Free Summer on the Mountain by Rosemarie Naramore Page B

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