"I'm not mad. I'm just taken aback a bit. You never cease to amaze me."

Marilyn had no idea where Jackson was going with this vein of conversation. If he wasn't upset that she'd tipped the canoe, then why was he suddenly withdrawn?

He was both an enigma and an open book to her. He seemed totally honest, yet there was something about him that perplexed her, and she couldn't quite nail it.

Jackson was like the river itself, swift yet slow, cold yet warm, forever changing course on her, keeping her off-balance.

"Show me you're not mad and that you forgive me." She lifted her head and looked towards the sh.o.r.eline.

Jackson was silent but nodded and helped guide the canoe into a small nook sheltered by the towering rocks.

"We could tip the boat over if we're not careful." He remained where he was seated but looked at her with a deep concentration that shook her.

"So tie the canoe to one of the rocks." To help, Marilyn picked up a length of rope attached to a metal hook on the canoe and tossed it to him.

Jackson did as she asked yet stayed where he was until she motioned for him to meet her in the middle of the canoe. Once they were face to face she placed her arms around his neck and drew him closer for a kiss. She hoped he didn't see the gesture as a conciliatory movement on her part but more as simply an expression of tenderness. She really was sorry for having dunked him, and she was already regretting the childish action. But she wanted to feel his lips on hers, to sink her body close to his and thrill to his touch more than anything.

She couldn't believe that this would soon all be over and she'd never see him again except at maybe a publishing function or book fair of some sort. The idea that she'd come so close yet so far from establishing any kind of personal rapport with him crashed against her like a canoe slamming against the rocks.

Her fingers slid through his damp hair as their lips touched, and the fire in her torso flared when his tongue speared hers, sending hot darts of desire straight to her p.u.s.s.y. For the first time since meeting him, she realized that his flesh pressed against hers, his arms about her-none of it was enough. Desperation made her quiver for more of him, and she put all she had into the kiss.

Jackson responded by holding her long and hard and by deepening the kiss. He seemed as reluctant as she to end it, and when it was over, they sat staring at one another, as if memorizing each other's features.

"We'd better get back to camp before the next shower." He broke the gaze and released the rope's hold on the rock, leaving Marilyn to retreat to her previous position, near him yet so far away.

Chapter Thirteen.

Creek & Cherokee Fried Green Tomatoes Ingredients: 2 pounds of green tomatoes 4 eggs 1 1/4 cups cornmeal 3/4 cup water 1/4 cup minced chives 1 tablespoon salt (cut to 1 teaspoon if too salty for you) 1/4 teaspoon pepper, fresh ground 1/4 cup b.u.t.ter or margarine Slice the tomatoes 1/2 inch thick, but do not peel or core. Drain well on paper toweling until most of the

moisture of the tomatoes is absorbed. While the tomatoes are draining, make a batter by beating the eggs until light then mixing in the cornmeal, water, minced chives, salt and pepper. In a large, heavy iron skillet, heat the b.u.t.ter or margarine until bubbly. Dip the tomato slices into batter and brown quickly on both sides. Serve at once. Jack couldn't help but marvel at the woman sitting ahead of him in the canoe. She'd burst into his life, pushing, shoving and demanding until she got her way, completely taking his breath away by both her beauty and her brains. Yes, she was a thorn in his side...more like a pain in his a.s.s. She maneuvered situations to her own benefit, but at the same time she always had his best interests in mind. And while he was more than agreeable to furthering his career and becoming more involved with his own publicity, he wasn't aware until she'd dunked him how well her quirky personality meshed with his more settled one.

The way her body moved with his was nothing less than magical. One sly grin from her, and his c.o.c.k was aflame. Now she was infiltrating his thoughts on a regular basis, challenging the way he thought, expanding his viewpoints, insinuating herself into his psyche like a favorite, naughty indulgence he craved.

His cousin obviously liked her. The quiet Indian rarely tolerated, much less initiated, conversation with outsiders, yet Daniel had seemed to truly enjoy Marilyn's company.

Jackson couldn't help but wonder whether Daniel and Caroline's marriage would have been strong enough to survive had she not wound up in a coma after a fall from the cliffs. Daniel and Caroline had married in haste and against her family's wishes. City girls made great diversions but rarely good companions for river rats. So why was Jackson even contemplating asking Marilyn to stick around after the week's events were over? Better yet-why would she want to?

The questions he'd asked himself last time they made love surfaced, reminding him that he too held secrets, and the longer he held onto them the worse it would eventually be.

f.u.c.k. If he told her now that he could cook, she'd think he was just doing a one-upmanship on her. If he didn't, and she found out later, she'd just think he was a s.h.i.t for deceiving her so long. He couldn't win.

The memory of their last kiss lingered on his lips and in his mind, and for the first time since meeting her, he was sad. She'd stirred a range of emotions within him, taking him from one hilarious h.e.l.l to another, all interlaced with bouts of pure elation during their lovemaking, guilt when he pa.s.sed up the opportunities to tell her his secret and put her out of her misery and delight with just her company.

Now a new problem surfaced. Could he give her up when the contest was over?

Back inside her cabin, Marilyn hugged herself. Daniel Red Feather was nothing like the Delacroix bunch. He'd given her a tour of his home, a cabin made of polished timber that he'd built himself. And he'd let her see one of his own family cookbooks, a rough, leather-bound single edition that Jack had made for him years earlier.

"Think you'd be interested in publishing that one?" she'd asked Jack on their way home once the rain had stopped.

"No. That was a present for Daniel, something for him to pa.s.s down to his own children. Not for public consumption."

Marilyn had spent a wonderful afternoon with the two men, gleaning information about Jack at every turn, seeing a side of him she'd never have been able to witness if she hadn't made the trip.

The writer in her couldn't help but notice what a fascinating character he'd make for a biography, but she knew what he meant about not for public consumption, because the thoughts and feelings she'd have put into such a book were extremely private. Not because she was afraid of exposing anything about Jack, but because she was afraid of exposing what was forming in her own heart.

"Wow!" she murmured. That was why his books were so darned good. He wasn't afraid of expressing himself and showing his vulnerability, which was that he cared deeply for his family and their traditions. He didn't see his lack of cooking skills as an issue. He wasn't a fraud-he was a gem. He'd most likely make a terrific father some day to a large brood of children with dark hair, snappy eyes and killer smiles.

"Don't do this!" she warned herself aloud as she finished showering and dressing. "Don't go there-the man has terminal bachelor-eye-tis...all he sees is himself living unenc.u.mbered and single. What in h.e.l.l are you even thinking?"

"Did you say something?" Colette asked, coming from their living room.

Marilyn put the finishing touches on her hair and shook her head. "No. Yes. I'm talking to myself."

Colette grinned. "He's gotten under your skin, hasn't he?"

"You could say that. No. Don't say that. I'm just nervous because my dad and uncle will be here tomorrow."

Colette nodded and gave a delicate snort. "If you say so." She pointed at Marilyn's bare feet. "Don't forget your shoes. Unless you want to become a true river rat like Jack."

Too late, Marilyn thought. She was already starting to hear the patter of little river rat feet, and she'd only been naked with the man a few times.

She shook off the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her.

This is ridiculous. I am a cold, no-nonsense business woman, she told her reflection in the mirror silently. I have no use for rivers, river rats or easy living.

She'd go stark raving mad without a nearby mall, a business luncheon or the ability to travel whenever she felt like it. Settling into an office job for her father had been punishment enough for giving up her nomadic writing career. What the h.e.l.l did a backwater campsite in Oklahoma have to offer someone like her?

Keep telling yourself that, her reflection seemed to answer. You love being near your dad and you were tired of being a nomad anyway, and now... Now you care about someone else enough to give up who you thought you were.

When had she morphed from solitary journalist to sedentary editor and then to wannabe river rat?

Jack pressed his teeth together and groaned throatily, "Oh, my G.o.d." He'd attempted many dishes within the privacy of his own home, but never this one. What in h.e.l.l had made him think he could do it now?

He gave the saute pan an incredulous glance then looked at the bowl of freshly washed cherries on the table and finally the bottle of brandy in his left hand.

"How're you doing?" Chuck called from the front porch.

Jack listened to the women's laughter in the background. Did he really want to call Chuck back in here? His friend had said making cherries jubilee would be easy.

"You all right?" Chuck asked, standing in the doorway.

"Peachy. Just peachy," Jack replied grumpily.

"You know, the dish doesn't really require the flames. Flaming can be dangerous."

"I can do this!" Jack snapped, taking a swig of the brandy and spilling a few drops across the towel that trailed from his shoulder to his chest.

He'd heated a portion of the brandy with the sugar, stirring until the crystals were dissolved. He'd already made the sauce that would cover the fruit in the pan and the ice cream already in the dessert dishes. All that was left was to set the d.a.m.n thing on fire.

"Want me to do it?" Chuck asked.

"No!" He gave an oh-what-the-h.e.l.l shiver, grabbed the cherries and dumped them into the pan. Picked up the match...struck...lit.

No explosion.

Jack grinned and chuckled to himself. "You da man-you da man!"

He watched the flame with delicious enthusiasm, stirring and chanting to himself gleefully.

"Hey!" he hollered, turning and hoping to catch Chuck's surprised look once he re-entered the cabin to see what a magnificent job the new cook had done.

"Ta-da!" Jack crowed, flinging the towel from his shoulder and waving it around his head.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" Chuck hollered back, racing toward him.

"What?" Jack asked, whirling to look at his pan just in time to dodge the flaming ends of the towel he'd thrown over his shoulder.

Jack dropped the offending towel before it burned him then gasped as heat seared his skin. The next thing he knew, Chuck had picked up the broom by the door and was beating his chest with it.

"Get out of that shirt!" Chuck bellowed.

By then the girls had entered the cabin, and n.o.body was laughing now. Jack ripped off his shirt with help from Marilyn while Colette found the fire extinguisher and showered the room with chemical solution.

A flash of fire zipped from burner toward ceiling as Chuck grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his arm and hand and picked up the burning pan.

"O-o-oh...that's not good!" Jack groaned.

The next few seconds were a blur of broom to chest, pan to sink, shirt to floor, women and men to the front porch while smoke billowed throughout the cabin.

"Aw, man!" Jack grouched, surveying the smoking cabin.

"You're hurt!" Marilyn cried, her fingers lightly touching his shoulder as she peered closer at the pink splotches on his chest. "You need to put some ice on that!"

"I'll get it!" Chuck said, rushing back inside and jerking open the freezer door.

Ten minutes, four melted dishes of ice cream and one scorched pan of sugar and brandy later, the haggard friends sat on Jack's front porch glumly staring at one another.

"I killed the kitchen," Jack muttered tonelessly, gently touching his bare chest where Marilyn had administered ointment to cover his minor burns.

"But you saved the brandy!" Marilyn said, noting the bottle in Jack's hands.

She bit her lips, but her eyes watered with unshed tears from laughter and smoke.

Jack fired her a smoldering look.

"What?" She stared at him helplessly.

Then one after another, the three visitors started sn.i.g.g.e.ring then giggling.

"Aren't you at least glad that Robert and Marie didn't witness this?" Chuck asked.

"I'm gonna hit you, Chuck." Jack c.o.c.ked a fist menacingly.

Chuck whistled then dodged as if his friend had delivered the punch.

"Well, you can't stay here tonight," Colette said when she'd recovered from laughing. "I mean... the smell is awful!"

"You can stay with me," Chuck added, "but you need access to your kitchen early tomorrow so you can clean this mess up. I'll help, but-"

Jack looked at his friend's puffy face and watery eyes. "No. You and your allergies need to be as far away from this as possible." He turned to Marilyn. "That leaves you."

"Me?"

"You. I need to stay either on my porch or with you tonight. I have to get up early enough to work on this before the rest of the guests start arriving. Can't have my compet.i.tion finding my kitchen scorched."

"I can stay with Chuck!" Colette chimed in.

"What's that going to look like?" Marilyn asked. "Won't-"

"Robert and Marie won't arrive until tomorrow. Hopefully late," Jack said. "If I don' t stay up too late, I can be over here and do damage control before they get here and act like I'm still living here instead of staying over at your cabin."

He groaned before adding, "My brother will never let me live this down."

"You've pretty much screwed the pooch," Chuck agreed. "But you didn't cause too much structural damage. The place just needs to be aired out, and you need a new countertop. And a rug for that burn mark on the floor."

"And a new stove and new cookware," Jack added.

"My dad and uncle are arriving tomorrow," Marilyn said nervously. "I can't have my dad thinking I'm boinking one of the contestants."

"Then it's settled," Colette said. "You must a.s.sign yourself to be Jack's monitor, whether Jack likes it or not. Your uncle can work with Robert and your dad with Marie. That way all three contestants will have equal representation from the publishing house, and n.o.body will think anything about Jack staying with you. But we do need to explain, to say something as to why he slept at our place."

"And the judges?" Marilyn asked.

"I'm sure we'll find some unsuspecting people who'll volunteer quite willingly," Colette cooed. "Don't worry about it. This is still doable."

"Sure," Chuck added. "Colette can take over your job of making sure the supplies are all here and intact, and I'll run interference with the paying customers, making sure they have everything they need, like schedules and gift bags. Meanwhile, you-" he said, pointing at Marilyn, "or I are in charge of Jack's cooking lessons. I'll help as I can, but I really think you should be helping him."