her.

Kelly didn’t want much, nor did she expect much. They didn’t have to be best friends, she and Courtney. But before she could let herself fall in love with Lief, she had to at least be on level ground with the girl.

She lit the fire in the kitchen hearth, cut some colorful mums from the front walk and put them in a vase on the table, set a beautiful table with two plates on one side and one on the other. Her place was closest to the stove and work island for convenience in serving. She warmed freshly baked bread, tossed the salad and uncorked the Shiraz to let it breathe. Finally Lief came to the back door, smiling as he let himself in.

And he closed the door behind him.

“Where’s Courtney?” she asked, frowning.

“We’re on our own. She’s at the Hawkins farm, helping with the puppies. Apparently mamma dog had a litter a bit too large to keep them all plump and happy and a little hand-feeding help is needed.”

“Oh. Then I’ll be sure you take some of this ravioli home with you.”

“She’s spending the night,” Lief said. His eyes warmed, but his smile was devilish. “God bless the Hawkinses.”

“Whooo boy,” she said, a little breathless. “Well, sit down. I’ll serve!” She removed the second plate from his side. First, she poured the wine. Then put the salad on the table along with the basket of bread. Then out came the ravioli in an earthen casserole dish. “The left side is three-cheese, the right side is veal.”

He sat behind his plate. “And let me guess—you made your own pasta?”

“Of course,” she said, sitting across from him. Then she lifted her glass and toasted, “To the puppies.”

He raised his glass and met her eyes across the table. Then he put down the glass. He stood and moved his plate to her side of the table and sat down next to her. He turned in his chair so that he was facing her, then lifted his glass again. “To the most beautiful chef in the western hemisphere.” And he sipped.

Then he leaned toward her slowly and gently touched his lips to hers.

He lifted her plate and served her a small portion of ravioli. “We’ve had a little alone time, but do you realize we’ve never had a meal, just the two of us?”

“I guess that’s right,” she said.

He took care of his own serving of pasta. “Nothing about this relationship has been exactly routine,” he said. “I never gave single parents enough credit.”

“Your wife was a single parent when you met her,” Kelly reminded him.

“Yes, but a single parent with a babysitter!” He cut a ravioli in half with his fork, speared it and lifted it to his lips, blowing on it. Then he brought it to her lips. “Careful,” he said. “I’m sure it’s hot.”

She blew on the veal and pasta bite, conscious that he served her with his left hand while his right rested lightly on her thigh. When she took the morsel into her mouth, he bent his head to kiss her neck. “Mmm,” she hummed, and not strictly in appreciation of the food.

She returned the favor, blowing on a hot ravioli for him, smiling as he accepted it into his mouth from her fork. “Dinner is going to take forever…” she said softly.

“No, it’s not,” he said, spearing another bite-sized piece for her. “We probably won’t even put a dent in