Harvest Moon (Virgin River #15)(34)

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 those muscles? Much more defined than she’d expected. “Uh-oh. Did I get you out of the shower?”

He pulled the door wider. “I was out. What are you doing here?”

“I watched your movie this morning. It was so sad, I had to talk to you! Every thing or person I really got attached to dies in that movie! And that was based on your own childhood…?”

“Well, very loosely,” he said.

“You killed off your father!?” she said with a sniff.

“Not actually my father, but the father in the script. Sam Shepard. Come in, Kelly.”

“I’m on my way to the farmers’ market, but I have to know about this.” She allowed herself to be pulled inside. What she wanted was for him to take off his pants so she could fill her eyes with the rest of him. But what she said was, “Do you want to find a shirt?” And then she fanned her face with her hand.

He grinned at her. “Sure,” he said. “Give me a second.”

She didn’t move from just inside the door. When he came back, she said, “What did your family think of that movie?”

“Well, my mother called it pap, except the part where the mother is played by Muriel St. Claire and the father by Sam Shepard. But she didn’t like being widowed so young. My dad, on the other hand, thought it was awesome. He said he hopes he goes out in a hail of bullets like Sam did rather than eighty-five years old and facedown in a potato patch.” Then he smiled.

“That movie almost killed me,” she said. “I sobbed for an hour!”

“You liked it,” he accused.

“I don’t know. It’s going to be a long damn time before I watch another one of your movies! I’m going to need a better briefing before I do.” She sighed. “I think I might have PTSD.”

He chuckled. “It was hard to write, too.”

“Did you cry while you wrote it?”

“I got a little choked up, but when I started feeling it, I thought I’d hit a home run. That’s what I was looking for. Will you please come inside?”

She just stood there. “Was it that hard to be you, when you were sixteen?”

“I think it’s hard for everyone to be sixteen.” He pulled her into his arms. “You know what? When I feel you against me, I get a little drunk.” His hands were running up and down her back, his chin balanced on top of her head. He inhaled the pure scent of her hair. “You feel so damn good. You smell like heaven.”