Page 13 of Heart of the West

“Did you put chicory in this batch?”

I nod as I laugh. Small town. “I did. It’s been a hit with my visitors.”

The oven’s timer goes off.

“Please, excuse me, Dutch. I don’t want to burn the cookies.”

I spin on my heel and hurry off before he could answer. I’m intent on making these cookies perfect. I take the trays out of the oven and slide them onto the cooling rack. I’ll put the Christmas pinwheels next. I already have Santa cookies baked, iced, and in storage until I’m ready to make boxes. On a whim, I grab the spatula and place a few of the warm cookies on a plate.

Dutch is sitting at the table drinking coffee. He smiles when he sees me nodding his head toward the plate.

“Is that what smells so good?”

“This and the Santa cookies I made earlier. You’re my earliest visitor.”

He nods his head. “They wait to sample things.” I laugh again. I’ve laughed more since I arrived in Wolf Creek than the last decade plus of my life.

“I enjoy their feedback. It makes running a successful business a little easier.”

I sit the plate of cookies in front of him along with a stack of napkins.

“Please, try one and tell me what you think. I made them for Dustin. Says he can never find them outside his family.”

Dutch smiles. “Thank you, I’d love to, and please keep the chicory. It really adds flavor to the coffee.”

“Thank you.”

He hands me the gift basket after sitting two cookies on a napkin. I take the basket, curious to see what’s inside.

“Thank you, Dutch. Please tell Mrs. McGraw thank you.”

He smiles and nods. “I’ll enjoy these while you look.”

I ‌carefully untie the ribbon from the deep red cellophane. It’s thick enough that I can't see inside the basket. The cellophane opens like a flower before falling to the side, revealing the basket's contents. A half-gallon sized glass jar catches my eyes. I lift it from the basket. It’s honey. I can’t wait to taste it. The next thing I spot is a two-gallon sized white plastic food container. I take it out next before opening it. Small bright red globes stare back at me. Cherries. My mind whirls with the possibilities.

Next, I take out a pint of jam. Likely cherry and a small plate filled with fried pies.

“These cookies are delicious. My Ellie made those fried pies with our own NorthStar cherries and local honey. The hives are set up in the cherry orchard. She used the infused honey today. There’s a smaller jar of it in the basket.”

“Do you mind if I try one now?”

He shakes his head. “Please do. These cookies are delicious, by the way. Might even be better than Ewa’s. That’s Dustin’s gran. He’ll love those cookies.”

“Please, have some more,” I say, before taking a bite of a fried pie.

An explosion of tart cherries bursts across my taste buds before the delicate cherry infused honey coats my tongue.

“Oh, my goodness! These are incredible. Think Ellie will work for me?” I ask with a snort. I crack myself up sometimes.

Dutch chuckles. “She might take you up on that a couple days a month. That woman gets bored at home, then goes shopping. I snuck a truckload of boxes to the donation center last week.”

“I’ll keep her in mind as soon as I can afford to hire someone for even a day a month. This is really incredible. The dough is flakey, the tartness of the cherries paired with that cherry blossom honey is phenomenal.”

“I’m so happy you like them. Would you like to buy some cherries and honey from us?”

“How much do you have?”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “I have found no one to take the crops the last several years. We freeze dry the older crops to keep the cherries edible. The last two years are like what I brought today. We’re happy to offer a discount on both the old crops and the new ones.”

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