Summer on the Mountain (9 page)

“It’s probably not going to be good enough to give to Leonard, but more an opportunity to get my hands and fingers working again,” she said.  “You know, get the creative juices flowing.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re painting, dear.  Truly I am.  Hey, would you know where that son of mine might be.  I tried to reach him last night and again this morning.”

Summer paused, swallowing over a lump in her throat.  She considered telling her friend a little white lie, but then decided honesty was the best policy.  Particularly since Jarrod might very well divulge he’d been at her place at a later date, and then she knew she’d have explaining to do.

“Uh, well, he’s here.”

“Oh,” Gwendolyn said, sounding surprised.  “May I speak to him?”

“Actually, you can’t.  He’s sleeping.”

There was a lengthy pause at the end of the line.  “He is?” 

Summer didn’t miss the shock in Gwendolyn’s voice.  “Gwendolyn, he stopped by this morning for—well, coffee—and then to my surprise, and to yours I’m sure, he sat down on the couch and promptly fell asleep.”

“He did?”

“Yes.  He said he was on a stakeout much of the night, and during the stakeout he came down with a cold…”

“You had a cold…,” she said, and then cleared her throat when she realized the implication of her words.

Summer opted not to respond to that.  “Anyway, I’ll have him call you as soon as he wakes up.”

“Don’t take any guff from him, Summer,” Gwendolyn advised.  “He’s like his father—a big baby when he gets sick.  Men!”

“Yes,” Summer agreed, though she wasn’t exactly certain what she’d just agreed to.  She’d found Leonard both charming and sweet-natured anytime she’d been around him.  However, when Jarrod woke up hours later, he was anything but. 

“Summer!” he called from the couch.  “My throat hurts.  And so does my head.”

She carefully laid down her paint brush and hurried into the cabin.  She found him sitting up, having lowered the foot rest of the recliner, and grasping his forehead as if he was in agony. 

“I’ll get you a couple ibuprofen tablets.”

“Three.  Get three, please,” he said.  “And feel free to knock me upside my head with a mallet”

Summer hurried to retrieve the tablets and water and passed them to him.  He muttered a thanks, and then swallowed. 

“I’ll make you a hot lemon,” she offered. 

He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair.  “No, I’m leaving.  You don’t need to catch this again.”

She followed him out to the porch.  He stopped at the painting.  “It’s really good,” he told her, admiration in his voice.  “And I feel … terrible,” he said after a pause, and then frowned.  “I never get sick.”

Summer folded her arms, refraining from suggesting his illness was cosmic payback for everything he had done to her.  He seemed to read her thoughts.

“Hey, I don’t deserve
this
!”

She chuckled as he strode off.  “Oh, Jarrod, call your mother!”

He tossed a casual wave over his head as he shuffled toward home. 

Summer reached for a paintbrush, but then put it down.  Instead, she headed back inside to the kitchen where she searched for a cook book.  She wondered, was chicken soup difficult to make? 

Soon, she had her answer as she began assembling a delicious assortment of ingredients to make the healing soup. 

My, she was being neighborly, she decided.  And even she couldn’t help but wonder why.

Chapter Seven

Summer strode across the wooded lawn, carefully carrying the steaming pot of soup in her hands.  With some doing, she managed to make it to Jarrod’s front porch without scalding herself. 

She set the pot down on a small table beside the door in order to knock, and then knocked a second time when Jarrod didn’t answer.  When he finally arrived at the door, she could see he’d been sleeping.  His crisp sandy hair was tousled on his head and he reminded her of a little boy just awakening from a nap.  She noticed dark circles framed his lower lids. 

“I woke you,” she observed with a wince.

He nodded.  “That’s okay.  I need to get up anyway.  I have a stakeout tonight.”

“You’re not going!” she cried, surprising herself as much as him.

“Have to,” he said, smiling slightly.  He noticed the pot then, and raised his brows. 

“I made you some soup.”  She lifted the pot from the table.

“Really?  Homemade?”

She nodded, and he smiled widely, stepping back to allow her to pass him with the soup in her hands.  Inside his kitchen, which she noted was rustic but well-appointed, she found a bowl after opening several tall cabinets.

He watched her, smiling.  “You could have asked me where the bowls are.”

She filled one, then glanced around.  “Pantry,” she said in response to his raised eyebrows.  He nodded across the room and she hurried to scan the pantry. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Saltine crackers.”

“Middle shelf, on the right.”

She pulled the box from the well-organized space and joined him at the table.  She rose to retrieve a plate, then passed it to him.  “Spoons?” she said.

“Over there.”  He gestured to a drawer near the dish washer. 

She grabbed a spoon and then rejoined him at the table.  “Aren’t you having any?” he asked her.

She shook her head.  “Already ate.” 

He took a bite of the soup, and then smiled appreciatively.  “This is excellent.  Just what I needed.”

“Good,” she said, warming at the compliment.  “Okay, then, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go.  I’ll try not to breathe on you.”

She smiled.  “I’ve already had that particular cold.”

“True.  But you could catch it again.  But really, I’ll keep my germs to myself.  Stay awhile.”

She relented, and was about to sit down when the phone rang.  “Would you mind getting that?” he asked between bites of the soup.

She hurried to the phone on the kitchen counter.  She was surprised to find Gwendolyn at the end of the phone line.  “Summer!” the woman said in a startled voice.

“Yes, it’s me.  I just brought Jarrod some soup … for his cold.”

“How very thoughtful of you, dear,” she said.  Suddenly, it seemed to her things were working out better than she could have anticipated on the Jarrod-Summer front.  She’d called earlier and found Jarrod at Summer’s and now, she found Summer at Jarrod’s. 
Interesting
.

“How’s the painting coming along?” she inquired.

“Oh, it’s coming along.  Like I said, it’s not the one we’ll give Leonard, since it really isn’t that good…”

She startled when Jarrod took the phone from her.  “The painting is great, Ma.  Summer is just being modest.”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s painting again,” Gwendolyn acknowledged.

“You have me to thank for that,” he said self-importantly, and Summer gasped.  What would Gwendolyn read into that particular declaration?  She could only imagine.

“Well, thank you then, son.  How are you feeling?  You sound stuffed up.”

“Summer gave me her cold,” he said, causing her to gasp again. 

“You two are spending quite a lot of time together,” his mother observed, and Jarrod could almost hear the smile in her voice.

“As much as we can,” he said, grinning as an idea formed.  Might as well let his mom think things were going swimmingly between them.  Contrary to her assertions that she wasn’t doing any matchmaking, his mother sounded downright giddy to find the two of them together.  Jarrod knew full well what she was up to.  “Well, gotta go, Ma.  I’m going to finish my delicious soup and then get ready for work.”

“You’re not going to work, are you?  You really sound terrible.”

“Duty calls,” he said simply and hung up.  He turned to Summer.  “Mom’s trying to set us up.”

“She is not!”

He nodded crisply.  “Oh, yes, she is.  She wants me married to a nice woman and giving her grandkids.”

“She has grandkids.”

“Not little tiny ones.  She wants that kind again.  The girls are practically grown.”

Summer chuckled and shook her head.    

Jarrod watched her speculatively from between heavily lidded and watery eyes.  “Maybe I ought to stop disappointing her…”

“Don’t look at me!” she cried with alarm.  “That is
your
business,” she said, backing away from him.

“I’m teasing you.  Come back here.” 

“I really should get back to my painting.”  She started toward the front door when the phone rang again. 

“Would you mind getting that?” he called after her.

She sighed, but did an about-face and returned to the kitchen and answered the phone.  “Hello.”

“Oh, hello, uh, this is Tyler Lane.  Is Jarrod in?”

“He is.  Hold on.”

She passed him the phone.  She turned to leave but to her chagrin, he grasped her arm briefly, cocked the phone under his ear, and indicated with his pointer finger that he wanted another minute of her time.

“Oh, hi, Tyler.  Yeah, I’ll be in.”  He paused.  “Just a little cold is all.”

Summer surprised herself as much as Jarrod when she snatched the phone away from him.  “Hello.  Jarrod is actually very ill and won’t be into work tonight.”

He abruptly pushed back his chair and rose, reaching for the phone, which she held just out of reach.  She ducked and dodged his repeated attempts to grab it from her. 

“That’s right.  He has a high fever and is highly
contagious
,” she said, emphasizing the word as he finally managed to grab the phone.

“I’m fine, Tyler,” he said tiredly, but grew silent.  “Well, yeah, I have a temperature, but it’s no big deal.”  He was silent again.  “Are you sure?  I’ll be there if you need me.”  He was quiet for several seconds before replacing the phone on the hook.  He turned back to Summer.  “Why did you do that?” he asked, attempting to be stern-faced.

“Because you’re a typical man and you think you’re invincible, when the fact is, you’ll probably develop a case of pneumonia if you sit out in the cold night air…”

“You care!” he said with a chuckle.  “You
really
care.  Come here and give me a hug!”

Summer laughed as she headed out the front door. 

“You’ll probably want to come over and check on me later,” he called. 

“I’m sure you’re going to live,” she said drolly.

Back at the cabin, she couldn’t help but chuckle.  Was that really the man she had met her second day at the lake?  Was he really the same stern-faced and impossible ranger?  She found herself succumbing to his charms and realized she’d better erect the icy wall that had served her so well in the past, with others who had attempted to break down the barrier.  She wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone right now. 

She picked up a paint brush once again and applied several brush strokes to the painting that was truly taking form.  She had to admit, it was pretty, particularly after she’d added highlights to the crystalline lake.  The sun shone brightly in her painting, but currently the real thing was going down, and she decided to pack up until the next day.  Altered lighting could affect the outcome of the painting, so there was no point in continuing.

*** 

The next day, Summer woke to the sound of her phone ringing.  She answered with a groggy hello.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Jarrod said, and she immediately noted his voice was raspy.

“You sound awful,” she commented sleepily. 

“I feel awful,” he admitted.  “Hey, Summer, I am sorry to bother you, but I seem to have run out of ibuprofen tablets and anything else that might help me.  I think I might be dying, by the way.  Do you think you could spare something from the medicine cabinet over there?”

“I’ll be over in a flash,” she told him, scurrying from the bed and into the shower.  There was no way Jarrod was going to see her morning face.  As she showered, she wondered why she cared what he thought of her face or any other part of her.  And then she nearly groaned aloud. 
Oh, Lord, she cared
.

She dressed quickly, combed out her wet hair, and then hurried to check out the medicine cabinet.  She found the ibuprofen tablets, and then did a quick search for anything that might help a severe cold.  She found cold tablets purporting on the label to help his symptoms and headed for his cabin.

He opened the door and she saw he looked terrible.  His face was terribly flushed.  He stepped aside and she entered the cabin, watching him with concern. 

He watched her right back, his brows furrowed in a frown.  “I called you and told you I think I’m dying and could use a little medicinal help, and you take the time to shower,” he said incredulously.  “That’s not very neighborly.”  He reached for a damp tendril of her hair and shooting her a look of mock daggers at the same time.

“You’re not dying, and I always start my morning with a shower.”