Page 46 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“Cash,” I say, picking it up by the crucifix end. “You dropped this.”

His face reddens. “Oh, thanks.”

“I didn’t think you believed in all the religious stuff.” I pull my sticky legs up from seat.

“I don’t,” he says, and stuffs it in his pocket. “It’s more of a talisman. Thought I might need it today.”

“I see. I like that kind of thing. Having a talisman, I mean,” I say, thinking of the bronze horse in my pocket. “Good luck.”

He slings his chaps and bronc saddle over his shoulder. His jeans are tucked messily into his cowboy boots, and he smiles and waves as he walks away, his spurs chiming with each step. My chest tugs towards him, a heavy pain yanking at my heart.

Later, when the market starts, I watch people filing in, many of them making a beeline for my booth. A middle-aged woman, her cheeks flushed, makes it to me first. She eyes the bottled cherries and licks her lips.

“I’ll take three please,” she says, but instead of waiting, she pulls the jars into her arms. Between her two fingers is a fifty-dollar bill.

I help her bag them up, but she begins to walk away as I open my cash box.

“Ma’am!” I call to her. “You forgot your change.”

“No, no,” she says, turning with a giddy smile. “It’s all yours.”

She walks away quickly, and there are so many other people in line now I don’t chase her down as I’d like. I look at the next two women with matching dreadlocks holding a woven basket between them.

“Wow, OK. I’m not sure what just happened there,” I tell them.

“We might have an idea,” the woman with the black dreads and olive-green overalls says. “We haven’t tried your cherries yet, but we heard they’re incredible. My girlfriend’s mother,” she gestures to the woman next to her, “told us she has never tasted cherries like them before. Every morning this week, she’s had them on her yogurt. She’s addicted. So we had to try them, and she told us we had to buy her at least two more jars. Can we have four, please?”

I beam. “Yes, of course. That’ll be sixty dollars.” I slide the jars across the table, and they place them in their basket. “I don’t understand why people like them so much, but I hope you love them too.”

The woman with the brunette dreads says, “Not everything needs to be explained.”

“Yeah…” I say, Mom’s similar words echoing in my mind. “I think I know what you mean.”

They hand over the money and say, “Thank you. I’m sure we’ll be back next week.”

“Before you go,” I say. “If you like them, would you be willing to do a short testimonial for me? Like a video or short blurb?”

“Absolutely,” they say at once.

“Thank you! I’d really appreciate it. My number is on the label. You can text it to me.” I wave goodbye, and now I’m the one who’s giddy. I bet this could help at the competition. I can’t help but greet the next man with a cheery voice.

“Hi there!” I say. He looks down at the jars, pointing to them and mumbling to himself. His back is hunched, and his hair is white, but his face is cherubic, and when he finally looks up at me his eyes dance with eagerness.

“I’ll take a jar,” he says, and digs for money in his front pocket. “Fifteen dollars?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I say, standing taller.

“That’s fair,” he says. “I’m going to make myself a pie tonight and I may just eat the whole damn thing.”

I laugh out loud, which causes him to chuckle too. “I hope you enjoy every last bite,” I tell him. “Can I ask, have you tried them yet?”

“No, darling, I haven’t. But I’ve heard things, wonderful things.” He gives me the money and a wink.

The line is getting longer by the minute, and pearls of sweat are beading on folks’ foreheads. Some have children who are pulling away or hanging on a parent’s leg. I try to pick up my pace, afraid they won’t stand here much longer in the beating sun. Time passes quickly as I bag jars of cherries and collect more money than I ever thought possible. I ask several more people for testimonials and I’m surprised when they all tell me they’d be happy to do it.

Lani’s dad told me if I sell more than ten thousand dollars in one product, cherries or honey, I have to get an official retail licence. He helped me crunch some numbers, we discussed my taxable income and determined a price only fifty cents higher to help increase my profit margin. With more money will be more responsibility, but I’m ready for it.

Chapter Twenty-One