all.”
She flipped through the pictures with captions. “What is this?” she asked.
“Possible labels for your canned delicacies. I know—you didn’t ask me to do this and I got involved on my own. But Kelly, you could use something besides a Magic Marker. Seriously. And if you have a something in mind, just say so. I can have labels printed for you in no time.”
She glanced through the pictures, from baskets of vegetables to images of her face, logos, slogans—they were fantastic. There was one that really caught her eye. On the top it said “From Jilly Farms.” Right under that it said, “Spicy Peach & Tomato Chutney.” On the right side was a picture of Kelly, on the left a picture of Jillian. On the bottom—“All Natural, All Organic, All Delicious.”
“Where did you get the idea for this?” she asked.
“Well, Jilly trademarked Jilly Farms as well as the slogan, and the other night she said she wished she could just keep growing for your cooking—it’s so much more appealing to her than shipping her produce to restaurants and delis. It gave me this idea. You might be getting some of your fruits and vegetables from other stores and farms at the moment, but it occurred to me that this was possible…. I thought maybe Jilly could one day be your supplier. Have you been out to the greenhouses lately? Because she’s got a good winter crop going out there, thanks to irrigation, lights and warmers.”
She stared at the label, lifted her eyes to Colin’s, looked at the label again. “Colin, I love this,” she said in an almost reverent whisper. Then, looking at him again, she said, “You would never get rid of me this way.”
He grinned. “Pretty soon you’ll have to accept the fact that no one wants to get rid of you. And I’m not exactly suffering, having you here. Besides, she has Denny to run the farm and I’m almost ready for another trip. This time I’d like Jilly to come along.”
“You mean that?”
“Why not? Of course I mean it. And I can tell, you like it here.”
She grinned right back at him. “God knows I love this kitchen.”
By a week after Halloween, Courtney was astride a horse. Blue. She’d already learned to feed her, brush her, walk her around the pen and then the pasture. She wasn’t quite brave enough to clean out her hooves or groom her tail, but she was beginning to not only trust her, but love her. And she would never admit to anyone—not Lief or Lilly—but being in the saddle made her feel huge! She’d grown so tired of feeling puny and childlike.
Gabe Tahoma had only to say, “Good job, Courtney! You’re getting the hang of it!” to make her feel like Miss America.
Just a couple of weeks into November brought a slight change in her appearance. Lief had taken her to buy boots and jeans. She then needed shirts, down vests, gloves and a new jacket. He threw in a hat for good measure. Courtney gave up the black nail polish and total noir leggings, ankle boots, skirts and tight tops. She found she liked wearing jeans and boots to school. Not many of the girls dressed in that cowgirl way. They were a little less country and more into fashions they saw on internet fashion sites. Courtney found their more middle class–trendy couture far less intimidating than that Rodeo Drive stuff she’d been up against in L.A, which was a comfort.
And she was letting the color fade and grow out of her hair.
“Ach! I hate my hair!” she complained to Lief as he drove her to school one morning.
“Really?” he asked, apparently completely confused. “What in the world could you possibly hate about it?”
“It doesn’t know what color it is! Letting color grow out is worse than anything! It’s torture!”
“I see,” he said. “Anything I can do to help with that?”
“Yes! I need a haircut! Is there anyone within a thousand miles who could give me a decent haircut?”
“Undoubtedly,” he said tiredly. “I’ll ask around.”
Next thing she knew, she was sitting in Annie Jensen’s shop in Fortuna with Annie herself caving in to not only a cut but a color that might wend her back to where she started before the pitch-black and hot pink began. She blew Courtney’s hair dry into a nice, sleek, smooth and more grown-up style.
“I’m sure that’s not exactly what you’re after, Courtney,” Annie said. “But I’m willing to keep trying.”
“It’s kinda…nice,” Courtney said,