Page 79 of Cowboys at Coconuts

She nodded. “I get it. Vagrants make them because they don’t require pots and pans.”

“Probably. I never really thought about it. Want a refill?”

Cheri wanted to keep her wits about her in the woods. “Maybe I should wait.”

“Sip it slowly.” Cole poured wine for Cheri and fished another beer out of the cooler. They sipped their drinks in silence as the yellow and orange flames popped and crackled.

Transfixed on the outdoor fire, Cheri said, “This is cozy. I love the smell. I think I like camping. So far.” Sitting cross-legged on the quilt, her knee touched Cole’s leg. A chill ran up her spine, and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” Cole unbuttoned his shirt, apparently to give it to her.

Cheri stared at his tanned six-pack. Feeling the urge to kiss his bare chest, she resisted as a spark landed near her foot. Jerking back, she said, “That was close.”

As Cole struggled with a button, Cheri fixated on his body. “You don’t have to do that, but thanks for the offer. I brought a jacket, plus, the fire is warm.”

He re-buttoned his shirt and poked the foil hobos with a long stick. Turning them over, he moved them away from the direct flame. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Good. Let me help.”

Motioning toward the duffel bag, he said, “You can set out our fancy paper plates. I brought only the best for you. They’re even sectioned off so our food doesn’t touch. I don’t like food that touches.”

Cheri put her hands on her hips. “That could be a problem.”

“Why?”

“I like to layer my food when I cook, sometimes placing the protein at a nice slant for appearances, and—”

He raised his eyebrows. “Layer it?”

“I usually put a starch on the bottom, meat in the middle, vegetables or fruit on top, depending on the dish, with a nice sauce drizzled over everything—or maybe a schmear underneath.”

“Sounds fancy.” Cole grinned. “I sure wouldn’t turn it down.”

Grinning thinking about the national food awards she had won while attending culinary school, Cheri decided she had probably said more than enough. She wanted to keep her chef background a secret, at least for now. She couldn’t chance his Googling her. “Are the plates in the bag?”

“Yep. Right beside the upscale plastic forks and knives.”

As she reached inside the enormous bag, her thoughts wandered to her mother.I can just see my mother, Victoria Van Buren, in the woods eating on paper plates with plastic cutlery. She would be aghast. But she doesn’t know what she’s missing.

Digging through the duffel bag, Cheri discovered a folded red and white checkered tablecloth, plastic ware, paper plates, and white napkins. “This bag is like a bottomless pit. You thought of everything.”

Using two long, skinny branches like giant chop sticks, Cole pulled the steaming aluminum pouches off the fire. After they were cool to the touch, he placed the packets at the end of a rickety, wooden picnic table.

Cheri spread the checkered tablecloth on the opposite end. “I may be a city girl but I don’t think tables just appear in the woods. Did you put this table here?”

“Yep. Years ago.”

I wonder how many other girls he has brought here. Why do I care? He’s here with me now.

Opening a hobo packet, Cole emptied it onto a paper plate. “Careful, it’s hot.” Holding several napkins, he grabbed a burnt edge of foil and emptied the second hobo onto another plate. Want your food separated?”

“I’ll have it layered. It smells great, by the way.”

“I forgot something.”

Cheri’s mouth watered as she stared at her searing plate of food. Inhaling the rustic scent of wood, burger, and vegetables, she said, “This smells scrumptious.”

Reaching into the cooler, Cole plunked a bottle of catsup on the table. “There. Dinner is served. Care for a refill?”

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