Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,34

whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Crap,” Jill said, disappointed. “Well, why are you sneaking around?”

“I’m not. He is. I thought he should just tell his daughter we’re dating and include her sometimes and he said I didn’t know what I was suggesting. He said Courtney can complain about a million dollars. But he also said she seems to be having some happier days—she has a friend that Lief feels pretty good about, a counselor she doesn’t seem to mind talking to and he’s trying to convince her to go to a local stable where she can get some riding lessons. She’s thinking about it. She might, if only to have more in common with her new friend, who has a couple of horses. I have no idea what all that means.”

“Do you know anything about teenagers?” Jill asked.

“I was one once.” Kelly said. “That’s it.”

What Kelly liked to do to relax, to think, was cook and bake. She had squash, blackberries and apples coming out her ears. There was also a healthy amount of late tomatoes, heirloom peppers and beans. It wasn’t really enough in the tomato department to keep her too busy, but she reminded herself that California was the tomato world and she could go to the farmers’ market. She got online and found out when it was held and made a note to herself.

She borrowed Jill’s truck and made a run to Eureka to buy some larger pots and cases of canning jars. One nice thing about these small, country towns—they carried those quaint, old-fashioned country canning jars that would be hard to find in San Francisco.

Over just one weekend she produced jars of applesauce, sliced apples for pie filling, more blackberry preserves and pie filling, freezer bags full of her grandmother’s Italian sauce and acorn squash bisque. And what she had was enough product to open a booth at the farmers’ market.

“I’m going to have to spread this around,” she told Jillian. “Seems like a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

Jill shook her head. “Didn’t cost anything but the jars. I was growing just to see what I could grow, giving most of it away. I only got my commercial licenses a couple of months ago. I have no idea what kind of licenses and permits you need to sell processed food.”

“I do. It’s a lot of inspections and paperwork. Some of the certificates I already had to have to work as a chef in this state, but your kitchen isn’t approved, although it can be.”

“Well, we can put up some shelves in the cellar…”

“You should really have Paul Haggerty get someone out here to put a wine cellar down there—it’s perfect. I’m trying to fill up the pantry. You’ll have plenty of stuff after I leave.”

“Spread your goods around town, Kelly. Take a bunch of it to Preacher. He’ll serve some and put some up in the bar. Take a couple of cases to Connie at the Corner Store—she’ll either sell it or hand it out. I mean, it’s safe, right?”

“I’m a chef!”

“And Nana didn’t kill us with her stuff,” Jill added. “Wow, look at this kitchen and pantry. How did you do all this?”

“Well—while Lief’s daughter is off school on weekends, he’s busy hovering over her so I couldn’t see him. I just kept going.” She smiled as she looked around at the many jars. “It was really fun. I can get into a one-woman kitchen.”

When Monday, a school day, rolled around, Lief wanted to spend time with her. But Kelly had things to do. She had boxed up many of her prepared canned and deli items, labeled them and put a calculated shelf life on them. The canned applesauce, apple pie filling, blackberries and Italian sauce were good for a year, but the tomato bisque and squash bisque contained butter and cream, which gave them a very short shelf life—five days if refrigerated.

Lief, still working his way into her good graces, was more than happy to load his truck, cover the boxes and drive her into town. “If you’re giving some to Preacher to sample and serve, I’ll be glad to buy you lunch and a beer. How does that sound?”

“Like you’re seducing me,” she said.

“No, I’m serving your needs, after which I hope to seduce you!”

“I have to admit, I like the way you think,” she said.

So they went first to the bar. It was before the lunch hour when Jack and Preacher would have a little time on their hands.

Kelly lined up her jars