Harvest Moon (Virgin River #15)(53)

“You must know what you like,” Kelly prompted.

“He’s pretty nice, sometimes. But he’s strict with me and he can’t be strict with you. But if you get married and have kids, you might not like how strict he is with them.”

That caused Kelly to stop kneading. “Um, a thought like that has never once crossed my mind.”

“About how strict he might be with your kids?” Courtney asked.

“About getting married and having them!”

“Oh. You’ll probably think of it pretty soon. My real dad did that—got married, had a couple of kids.”

“Seriously, Courtney—never crossed my mind. Not once.”

“Well, what did cross your mind?”

God, Kelly thought. Talk about baptism by fire. “Well, let’s see. I thought, what a nice guy that Lief Holbrook is. And handsome, too. And very talented— I watched one of his movies so far but it made me cry so much I haven’t watched another one.”

“Deerslayer,” she supplied. “My mom loved that movie.”

“Well, I was impressed, but I cried my eyes out.”

“What else?” Courtney asked. “About my dad? Do you like that he’s rich?”

“He’s rich?” Kelly asked.

“Well, duh.”

“I guess I never thought of that,” she said. “Well, I’ve been friends with rich guys before. I didn’t steal their money and run.” She grinned.

“Well, then, what else?”

“I don’t know. He can make me laugh—he’s funny. That’s a big plus. And I’m a chef and I think today he’s going to bring me a duck.”

“Gross,” she said.

“I won’t make you eat it,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. “I’ll fix you a hot dog.”

“I don’t even want to see it!”

“Well, I might have to cook it when you’re not staying for dinner then,” she said.

“Are you going to pluck it?”

“Of course I will. I know how to clean a duck, goose, hen, capon, squab, turkey, pheasant—”

“All right, I get it…”

“Quail,” she added. “Anything on webbed or three-toed feet, but I rarely had to. I had a fantastic butcher that specialized in fowl. Besides, hunters are usually responsible for prepping their game. I’m assuming your dad is going to pluck.”

And then Kelly concentrated on rolling out three long strips. She was aware that Courtney watched her. She tried to slow her hands down as she braided the strips, on the off chance Courtney wanted to copy her movements. Then she wiped her baking sheet with a thin coat of butter, brushed the top of her loaf with a little beaten egg and put it aside to do the next.

She glanced at Courtney’s project. A little uneven, but by all accounts, not bad. “Nice,” Kelly said. “Want me to bake it and send it home with you?”

Courtney looked up. “Do you get that I don’t want a mother?”

Well. Kelly couldn’t help it, she smiled. “Would you like a baseball bat to say that with?”

“Honestly,” Courtney said.

“I do get that. You will always and forever have only one mother, Courtney. And I’m very sorry for your loss. I lost my mother when I was young. I understand it’s not easy.”

“Did your father marry someone else then? And have kids?”

Oh, Kelly felt very bad about this. But there was no way around the truth. “My father died first. When I was six.”

“Oh.”

“There was an accident. We were all in it—me, Jillian, our parents. Jillian and I weren’t hurt. My father was killed and my mother was paralyzed and was in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. When I was sixteen, she passed away. We were raised by our great-grandmother, who was quite elderly when she took us in. And when I was twenty-five, my great-grandmother passed, but she was very, very old. She lived to her nineties.”

Courtney was quiet for a long, clumsy moment. “Yes, I’d like to bake the loaf and take it home.”

“Absolutely,” Kelly said. “You’re going to love it.”

Eleven

Two days after the baking and hunting, Courtney spent a little time with Jerry Powell. It was her regular weekly appointment. She found it so strange that when Lief told her she was looking great, she figured he was just screwing with her, that what he really meant was that she was looking normal. When Kelly and Jillian said it, they were just sucking up. When Gabe Tahoma said it, she felt like a cute little girl, not on par with someone he would want for a girlfriend. But for some reason when Jerry Powell told her she was looking good, it mattered. And she believed him.

“Well, you look older, that’s for sure,” he said.

“I’d like to look taller,” she said.

He chuckled and said, “I’d like to look just a little shorter. How’s life been treating you lately?”

She shrugged. “I’m not suicidal.”

“I love the way you throw me these freebies, Courtney. And I’m very happy about that. Does that mean you’re marginally happy?”

“Yes. Marginally.”

“Which are the happy parts this week?”