Not that it should be any of his business.
“Where is everybody?” she asked.
“Asleep, I hope. Paige and the students are tucked in their beds, and you gave Consuelo the night off.” He wouldn’t tell her about tucking Paige in and hearing her bedtime prayer, or how deeply he’d ached when she’d asked God to bless her daddy and bring him home.
“How’s Dusty?” he asked.
Her smile showed some strain. “Better. Strong enough to complain. All he wants to do is come home. But the doctors are keeping him a couple more days. That’s probably a good idea. Oh—he wants you to come visit him tomorrow. He said he could use a word with you, whatever he meant by that.”
“He didn’t say what he wanted?”
“Not a hint.” Kira shrugged her slim shoulders. “Since one of us needs to be here with the students, I’ll probably let you go alone.”
“You don’t mind my taking the Jeep?”
“Take my Outback. It gets better gas mileage. Just don’t let Dusty talk you into smuggling him out of the hospital. I wouldn’t put it past him to try it.” She turned back toward the house.
“Don’t go yet.” The words escaped Jake’s mouth before he had a chance to consider them. “Sit down. If you’re hungry, we’ve got a few hot dogs left. I can cook you one. Or if you’d rather have a s’more, I know how to toast a perfect marshmallow. One of my many hidden talents.”
She made an effort, at least, to laugh. “How can I turn down an offer like that? I don’t care for hot dogs, thanks, but since you offered, I’ll take a s’more. Maybe I can learn something from your technique.”
“Coming up.” Jake chose a sharpened willow stick from the bundle the students had used and eased a fresh marshmallow onto the point. “It’s important not to squeeze it,” he said with mock seriousness. “You’ll want a nice, round shape that will toast evenly.”
Kira giggled—a sound like a little girl’s laugh. She needed to giggle more often, Jake thought.
“Now you hold it over the coals, not the flame,” he said, demonstrating. “Close, but not too close. And you turn it, very slowly. See that little curl of smoke? That means it’s browned enough on one side and needs to be turned. There . . . see? Perfect.”
He’d no sooner spoken than the marshmallow burst into a miniature flaming torch. By the time Jake snatched up the stick and blew out the fire, there was nothing left of it but crisp black carbon.
Kira was laughing—really laughing. Seeing her in the firelight, Jake noticed how her eyes crinkled at the corners, and how her generous smile made tiny dimples in her cheeks. He’d never thought of Kira as pretty—especially compared with Wendy. But tonight she possessed a different sort of beauty—strong, vulnerable and as elusive as a moonbeam.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, taking another sharpened willow from the bundle. “Let’s have a contest. You can toast another marshmallow for me, and I’ll toast one for you.”
“Okay.” He passed her the bag of marshmallows. “But what’s to stop you from burning mine on purpose?”
She grinned. “If I do that, I’ll lose. And I don’t like to lose.”
“You’re on.” He speared a marshmallow. When they were ready, they held their sticks above the coals, turning them carefully as the white surfaces darkened to golden brown.
“Done!” he said, raising his stick. “I’d say we’ve got a tie.”
Kira studied the marshmallows with a playful frown. “I could argue that mine is brown on top, and the one you toasted is only brown on the sides. But all right. Let’s call it a tie. Here’s your masterpiece. Let’s make our s’mores.”
A tray on a folding camp table held leftovers from the cookout. Layering graham crackers and squares of chocolate with the hot, melted marshmallows, they carried the messy treats back to the fire, sat down and took the first dripping bites.
“Good?” he asked, licking marshmallow off his lip.
“Mmmf!” She swallowed the mouthful she’d taken. “We do this cookout every session, but I never eat these. I’ve forgotten how decadent they are. Right now, I feel like a ten-year-old kid.”
“Enjoy.” He liked watching her, with a chocolate smear on the end of her nose and a rare, delicious look of pleasure on her face. It was a look he wouldn’t mind seeing more of—maybe from above, with her soft brown hair spread on his pillow. . . .
But what was he thinking? An affair with Kira would be a disaster—there was too much shared baggage between them, too much guilt and pain. He imagined tears, accusations, slamming doors and the open road. No, it was best to keep things as they were now, in a state of guarded truce.
“I’m guessing Paige got her share before bedtime,” Kira said. “She loves s’mores.”
“I think she ate three of them. I hope they won’t make her sick.”
“Three’s about usual for her. She should be fine.” Kira finished eating and licked her lips, stirring the fantasies Jake thought he’d just put to bed. Maybe . . . but no, she was giving him her serious look now.