Just Desserts Part 17

"Of course, Ms. Sanders. But what are you doing out here this time of night?"

"Is it that late? Gosh, I'm sorry. I'm looking for Jack. I guess I got the wrong cabin, but there was no answer at the one next door, so I figured I'd made a mistake. I just wanted him to know I'm here and didn't want to wait till tomorrow to meet him." She peered past Marilyn until blocked.

Marilyn hugged the robe tighter, squared herself in the doorway and said, "I'm sorry-he must be fis.h.i.+ng or something. You know how these rugged guys are with a river so close at hand."

"I'm sorry for bothering you," Marie said, rubbing her bare arms. "I must've gotten a mosquito bite or something. Don't suppose you have any calamine lotion, do you?" She made a tentative step forward.

Marilyn shook her head, barring the woman from entering. "No, and the store you pa.s.sed coming in is closed until tomorrow morning."

"Yeah-that sweet little old lady was locking up when I got my key."

"Sorry. You might try rubbing some baking soda on it if you have any in your cabin. There's probably a box in the refrigerator-there was in mine. Just make a paste of it and leave it on your arms for a few minutes."

"Okay." Marie looked about her surroundings. "I called Robert when I pulled in, and he gave me directions. Said he came by earlier and Jack was gone then, as well. I must've gotten my wires crossed somehow on which cabin was Jack's." She motioned toward the plant. "I'm afraid I knocked this over behind your cabin. Is it yours?"

Marilyn shook her head slowly. "I think Jack's brother said something about a horticulturist coming by tomorrow for the plants."

"Well, I repotted it the best I could by the light of the moon with my bare hands- shouldn't be in too bad a shape. Okay if I just leave it here for the night? See you tomorrow!"

Jack groaned once Marilyn came back to bed. "Wouldn't you know they'd both show up early? I shouldn't be here. The two of them will probably be back at the crack of dawn. What if they see me coming out of your cabin?"

"Then you'll just have to get up earlier," she told him, setting her alarm. "C'mon- let's just go to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. And I wouldn't worry about Marie showing up early tomorrow."

When Jack frowned, Marilyn led him to the potted plant on the picnic table outside. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked.

Jack stared at the plants and gave a low whistle.

"Oh, man!" he said with a chuckle. "This is what she repotted by hand?"

"That's what she said."

"I'd better wake Chance up, since he lives closest to the store, and have him take some medicine over to her before she's eaten up with poison ivy."

"Well, that's one way to eliminate your compet.i.tion," Chuck cracked the next morning when Jack told him over coffee about the late night visitor. "Did you get any sleep?" He c.o.c.ked his head toward the inside of Marilyn's cabin.

"Some. Got a little busy. Kinda hard to perform with so many critics just a few yards away, though."

"I didn't ask," Chuck said, sipping his coffee.

"Is this where we pretend we're cool guys who don't give a d.a.m.n about our best friend's s.e.x lives?" Jack asked with a smirk.

"You and I have told one another practically everything, buddy boy," Chuck said. "But somehow with these two women? I'm not sharing a thing with you-and I expect you to do the same. Besides, I know you well enough to know what's going on... And neither of these two are one-nighters, Jack. For either of us."

Chuck sighed. "G.o.d, I hate New York. Don't get me wrong. Love the city and the people-hate the d.a.m.n weather."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Jack asked.

"Well, it's going to be difficult carrying on a relations.h.i.+p with the two of us on opposite coasts. So if I can't convince Colette to come to California with me, looks like I may have to move where she's living. And wouldn't that throw a wrench into the works if I uproot Marilyn's best friend and marketing director? She'd hate my guts."

"Things are that serious between you two, huh?"

"Tell me the same thing hasn't crossed your mind with Marilyn," Chuck said. "Tell me you're not already wondering what you're going to say to her when this week comes to an end."

"You have no idea."

"Jack?"

"No. You're right. I just... I didn't expect this."

"Men never do, I hear. One day we're freefalling, the next we've landed and are shaking rice out of our hair wondering what the h.e.l.l happened to us."

"Did you hear?" Colette asked, breezing onto the porch and sitting beside Chuck. "Robert and Marie both have poison ivy! I called one of your local doctors to come take a look at them, and he says they both have swollen hands and faces and eyes-he's quarantined them for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. They're both stuck at Robert's cabin."

Jack and Chuck exchanged knowing looks.

"Well, well," Jack said. "Looks like we know where Marie went after paying us a visit last night."

"But what are we to do now?" Colette wailed. "Don't you see? With two of them covered in calamine lotion, we can't possibly hold a cooking contest. I mean who in their right mind wants their cook wearing a face mask and spreading poison ivy? They can't compete-this is just awful!"

Chuck and Jack were already clapping one another on the back and doing high fives.

"Don't let your enthusiasm override your common sense," Colette told them. "Marilyn's father and uncle still expect Jack to cook. They arrived early this morning."

"What?" both men asked.

Colette nodded glumly. "They say we'll have to think of a way for Jack to feed the ma.s.ses or at least teach them how to cook a few dishes so that the paying customers don 't go away empty-handed."

"All that planning for nothing," Chuck said. "Rats!"

"Wait," Jack said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He caught himself before blurting out that he could cook. "How about setting up the microphones in the covered shelter? With all of the cookware Larabee is sending, the audience can cook. I'll be the master of ceremonies while the rest of you, if you will, have your own positions near the podium. That way, the others in the audience can see you cooking and will have visual as well as audio feedback while they learn to prepare the same dishes."

"And we can have a tasting party afterwards each day," Chuck added. "And the contest winner will be one of the guests each time!"

"Brilliant!" Colette cried, clasping her hands. "Robert and Marie can still partic.i.p.ate by reading off one of their recipes while we do the same for them. So in essence, all of our authors will host a recipe contest, and this compet.i.tion amongst the authors can wait for another time."

"I like it," Jack said, relieved beyond belief that he wouldn't have to perform in front of a crowd, even if he did have a few culinary tricks to make their guests feel at home.

"Just Dad and Uncle Dave," Marilyn said, once she'd joined them. "They want you to cook for them tonight after their fis.h.i.+ng trip. I couldn't get you out of it, Jackson. Sorry. It was all I could do to keep Dad from walking over here and telling you himself before I had a chance to prepare you."

"Oh, dear," Colette moaned in sympathy. "Now what?"

Chuck asked, "Would your dad and uncle mind if we all had dinner here?"

"What do you mean here? In my cabin?" Marilyn asked.

"Sure. Chance is still next door replacing Jack's countertop." Chuck winced in apology at Jack's Did you have to mention that? glare. "You could always say Colette had already invited us here without your knowledge, so that way we can all be here when he cooks."

"Yeah, I could do that. Might just be a little crowded."

"How about using the clubhouse instead?" Colette asked. "That way the others who have paid can attend."

When Jack started to protest, Colette held up her hands to silence him. "Just hear me out. If Sam and Dave are the only ones who'll actually be eating your cooking, the others will at least get to see you, to mingle, to have a good time. Make it a party and invite everyone since that's the whole purpose of this s.h.i.+ndig."

"With all of them watching me?" Jack asked. "Not if they're sitting at the bar!"

"You'll be partially hidden by the wrap-around bar," Colette said.

"Trash can punch!" Chuck said, snapping his fingers. "I'll be in charge of getting them toasted while you're setting fire to the kitchen."

"That's not funny," Jack said.

"Whatever you fix for the two of them can be prepared in advance, Jack," Colette added. "Finger foods-a basket of hush puppies and fried mozzarella sticks, Cajun potato salad, a nice dessert. So Chuck can have most of it already prepared, and all you have to do is add the final touches when throwing it all together."

"Cheat?" Jack asked. "I don't think so."

Jack looked at Marilyn's pinched face and let a finger smooth the frown puckered between her eyebrows. "What is it you're not saying?"

"Dad wants your Creole Beef Flambe," she said sadly. "Now how do you feel about cheating?"

"Not a problem," Chuck said. "Remember the recipe, Jack? The bacon is cooked ahead of time-as are the sirloin tips. The beef broth can be made in advance. The vegetables are added at the last minute and the bed of rice can be cooked in the microwave-equal parts water to rice."

"Sure," Jack said. "And the whole thing is set on fire right before it's served."

"Oh. Yeah." Chuck sighed and shook his head. "Any chance you can talk your father into a burger and fries, Marilyn?"

"He's pretty much got his heart set on the Beef Flambe," she responded. "Obviously, he doesn't have a clue what this will do to Jack."

"No offense toward your dad," Chuck said, "but any chance we might get him drunk first?"

"With a name like Samuel Francis Xavier O'Malley? Please. You'd be dead of alcohol poisoning before that happened."

"Ah. G.o.d love the Irish," Chuck intoned with a mock brogue.

"Dad loves his stout beer, great books, fine food and good company. Oh, and he wants to see you privately, Jack. Spend some time with you."

Jack nodded. "I'm looking forward to meeting your father. I'm going to invite him to go fis.h.i.+ng with me."

"Really?"

"Of course. For one thing, I'd like to see where it is you get that wicked Irish temper of yours." He winked. "Don't worry. We both knew I'd have to cook in front of someone someday. Looks like this is it and that the Ketchup King is back in business."

He turned towards his cabin, and Marilyn asked why he was leaving.

"I have to put Chance on notice that he may need to reserve some of that material he' s using for my cabinet countertops. He'd kill me if I set the clubhouse on fire, too, but better safe than sorry."

When she saw Chance leave and Jack still hadn't come back to her cabin, Marilyn walked over to his and found him leaning against his new kitchen countertop.

"What's wrong?" she asked, coming to stand before him.

Jack placed his hands on her hips and drew her into the V of his legs. "Do you realize that in the few days I've known you, I've had my whole world turned upside down? I've had my integrity questioned, my cooking skills practically put under a microscope and my heart and ego deflated the night you left me alone in my bedroom. I' ve been dunked in the river-and I have never tipped a canoe since I was eight years old. No, let me finish." He placed a finger gently against her lips to shush her. "Now I have to cook before a crowd, meet your father-my publisher and someone who has high expectations of me. And all I can think about is how much I want to crawl back into bed with you in my arms."

She nestled against him, warming to the glint in his eyes. "Is this such a bad thing?"

"It will be unless we lock the door. Even then, we're not going to get a lot of privacy on the first day, considering that it's open season on Jack and the Beanstalk."

Marilyn kissed him soundly. "The only stalks I've seen around here were celery, and your grandmother pretty much took care of their use."

"What the h.e.l.l am I going to cook for two hundred people?" he asked. "Come tomorrow, there are several people who expect to be fed using my recipes. What am I going to feed them?"

"Their own cooking. We discussed this earlier, remember?"

"Yes, but what recipes? Menus, as you know, are a staple in a good cook's life, and if I'm going to masquerade as a chef, I may as well bring all the props."

"Start with wowing my dad and uncle with the Beef Flambe. The rest will fall into place."

"Right. We've seen how well that happens when I'm cooking."

"You're determined now to out yourself, aren't you?" she asked.

"No, I'm determined to do my duty. Have you ordered those plastic containers for the mustard and ketchup?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me you still want to try those recipes!"

Jack kissed her back. "Yes. Know why? Because I'm not going to be the one cooking this time. I'll be instructing them on how to do it. The recipes have been tested-they're foolproof depending upon the fool doing the cooking. So I'm going to get out of my own way on this one. Just in case I'd bungle the job."

"Smart man. I knew there was something I liked about you besides those biceps and that irrepressible smile."

"You actually like something about me?" he teased. "Couldn't have convinced me that first night."

"That first night you were a pompous jerk."

"And now?"

Marilyn s.h.i.+vered as she felt his c.o.c.k harden and heat, and she fought the urge to press against him further. "You're...trainable."

"Ah, chere," he said softly against her hair as his fingers outlined the contours of her shoulders and back. "You have no idea what you do to me. How much I want you!"

"Jackson?" she gasped as his hands slid around front, tugging at her blouse until his hands closed firmly around her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so that his fingers rubbed her nipples.