Kelly took a small bite, her tasting technique. It immediately sparked on her taste buds. “Mmm! Wonderful!” she said before taking a second bite.

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.”

“You think riding horses is going to get me to do my homework on time?”

“No,” Lief said. “I think being allowed to hang out at Amber’s is going to get your homework done.”

She sighed heavily. “Amber’s is okay, but I don’t think we’re going riding. One of their horses is old and the other one is sometimes a problem. I like the dogs, though. And we’re agreed, I’m getting that dog. Right?”

“I’m just about there,” Lief said. “You do understand that having a dog around our house is going to be a lot different than having dogs at the Hawkins farm.”

“Different how?” she asked.

“Well, on the farm, you tend to let ’em run loose and the big dogs train and look after the pups. They stay with the pack most of the time. There can’t be any running loose outside our house—he’d get lost in a second. A lost pup ends up being dinner for some bobcat or eagle. He’ll have to be watched and trained.”

“Trained to do what?” Courtney asked.

Ah, Lief thought. She’s never had a pet. How had he and Lana completely overlooked the importance of that? Because they were always working and traveling; pets hadn’t fit into their lifestyle. “To pee on the grass,” Lief said. “And to not eat the house. Puppies chew everything.”

“Do you know how to train a dog to do those things?”

“It’s been a while, but I think we’ll manage. You don’t realize it yet, how busy that puppy is going to keep you.”

“Then I don’t think there will be a lot of time left over for things like riding…”

“You don’t have to make a decision about riding,” he reminded her. “Just have a look around, talk to the trainers.”

“Since we’re in the truck headed there, I don’t see much choice,” she said.

“Good. You’re catching on.”

“Waste of time,” she muttered.

How, Lief asked himself, do I stay sane? “Keep an open mind…”

When they arrived at the stable, Lief was glad to see Annie Jensen, the vet’s wife, had a couple of teenage girls on horses in the round pen. She was standing in the center of the pen shouting and pointing while the girls practiced their dressage training. There were some cones in the pen, and the girls maneuvered their mounts around them. Their backs were straight, chins up, hands gently lifting the reins. Lief was relieved to see the girls were wearing jeans and not anything as fancy as jodhpurs. There was a truck and trailer parked outside the pen, the back open and ramp down. The girls looked too young to have driven the truck, but maybe a parent brought them and their horses and was in the barn or vet’s office. “Hang out here for a while, Courtney. I’m going to see if I can find Clay or Lilly.”

“Sure,” she said, leaning on the fence.

And as he walked away he was thinking, Oh, man, I hope this wasn’t a huge mistake.

While Courtney watched the two girls riding in the pen she had to admit to herself it looked kind of fun, but these were older girls. Fifteen or sixteen. And she was not only just fourteen, but maybe the smallest fourteen-year-old girl in her class. There was no way she was ever getting up on one of those huge animals. She thought she might fit under its chin.

“Hi. Are you Courtney?”

Courtney turned to the voice. Coming toward her was a very small woman, maybe only a few inches taller than Courtney. She was a woman, though. Her body was full and curved while Courtney’s was still straight and flat. And she was beautiful—dark hair, tan Native American skin and the most unusual bright blue eyes. She pulled off a heavy glove and stretched out her hand. “I’m Lilly Tahoma. Your dad said he was going to bring you by today.”

“Where is he?” Courtney said, looking around.

“He must be in the office. Come with me a minute—I want to show you something.” And with that, Lilly turned and walked away, expecting Courtney to follow.

She was a little reluctant. But surely these people knew what they were doing and wouldn’t let her be stomped to death by one of those huge beasts.

Lilly was way ahead of her, opening the door to a pen. She pulled on a dark horse’s halter, leading her out of the stall. Courtney kept a safe distance.

“I’d like you to meet Blue, Courtney. Her full name is Blue Rhapsody, but I call her Blue.” Lilly was stroking her nose and cheek, kissing her long muzzle. “I found her, if you can believe that. I was driving and saw her rolling around on the ground, sick. I called Doc Jensen and Clay and they took care of her, but she’d been abandoned. I was able to adopt her.”

Courtney stood back about six feet in case the horse reared and began to stomp her.

“You can come a little closer. Blue might be the gentlest, most trustworthy horse in the stable. She’s the one we always choose for a new rider.”

Courtney took a few more steps. She looked over her shoulder to see Lief in the barn door, leaning against the frame, watching, his arms crossed over his chest. She hadn’t once mentioned to him that the very idea of getting up on one of those big animals terrified her.

“She’s completely docile, Courtney. Especially in the barn, with me—it’s a controlled environment. Nothing here to spook her.”

“How old were you when you learned to ride?” Courtney asked.

“I’m not even real sure. Very, very small. I grew up on the Hopi reservation and my grandfather put me on a neighbor’s horse. We didn’t have horses, but the neighbors did and they taught me to ride. Then we moved and I wasn’t on a horse for years—till I was in my twenties.”

“Well,” Courtney said, keeping her voice down, “I’ve been around a horse or two, but I’ve never been on one.”

“Are you a little uncomfortable around them?” Lilly asked.

“I would say, a lot.”

“I see that as a real plus,” Lilly said. “Tell you why—you’re likely to pay close attention to safety, more so than some of these hotshots I teach who think they’re unbreakable. And you won’t have any bad habits to unlearn. You’ll get it right from the start. But the most important thing—when you develop your equestrian skills, you’re going to feel like a goddess!” Then she laughed. “Come a little closer. Here. Touch her neck, right here. And her jaw—here. Give her a stroke. Ah…. Blue, you are the queen of the stable, aren’t you?”