Harvest Moon. Робин КаррЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author
ROBYN
CARR
“This book is an utter delight.”
—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Road
“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters
are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here…
You won’t want to put this one down.”
—RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak
“This story has everything: a courageous,
outspoken heroine; a to-die-for hero;
and a plot that will touch readers’ hearts
on several different levels. Truly excellent.”
—RT Book Reviews on Forbidden Falls
“An intensely satisfying read.
By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional,
it won’t soon be forgotten.”
—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley
“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”
—Library Journal on the Virgin River series
“The Virgin River books are so compelling—
I connected instantly with the characters
and just wanted more and more and more.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
Also available from ROBYN CARR and MIRA Books:
The Virgin River Series WILD MAN CREEK PROMISE CANYON MOONLIGHT ROAD ANGEL’S PEAK FORBIDDEN FALLS PARADISE VALLEY TEMPTATION RIDGE SECOND CHANCE PASS A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS WHISPERING ROCK SHELTER MOUNTAIN VIRGIN RIVER
The Grace Valley Series DEEP IN THE VALLEY JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN DOWN BY THE RIVER
Novels A SUMMER IN SONOMA NEVER TOO LATE RUNAWAY MISTRESS BLUE SKIES THE WEDDING PARTY THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET
Watch for BRING ME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS, the October 2011 Virgin River Christmas book from Robyn Carr
ROBYN
CARR
HARVEST MOON
For Nancy Berland, a writer’s best friend and ally. Thank you
for all you do!
Acknowledgments
Special thanks goes to Laura Osika, the Be in Virgin River Contest winner! Thanks for dropping in to visit us in Virgin River! As a part of the supporting cast, you were a fantastic addition to the story!
To my readers, your thousands of supportive letters and your amazing word-of-mouth recommendations have made this little town come alive, and I am eternally grateful for your encouragement and kindness.
For this story, as for almost every story I write, special thanks to Michelle Mazzanti for early reading and research assistance. I just couldn’t get to the end of a book without your input and help.
Once again, Chief Kris Kitna, thanks for answering questions about hunting, fishing, local law and other details about the area.
I am indebted to Kate Bandy and Sharon Lampert. Without your continual loyalty and support I would be lost.
My heartfelt gratitude to Ing Cruz for creating and managing Jack’s Bar online, where hundreds of Virgin River readers exchange book news. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RobynCarr_Chatgroup/)
Thanks to Rebecca Keene for early readings of this and many manuscripts; your feedback is incredibly valuable.
Colleen Gleason and Kate Douglas, two women whose friendship is constant and filled with humor, affection and always stimulating writer talk, I am so grateful to have found you both.
Thanks to everyone at the Nancy Berland Public Relations Agency for the support and for always watching my back. Jeanne Devon of NBPR, thanks for the hours of creative work, for reading and critiquing. And special thanks to Cissy Hartley and the entire staff at www.writerspace.com for your wonderful work.
And as always, thank you to Liza Dawson of Liza Dawson Associates and to Valerie Gray, editorial director of Mira Books, two of the toughest readers in publishing. Thank you both for being relentless, tireless, devoted perfectionists. Every push makes each book a little better and I owe you. This is always a team effort, and I couldn’t have a better team!
And my undying gratitude goes to the extraordinary opportunity given to me by the entire Harlequin team. Nobody does it better!
One
“I need to see you,” Phillip said. “My office.”
Kelly Matlock, sous chef, threw him an incredulous look. She was literally holding apart a big Italian and a big Swede; the Italian line cook had a spatula and the Swedish one was wielding a metal spoon as they fought over stove-top territory. The request that she go to the restaurant manager’s office right now was so absurd, she almost laughed. “Really too busy here, Phillip,” she said. “Not only are we having a brawl in the kitchen, but it’s seven o’clock. Prime dinner rush. Check with me at ten.”
“It’s urgent,” he said. “Otherwise, believe me, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Where’s Durant?” Kelly asked, speaking of the chef de cuisine, the head chef.
“Making his rounds in the front of the house, gloating. Let these two morons kill each other—we’re short on meat anyway.”
That suggestion did far more to separate the line cooks than Kelly had. “I’ll be right there,” she said to Phillip. He liked to be addressed as Philippe, although Kelly had learned he didn’t actually have a French cell in his body. His accent was entirely for show. She went to her locker, removed her apron and exchanged her soiled white jacket for a clean, crisp one and left her senior line cook in charge.
It never crossed her mind that it might be a real emergency; Phillip loved his melodramatic displays. His second favorite thing was making passes at the female staff and his third, screaming matches with Durant.
One day, when Kelly finally became chef de cuisine, there would be no Phillip; she would never tolerate a manager with such annoying, socially unacceptable behaviors.
She gave a couple of taps on Phillip’s office door and then pushed it open. Her heart almost stopped. Seated there, in a chair facing the restaurant manager’s desk, was Olivia Brazzi, wife of the world-famous master chef Luciano Brazzi. Although Kelly crossed her path regularly—at charity events and in this very restaurant—they didn’t know each other at all. Luca owned a controlling interest in this restaurant. Olivia was tight with Durant and her presence here was not unusual. But Olivia had always ignored Kelly, treating her as if she were a mere cook, not worthy of her time.
Olivia smiled at her with such warmth and kindness, Kelly wondered for an insane moment if she were dreaming and Olivia had come to turn Luca over to her.
While Mrs. Brazzi was stunning in her elegant black crepe dress, shiny textured stockings, three-inch heels and strategically placed diamonds, she did not look her fifty years, not by twenty. She looked like a girl. A sophisticated girl with ice-blue