“You have a huge heart, Jazzy Walker.”
His compliment brought a flush to her cheeks, although she told herself it was just the heat from the fire. She didn’t want to want his approval.
Silence fell over them and she didn’t feel any urge to chatter as she might normally have. By nature, she was a chatty person, but she could tell Roan was not. From a sheltering of oak trees across the pasture came the hoot of a barn owl. Farther off, another owl answered.Who? Who?
“It’s tranquil out here.”
“It is.”
“How long have you lived on this ranch?” she asked.
“All my life. I was born here. My grandfather bought Slope Ridge in the 1940s, when he came home from World War II and he passed it onto my dad. After Pop had a heart attack it was too much for him to keep up with and he and Mom both decided to retire. Claire and I had just gotten married and were living in an apartment in Fort Worth. We jumped at the chance to take over the place.”
“Wow, that’s an impressive heritage.” She wanted to ask him what Claire had done for a living before they started making campfire cooking videos. The woman was pretty enough to have been a model,but she didn’t want to discuss his late wife. “Not many people have that kind of legacy.”
“It is special,” he said. “Knowing your roots run three generations deep and you’re raising the fourth.”
“Would you be disappointed if Trinity didn’t want to take over the ranch?”
“I imagine a little,” Roan said. “But I don’t want her to ever feel she can’t be who she wants to be.”
“That’s a healthy attitude.” She paused, sniffing the air. “Does it smell like the cookies are burning to you?”
“Go ahead and check them.”
“By myself?”
“Hands-on is the best way to learn.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling out of her element as she recalled how badly she’d screwed up the cookies she’d baked with Charlie.
Roan talked her through the steps. She was surprised by how difficult it was to lift the piping hot Dutch oven from the coals with the cast-iron lifting tool.
“I didn’t realize I’d have to pump iron to be a campfire baker,” she joked.
“It is heavy and unwieldy lifting it from the fire, but I bet a dollar to a doughnut that Andi will have the same struggles as you in that regard.”
“That’s comforting,” Jazzy said and feeling rather wobbly, settled the Dutch oven onto the bricks the way Roan had earlier. “If she and I are on a level playing field with the campfire part, maybe I should focus on perfecting my baking skills.”
“Good point.” He got up and came to kneel beside her in front of the brick border. “And you’ll need to create your own special recipe.”
“That sounds daunting.”
“You can do it,” he said.
“You really think so?”
“With me in your corner? How can you fail?” His eyes twinkled in the firelight.
“You’re going to help me create my own cookie recipe?” Excitement sped up her pulse.
“Sure... if you want my help with that.”
“Oh yes, yes!”
“Do you want me to do the honors?” He nodded at the Dutch oven.
“No, you’re right. I need to learn.” Hauling in a deep breath, and clenching her jaw, she took the lid lifter and hooked it around the lid handle.