by JoAnn Ross
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Of course you were. It’s only normal for a pet lover. I feel the same way whenever I go on a trip and have to leave Peanut behind.”
Pet lover might be stretching it.”
“But you’re going to keep him?”
Gabe decided there was no longer any point in denying it. Not after the mutt had spent the night lying across his feet. “Might as well, since he doesn’t take up that much room.”
“I’m glad. Now he needs a name.”
“What’s wrong with Dog?”
“Nothing. But it should be more personal, don’t you think?”
Like the dog would even know? “I haven’t given it any thought.”
“Well, you still have time. Though you’ll want him to have a name to respond to when you take him to obedience training.”
“You’re kidding. It’s not like he’s a Doberman.”
“All dogs should be taught to be good citizens. Besides, it’ll give him confidence and teach him proper ways to behave around all different types of dogs. It’ll also help keep all that natural exuberance from getting him into trouble.”
Gabe couldn’t see himself taking the mutt to a damn school, but since he’d be leaving town as soon as the camp ended, it wasn’t as if she’d find out he let that part of his apparent pet-ownership duties slide.
“Did you ask your mother along?” he asked, changing the subject back to her mother.
“No.” She sounded a bit puzzled, then stopped and let out a short laugh. “You thought I was bringing her along as protection, didn’t you?”
“Do you feel you need protection?”
“There you go again.” She let out a huff of breath. “Answering a question with another question. No, I do not feel as if I need protection. I’m a grown woman. Something my mother appears to have forgotten.”
“Are you saying she doesn’t like me?” If that was the case, the older woman was a damn good actress.
“Actually, although she hasn’t said anything about her sudden decision to come out to the camp today, I think the problem is that she’s afraid you’ll break my heart. So I suspect she’s coming along as a chaperone.”
“I figured as much.”
“I’m sorry. It’s ridiculous, really. Treating me as if I’m sixteen. Especially since she mostly left me in the care of the private school and housekeepers when I was actually sixteen.”
“Maybe she’s trying to make up for lost years.”
“Or more likely she’s just feeling adrift, given that her marriage may be breaking up.”
“That’s tough.”
“It always is. But usually she bounces back pretty quickly. This time . . .”
Her voice drifted off. They walked a bit more. The early-morning rain had stopped, dazzling the landscape in the golden light natives called a sun-shower. The floral aroma of the garden was tinged with spicier scents of fir trees and sea salt.
“This time?” he asked when she didn’t finish her thought.
Charity sighed. “I think she’s honestly feeling lost.”
“Maybe she should just call her husband. So they can discuss the problem, whatever it is, like two adults.”
She stopped again. Looked up at him. “How did you know—oh, I remember, you were here during the hysterics.”
“I wouldn’t exactly use the term hysterics.” Having dodged more than a few thrown household items growing up, Gabe figured his own definition involved more cursing, holes in Sheetrock, and broken glass. “But she was fairly dramatic about whatever’s happening.”
“That’s her MO. Things fall apart and she hides behind her diva persona until she recovers. But this just feels different.”
“Maybe, if she hurts enough, for long enough, she’ll pick up the phone.”
“The trick is for her to let her guard down enough to feel the pain. Which is what brings us to today’s camp expedition. I honestly cannot recall my mother ever camping in her life. Even the summer we came here, whenever we could talk her into going down to the beach, she wore designer sundresses and wide-brimmed straw hats that were constantly blowing off, so Lucas and I would have to chase them down. Usually she stayed on the porch of the cottage, read books, and drank lemonade while Lucas’ dad took us on sightseeing adventures.”
“Since it sounds as if she’s not exactly into communing with nature, if you give her enough time, she might just decide going back to her husband is preferable to playing Camper Barbie.”
“One can only hope.” She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For listening. I’m not used to having anyone to talk with about her without sounding as if I’m being judgmental, or making her out to be a bad mother. Which she really wasn’t. Just, well, a bit careless and self-centered, I suppose.”
“Feel free to share all you want. But believe me, she could be a lot worse.”
“Believe me, I tell myself that on a regular basis.”
It was one thing to want to drag Charity off to the nearest bed. Gabe found the spikes of lust encouraging, proof he hadn’t left all feeling in the Afghan mountains. But what was more than a little unsettling was how much he just plain old liked her. He’d lived in a testosterone-driven world for so long; although there were women Marines, he’d never worked closely with any. So he’d never had a woman friend.
Until, just maybe, now.
Oh yeah. He was definitely toast.
29
Gabe was more patient than Charity would have expected, actually nodding and making vague comments at the appropriate moments as her mother, seated in back, chattered on nonstop about the scenery, the “darlingness” of the town, and how she’d come up with the “brilliant” idea to give all the girls at the camp makeovers in the first place.
“I was getting a shampoo and blowout at the local salon this morning,” she said, “when Camille, who runs Cut Loose, said she does makeovers at the local nursing home. We were talking about what a lift it gives those women’s morale, when it hit me. Why not do the same thing for the poor little foster girls?”
“Sounds like a great plan,” he said.
Which was the same thing Charity had said when her mother had come home with all those bottles of nail polish. It would also, she considered, help take her mother’s mind off her own domestic problems.
“Camille’s going to meet me there to make the process go more quickly,” Amanda said. “We’re also doing tattoos.”
“Tattoos?” Charity asked, alarmed.
“Don’t worry, darling. They’re only the temporary kind. Camille’s stopping by Think Ink on her way out to the camp. Apparently they sell rub-on tattoos for people who don’t want permanent ones, or who’d like to try out a design before they get it. She’s going to get some for the boys, as well, so they won’t feel left out. Though we do have one little problem.”
She paused. Sighed.
“What would that be?” Charity asked, on cue.
“We’re afraid the boys won’t be willing to accept ink from two middle-aged women.”
There was another longer, significant pause. Charity bit her lip to keep the laugh from escaping.
“You know,” Gabe drawled, allowing that sexy hint of the South she’d heard in his voice before, “I’m beginning to understand where your daughter got her ability to talk everyone in the county into adopting a pet.”
“Not everyone,” Charity corrected. “Only people I’m convinced would be a good fit.”
“You don’t have to get up on your high horse, sugar. I was merely pointing out that you’re more your mother’s daughter than some people might realize, at first glance.”
Sugar?
“Thank you, Gabriel,” Amanda gushed before Charity could challenge his statement. “That’s such a lovely thought. . . . So, will you do it?”
Charity’s momentary pique diminished when he laughed good-naturedly at her mother’s question. “Do I have
a choice?”
“Gabe’s going to be pretty busy teaching photography, Mom,” Charity said in an attempt to give him an escape route.
“That’s okay.” He shot a grin toward Amanda in the rearview mirror. “Seems only fair the girls not be the only ones getting ink. But I draw the line at doing manicures and pedicures.”
“Oh, never fear, darling,” Charity’s mother said breezily. “Camille and I have those covered.”
“You know,” Amanda said as Gabe drove past quaint and cheery Cape Cod–style shops selling local crafts, along with galleries featuring coastal artists, “I’d forgotten how charming this little town is.”
“It’s picturesque, all right,” Gabe agreed.
“According to Margie Bremerton, the docent at the local historical museum, the town started out as a collection of fishing shanties scattered around a very modest railroad station,” Charity said. “It became an actual town during the nineteen hundreds after a derailment on the Oregon-California border stopped all train traffic up the coast.”
“What, everyone got off and stayed?” Gabe asked.
Although Charity knew he was joking, she enjoyed sharing the colorful history of her adopted home.
“Cute. But as it turns out, a private Pullman car on the train was fortuitously owned by a shirttail relative of Charles Crocker. Crocker was one of the founders of the Central Pacific Railroad, which became this western portion of the first transcontinental railroad.”
The Coast Starlight, considered one of the most scenic routes in the country, from Seattle to Los Angeles, still ran through the heart of town.
“As history tells it, he’d suffered blinding headaches all of his life. So, when his manservant told him that the stationmaster mentioned that the native Indians and fishermen claimed the springs out at Rainbow Lake had miraculous curative powers, he sent him to get him a drink.”
“Oh, I remember Duncan telling me that story during that summer vacation we spent here,” Amanda said. “Ten minutes after drinking the water, the pain supposedly disappeared and the man’s vision cleared.”
“Clear enough to see he’d struck gold,” Charity agreed.
“He bottled and sold the water,” Gabe guessed.
Oh, he had much bigger plans than that. Realizing the potential, within a year he’d built a grand hotel at the edge of town, the lodge, then, using his family ties to interest reporters at newspapers up and down the coast, started a promotional campaign touting the hot springs as a cure-all for just about everything, including headaches, gout, female disorders, and nervous conditions.
“Unfortunately, the hotel burned down in the 1930s, but a lot of the original buildings are still standing.”
“Like your place.”
“That’s one of them. Though as you may have noticed, the rest of the Victorians were built higher up the hill.”
“Charity’s home was originally a brothel,” Amanda volunteered. “Which is why it was built right across from the harbor. To make it easy for the fishermen clients to visit.”
“Interesting past,” Gabe said, slanting Charity a wicked grin.
“I like to think so,” she agreed mildly.
The two-lane road twisted like a snarled fishing line out to Rainbow Lake. Although it had stopped raining, the sky was the hue of tarnished silver. Sunbeams slanted though a green screen of Pacific silver fir, western hemlock, and majestic Douglas fir, laying down shimmering stripes of light across the pavement. The sound of moving water was everywhere as streams born in melting mountain glaciers fed the rivers running to the sea.
It was impossible not to be moved by such scenery. Charity couldn’t help noticing that even her mother had fallen silent as she drank in the view.
The campers had already assembled in the main lodge when they arrived at the camp. At the cheer that went up when Ethel called her up to the microphone, Charity knew that last year’s campers were already anticipating the dogs.
“It’s good to see you all again,” she said over the mike’s squeal. Fred, the detail member of the Fred and Ethel team, leaped forward to make a few adjustments that had those kids who’d covered their ears lowering their hands. “How many of you are looking forward to the best year of camp ever?”
Another cheer went up. As she scanned the large timber-roofed room, she saw more than a few children remain silent, arms folded across their chests. Undaunted, determined to help lighten their attitude before their time together ended, she forged on.
“Fred and Ethel will be dividing everyone into teams for the dogs,” she explained. “We’ve a few more campers this year, so we’re going to make it so each cabin will adopt at least one dog.”
There was a bit of grumbling about that, but Charity decided that the upside was it would force the campers to learn to work together as teams. Which was why she’d come up with the plan when Ethel had first called her with the increased numbers. Unfortunately, the downturn in the economy had led to more broken marriages and escalating abuse, which had resulted in more children entering the system.
And while the same problems had brought additional abandoned pets to the shelter, Charity would bring only ones she’d thoroughly behaviorally tested. As she had Gabe’s dog that first night it stayed with her.
“You may have noticed that I’ve brought a couple new people with me,” she said. “This is my mother, Amanda.” As she waved toward her mother, who gaily waved back, Charity decided that it was a good thing campers, staff, and volunteers all went solely by their first names. Because there was no way all her mother’s last names would fit on the “Hello” tag she was actually wearing on the front of her silk shirt.
“She’s going to be helping Camille, who runs the Cut Loose beauty salon and day spa, do makeovers.”
The gasp of surprise was audible. Looks between the girl campers were exchanged and faces lit up as bright as the rainbow that often shimmered above the falls that had given the lake its name.
“So you guys won’t feel left out, Gabe”—she gestured toward him—“has volunteered to do tattooing.” She held up a hand as a roar of approval rocked the room. They’re temporary, though still way cool.
“Gabe’s also a U.S. Marine photojournalist. He’s going to be teaching everyone how to take super photos so you can leave with pictures of memories of all the good times you’ll be having. And here’s the best news—you’ll be able to take the cameras you’ll be using home with you.”
That definitely proved popular. Charity knew that many of the kids could carry all their personal belongings in a pillowcase. And some actually did. Just watching the amazed expressions—as if suddenly Santa had arrived in their midst—made her eyes fill.
“Sounds as if you scored a home run,” Gabe said as Fred and Ethel began separating the campers into groups.
“That excitement wasn’t about me. We always have way more women volunteers than men. Plus, being a Marine has to increase your appeal level. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Pewter eyes darkened as they roamed her face with the intimate impact of a caress. “I have a few suggestions along those lines. After we have that official first date we missed at the Sea Mist. You know the one. Where you go too far.” His seductive Southern drawl slipped beneath her skin in a way that sent her nerves humming again.
“Maybe I’ll hold you to that.”
As they stood there, surrounded by the sea of excited campers, a now familiar awareness arced between them.
Gabe’s gaze drifted to her lips and lingered, as if he was remembering their taste. His slow, rakish smile was as dangerous as it was impossible to resist. “Plan on it.”
30
Damn, he wanted to kiss her. Right now, Gabe considered as desire curled in his gut and tension hovered between them like a live wire. He could just lower his head and take her mouth and—
What?
Nothing they could get away with here, in front of a bunch of homeless kids.
He tugged on a loose strand of hair
that had escaped the confines of its clip, gave her the same hot smile more than one Marine groupie had assured him was irresistible, then turned and strolled over to the far side of the room where Fred had gathered all the boys next to a stone fireplace tall enough to stand in.
Camille had already given the older man the stick-on tattoos. He’d laid them out on a wooden trestle table. Among the more heavy-metal-type lightning bolts and skulls and the cartoon characters for the younger kids, Gabe recognized the same Marine anchor tattoo he wore on his chest.
The plan, as it was set up, was that he, Fred, and Bernard Douchett, Sax’s grandfather, would each set up shop in a different corner of the room while the girls all left to wherever they were going to have their makeovers.
The kids would choose a tattoo, then get in line. Watching the two older men’s obvious organizational skills, Gabe was not surprised to learn that Fred was former military—Army infantry—from the Vietnam era, while Bernard was a fellow jarhead who’d fought with the Fourth Marine Division in Korea.
The procedure went like clockwork. Gabe had inked half a dozen campers when a tall, gangly teenager, with dark-framed glasses and a shock of orange hair, stood in front of him.
“Where’s yours?” Gabe asked.
The kid held out both arms. He had Angel on one forearm, Mom on the other. They’d definitely not been professionally done.
“Nice.” Gabe nodded. “Did you ink them yourself?”
“Yeah. With a pen and a needle.”
“I’ll bet that hurt.”
“Nah.” The kid shrugged shoulders that looked like wire hangers. “Didn’t hurt at all. ’Cause I’m tough.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Gabe said mildly. “I imagine the system isn’t for sissies.”
“Hell, no.”
Deciding this wasn’t the time to get into proper language, Gabe instead asked, “Is Angel your girlfriend?”
“My sister,” he mumbled.