Return to Virgin River (Virgin River #19)(39)

“But you didn’t get divorced,” she reminded him.

“First of all, I was busy, trying to make it in my little art world. I’ll never be world famous, but I do a good little business. Then my dad died suddenly. He hadn’t even had a chance to retire, the poor guy. That preoccupied me for a long time. Getting a divorce to make it official was the last thing on my mind.”

“But what are you going to do about the fact that she still loves you! It’s obvious.”

“Kaylee, I might be greedy, but that’s just not enough love to keep me going. A phone call every week or two, a little small talk, a visit two or three times a year? Once she came up here from LA to rest because she was exhausted from a really tough movie and she stayed in the guesthouse, your house, and got two weeks of rest. But she went back. She’s driven. There’s no room in her world for a husband.”

“Huh. Well, I’m very sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks, but I’m all right. So, your ex? Is he still around?”

“Sort of. We have a lot of mutual friends so I get the occasional updates. Some have been good. He got married and had a couple of kids real fast and it looked like he found the right woman, one who could make it work. Then he got fired and I heard they’d fallen on hard times. Then he got back to work and I heard they were getting on their feet. Then they divorced and I actually felt bad. I mean, they had kids.

“But back to your original question. My mom brought me up here after my divorce so I could whimper and cry and lick my wounds. We borrowed the Templetons’ house and stayed ten days. It took me a lot longer than ten days, but I love it here. My mom loved it here.”

“Were you ever tempted again? To get married?”

“Not once. In the past ten years I’ve dated a few very nice guys. One was my boyfriend for a year! But I was busy with work, lots of travel with my job, I had my mom and her friends and my friends and besides, I liked living alone. And after Dixon, all I’d have to do is remember his rowing machine under the bed and his dirty clothes on the floor and I was over it.” She smiled at Landry. “I’ve seen your house and your guesthouse. I might marry you. You’re very tidy. And considerate.”

“And married.”

“Ah, yes and no.”

And they laughed and laughed.

“I saw Dixon last year,” she said. “He’s bald and has put on about forty pounds. He looks sloppy and pale. That made me so happy.”





* * *



Landry was taken with Kaylee and he’d known that almost immediately. She caught a man’s eye, for one thing, but he was no longer twenty-four and it took a lot more than that to interest him. Despite her admitted vulnerability, still grieving her mother’s death, she was solid. Or maybe the fact that she knew she was vulnerable was a strength. He loved hearing her talk, explain things, describe things. She was articulate and intelligent. There didn’t seem to be a wishy-washy bone in her body even though she had a lot to work out. She was late turning in a book for which she’d been paid, for one thing. She was worried about it, but she was powering through. That took strength and determination. He knew only too well, as he often made contracts on art that was not yet created.

After they had dinner they were back on the porch. He asked her to tell him about the book.

“A couple of models are murdered and the suspicion is that there’s a killer stalking beautiful young women. There are many links between the deceased women, their boyfriends, family members, colleagues, etc. Then an attempt is made on a third model, also linked to the first two, and she not only escapes, she steps up to try to solve the murders before it happens to her. You know, eat or be eaten. Our killer gets by with a couple more signature murders, always putting her closer to danger. And of course she makes friends with a sexy detective who not only wants to protect her, he wants to help her figure it out. And there’s an elderly forensics expert also on the case.”

“Hm. Sounds interesting. Is it almost done?”

“It’s getting closer but it’s weeks from done. I’m writing another book at the same time, one that I don’t have a contract for, one that I’m more interested in writing. So I’m forcing myself to write six pages a day of the suspense, and then I find myself sitting up very late writing the one I enjoy writing. This is just coping; my ability to concentrate and think creatively took a giant hit when my mom died.”

“Tell me about the one you enjoy,” he said.

“It’s a fictionalized version of me, the character often growing in directions that make her stronger and more together than I really am. It’s not unusual to write about characters I admire or wish I was more like. It’s about a woman who runs off to the mountains to reclaim her confidence and strength after her husband dies. I decided it should be a husband, not a mother. But as I’m writing, I know the truth. And as I write, I figure things out.”

“Is that something you do to get closure?”

“No, it’s something I do to understand what I’m feeling. See, when I hear of a problem or have an issue that needs to be resolved, I often don’t really know how it should work out until I write about it. Sometimes I interview my characters, asking them key questions about themselves. Sometimes I’ll write about situations that confound me. I’ll start out writing about how it was and finish up writing about how it should be.”