On Lone Star Trail by Amanda Cabot Read Free Book Online

role.
    â€œWe’re going to have a campfire,” she said.
    â€œWhy?” the first girl asked. Perhaps an inch taller than Gillian’s five foot four, the girl had dark brown hair and eyes and what would have been a pretty face had her makeup been more subtle. As it was, the heavy eyeliner and garish shadow made her resemble a clown. Her clothing, though, had nothing in common with a clown’s baggy suit. The combination of a tight sweater with a deep vee neckline and an overly short skirt left no doubt that she had what was once called a pinup girl’s figure.
    â€œYou have to wait and see, but an educated guess is that s’mores are involved. By the way, I’m Gillian.”
    The girl nodded. “I’m Brianna. Why do you think we’re having s’mores?”
    Gillian held out the grocery bag TJ had given her for safekeeping, revealing the contents. “I can’t think of anything else to do with graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate. Can you?”
    A second girl shook her head. “I’m Tracy.” She gestured toward the other girls. “Are we invited?”
    â€œSure.” The mission had been to entertain all the teens, not simply the boys. “You and anyone else who’s interested in a s’more.”
    But TJ had more than s’mores in mind. Once the fire was built and the introductions made, he announced that it was illegal to have a campfire without telling stories around it. Remembering how powerful peer pressure and the worry of being embarrassed could be, Gillian wasn’t surprised that no one volunteered. If TJ was disappointed by the lack of participation, he gave no sign of it; he simply launched into a tale of his travels around the country on his motorcycle.
    The man was a born storyteller. Though Gillian doubted the actual events had been as amusing as TJ made them sound, there was no doubt that he’d gotten the kids’ attention. Theylistened as intently as any group of teenagers she’d ever seen, and when he appeared to have finished, they asked for more.
    â€œMaybe tomorrow,” TJ said. No wonder he claimed that teaching was a performing art. TJ wasn’t just a born storyteller, he was a great performer, recognizing the value of leaving an audience wanting more. “Right now,” he said with a grin that was clearly visible in the light of the campfire, “my stomach wants a s’more. Who’s going to roast the first marshmallow?”
    Good-natured squabbling was the predictable result. Finally, TJ turned to Gillian. “What about you?”
    She shook her head. “You must be kidding. After the supper I ate, I won’t need another meal for a week.”
    Giving her a faux scowl, he said, “You can’t disappoint the kids.”
    â€œYeah,” Shane agreed. “You’re our adult supervision. You gotta eat some. Otherwise, how can you be sure it’s really chocolate and not something bad?”
    â€œThat sounds like I’m the royal taster.” Gillian couldn’t help laughing. “It’s the craziest argument I’ve ever heard, but okay.”
    She skewered a marshmallow and began to toast it. When it was perfectly browned, she slid it onto a graham cracker and topped it with a piece of chocolate and another graham. Taking a bite, she let the flavors of her childhood coat her tongue, then slide down her throat. “This is great!”
    A half hour later, once the campfire had been extinguished, TJ and Gillian started back to Rainbow’s End.
    â€œYou’re really good with kids,” she said when they were out of earshot of the group.
    He shrugged. “It’s been awhile since I was their age, but I still remember what it felt like. They’re kids, but . . .”
    He paused, his attention drawn to a couple standing in the shadows of a live oak. There was enough moonlight to reveal arms wrapped around each other and lips