Page 39 of A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy

“Me?” Weston couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I’m the last person to ask.”

“Oh?” She angled her face and studied him. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s just like me.” The admission hurt.

“What reached you?”

He wanted to say, “Nothing.” He wanted to walk away and hurl rocks in the lake. But he couldn’t. It had been an honest question, and Susanna didn’t deserve a pouting co-leader.

And she wasn’t entirely wrong. He was a Christian. He might struggle a whole lot with living like one, but the message had taken root inside him, regardless. How had that happened? How had he been so firmly entrenched that he failed to allow the presence of the Holy Spirit to mold him into a godly man?

Paisley forced her annoyance with Weston out of her mind. She and the kids had a great ride around the small lake, fording a couple of creeks that tumbled into it and the wider one that flowed outward. Then she set up the afternoon’s ‘capture the flag’ contest and let the kids go at it before turning to see if she could help Susanna with dinner preparations. Not that there was much to do, since Nadine had sent simple, mostly ready-to-heat meals.

Where was Weston? That seemed to be today’s Groundhog Day question, rolling around again and again with no answer. He’d tried to get out of helping lead this backcountry trip, and she’d pushed him into acquiescence.

Did that mean she deserved the silent treatment he was dishing out? If he was trying to make sure she never cornered him again for something like this, he’d succeeded. She needed a co-leader who shouldered his or her share. Someone who didn’t purposefully antagonize impressionable kids.

Matthew wasn’t bad. He just needed a gentle touch. Needed someone to see who he was beneath the bluster.

Sort of like Weston.

Huh. No wonder the two clashed, but Weston was the grownup and should be in control of his own actions and reactions.

“Do you have time to give me a hand?” Susanna smiled at Paisley. “I’ve started the big pot of chili heating, so it’s just a matter of making the cornbread mix into pancakes and setting up the serving line.”

Say what? “Cornbread pancakes?”

“Nadine prepped a mix, but since we don’t have an oven, we agreed this would be the easiest. The kids can dip them in the chili if they want, or just butter them and munch them on the side.”

“Clever. I’m glad you had a chance to go over the menu with Nadine before we rode out. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking over the meals like this.”

“It’s the least I could do. Harvey was so excited about signing us up as chaperones, but I’ve never been camping a day in my life, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could really help with until this need came to light.”

“You’ve managed the camp stove just fine for someone who’s never done it before.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I appreciate that. Would you rather make the cornbread pancakes or handle the rest?”

“I’m on the cornbread.” Paisley picked up the large Ziplock bag and scanned the instructions written on it in felt pen. “Just add water! Sounds simple enough.”

“Harvey and the kids caught a few trout earlier.” Susanna stacked paper plates beside the camp stove. “He seems to think we should cook those up along with dinner.”

“Mmm, trout.”

“At least, he cleaned them.” The woman shuddered. “But I don’t think there’s enough to go around. I wish he’d just have tossed them back in the water.”

“I’m not a huge fan of catch-and-release.”

“Why not? It’s better for the fish not to be killed and eaten, right?”

“Maybe? But being snagged and reeled in and lifted out of the water is traumatizing for them. And removing the fishing lure isn’t always simple, even with a barbless hook. I’m a fan of fishing for food, but not just for the ‘fun’ of it.”

“Huh. That’s an interesting viewpoint. I’ve never thought of that before. I thought all conservationists were in favor of returning fish to the water.”

“Not this one,” Paisley murmured, stirring water into the dry ingredients. “But when Weston gets back, you could ask him to wrap the trout in foil and cook them in the fire, since the frying pans will be in use with the cornbread. I’m sure he knows how to do that, and we’ve got foil along.”

“Good idea.” Susanna set the two frying pans on the camp stove. “You two really should be dating.”

Paisley gulped. Back to this again? “Weston and me? No.”

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