Chapter 11

“I’m not the world’s greatest cook,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “While I can usually manage not to burn toast too bad and sometimes fry an egg without busting it, that’s about the extent of my culinary art at breakfast time. You definitely don’t want to try my oatmeal.”

Dan grinned at him. Garrett usually seemed so sure and confident this show of uncertainty made him more human. “When I get back on my feet, I’ll do you up my best Cajun meal. Meanwhile, if you have coffee, chicory or not, I’ll be okay.”

“Coffee I do. And a pretty damn good job if I do say so. My dad was a coffee connoisseur and taught me how to fix it right when we camped out years ago. I can brew it over a campfire, perk it on the range, or even use one of those confounded machines, so long as it doesn’t sit more than twenty or thirty minutes. Check this out.”