Free Summer on the Mountain by Rosemarie Naramore

her.
    Jarrod shot a glance at the fire pit.  “Be sure to snuff out the fire,” he told her.
    “I will.”
    After he’d gone, she carefully put out the fire, and then headed inside.  She thought about Jarrod’s assertions that she should simply pick up a brush and start painting.  Perhaps he was right, she realized.  She had put off the process, procrastinating—something she had never been guilty of in the past.
    With a sigh, she decided to organize her painting supplies, and then finished up by setting up her easel on the screened-in front porch.  She resolved to start a painting in the morning.  Maybe it wouldn’t be the painting Gwendolyn would ultimately gift to Leonard, but it would be a start. 
     
    ***
     
    The next morning, Summer stepped onto the porch, inhaling the crisp mountain air.  It never failed to enliven her senses, and she smiled as she scanned the lake before her.  She spotted a fish jump out of the water, and then land with a splash.  Briefly, she considered dashing to the back porch and grabbing a fishing pole, but forced the thought aside.  She was going to paint today if it killed her.
    She decided to paint the lake scene as viewed from the front porch, and quickly picked up a brush, dipped it into the paint she’d already prepared on the palette, and then began.  Surprisingly, she soon found herself painting with abandon, each stroke seeming to free her from her painter’s block. 
    Before long, she had the foundation of a painting that she found herself liking already.  She smiled with pleasure, but frowned when Jarrod appeared at the base of the porch, heavily-lidded and apparently cranky.
    “So you’ve taken my advice,” he said smugly.
    She noticed his voice sounded different, hoarse and thick.  “Yes, and I suppose I should thank you for it.”
    “Anytime.  And I suppose I should thank you for this cold.  Do you happen to have any coffee?”
    So he had indeed caught her cold.  She nodded and motioned for him to follow her inside.  He climbed the porch steps but paused briefly to study the painting.  He nodded approvingly.  “Looks good,” he said. 
    “Thanks.  I’m nowhere near done, but, at least I’m painting.”
    “That’s really great, Summer,” he said, nodding his head in measured intervals.  “I can see you’re really talented.”
    She warmed under the compliment.  “Well, let’s get you that coffee.”  She led him into the kitchen where she poured him a steaming cup.  He took it and braced it between two hands, as if warming them.  She eyed him curiously, noting two bright red splotches colored his cheeks.
    Without thinking, she stepped forward and checked him for fever with a gentle palm to his forehead.  “You are sick.”
    “And it’s your fault,” he accused.
    She bit back a smile.  “No, it’s your fault.  You should learn to keep your lips to yourself.”
    He grinned.  “It was worth it.”
    “I hardly think so,” she said.  She led him out of the kitchen and to the couch.  “Sit down.”
    “Planning on nursing me back to health?” he asked.  “Seems only fair, since I helped you.”
    She sighed tiredly.  “I thought you looked a little worse for wear yesterday,” she observed.
    He sighed.  “Hit me in the middle of the night, while I was on a stakeout.”
    She raised her eyebrows questioningly.  “A stakeout for what?”
    “Poachers.” 
    Her eyes widened in alarm.  “There are actually poachers up here?”  As soon as she posed the question, she remembered Deputy Sanders had mentioned them.
    He nodded.  “They’re taking elk and even brown bear.”
    “That’s criminal,” Summer said angrily.  “Harming innocent animals in their own habitat!”
    “Exactly,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch. 
    “Did you have breakfast this morning?” she asked.
    “I don’t feel like eating.”
    “I’ll make you a hot lemon.”
    “That’s all right,” he mumbled.  “I need to head