"Why me?" Marilyn asked. "I can't cook any better than he can!"

Chuck explained, "Because if Colette takes over your job, somebody has to take over hers. If I stay with Jack and teach him how to cook, you'll still have to run interference with the others-your father, for instance, and your uncle-which is something I can't do. At least if you're there when your dad meets Jack you will know how to work him so that he doesn't corner Jack into cooking something up for him just as a courtesy. I wouldn't have a clue as to how to deal with your dad, much less that uncle of yours. I can, however, take over Colette's duties."

Marilyn cut Colette a sharp glance.

Colette shrugged. "I work for them. So sue me-I told Chuck how your uncle is always railroading your father and giving him a hard time. Dave would like nothing better than to discover his brother's protege is...well, that he can't...well. You know."

"What?" Jack asked. "You didn't tell me anything about this."

"About what?" Marilyn asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

"That your father and your uncle have some sort of rivalry going. That I could mess up the works for your dad."

"You didn't ask," she said quietly. "Besides, you have enough to worry about without this."

"You're doing it again," Jack said, marveling at his guests. "The three of you have this knack for just taking over my life, for absolving me of responsibility."

"You have a better idea?" Marilyn challenged him.

Jack set his jaw and shook his head. "No. That's the h.e.l.l of it."

He rubbed his eyes and groaned. "I need to grab some clothes and take them over to your place so they won't all smell like burnt alcohol. And thank you-all of you. I don't mean to seem ungrateful."

Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get you through this. h.e.l.l, you might even like it before it's all over."

Jack grumped, "This is so not how I saw this week going."

He went back inside, and when he returned he had a pile of clothing in his arms.

"Okay if I take this on over to your cabin?" he asked Marilyn.

"Sure! I'll... "

"I know the way," he said gruffly.

When he returned, he sat at the picnic table with them for a few minutes, listening to their animated chatter and good-natured comments about the dessert they'd retrieved.

"I went back for the ice cream," Chuck explained. "Hope you don't mind-seemed a waste to just leave it in there. You sure you don't want any of this? It's really quite good!"

Jack shook his head. With a hard lump in his throat and unable to speak to them further, he pushed away from the picnic table and walked quickly down the embankment toward the river that flowed a few feet from his cabin.

The entire trek down the hill, Jack cursed himself. He certainly couldn't confess to her now that he could cook, not after that f.u.c.king fiasco. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t!

He'd considered his past year's self-tutoring to elevate him to at least the rank of a decent cook, if not a pro. What must she think of him?

Chapter Fourteen.

Great-Grandmere's Cranberry Sauce Ingredients: 1 1/2 cups sugar 1 navel orange 1/2 teaspoon grated ginger Tiny dash of cloves 4 cups cranberries 1/2 cup toasted pecans Grate orange peel, add to pot with rest of ingredients EXCEPT pecans and cranberries. Simmer over medium heat until sugar dissolves, add cranberries and cook until cranberries pop their skins. Add pecans, stir, chill, serve. When Chuck moved to follow him, Marilyn placed her hands against his chest and shook her head. "But he must realize that we'll see him through this!" Chuck protested.

Marilyn looked at him with sad eyes. "I understand he's your best friend and that you probably know him a lot better than I do, but women's intuition tells me Jack would rather see himself through this. He just doesn't know how."

Colette hooked an arm through Chuck's and asked, "Then what do we do? He can't cook if he doesn't learn."

Chuck sighed and agreed, "You're right, Marilyn. But there's something you don't know that Jack may not appreciate me telling you." He stopped and shook his head.

"No. Tell me," Marilyn said.

"This wasn't Jack's first attempt at cooking. It's just his first time with an audience."

"How do you know this?" she asked.

Chuck shrugged before replying, "Eggsh.e.l.ls in his kitchen trash can. Flour or sugar spilled on the counter that he missed during cleanup. Little things like that over the years."

"Has he ever said anything to you about it?"

"Oh, no. Jack is a proud man. He was the middle child, and not much was expected of him when he was young. If he got into a sc.r.a.pe at school, his older brother Vince or his cousin Daniel usually saved him. But he expects more out of himself now."

"Yeah-I met Daniel." She grinned at the memory.

"When his grandfather died, he had his brothers and his father," Chuck continued. "When their parents died, all they had was Mimi, and he and the other two found themselves growing up pretty quickly. It wasn't that mistakes weren't tolerated-far from it. All of them were encouraged to do whatever they wished. Vince went into the service, Chance took over running the trout camp and Jack, well, Jack did what he knew he could do when he got out of the Navy. He wrote-"

"About something he'd always wanted to be able to do well," Marilyn finished for him, giving Chuck a sad look.

"Yep," he answered. "When he was a kid, Jack was as strong and smart as any boy, but he always had someone older around to drag his a.s.s out of trouble before it started. Jack was so trusting that he didn't usually see things coming."

"Like what?"

"Oh, the occasional bully, for one. When you're taller and smarter than most everyone, there's always that one guy who thinks if he whips your a.s.s he'll have a reputation. So the big guys get picked on just as much if not more often than the little ones." Chuck reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose before continuing. "d.a.m.n allergies. In the Navy, you're trained to rely on the buddy system, a.s.suming everyone will do their job but prepared in case they don't. So... Jack went from having someone taking care of him at home to someone there for him at work."

Colette murmured, "And right now, I'll bet he feels like the loneliest man in the world. Because he's in the spotlight and expected to do something he's just not prepared to do."

Chuck pulled her close. "It's not your fault. Or yours," he said, throwing Marilyn a sympathetic glance. "And I would gladly kick anybody's a.s.s who tried to hurt him. I'd even pa.s.s myself off as Jack at that contest, if I thought I could do it or that it would do any good."

Marilyn hugged him quickly. "I'll talk to him. And I won't tell him what you just told me." Then she waggled a finger at him. "Eat all of that ice cream, though, and you die. I have plans for that later tonight."

Taking the flashlight Chuck had found for her, she wound her way down the embankment to the area where Jack had first kissed her.

"You gonna fall and bust your a.s.s," Jack mumbled in the dark as Marilyn skidded toward the water. "And you probably got those fancy Doc Marten shoes all muddy."

"I'll take my chances. Where's that moon that was so helpful before?"

She felt one of Jack's hands clasp her arm firmly and steer her towards him.

"Looks like we may get another shower before tomorrow morning, so she's hiding behind the clouds," he said.

Marilyn sat next to him on the log facing the river. "That what you're doing? Hiding?"

Jack didn't answer, and his silence hurt her ears. She reached out to touch his chest and he caught her hand before she reached him.

"Sorry," she said. "I forgot about the burn."

"Doesn't hurt much now," he said. "Just stings a bit. I think we got it before it blistered."

Again, the awkward silence. Marilyn's take-charge instinct fought with everything in her to keep silent, to let him take the lead, but she thought she'd die before he finally spoke again.

"All my life people been bailin' me out," he said thoughtfully, drifting into a tenderness that broke her heart. She stifled the urge to fix him, to remedy the situation in which she'd placed him.

Instead, she swallowed hard and bullied him.

"You must like that feeling. Otherwise, you wouldn't put up with it."

"Pardon?"

"Are you willing to fall into old habits again, or are you going to stand up for yourself? So far the four of us are the only ones who know that you aren't prepared for this contest. The way I see it, you can still bail out, or you can come to grips with the situation and make the best of it."

She could almost hear him thinking as he digested what she'd said.

"They can't friggin' eat you!" she added.

Jack snorted. "No, chere, they sure can't eat me. They can't even eat my cookin'!"

Marilyn giggled in spite of herself and felt Jack turn on the log to face her in the dark.

"Gimme that flashlight," he said, taking it from her and shining it briefly above her head so that he could get a better look at her.

"You're serious."

"Yes," she replied.

"You really think I can do this."

"I know you have to try. Not for me. For you."

Marilyn stood and edged closer to him, lifting first one leg and then the other around his hips until she straddled him.

"Jackson, you can do anything you wish. You have the charisma and charm to turn this whole thing to your advantage, despite your lack of skill at the grill or griddle. Most of the people attending are here for fun. They're not here to weigh your talents against anybody else's. They've shown up for the opportunity to meet you in person, to watch you in action, to rub elbows with one of their favorite people-not just one of their favorite authors. They enjoy your books. Therefore, they a.s.sume-and rightly so-that they will also enjoy your company. So just relax and have fun."

Jack shut off the light and laid it beside him, slipping his hands over her back and shoulders.

"You need a good backrub, chere. You're tense as all get out. Guess this has been as big a strain on you as it has me, huh?"

Marilyn leaned towards him, mindful of his chest. "No. Not nearly as stressful for me as it's been for you. But it's sweet of you to say."

"I never thought for a second that I'd hurt anybody when I started writing."

"I know that."

"Never occurred to me."

Marilyn sifted her fingers through his hair. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Jess dunno how to feel about all of this attention."

"Jackson, work with me here. Prior to my showing up, where did you see yourself in five years? Still writing cookbooks and living on the river?"

"Sure. That's what I love best-stayin' at home, sittin' on my a.s.s and writin'."

"So what has changed?"

Jack leaned back and peered at her through semi-darkness. "That was dirty pool, chere. You know the answer."

Marilyn blinked innocently. "I do?"

"Sure. I can't just go on doing what I do, spinning stories and sticking in a few recipes now and then. My whole focus of what I do and who I am has changed. But I'm not sure if I like what I'm seeing right now."

"Then change it. n.o.body's asking you to change yourself. You don't even have to change your situation. But if it's unsettling to you, get off your a.s.s and do something about it, Jackson."

He seemed to be pondering what she'd said. Marilyn counted the seconds until he spoke again.

"What if I told you that I can cook?"

Marilyn laughed. "Of course you can-that's what I've been trying to tell you. You are capable of doing anything you want."

"No, that's not what I mean." He shook his head and chuckled.

"Then say what you mean."

"Tell you what," Jack offered. "You help get me through this contest, and next time you ask me to do a commercial, an endors.e.m.e.nt, an advertis.e.m.e.nt or a cook-off, you won't have to ask twice. I'm sorry for having put you on the spot like I did."

"You mean it?"

"Absolutely. That is, if I still have a job writing for you. Public might not cotton to my being such a fraud."

Before she could respond, Marilyn noticed a car's headlights flash across the edge of the rocky hill, granting them a small filter of light so fine that she could see the mosquitoes and night bugs flickering through it.

"You expecting company?" she asked.

"No."

She stood so that he could climb the hill and peek over the top of the embankment.