Harvest Moon (Virgin River #15)(32)

“You have a gifted palate.”

“Sensitive palate. I know because I test it against the palates of other tasters. I listen. I experiment. What was once survival is now art.”

He smiled as though he knew.

“Oh, boy,” she said. “Tell me about Deerslayer. I think there’s some history there…maybe survival to art…”

“It might be me spinning gold out of straw,” he said. “Country kids rarely have it easy. I resented that until I was at least thirty—that nothing was ever given to me. Everything came so damn hard. I hated that the only way I could play football was if I used my older brothers’ gear—I was the third one to use the helmet, pads, even the nut-cup. Do you have any idea how beat-up that stuff was? My dad said, ‘Guess you’ll have to play real good then since your gear ain’t so fancy.’ I was kind of scrawny and asked for a weight set Christmas after Christmas, birthday after birthday. And one year my dad said, ‘Lief, got you a weight set—follow me.’ He had just gotten a hay and firewood delivery—he told me to stack it all in the barn. Before dinner.”

She laughed at him; she imagined he must be gifted because listening to him tell a story was wonderful!

“I wrote about those things in my classes at UCLA. I was working as a builder, writing at night, taking classes on film, writing and production. I wrote about putting down a dog when she had a run-in with a piece of farm equipment and lay whimpering…”

“Aw,” Kelly said. “Did you take her to the vet?”

He shook his head. “We didn’t have time or money for vets unless the family livelihood depended on that animal, and my dog was suffering. I had to do it. And then there was my horse—he’d been my horse since I was about eight and I was sixteen when he tore a tendon and went lame. My dad tried a lot of home remedies, even called the vet for that one, but we didn’t do expensive surgery on leisure animals. It was a major indulgence to have that gelding in the first place. But he did splurge and have the vet put him down. I ran away, I was so pissed. But once I got cold, lost and hungry, I headed home. My dad found me when I was about halfway home. He’d come looking for me. And my dad said something like, ‘Look, Lief, I’m sorry life is hard. I wish to God it wasn’t.’”

“Deerslayer?” she asked.

He reached for her hands. “It started as a short story, like the football gear, the dog, the weight set. I was taking a class from a writer who told me my writing was good but quaint. He asked me if I wanted to tell quaint, down-home Americana stories, because if I did, that was all right. Someone might even film it. Or I could ratchet it up, try to capture some experience and emotion that would take that kid’s experience to the next level. I experimented—I tried having him snatched by aliens… I liked that one,” he added, grinning. “Then I had him accidentally kill his brother… I think I was pissed off at one of my brothers at the time. Finally I came up with an idea that I thought might work—an innocent but dangerous involvement in a militant anti-government group that rescues the runaway, then flips him against his roots, then puts him in the middle and uses him against the Feds. And he has a family who wants him back—a family on no one’s side—not the isolationists’ or the Feds’. Just the kid’s.” He shrugged. “I guess it worked.”

Her mouth hung open. “How did you come up with this idea?” she asked.

He leaned toward her. “Local color and imagination. Kelly, where do you think Ruby Ridge is?”

“So what are you doing these days instead of writing?”

“Lately I’ve been watching someone cook,” he said with a smile. Then he grew more serious. “And I’ve been focused on Courtney… And thinking. Sometimes the hardest work I do doesn’t look like writing. You know, there were so many times I wished Courtney could experience some of the challenges I had but not quite as hard. I wouldn’t want her to have to put down a pet—that’s just awful. But maybe if she didn’t have the best of everything, maybe that would help her in ways I can’t help her. But I never wanted her to suffer like she has since she lost her mom.”

“I’d like to hear more about Courtney’s mom,” Kelly said.

But the phone rang and Lief stood to answer it. “Maybe later,” he said.

“Lief!” Courtney said in an almost desperate whisper. “I have to go home with Amber! I have to!”

“What’s wrong, Courtney?” he asked, frowning.

“Amber called home a while ago. The puppies came! They’re here! I have to go home with her! We’ll ride the bus!”

He chuckled. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Can you pick me up later? Like around nine?”

“Eight,” he said.

“Eight-thirty! I’ll do my homework! Please!”

“I’ll be there.”

He turned to look at Kelly. “It happens Courtney is going to be busy tonight.”

Lief might’ve been hoping for a close encounter with Kelly, but he wasn’t entirely disappointed with what he got. She was cooking for Jill, Colin, Shelby and Luke, so she was more than happy to include Lief. And luckily for Lief, Shelby and Luke had a baby in tow, making it their preference to keep earlier hours. By eight Lief was on his way to the Hawkins farm.