by Helen Brenna
“All the boxes have the rooms marked,” she said to the moving men.
That spindly wood sprite was in charge? Impossible. In tight, low-rise jeans and a short-sleeved orange T-shirt, she looked barely old enough to have graduated from college.
“Bedrooms one through four are upstairs,” she went on. “The numbers are on the door. Bedroom five is on the main floor.” With wavy blond hair, wide, heavily lashed eyes and a tall slender frame, all that honey needed was a wand to look like a modern-day princess from a kid’s movie. Wholesome, there was no other word for her.
“Excuse me.” He stepped toward the porch. “This house belongs to a quiet old woman.” He’d no sooner closed his mouth than he realized how odd the comment sounded, but he’d be damned before he’d explain.
“Hi,” she said. Then she smiled, lighting up her face and making the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen almost dance, and wholesome turned to lively, pretty to beautiful. “Yeah, my grandmother used to live here. Sweet, wasn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He’d never once spoken with the old woman. “What’re you doing here?”
The wattage of her dazzling smile dimmed. Much better. “Grandma passed away a few months ago, and I inherited her house.” She came into the yard and Snickers raced toward her. “Well, aren’t you the cutest thing in the whole wide world?” She squatted and rubbed the dog’s ears.
Snickers showed his appreciation by planting a big sloppy one on her mouth. Disgusting. How could she let him do that?
“Is he your dog?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“Snickers.” Was he really having this conversation?
“And you look like a candy bar, too,” she cooed and scratched the dog’s neck, then she stood and held out her hand. “I’m Natalie Steeger. Nice to meet you.”
Feeling distinctly dazed, Jamis shook her hand before the distant rumbling of golf carts coming through the woods distracted them both.
“Oh, goodie,” she said, grinning. “Here they come.”
Oh, goodie. “Here who come?”
“The kids.”
Kids. As in more than one?
“I know it’s crazy having them come on moving day, but I wanted them to feel a part of this.” She motioned to the activity around her. “You know, help with the unpacking decisions. Get vested in everything happening here.”
“What, exactly, is happening here?”
“I’m starting a summer camp for kids.”
“You’re kidding.” Surely, his heart stopped midbeat. “Did Stephen put you up to this?”
“Stephen who?”
Holy hell. A camp for kids.
Man, did that bring back a whole host of bad memories. That’s what Jamis’s too-busy-for-their-only-child parents had done to get rid of him for three of the most miserable summers of his adolescence. His mother had thought she’d been doing him a favor sending him to the plushest, most expensive camp in the country. But somehow spoiled-rotten rich kids running untamed through the woods at all hours, not to mention bullying and pranking, hadn’t been Jamis’s idea of fun.
This had to be a dream. His imagination often took bad, even worse turns. Any minute now, Jamis told himself, you’re gonna wake up and this is all going to disappear. In fact, now would be a very good time. Wake up, Jamis!
“Are you okay?” She reached out and rubbed his arm in a comforting, soothing way.
Jamis forgot all about the noise, the movers and the cool breeze blowing up from the water. He hadn’t been touched by another human being in four years. That wasn’t counting the casual brushing of fingertips at the post office or grocery store, the doctor and dentist appointments. Those were impersonal in nature and didn’t matter. This contact was genuine. Her hand was still firmly on his arm. He glanced into her sapphire eyes and felt the first stirrings of arousal since he couldn’t remember when.
Holy hell was right.
“Hey.” She was staring up at him, concerned, yes, but aware. Aware of him, definitely, as a man.
“I’m fine.” He backed away.
The disturbing moment passed as quickly as it had descended when three golf carts, loaded down with kids of varying ages, emerged from the woods and pulled into a clearing near the house. Ron Setterberg, the owner of the Mirabelle Island rental business, was leading with the first cart and teenagers, a boy and a girl Jamis had never seen before, were driving the other two.
“Isn’t this great?” the princess said, smiling again. “This summer, we’re starting small. Only eight kids. But next summer, who knows? Maybe twenty.”
As he stopped his cart, Ron nodded at him. Jamis gave a short wave, words entirely deserting him. “Let me know if you need anything else, Natalie.” Ron waited until the kids climbed off his cart and then turned and headed back to town.
“Will do, Ron. Thanks.”
The kids jumped down from the other two carts. “What do you want us to do?” asked the oldest girl.
“Can you take the younger kids into the house and get everyone familiar with everything?”
“Sure,” said the oldest boy as they all filed past him.
Snickers, of course, had to run up to every single one of them, sniffing and licking hands and begging for pets.
“That’s Galen and Samantha.” She pointed to the teenagers. “Arianna, Chase, Blake and Ella are the middle four.” She put her hand on her hips when one of the boys tried tripping the young fellow in front of him. “Chase, behave, please. Ryan and Toni are the two youngest.”
The littlest girl, who lifted her hands away from an inquisitive and wet-nosed Snickers and who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, was the last to walk by Jamis. She had chubby cheeks and long curly hair the color of which almost perfectly matched her big, brown eyes, just like…
No, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—go there. This wasn’t a dream. It was an outright nightmare. Jamis shook his head and laughed out loud. He’d have been hard-pressed to write this scene better himself. It was perfect, down to every last minute detail. He deserved nothing less than this.
Welcome, Jamis, to your own personal horror story.
CHAPTER TWO
“ARE YOU OKAY?” Natalie asked. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what this man was laughing about. The almost hysterical quality to the sound of his voice made her want to invite him in for a cup of cocoa or give him a back rub. His relaxed state of dress, black T-shirt and loose-fitting khakis belied the fact that he was obviously stressed about something.
“Wonderful. Never been better.” Instantly, every speck of humor disappeared from his handsome but troubled face. His long, dark hair and scruffy beard made him look desperately in need of some grooming, but his clothes were clean, his skin was clear and healthy and she could smell the scent of some musky men’s shampoo on his shiny hair. And if muscular arms were any indication, he was in excellent physical shape. “Snickers, come.” He turned and headed toward the woods.
“Hey!” Natalie called. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Jamis Quinn.”
The name he’d thrown over his shoulder didn’t sound familiar, but there was something about the severe, angular features of his face that reminded her of someone. Her first look into his toffee-brown eyes had confirmed it, but how could she have ever forgotten that mockingly superior gaze of his?
“Wait a minute!” She caught up with him and stepped directly in his path, forcing him to stop. “My grandma was in a nursing home for a while before she died, so it’s been some time since I’ve been on Mirabelle. Are you living in the old log cabin?” The safety of the kids was priority and this guy seemed, though attractive in a potent woodsman sort of way, a bit strange.
“Yep. Can I go now?”
That was when it came to her. “I know! You’re that writer, aren’t you? What’s his name?” Though Natalie had never read a single one of his books, let alone watched one of t
he movies based on his horrific stories, a person would’ve had to have her head buried in the sand to not recognize him.
“Quinn Roberts,” he said. “Yeah, congratulations.”
Handsome, sexy even, but definitely odd. Someone who wrote such distasteful stuff would have to be somewhat touched. What she couldn’t understand was why in the world so many people enjoyed his books. “Do you live out here by yourself?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“All year-round?”
“Yep.”
“Even in the winter?”
“Didn’t I just answer that question?” He glanced down at her, his furrowed brow openly expressing his impatience.
The idea of anyone staying on this island when the windchill frequently hit twenty below zero and the only way to the mainland was by snowmobile or helicopter seemed crazy to her. Even her grandmother had always moved to her Minneapolis home during the winter months.
“I happen to like peace and quiet. Can I go now?” His left eyebrow rose in a cocky sort of way as he glared at her, and she was left with the distinct impression he’d like nothing better than for her to disappear into thin air.
“Sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you.” Natalie watched him stomp through the woods with his dog leading the way. He didn’t seem like a very happy man. “Good to meet you!” she called after him.
“Yeah, right.” He kept walking, head down.
Maybe she shouldn’t have touched him. She did that all the time, touched everything in stores or outside, people and things. She couldn’t help it. Most folks didn’t mind, but then most folks weren’t charged up like Jamis Quinn. He’d felt tense, his muscles flexed as if he were poised to run off any second. Only he hadn’t wanted to run, at least not at first. Initially, she was sure he’d welcomed the feeling of her hand on his skin. There’d been something in his eyes that made her want to reach up and knead his shoulder, but then he’d pulled away.
Stop it, Natalie. Remember what happened the last time? If you’re attracted to this guy, he’s bound to be a loser.
“Nat!” Samantha called from an open, upstairs window. “Everyone’s fighting up here. We need help figuring out the bedrooms.”
“I’m coming!” Natalie spun toward the back door. It was a good thing that last week Chief Taylor had come by to make sure the house was in working order, and that the movers had brought out all the furniture and arranged everything exactly to her specifications. All she and the kids had to do was unpack boxes and settle in.
“I am not sharing a room.” Galen stuck his head out another window.
“Who died and made you king of the world?” Sam said, tossing her ponytailed light brown hair.
“No one.” Galen smirked. “I always have been.”
“Hold on,” Natalie said. “I’ve got a chart.” She grabbed her clipboard and ran upstairs to find kids zipping through the halls like wild animals, yelling and fighting. “Chase, no pushing,” she said. “Blake, let go of your brother’s arm. Arianna, don’t snap at your sister.”
Everyone ignored her. She watched them for a moment, her worries building. What had she gotten herself into? She’d thought she could handle this, having worked with kids her entire adult life, first as a camp counselor in the summers during college, and then as a social worker. Maybe she’d been kidding herself. Maybe she couldn’t make a difference in the world. Old tapes fast-forwarded through her mind. Maybe she wasn’t smart enough, caring enough, organized enough. Maybe—
No. She closed her eyes and focused. You will not let in those doubts. She could do this. She would do this. Instead of sitting at her old social services desk day in and day out, hands tied by bureaucratic red tape, she was finally going to be directly impacting lives. She’d even gone so far as to take a leave of absence from work to bring her ideas for a baby boot camp to life. She was going to turn these kids around. They were all going home at the end of the summer feeling better about themselves and believing they could make a difference in their own lives. But first she had to get control.
She stood in the hall, put two fingers in her mouth and let a whistle rip. Everyone stopped in his or her tracks. “Attention!” She pointed to the spot in front of her. “Let’s all make a circle and have a quick meeting.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Do we have to?”
“Where’s my bedroom?”
Time to get tough. “Do I need to remind all of you why you’re here?” she asked softly, looking into each child’s face, one at a time. Every single one of these kids was on track to either flunk out of school or get kicked out for disciplinary issues. Her camp was their last chance.
Finally, although the kids complained, one by one, everyone except Galen gathered around. She had to hand it to that boy. He’d mastered the sullen James Dean act to a tee, arms crossed, head tilted just so, lips curved in a sardonic smile, but Natalie wasn’t about to force anything on him. He’d had enough of that in his short life. Eventually, he’d come around.
“Okay, here’s the deal. All your stuff is in boxes with your name on it in your assigned room. There are four bedrooms up here,” Natalie said. “Galen and Samantha are the oldest and they’re camp employees, so they get the two smaller bedrooms at the back of the house.” She pointed down the hall. “Galen, you’re in room number three. Sam, you’re in four.” The teenagers each looked at the other kids with smug expressions. “Galen and Sam? Remember, this is a summer job for you two.”
“I know,” Sam agreed.
“Whatever,” Galen said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his baggy jeans.
“So as part of your job, you two help the other kids make up their beds, put away their clothes and then you can take care of your own rooms.”
“Got it,” Sam said.
Galen nodded, looking bored to tears.
“Arianna, Ella and Toni, this is your bedroom over here. Chase, Blake and Ryan, you three are over here.” They started to turn. “Wait a second.” She leaned in, putting her arm around Ryan’s too-bony shoulder. She was going to have to put some meat on this boy before the end of summer. “What do we need to do to make this the best summer ever?”
One of them groaned. “Ah, not this again!”
The others, of course, followed suit.
“I hate this!”
“Totally lame!”
Natalie didn’t care. She’d take all the ridicule this world could dish out if she could instill hope in one child. One tiny drop in a pond could make far-reaching waves. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Wish it, see it, make it happen.” Sooner or later, they were all going to believe. She stepped away. “Okay, let’s get settled! And there’s a surprise for every one of you on your beds!”
Most of them didn’t have the appropriate clothing for sometimes-chilly Mirabelle, so she’d bought them all new fleece jackets, sweatshirts, tennis shoes and several outfits. Knowing the teenagers would be more selective about styles, she’d given Galen and Sam a clothing allowance when she’d first offered them the job, and they’d had plenty of time to shop before leaving Minnesota, but from the size of Galen’s small pack, though, she wondered if he hadn’t pocketed the money.
As the little ones raced into their rooms, Natalie grinned. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
She bounded down the steps and stopped outside the entryway to the old-fashioned kitchen, feeling suddenly nostalgic. With the white painted cabinets, yellow Formica countertops, black-and-white checkered floor and large, sturdy oak table at its center point, the room was exactly as Natalie remembered. Well, except for the cardboard boxes stacked on every flat surface.
The first time she’d come to Mirabelle with her adoptive parents and five older brothers and sisters, Natalie had been ten years old. Those two weeks with her new family had forever altered the course of her life. She’d been able to count on a bed to sleep in at night, warm covers and, every single day, enough food to eat.
Her favorite meal had been breakf
ast. With all the fresh air and activity on the island, she’d wake up starving every morning. She and her new brothers and sisters would all crowd around the big oak table waiting for Grandma’s secret recipe French toast. When Grandma said secret, she meant secret. Through the years, no one had managed to finagle it out of her. Before Grammy had died, though, and with her entire family encircling her hospital bed, she’d singled out Natalie and whispered, “Orange zest. And Grand Marnier liqueur.”
The old woman had known the urge to pay it all back ran even more deeply within Natalie than any of the other adopted grandchildren. That’s why she’d willed to Natalie this house here on Mirabelle, as well as her home in Minneapolis, and enough money to cover expenses for at least a year. Rather than feeling slighted, Natalie’s brothers and sisters and their adoptive parents, all of whom still lived relatively close to one another in the Twin Cities area, had encouraged Natalie to make the best of this opportunity.
So with everyone’s blessings she’d taken it from there. She’d not only put together a comprehensive curriculum and filled out mounds of paperwork in order to get this camp licensed and approved by the state, she was also working on getting donations and grants to fund future camps. It all seemed a small price to pay to give a few kids a summer to remember the rest of their lives, a summer of hope.
Natalie looked around the house, boxes stacked all around, and smiled. “Thanks, Grammy, for making my dream come true.”
A few hours later, the bedrooms had all been set up with Natalie having to negotiate only two disputes, the majority of the kitchen boxes had been emptied, the kids were alternating between playing outside and making chocolate chip cookies, and a dinner of pork chops and rice was bubbling away in a large slow cooker. She stepped out onto the back porch, already on her way to being exhausted. It was both exciting and frightening. For three months, she was going to be alone with eight kids. Well, except for that strange, but ruggedly sexy man living a hundred or so yards away.
She peered through the craggy red oaks and sugar maples with their new spring leaves and discerned the outline of Jamis Quinn’s cabin. He had to feel cut off out here by himself, through the long, cold winters when more than half the island headed south as soon as the last tourist left at the end of every summer. That man had to be lonely.