“Me too.”
Andi snorted. “You gotta know how to bake before you can perfect your technique.”
“How do you know I haven’t already perfected my baking skills?”
“Have you?” Andi arched her eyebrows and looked superior.
“I’m working on it,” Jazzy said, hearing the defensiveness in her voice.
Andi said, reaching for the most expensive Dutch oven, “I’m getting this one. It’s Roan Sullivan approved.”
It was the same brand, but the next model up. The label sporting Roan’s name. Jazzy couldn’t believe she’d been so unaware of Roan’s high standing in the campfire cooking community.
“I have a discount code for twenty percent off,” Jazzy said. “Do you want me to text it to you?”
Andi eyed her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you help me?”
“Why not?”
“I’m your competitor.”
“Helping you save twenty percent won’t hurt me in the contest.” Jazzy took out her phone and texted the digital coupon to Andi.
“Ahh,” Andi said. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The reason you’re such a loser. You don’t know how to take care of yourself in this dog-eat-dog world.”
Jazzy shook her head. “That is just sad.”
“What is?” Andi narrowed her eyes.
“Your cutthroat view of the world.”
“I think your lollipops and gumdrops attitude is the stupid one.”
“I never said your viewpoint was stupid.”
Andi glowered, grabbed the Dutch oven, and stormed off.
“You’re welcome for the discount code,” Jazzy called after her.
Andi lifted a middle finger above her head.
“Nice, Browning. Real nice,” Jazzy mumbled and turned to see that Andi had taken the last of the Roan Sullivan–branded Dutch ovens. Oh well, the cheaper version should do just as well. Although it didn’t qualify for the twenty percent discount, so it ended up costing more.
“Jazzy!” a clear little voice rang out in Tractor Supply.
With the heavy Dutch oven clutched in her arms, Jazzy glanced up to see Roan coming toward her, pushing Trinity in a shopping cart. All six foot three inches of hot masculine body. His eyes methers and he smiled big. He’d been through hell and back, but he still had the capacity for joy.
Jazzy’s heart warmed at the sight of them. “Hi there, Sullivans!”
“Your vacation has started?” Roan asked, wearing an outfit almost identical to what he’d worn at the hospital—Wranglers, boots, jeans, a Stetson. The cowboy’s uniform. And he looked sexy as sin in it.