Colette and Chuck exchanged surprised glances. "R-e-e-ally?"

"And you're not mad?" Chuck dabbed his nose with his handkerchief.

"Why should I be mad? I'm flattered."

"But... but... you don't... "

"Jack thinks I should've called first," Marilyn interrupted Chuck. "He says he'd have given me an interview over the phone."

"But yesterday morning...and several times before that...we did call him!" Colette exclaimed. "He refused to talk to us!"

"What? I've never even talked to you before today!" Jack leaned back onto the railing once more, letting his eyes linger on Marilyn's lips.

For a few seconds, everyone except Marilyn looked confused.

"Jack thinks I'm here to interview him for a magazine article," Marilyn explained.

"O-o-oh!" Colette and Chuck spoke simultaneously, eliciting a look of puzzlement from Jack.

He casually put his hands on his hips and looked at Marilyn expectantly. "If you're not here to interview me... Then... ?"

Marilyn gathered her courage. While on the plane, she'd wanted nothing more than to cut his egotistical frame down to size, but after meeting him all she wanted to do was jump into his arms or on the next plane back to New York.

"I'm your new editor, Jackson." She watched his expression change from surprise to shock to disbelief with her next three words. "Marilyn...Mason...O'Malley."

Chapter Seven.

The Oh-s.h.i.t Drink.

Ingredients:.

Bottle of whatever is handy and desirable.

Tip, chug and get stinking drunk.

To his credit, Jack reacted politely.

"You da one who called me a river rat?"

"You heard that?"

"I heard. When did you plan on telling me this?"

"Before the cooking contest." Marilyn swallowed hard and wet her dry lips as Jack's hands slipped from her hips. "What do you mean you heard that? You were eavesdropping?"

"Not my fault you didn't hang up before calling me names." He stood and shook his head. "Wait a minute. I told you I couldn't leave the camp here. We're almost completely booked for next week. Mimi told me earlier this evening that we've got..."

Then, as if thunderstruck, he stopped and looked from Marilyn's face to Colette's to Chuck's and back to Marilyn's as his grandmother's warning about the big truck and the upcoming contest sunk into his disbelieving mind. Which also explained Mrs. Sawyer's friendly yet cryptic acknowledgment of the upcoming festivities.

"You...you brought them here? Larabee's people are coming here?"

Marilyn's eyes held apology, because she knew what he must be feeling. She nodded slowly and pointed to the ground. "Right here. Larabee's will arrive tomorrow morning to deliver the cookware for the partic.i.p.ants and winners."

"And I'm afraid the newspapers have already been given the announcement of the contest," Colette added, raising her hand like a guilty child to confess her part in the deception.

"And you knew about this?" Jack asked Chuck, who raised his hand as well and nodded glumly.

"Chuck just found out about it on the airplane," Colette defended him. "We swore him to secrecy until we had a chance to talk to you."

"I don't understand." Jack shook his head. "I told you I was not entering that d.a.m.ned contest!"

Marilyn nodded and tried to reason with him. "You have a contract with Larabee Industries. You have to mention them at least six times during the year in some form of advertising, whether it's in your books or in media productions."

"I mentioned them in the books!" he thundered. Then, realizing he'd raised his voice, he threw his hands up and rubbed his forehead and temples. He popped his neck and rotated his shoulders as if shaking their news off him.

"Yes," Marilyn agreed. "You mentioned them two times in your last book that was published in January, and you were photographed with Larabee products in ads for The New York Times and Publisher's Weekly."

"So that's four. I still have several months to go-"

"We don't have another book scheduled to go to print until after the first of next year," Marilyn reminded him.

"Then move it up!"

"You haven't turned in your final draft!"

"Then book me for a commercial or something!"

"I'm sorry-and you said you wouldn't do television commercials!"

Jack frowned and blinked, as if the news still hadn't quite sunk in that he was obligated to cook before a crowd of hundreds.

"Lady, you have no idea what you've just done!"

Marilyn, Chuck and Colette shifted nervously, and all of them began talking at once.

"We know you only have three days to learn, but..."

"You can do this, Jack!"

"You have to do it! The television crews have already been notified!"

"Your biggest rivals, Robert Neal and Marie Sanders, are on their way here."

"I'm sorry, buddy! I'll help you!"

"We'll teach you everything you have to know!"

For the first time since meeting Jackson Delacroix, and even knowing his own deception, Marilyn Mason O'Malley felt guilty of duplicity and ashamed that she'd tricked him. Despite all his bl.u.s.ter, she suspected he was a decent man... Lord knew he was gorgeous, kind, charming, s.e.xy, courteous and a real gentleman. Also a d.a.m.n good writer.

Jack held up his hands for them to hush as the words three days to learn flashed through his mind like multiple lightning strikes.

"Are you telling me that you know... ?" Jack looked accusingly at Chuck, who refused to meet his gaze.

"That you can't cook?" Marilyn felt awful that she'd placed Jack's career and her own in jeopardy over something so simple.

"Well, yeah! Now that you mention it!" Jack turned to face her squarely.

She pulled herself up to her full height, placing her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you mention it-like about four years ago when we first started publishing your cookbooks?"

"I didn't think it would matter! I was a writer! I never claimed to be a chef!"

"You should've thought this through!"

"You're a writer!" he shot back. "And you've written about canoeing... and Lord knows what else that you haven't done!"

"Say what?" Colette cut in, but Marilyn shushed her.

"Yeah, but I'm not in a freakin' canoeing contest, am I?"

"That can be arranged, lady!"

"Oh, boy!" Chuck exclaimed as Colette got between the feuding writers and ordered them to sit. "Let's all just calm down," Colette said, splaying her hands and pushing them downward as if she were forcing heavy air to the ground.

She looked at Chuck and bugged her eyes in a plea for help.

"Yeah, yeah!" he said, warming up to go to bat for her. "Buddy boy, I can have you living up to that King Creole t.i.tle in no time!"

"And how are you gonna do that, Chuck?" Jack asked him. "You gonna teach me how to crack an egg with one hand on day one and how to make flaming cherries jubilee the next? This is never going to work! My career is over!"

"And mine with it if you throw in the towel!" Marilyn cried.

"What are you talking about?" He faced her squarely.

"My dad and uncle own the publishing company. They hired me to head the nonfiction department, but Larabee's been leaning on them to get you more involved... more visible. This is a deal-breaker, Jackson. If I can't get you in line with Larabee's requests, it's your career on the line...or mine. Probably both." She shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "So I've basically made a deal with the devil."

"You ain't met the devil yet, chere, but he's a-comin'. Somebody's gonna pay h.e.l.l for this!" He groaned in frustration. "This is never going to work! My career is over!" Then he thought a moment. Well, mebbe not. Might jess be beginnin', not that these three need to know jess yet.

Nevertheless, because of her, he was also very, very trapped.

Chapter Eight.

Chuck's Campfire Catfish.

Ingredients:.

Catfish fillets.

Cornmeal.

Seasoning salt, table salt, & pepper to taste.

Your favorite cooking oil or grease.

Coat fish fillets in cornmeal mixed with seasoning salt (to your own taste usually 1/2 teaspoon of salt

to 1 cup of cornmeal is preferable). A good way to coat fish (or chicken) is to place everything in a plastic bag and shake. Cook on top of grill in a cast-iron skillet or frying pan, or deep fry indoors in a deep-fat fryer.

Serve with green beans, macaroni and cheese, hush puppies and a side salad.

"We need to see what you've got to work with." Marilyn darted past Jack to go into his cabin.

"Hold on-hold on!" He grasped her firmly and turned her to face him. "What do mean?"

"Pots, pans, a blender. You do have those things, don't you?" she asked.

Jack set his jaw and studied her for a moment. "This is movin' kinda fast, isn't it?"

Marilyn met his gaze unflinchingly. "You didn't have a problem with impromptu action back there on the river."

"Neither did you." His facial muscles relaxed, softened as he took in her trembling lips. "Not that I'm complaining. I just need a bit of time to get used to this, okay?"

"You don't have time, Jackson. I'm sorry."

"You don't think I'll actually go through with this?"

"I certainly do! You have to!"

Jack peered at her more closely, the ramifications of their situation settling in. Okay, so maybe stating that his career would be over was a bit drastic, but those three needed to be taken down a peg or two. "You're nuts!" He sucked the insides of his jaws between his teeth to keep from cracking a smile. She was also deliciously desirable when her dander was up.

"Maybe. But I'm not jobless...yet. We just need to see what you have to work with and then find something for you to cook."

"Morning c.o.c.ktails!" Chuck exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That b.l.o.o.d.y Mary recipe we used to fix-"

"That you used to fix," Jack pointed out, still stifling a grin. Let 'em all sweat. They felt bad for trapping him, but let 'em ride the roller coaster with him.