Harvest Moon (Virgin River #15)(36)

The woman smiled. She was about Kelly’s height, blonde and maybe early fifties. She had a lovely, welcoming smile and warm brown eyes. “Thanks. I’m proud of it.”

“It’s really fantastic.” Kelly lifted one of the jars. It had a nice little label, probably put together by the local print shop. Laura’s Pepper Jelly. She helped herself to another cracker. “How long have you been doing this?” Kelly asked.

“A couple of years. I just come out twice a week. And I put some jelly at the co-op.”

“Ah. Health-food co-op?”

“Right.”

“What’s in this?” Kelly asked.

“Green peppers, jalapeños, sugar, honey, apple cider vinegar—pretty simple, really. After I made my first batch, people started trying to buy it from me, so my husband made me some labels and told me I should sell it. Why not, huh?”

“Is it pretty complicated, selling processed food at the farmers’ market?”

“Well, there are permits required—Health Department inspection, that sort of thing. Everyone seems to be trying to get that done before the market opens in the spring, so there’s always a wait. This time of year it should be easy. Then the next problem is getting space.”

Kelly put out her hand. “I’m Kelly.”

“Laura,” she said, then laughed. She held up the jar. “Obviously I’m Laura. Laura Osika.”

“I was hoping to get some late organic tomatoes,” Kelly said.

“Well, the co-op will have lots of organic vegetables, some local and some shipped in. But there’s this stand out on Rt. 199 that’s open till about five o’clock. It’s run by a commercial farmer who’s growing year round—all organic. Some of the best stuff I’ve tasted. And I’m a vegetarian. And I’m a damn good cook.”

Kelly grinned at her. “Are you, now?” Then she dug around in her big shoulder bag and produced a business card. “I’m a chef and I like your jelly. Give me five. No, give me ten. And then give me a call sometime—I’d love to talk more about selling here or at the co-op. Seems like I have nothing to do but cook.”

“Are you kidding? You’re a chef? And you want ten of my jelly?”

Kelly chuckled. “I was formerly sous chef at a five-star restaurant in San Francisco called La Touche—look for it on Google it sometime. It’s famous. I quit—the stress was too much. I’m going to have to find a new job, but for now I’m visiting my sister in Virgin River and canning everything I can pick, buy or steal.” Kelly shrugged. “It’s what I do to relax.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Oops,” Kelly said, grabbing that business card back. “I forgot—I have a new cell phone.” She dug around for a pen and scribbled a new number on the back of the card, handing it to her. “Cell reception in the mountains is spotty, but you can leave a message and I’ll get back.”

Laura was in enough shock that she hadn’t bagged those ten jars of jelly. “Have you studied all over the place?”

“Culinary institutes in Paris, Italy, Spain, U.S.A. And worked with some amazing chefs. But it takes nerves of steel—very competitive and demanding. I’d give anything to have a small restaurant that I could run my way.”

“Why can’t you?” she asked.

Kelly laughed. “Well, only because I’m not rich.”

“Damn, Kelly, you shouldn’t let a little thing like that stop you!”

“Why aren’t you mass-producing Laura’s Pepper Jelly?” Kelly asked with a lift of her brow.

Laura leaned close. “Are you kidding? I don’t want to! This is a little gold mine! Best kept secret in the west—the flea markets, farmers markets and co-ops. I work three days a week for enough stock to sell for two days and I almost always sell out and my profit is a hundred percent.”

Kelly looked at the jar—priced at $2.50. “It cost you $1.25 to produce this?”

Laura nodded and said, “That includes the cost of the jar, transportation, permits, memberships, licenses and booth.”

Kelly nodded. “Bring it up to $2.99.” Then she winked. “Better still, $3.99. You’re giving it away!”

“That’s what my husband says. I’ll give you a call this week,” Laura said, bagging up ten jars and taking twenty-five in cash from Kelly. “I think we have information to trade.”

“You bet! Now I’m off to check out the co-op and that vegetable stand.” She put out her hand. “Nice meeting you!”

Lief drove Courtney to the Jensen Veterinary Clinic and Stable even though she said she wasn’t all that interested. “That’s fine,” he said as they drove. “I’d just like you to look around, meet a couple of the instructors and horses, see if it sparks any interest for you.”

“But why?” she moaned.

“Lots of reasons, Court. Your friend Amber has animals and you seem to like being around her house—if you’re going to do any riding with her, I’d prefer it if you had some lessons first. And—I talked to one of the instructors. She said nothing helps build confidence in a teenage girl like riding, like being able to control a large animal. She, Lilly Tahoma, said that’s why she’s teaching—when she was a young girl, it was probably the most important thing she did to help her learn responsibility, trust and commitment.”