“Jarrod, let go!”
She felt herself held in vise-like arms and struggled to free herself. She realized he was either half-asleep and unaware he had a firm hold or was playing a trick. Either way, she couldn’t extract herself from his arms and was so tired she couldn’t manage to put up much of a fight. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she decided to lie beside him, just until he released his grip. When that happened, she would get up and out of there fast.
Chapter Nine
Summer woke to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling in a pan. She sat up, wiped at her eyes, and then realized with alarm that she was presently on Jarrod’s couch. She rose and then nearly fell when her foot hit the edge of the throw blanket that had dropped onto the floor. She wind-milled to right herself, and somehow managed to remain standing.
Jarrod had apparently heard her stir, since he stepped into the room, wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and a wide smile on his face. Summer immediately noted he looked good, healthy, and suspected he’d broken the fever at last.
“You look good,” she murmured.
“You, too,” he said, stifling a chuckle. “Nice of you to stay over and nurse me back to health.”
“You didn’t give me much choice,” she muttered, averting her gaze. “I’m going home now.”
“Not until you’ve had breakfast. Feel free to freshen up in my bathroom.”
The last thing she wanted was to freshen up in Jarrod’s bathroom. She wanted her own bathroom, or at least the one that was currently her own bathroom. “I’m going home,” she said tiredly.
“Will you come right back?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see,” she mumbled.
She walked out the front door, and Jarrod observed that her pacing was much like a sleepy robot. He smiled. He knew he hadn’t been playing fair when he had pulled her onto the couch last night and forced her to sleep beside him. But, fairness had been the furthest thing from his mind. He’d realized sometime around four a.m., as Summer lay in his arms and he watched her lovely face in repose—that he was falling in love with her. The realization both delighted and terrified him.
He turned his attention to the bacon, taking it from the pan and placing it atop a paper towel on a plate. He tucked the plate into the microwave, turned off the stove, and jogged to Summer’s cabin. When she stepped out of her bedroom, having showered and dressed, she gasped at finding him standing in the living room.
“Come back over, Summer,” he prompted. “I need to cook the eggs.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, watching him through narrowed eyes.
“Sure you are,” he said eagerly, grasping her hand and tugging her toward the door. “Remember, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Wakes you up,” he said cheerfully.
“Nothing is going to wake me up. I’m tired and it’s your fault.”
“I know,” he admitted, offering a lop-sided, guilty smile. “Forgive me?”
“No.”
“After a delicious breakfast, you’ll forgive me,” he said confidently.
He led her to his place, where the smell of the recently fried bacon tantalized her senses. She realized she was hungry, as evidenced by her grumbling stomach. Jarrod urged her to sit, and he resumed cooking, glancing at her periodically to assure she wasn’t making a run for it.
Summer noticed he looked remarkably well, considering how sick he had been the day before. He turned and noticed her scrutiny. “You do seem better—healthier,” she amended.
“Yeah, I feel good,” he acknowledged with a smile. “Ears feel better, too.”
“That’s good,” she said, glancing around distractedly. She found herself wanting to drop her head to the table top and fall asleep. She yawned.
“Wow, you are tired,” he commented, really noticing her fatigued eyes for the first time. “After breakfast, you might want to lie down.”
“Too much to do,” she said, yawning again.
“Such as?”
“I want to finish the painting and start a new one.”
“There’s always later today, or tomorrow.”
“Nope. Gotta paint in case…”
He smiled reassuringly. “You’re not going to lose it, Summer. ‘It’ being whatever drives you to paint—so long as you don’t over think it, you know.”
She wasn’t sure she did know, but simply nodded.
“Maybe you can teach me to paint sometime,” he suggested. “I’ve never tried.”
He placed a plate in front of her. She eyed the food briefly, and then suddenly feeling ravenous, dug in. “There’s something about fresh mountain air that makes me hungry,” she said.
“It’s true,” he acknowledged, taking the seat across from her. “It’s good for the body and the soul. Well, usually,” he said, remembering his current bout with illness.
Summer studied his face, noticing again how much better he looked. Clearly, the fever was gone, and unlikely to return. “I didn’t think you were ever going to break that fever,” she said between bites of egg. “You had me worried.”
“Oh, I always run a high fever when I’m sick,” he said off-handedly. “The doctors always said it was no big deal. Didn’t Mom mention that?” he asked innocently.
“Uh, no, she didn’t,” she said, glaring at him as he watched her with an infuriating smile on his handsome face. “You didn’t happen to mention that either,” she pointed out from between clenched teeth.
“Oh, I didn’t? Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably the high fever affected my thinking.”
“Oh, that must have been it,” she said heatedly, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Or take a nap.
***
Jarrod was back to work first thing Monday morning and Summer had to admit she missed him. She’d grown accustomed to his constant presence—had even grown accustomed to his silly humor.
By the Friday before, he’d declared himself well, and the two had spent both Saturday and Sunday together. Saturday, he had taken her on a hike around the lake, pointing out the beautiful sights and sounds, and then on Sunday, the couple had ventured back to the huckleberry patch with buckets in hand and had filled them.
Jarrod had found a recipe for huckleberry cobbler and Summer had decided to try it since she hadn’t found a pie recipe. The desert had been delicious and she was eager to try other recipes utilizing the delectable berries.
She had yet to finish the painting—since she’d been spending so much time with Jarrod—that she finally set up her easel and began putting the finishing touches on the lake scene. Gwendolyn found her there when she arrived an hour or so later.
Summer glanced up in surprise when she saw Gwendolyn’s car pull in front of the cabin. Her friend exited the luxury sedan and walked toward the porch. She glanced up, squinting against the sun.
When she spied Summer, she gave an airy wave, and then attempted to climb the stairs, stepping high and carefully, to avoid contact with a dirt clod on one of the stair rungs.
Summer’s eyes widened with pleasure when her friend topped the porch and approached with outstretched arms. She hugged her boss tightly. “Gwendolyn, you’re here.”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” She forced a smile, but winced when a tiny bug buzzed around her head. She slapped it away, before turning back to Summer. “Darling, let me see the painting. I’m so eager…”
Summer grimaced, unsure if she even wanted Gwendolyn to see this particular painting. “Remember, it’s my maiden voyage, so to speak, and I’m not sure I’m ready for anyone to see it.”
“Jarrod has seen it,” she said pointedly.
“Well, yes, but…”
“Oh, Summer, let me see,” she begged, clasping her hands together.
She relented with a sigh and stepped aside to allow her boss a viewing of the painting. Gwendolyn gasped and met her gaze. “Do you like it?”
“I do,” Gwendolyn said enthusiastically, glancing out at the lake and back to the painting. “You’ve certainly captured the beauty
of this place.”
“So it’s all right … for a landscape?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes. Leonard will love it.”
Summer was taken aback. It suddenly occurred to her. If Gwendolyn gave this painting to Leonard, it would mean it was time for her to return to her life in town and to her work at the gallery. She didn’t want to leave. She hadn’t finished exploring the woods, or even hiked to Janson Peak, a beautiful attraction Jarrod had promised to show her. She simply wasn’t ready to leave.
“I’m not sure this is up to your usual standards, Gwendolyn,” she said hastily. “As I said, I’m so out of practice and I really think I could do better.”
“Nonsense,” she said dismissively. “This painting is perfect. Even I find myself drawn into the myriad hues of color in your landscape—and that’s something, as you well know.”
Gwendolyn was eager to give Leonard the painting. Her husband had been testy lately, growling like a brown bear over the least little thing, and she knew the painting would go a long way towards smoothing out his temperament.
When Jarrod suddenly drove up in his work vehicle and parked, Gwendolyn gasped with pleasure. She hadn’t expected to see him this trip, since she hadn’t planned to stay for more than an hour or so.
He climbed out of the SUV, closing the door with a bang, and then taking the steps to the porch two at a time. “Mom!” he said eagerly. “This is a nice surprise.”
“What are you doing home this time of day?” she asked her son, watching him curiously.
“I, uh, came home to see if Summer might be able to join me for lunch. And now you can join us, too” he suggested eagerly. He turned to Summer. “Are you free?”
She nodded, watching Gwendolyn’s surprised face. “I’ll make lunch,” she offered.
As she set about making sandwiches, she wondered what Gwendolyn was thinking, since she had glanced from her to Jarrod with unconcealed interest out on the porch. And when she gave a smug, triumphant little smile, she realized Gwendolyn had decided something was brewing between her son and friend.
Summer knew she would have to set her straight at the first opportunity, but then she nearly groaned aloud. What would she say? Oh, no, nothing going on here. She knew her face would betray her. She was a horrible liar. And although she couldn’t readily define her feelings for Jarrod, she had feelings that definitely confused and confounded her, but that also caused a warm glow to course through her system whenever she thought of him.
As the threesome sat down to lunch, both Gwendolyn and Jarrod complimented her chicken salad recipe. She vaguely registered the compliment, her thoughts tumultuous and troublesome.
She didn’t want to leave this cabin, and it appeared she might be leaving soon. Gwendolyn suddenly broached the subject again.
“Summer, I’ve been thinking, that painting is gorgeous—so gorgeous, in fact, I’m wondering if you’d consider painting a second one for Leonard, and … maybe even a third.”
“What did you have in mind, Mom?” Jarrod asked, smiling widely, since he understood the implication of her request. Summer would be staying longer.
“Yes, what did you have in mind?” Summer asked eagerly.
“Well,” Gwendolyn began, daintily dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, “I’m thinking Leonard would love several scenes from his favorite place on the earth—here,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “We can devote a wall to a veritable collage of sights and scenes from Leonard’s mountaintop.”
“That sounds great, Mom,” Jarrod enthused.
“I thought you might think so,” she said with a chuckle, and he watched her curiously. What did she mean by that? He didn’t ponder the question for long, since Summer spoke.
“Are you sure about this, Gwendolyn? I mean, I do believe I can paint something much nicer than the lake scene…”
“It’s perfect, and you know it,” Jarrod cut in. “You’re immensely talented.” He pinned her with his eyes. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
She shot him a withering glance. “No, it’s just that I can do better.”
“Paint whatever you like, dear,” Gwendolyn urged. “Leonard will be so happy when he receives several paintings of this … beautiful place.” With that, she rose from the table. “I must be going. The gallery is so busy.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me?” Summer asked.
Yes, I need you, but my son needs you more.
Gwendolyn didn’t speak the words, but said instead, “We’ll muddle through until your return. We always manage to … manage.”
She hugged Summer, kissed Jarrod on the cheek, and then sauntered to her car, waving a hand above her head to ward off flying insects.
Jarrod watched her departure with a grin. “She hates it up here.”
“I know,” Summer mused. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Living up here isn’t for everybody,” he said, meeting her gaze. “It’s beautiful, and the summers are nice, but…”
“What?” she prompted.
“Winters can be brutal, and cabin fever can set in fairly quickly.”
“Really?” she said, glancing around as if imagining the place as a jail cell rather than a cheerful retreat. She couldn’t see it. Instead, she envisioned a frosty picture window framing the lake, and trees dusted with snow—a veritable winter wonderland. “I would think it would be beautiful here in the winter,” she said. “I can imagine hunkering down by the fire, sipping hot chocolate, and reading a good book. It would be so cozy in the cabin.” She sighed contentedly.
“I can imagine all sorts of possibilities for indoor fun myself,” Jarrod said, grinning wickedly.
Summer silenced him with a cold stare. “Must you turn my picture postcard into a…”
“Okay, okay. Sorry,” he said contritely. “Gotta go anyway.” He turned to leave, but spun around and kissed her soundly on the lips. When she gasped in surprise, he grinned. “I’m no longer contagious. The doctor said so.”
“Jarrod…,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. He was watching her with the most ridiculous expression, a combination of fear and hope shining in his crisp blue eyes.
As if pulled by an invisible string, she moved forward. She stared into his eyes, reaching up to tenderly check his forehead for fever. She smoothed the hair off his brow, and then stood on tippy toes and kissed him gently. Suddenly, he reached out and pulled her against him, claiming her lips in a lovely kiss. She responded, enjoying the exquisite pressure of his firm lips against her own.
“It’s about time,” he practically shouted when they parted. “I’ve been waiting for that.”
“Jarrod,” she said, ever the voice of reason. “What are we doing? We shouldn’t…”
He smiled reassuringly. “Of course, we should. Heck, we’re both a couple healthy young people in…” His eyes widened in surprise. He’d almost said the word. Love. Thankfully, he’d pulled back in time. He had no idea how she might respond to that particular revelation, and in fact, needed time to sort through his feelings before declaring himself or his intentions. He hadn’t known her long enough to propose … anything. “Gotta go,” he said suddenly.
And then he was gone, leaving Summer standing in the doorway and watching the back of his vehicle recede into the distance.
Had Jarrod almost said what she thought he’d said? Or, had he simply misspoke? She sighed. Did he have feelings for her? She had feelings for him, though she couldn’t quantify them as yet.
She sighed and aimed a glance at her easel, forcing away the disturbing thoughts. For the first time in her life, she decided she would simply let nature take its course. Who knew what might develop between her and Jarrod? Only time would tell.
She forced her thoughts to her art. She considered starting a second painting, however, she quickly changed her mind. She wanted to go fishing.
She retrieved her gear and fished for several hours from the dock, tossing back several small Blue gill, but grinning delight
edly when she landed a large trout. She had prepared a large plastic bin by filling it with water and she carefully put the trout inside, where she admired its gleaming scales.
Soon she grew bored of the dock and decided to try her hand at fishing another spot. She grabbed her pole and tackle box, and then hoisted the cumbersome bin into her arms for a hike around the lake.
She passed Jarrod’s property, entering federal lands, but she knew the fishing license allowed her access.
Soon she was standing lakeside, enjoying the unspoiled beauty around her. The pristine lake glistened, its crystalline waters calling her name. With a smile, she put her pole aside and then shed her shoes. She stepped into the lake, gasping as the cold enveloped her feet and ankles.
It was freezing, colder than anything she had ever felt before. She glanced around, wondering when the waters would warm enough for swimmers to dive in. She decided it was simply too cold now and she stepped carefully out of the lake, realizing immediately her feet had grown numb.
When she attempted to tug on a shoe, she toppled over, just managing to catch herself before she went face first into a cluster of bushes. Thankfully, her hands instinctively flew forward to brace her fall. She realized she’d better sit down in order to tug on her shoes, and then she stepped to the side of the lake and dipped her hands into the water to clean off the debris she’d picked up when she fell.
Once done, she decided to try her hand at fishing again and was soon casting out on the lake. Before too long, she had caught two trout, but soon after, she began to feel an annoying itch on her arms and legs that no amount of scratching seemed to alleviate.
Finally, she glanced down, and her eyes widened in horror. Her arms were covered with red welts. She dropped a tentative glance to her legs. They were also covered in a rash. She groaned aloud. “Poison oak,” she muttered.
She gathered up her gear as quickly as she could, remembering she had read somewhere that it was important to bathe in warm soapy water if exposed to poison oak … or ivy… or both … or neither. What exactly were these welts? She racked her brain, and then groaned. She decided to shower just in case and hurried for her cabin.
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