“See you, Nate.” As I walked to my booth, I found myself wondering. A good-looking, charming man with a talent like Nate Robicheaux’s should have been a big success in Las Vegas. What was he doing in Shavano, besides being frustrated by his family’s café?

  Chapter 6

  The next week was more labor intensive than I’d anticipated. The first crop of strawberries came in ahead of schedule, thanks to some warm days and Uncle Mike’s cold frames. I put up five cases of jam and a couple of cases of preserves. The preserves had more fruit chunks, and I’d sell them for a higher price. But they’d go fast, based on past history.

  By midweek I was doing a frozen raspberry run—I knew they’d sell, and I knew I needed a few more cases—when someone rang the doorbell. We didn’t get many visitors at the ranch unless they were some of Uncle Mike’s commercial customers. I checked the jam kettle to make sure it wasn’t in danger of boiling over and headed for the door.

  My friend Susa was on my doorstep, her bright red truck sitting in my drive. “Hey, kid,” she said, giving me a quick hug, “what’s shakin’?”

  Herman perked up and trotted our way. He loves Susa, although he likes putting his paws on her shoulders, which she’s not crazy about.

  Susa is maybe five foot five or so, short enough that we look sort of comical when we walk around together. But when we walk around together, people don’t seem to notice me that much anyway because Susa’s gorgeous. Her hair’s the color of sunshine, with a little help from Clairol, her eyes are the blue of mountain lupine, and she almost shimmers with vitality. We’ve been friends since we entered second grade at Horace Greeley Elementary together.

  “Hi, Herman,” she said, patting his head absently. He followed us through the house, pressing his forehead against Susa’s hip.

  Susa is a tech whiz, Shavano’s resident computer expert with her own company that employed a couple of junior nerds to help her out. She was in charge of city hall’s tech and taught a couple of classes at the high school, along with a lot of contract work for local businesses. She also ran my Web site and made sure Constantine Farms had up-to-date accounting software and virus protection, although we were pretty small in terms of our tech needs.

  “Come on in the kitchen. I’ve got some jam on,” I said, trotting to my jam kettle.

  Susa sighed. “Of course, you’ve got some jam on. You’ve always got some jam on. Which I can’t complain about because it’s spectacular jam and I love it.” She glanced around the kitchen. “You got any coffee, and maybe a cookie or two?”

  “The pot’s on the counter, along with the cookie jar. Grab yourself whatever you want.” It goes without saying that Susa’s at home around my place.

  By the time she’d gotten her coffee, I’d pulled the raspberry jam off the burner and put a test patch into the freezer to see if it was thick enough. “What’s up?” I asked. I figured Susa had probably dropped by to deliver the latest gossip, which was fine with me. I could keep working on the jam while she spilled the details.

  “News.” She pulled out a chair at my worktable. “Big news. Great news. News that’s going to rock your world.”

  I paused. “Okay, you have my attention. I assume this doesn’t involve any of your current flames.”

  She shook her head. “It’s bigger than that, cupcake. Although I admit I got this piece of information originally by way of Logan Revell.”

  Logan was one of Susa’s many escorts. He worked for the city, although I couldn’t remember what he did.

  “So tell me.”

  “Sweet Thing’s coming to town.” Susa grinned triumphantly.

  I sorted through my memory. “Sweet Thing the TV show?”

  Susa rolled her eyes. “Of course, Sweet Thing the TV show. What other kind of sweet thing would be touring around Western Colorado?”

  I’d seen Sweet Thing a few times, although I couldn’t remember which of the channels carried it. The two people in charge—both bakers, as I recalled—traveled to a town, or sometimes two or three towns, and showcased dessert specialists. They toured bakeries and ice cream parlors and regular restaurants as long as they featured spectacular desserts.

  “Okay, we should probably tell Bianca Jordan. Her breakfast pastries could be their first stop.”

  Susa sighed again, louder this time. “We can tell Bianca if you want, but I came here to tell you. Luscious Delights needs to be on that show. Everybody in town knows your stuff is the bomb.”

  I stared at her. It actually hadn’t occurred to me that Sweet Thing would be interested in jam. All I’d ever seen them talk about were things like brownie sundaes and tres leches cakes. “But I don’t have a store.”

  “You’re online. And you’ve got a booth at the market. If they came there to film, it would give the market a boost, too. Win/win.”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “The market people would probably like that.”

  “No probably about it. The market people would be delighted by that. So we need to swing into action ASAP.” Susa folded her arms across her chest, a commander planning a charge.

  Marketing isn’t my strong point. I have a Web site where I get a few orders, but most of my sales are in the Shavano area. Which we both knew was a barrier to extending my reach beyond Shavano County. “ ‘Swing into action’ how? How do I convince these people to check me out?”

  “You need to talk to Evelyn Davidson, down at city hall. She’s the liaison with film crews and television shows. Logan says the program contacted her for suggestions, although they’ll probably run down some possibilities on their own after they start checking us out.”

  I knew who Evelyn Davidson was. She’d done presentations for the market vendors about promoting Shavano. Plus she’d bought some of my jam at the market. “Should I call her? Maybe I could set up a tasting.”

  Susa picked up my cell phone from the kitchen table. “Call her now. I’ll back you up if you need me. I know her.”

  Evelyn Davidson was in her office and more than willing to taste some jam. At which point I realized I had a problem. I had newly processed strawberry jam, which would be good, but probably better later in the season. I had peach and raspberry from frozen berries. I had apricot left over from last season. And I had pepper peach.

  My jam wouldn’t really be at its best for another month or so. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this, Susa. It’s too early in the season. I don’t know if my stuff is good enough right now.”

  Susa glared at me, blue eyes flashing. “Your stuff is terrific. Year-round. This is no time to lose confidence in what you make. You take your jars downtown now and feed her some jam. And take the damned pepper peach, too. Show her what you can do.”

  Everybody needs a friend like Susa.

  An hour later I pulled into the parking lot at city hall. I had a selection of my jams, including, yes, pepper peach. And I could promise to show Evelyn more of my stuff as the season advanced so she could taste some of the more exotic things I did later. Plus it seemed to me the farmers market would be a great marketing ploy.

  Of course, everything would probably go better if someone else was doing this instead of me. But having me do it was better than nothing. I hoisted the box of jam into my arms and hiked toward the building.

  I knew the receptionist, Kitty Morales. She bought a lot of raspberry jam for her five-year-old twins. “Hey, Roxy,” she said, “what’s up?”

  “Hi, Kitty. I’m looking for Evelyn Davidson.”

  “Down the hall to your left. I think it’s the fifth door.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I arrived at Evelyn’s door just as it opened and a tall guy in a uniform stepped out. I thought I knew everybody on the Shavano force, but he was a stranger.

  He gave me what I think of as the look. The one that says Geez, you’re tall for a woman. I paused to let him walk by, but Evelyn stepped out, too.

  “Oh, Roxy, you’re right on time. Good to see you. Do you know Chief Fowler?”

  I glanced at the guy in uniform. The town had just hired a new police chief. I didn’t know much about him except he was supposed to be from someplace like Indianapolis and he came highly recommended.

  Just from a glance I put his height at a little more than mine. He held himself ramrod straight, like ex-military, and he had the look of a man who seldom smiled. He definitely wasn’t smiling now.

  “I’m Roxy Constantine. Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand, although I half expected him to ignore it.

  He gave me a quick shake, but no smile.

  “Roxy makes gorgeous jam,” Evelyn gushed. “It’s just delectable.”

  Fowler glanced down at the box I had in my arms, one of my cases. “Luscious,” he intoned.

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  He pointed at the printing across the top. Luscious Delights, of course. “Oh, yeah. My brand,” I muttered.

  He nodded. Still no smile.

  “Come on in, Roxy.” Evelyn stepped aside to let me by.

  I gave Fowler one last glance as he strode away. He struck me as someone I didn’t want to annoy.

  Evelyn sat down at her desk, gesturing for me to take the chair opposite. “I want to taste your jams, but I have to tell you, I’m already a big fan. I wait all summer for your pear and vanilla bean conserve. And your apple butter is just scrumptious.”

  I relaxed a little. If Evelyn was already a fan of my stuff, maybe I wouldn’t need to explain about the jam getting better as more fruit came in. “So what are the details about the show?”

  Evelyn’s smile broadened. “They’re coming here later in the summer, and they’ve asked us for recommendations, although I guess they’re going to have some spies of their own around.”

  “Spies?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.” Evelyn waved a hand. “Advance people who come and check the town out. Listen to what the locals are saying, do some tasting of their own. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh. Sure. Maybe they’ll come to the farmers market.” In which case they could taste my jam to their hearts’ content.

  “Yes, that would be great, wouldn’t it?” Evelyn gave me another gleaming smile. “Now what have you brought for me?”

  I lined up the jam jars with their spoons and gave Evelyn the box of crackers. As she scooped up bites, I made my pitch. The strawberry jam was made with “first crop berries,” which sounded really special although in reality the later crops would no doubt be sweeter. I told her the peach and raspberry were my best sellers. The apricots came from trees right here in the valley.

  And the pepper peach? I’d been thinking about the pepper peach all the way into town. The chilies, I said, were Pueblos, the Colorado chili that’s only available in limited quantities. The peaches, of course, came from Constantine orchards, one hundred percent Colorado grown. I pitched the flavor as a blend of sweet and spicy, sort of like Shavano itself.

  Evelyn’s eyes widened a bit at that, but then she grinned. “Exactly right. Just like Shavano. Oh, I love this. All of this. You’re a shoo-in, Roxy. Absolutely a shoo-in.”

  My cheeks warmed as I grinned back. Like I say, I’m lousy at marketing, but maybe that pitch hadn’t been as cheesy as I’d feared. I just hoped the people from Sweet Thing were into jam.

  I left Evelyn the jars of strawberry and pepper peach and went home with the rest. I probably wasn’t a shoo-in, no matter what Evelyn said. But I was a contender.

  I described the whole thing to Uncle Mike at dinner that night. He laid down his knife and fork, raising his eyebrows. “Of course, you’ll get it. No question. Everybody in town loves your stuff. The real question is, what comes next?”

  “Next?” I was barely thinking beyond this week.

  “TV shows make a difference. A big difference. When that show that visits diners came to Lou’s over in Salida, they had so much new business they actually had to close down so they could renovate. He was scared he wouldn’t get his customers again, but the traffic’s stayed heavy, too. Every time they do a rerun of that episode, Lou gets a new bunch of people traveling over the Divide just to taste his latkes.”

  “I don’t think Sweet Thing is quite that big,” I pointed out. Although it was big enough. I didn’t watch a lot of television, but I’d seen it.

  Uncle Mike shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re on it, you’ll still get a boost. You need to be ready for it.”

  “Ready how?” I was already making as much jam as I could sell, putting up extra and storing it whenever I had a lot of fruit.

  “Ready by hiring some help,” he said firmly.

  This was an ongoing argument between the two of us. I’d been happy being a one-girl band ever since I’d started Luscious Delights. It was my baby, as well as my salvation. I hadn’t brought in anyone else to work with me because I didn’t want to give up my control.

  “You’re pretty much at capacity right now,” Uncle Mike said gently. “You sell out almost every week, and then you have to scramble to make more for the next weekend. If you go on this TV show, people are going to want more of your product. And you won’t be able to meet that demand.”

  “I can increase my production,” I said stubbornly.

  “How? Give up sleep?” He gave me a long look. “You’re spending most of your time making jam as it is. What more can you give up?”

  He had a point, but I wasn’t ready to concede yet. “I just work harder in the summer because that’s when the crops come in.”

  He shook his head. “You work hard year-round just to meet the demand you’ve already got. If you wanted to, you could be selling more online, but you can’t increase your capacity right now. You’ve got a great product, but this whole scarcity appeal only goes so far.”

  I concentrated on twirling up a forkful of spaghetti carbonara. It didn’t require my whole attention, but it gave me something to do.

  “Think what more you could do with just one assistant. Somebody else could be cutting up the fruit or getting the frozen stuff ready to go while you’re doing the jam. Somebody else could be filling the jars and putting them into the water baths while you develop recipes. Just adding a single person could double your production, Rox.”

  I sighed. “Even if I had an assistant, I’d still only have four burners.”

  “We could invest in a commercial stove that would double that. We could do it for less than two thousand.” His lips crept up in a slightly crafty smile. “I’ve already priced them. And Ira Ferguson could install it. He’s got experience with the restaurants around town.”

  Of course he’d checked prices. Uncle Mike is nothing if not thorough.

  “We’re building up an awful lot on hypotheticals. I’m not even sure I’m going to be on this show yet. Once the news gets out, Evelyn will probably get lots of people who want to be on. And I don’t do their typical product.”

  He reached across the table and took my hand. “Honey, I’m willing to bet you’ll be on this show. And even if you’re not, you still have a growing market you need to meet. Think about the future and what’s next for Luscious Delights. You’ve done a fantastic job so far. Don’t stop now.”

  My eyes prickled with tears for a moment. There’d been a time when I didn’t know where to go next or what I could do. Uncle Mike had stood by me, and then he’d given me a push. “Okay, you’re right. If I’m going to keep going, I need to start thinking bigger. Maybe I’ll see if I can find some part time help, like a mom with kids in school who’s looking for something during the day.”

  Uncle Mike nodded. “Carmen might know somebody. I’ll ask her tomorrow. And I’ll email you the link to the new stove. You’ll love it. You can load up the burners and cuss to your heart’s content. Right, Herman?”

  Herman gazed up at him sleepily. If we went commercial, I’d probably have to exile him to the main house rather than letting him rattle around the cabin. No more Herman whimpering at me from across the room when I launched into a particularly colorful string of profanity. On the other hand, I’d have a commercial size stove.

  I pictured all eight burners in use, jam kettles bubbling, canners simmering, an efficient assistant loading up case after case of jars for the market and my commercial customers. Luscious Delights operating at capacity.

  I’d really miss Herman, no doubt about it. But missing Herman would be a small price to pay for all that, believe me.

  Chapter 7

  I could hardly wait to tell Nate Robicheaux about Sweet Thing coming to town. I knew his sister made desserts, so I had a legitimate reason for passing on the news, but I was still riding high on the possibility my jam might get a national audience. I wanted to share my excitement with someone. No, not just with someone. With Nate.

  I’d decided to think positive. Maybe I wouldn’t get to do the show, but maybe I would. And Uncle Mike was right: win or lose, I still needed to think about the future and where I wanted to go next with Luscious Delights.

  The market was booming that week. It was Memorial Day weekend, and we had our first real rush of out-of-town customers. I looked for Nate when I got there, but I didn’t see him. And after that I didn’t have time to look again.

  Dolce and I sold jam hand over fist. We barely kept the sample bowls filled. The strawberry preserves sold out within an hour. The strawberry jam took a little longer, but it was gone by noon. Then we ran out of raspberry, leaving a lot of woebegone expressions.

  Once again I began to suspect I hadn’t been thinking big enough. Instead of just going from Saturday to Saturday, I should have been increasing my production to take advantage of the increased tourist traffic for the holiday. We’d most likely sell out of everything by the end of the market, but I could have sold a lot more if I’d had it on hand.

  I’d had business courses in culinary school, but they were more about restaurant economics. It occurred to me that I might want to take a few more courses at the local community college, particularly where planning was concerned. This whole thing was ballooning way beyond my original ideas. That’s what dreaming for the future could do for you.