The Summer Place

by Pamela Hearon

  Inappropriate images of Rick Warren had come to her in her sleep the past couple of weeks. Remembering them now caused her cheeks to warm, along with a few other parts of her traitorous body.

  “What a piece of work, huh?”

  Summer jumped at the voice. She hadn’t heard the assistant counselor, Tara O’Malley, approach.

  “He sure is,” Summer muttered. “We’ll just have to make the best of it.”

  Tara’s eyes followed the direction Summer’s gaze had gone, and she laughed. “I wasn’t talking about Rick. I was talking about Mary Margaret Avery-Henson’s mom.”

  “Oh.” Summer’s face burned. “Well, it’s easy to see why Mary Margaret’s so shy. I have a feeling the kid’s life is filled with adults telling her what to do and how to feel.” She handed Mary Margaret’s emergency contact list to Tara.

  Tara glanced over it and let out a low whistle. “I think you may be right.”

  Summer looked forward to getting to know Tara better. With her bright smile and infectious laugh, the redhead endeared herself to everyone who met her.

  “And you’re right about him, too.” An appreciative gleam sparkled Tara’s green eyes. “He is one fine piece of work.”

  “Yeah,” Summer agreed. “Rick’s a great-looking guy.” The rest of the staff didn’t know about her and Rick’s mutual dislike, and Summer decided it would be best to keep it that way. No use making everyone uncomfortable and giving them something to gossip about. And kids were very astute. They would pick up on animosity quickly. She wouldn’t allow anything to make the kids uncomfortable during their time here. This was going to be the best month they’d ever had.

  “Well, I didn’t come over here to gawk at the boss, honest.” Tara smoothed back a curl of coppery hair that had worked loose from her ponytail. “Some of the girls are a little weepy now that their parents have left. First time away from home.”

  “Homesickness is to be expected with eight- and nine-year-olds.” Summer and Tara fell into step moving toward the girls’ bunkhouse. “I remember my first year here.”

  Tara’s eyebrows shot up. “You went to camp here?”

  “Six years. I loved every one of them.” Summer swept her arms wide. “This is one of my favorite places. I was thrilled when Mom and Dad bought it. My heart broke at the thought that someone would tear it down.”

  “More reason to see these kids have a great time and want to come back next year.”

  “Yep.” Summer gave an emphatic nod and shot a glance toward Rick, who was checking in the last boy. “I don’t intend to let anything stand in the way of this place’s success.”

  * * *

  HOWIE SQUINTED AND LOOKED RICK up and down. “My dad could beat you up.”

  “Howard Silas Gerard, Jr.!” Nila Gerard’s sharp tone drew her son’s attention. “We don’t talk that way. Apologize this instant.”

  “Sorry.” The boy’s eyes shifted to the ground at Rick’s feet.

  “Apology accepted...and I’m sure your dad’s very strong.” Rick smiled and tried to make light of the situation. The kid was scared, probably the first time away from home. In fact, he and his mother both seemed jittery. She nervously rubbed her cheek. That’s when Rick noticed the faint bluish mark tinged in yellow and green below her left eye. It had faded, but careful inspection showed it dropped well below her cheekbone. Combat instinct tightened his gut.

  He flipped to the back of his clipboard, wrote a quick note and pulled it free. “Say, sport.” He held the note toward the boy. “Would you do me a favor and take this count over to Ms. Ginny, our cook? She should be over there in the dining hall.” He indicated the long white building with the large screened-in area.

  Howie took the paper and shuffled toward the dining hall.

  “Thanks.” Nila waited until he got out of hearing distance. “He isn’t normally like that. He’s usually very sweet, but...” Her voice broke as her eyes clouded with tears.

  “Are you okay?” Rick didn’t do gentle well, but he gave it his best shot. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “His dad and I have been going through a hard time lately. I filed for divorce last week, and Howie and I are staying with my sister.” Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth.

  Damn. Seeing a woman cry was a fist in his gut. “It’ll be okay, really.” He tried to sound reassuring. “Several of our kids are going through or have been through divorce. Howie won’t be the only one here. Is his father allowed contact?”

  She shook her head, and her gaze cut toward Howie, who disappeared through the screen door. “I have a restraining order against him.” She touched her cheek absently and shifted her eyes, shadowed by pain and grief, back to Rick. He knew the look well. As a marine, he’d seen it often.

  “We’ll see that Howie has a good time. Maybe, by the time the month is over, things will have settled down at home.”

  Nila nodded, but the way her lips pressed into a thin line told Rick she didn’t believe his words any more than he did.

  “Maybe you and your sister can use the month to do some fun things together,” Rick suggested.

  Nila smiled and her shoulders dropped into a more relaxed position as Howie burst through the door and ran back to join them.

  “Now, you need to go claim your bunk and get settled in.” Rick nodded toward the boys’ dorm. “We’ll have a briefing to welcome all the campers in—” he checked his watch “—thirty-two minutes.” Though his comments were directed to Howie, he hoped Howie’s mom would take the hint that it was time to say goodbye.

  Nila put her arm around her son’s shoulders, walking him toward the boys’ barracks. “I want to take a quick look at where you’ll be staying, and then I’ll head home.”

  Rick flipped through papers on his clipboard. Everything appeared to be completed.

  A flurry of activity erupted from the girls’ barracks. Summer burst out, leading a string of girls, giggling and hopping like rabbits.

  He rolled his eyes. The first activity on Summer’s activity sheet for today. Welcoming Games. What in the hell were welcoming games?

  He watched as the string of girls hopped into a circle, unable to pull his eyes away from Summer Delaney’s tanned and toned legs propelling her across the ground like a gazelle in white shorts.

  Once the circle formed, the girls held hands and began swinging their arms in rhythm to the song they belted out. Rick recognized the tune as the same as “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

  “Sunny Daze the camp for me,” they sang in unison. “Camp for me. Camp for me. Sunny Daze the camp for me. The summer place to be.”

  How did Summer have time to teach them a song? He hadn’t set foot in the boys’ barracks yet, and she already had the girls out playing games.

  The song started again, but this time the circle moved in slow motion, increasing to a fast trot, faster and faster until the circle whirled as fast as the girls could move and still scream the tune at the top of their lungs. When it ended, they all collapsed in a giggly heap on the ground.

  Summer lay back, bright red in the face, and the hand on her chest moved up and down to the rhythm of the body heaving under it.

  The sight caught Rick unprepared. Suddenly, in his mind, she was under him, naked, tan legs circling his waist, laughing and heaving from the throes of the climax he’d just brought her to.

  He reacted immediately to the image, his erection springing to attention like a marine at the first note of the national anthem.

  “Hell-pee-roo.” He tried to dismiss the image from his mind as he sauntered toward the barracks. When he reached the door, he recognized the refrain of the song he’d been whistling—“Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave...”

  His face grew hot. He rubbed the tattooed area over his heart and grumbled, “It’s gonna be one hell of a long month, Dunk.”

  * * *

  SUMMER WATCHED AS NEIL JENKINS, the boys’ assistant counselor, held the screen door of the d
ining hall open and the boys streamed through in single file. They were quiet. Too quiet, considering how the girls had raced in and jockeyed for seats, some of them switching places several times before finally settling down beside a new BFF.

  Less than an hour and Rick already had the boys acting like soldiers. One or two would probably want to leave by tonight. She grunted her disapproval.

  At precisely ten o’clock, Rick strode through the door. “Good morning!” His cheerful voice boomed through the hall.

  Most of the girls gave an answering “Good morning,” but the boys remained quiet and those who spoke mumbled.

  Rick’s hands came together in a loud clap, and everybody jumped, including Summer, who’d been looking around the room to keep from noticing his handsome features.

  “Okay, everybody up.”

  Kids and adults alike scrambled to obey. Summer rose reluctantly.

  “Now, I’m going to say good morning again, and this time I want to hear your response. Ready?” He paused and looked around, making a brief eye connect with everyone in the room. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” The kids’ enthusiasm echoed through the mess hall.

  “C’mon, you can do better than that! Good morning,” he said again, this time louder.

  The kids shouted back, “Good morning!” Then they shouted it louder until they were screeching at the top of their lungs. The action broke the ice, and when they sat down, the boys were smiling and nudging one another along with the girls, red faces broken by bright smiles.

  Rick laughed, a deep, masculine sound that vibrated into the pit of Summer’s stomach. She’d never heard him laugh. It was a pleasant sound, but it agitated her a bit nonetheless.

  “Okay, let’s go over a few ground rules,” Rick said, and Summer’s inner voice said, Because Rick’s number-one rule is that you can never have too many rules.

  “Welcome to Camp Sunny Daze. We want you to have a great time this month. ...”

  But not too good because what we really want is for you to learn to follow the rules.

  “But there are a few things we expect. Rule number one. We always use good manners. We respect one another and ourselves, and we show respect for one another and ourselves. As a way of showing respect, you will address the staff as Ms. and Mr.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She and Tara had already introduced themselves to the girls without using titles. This guy is straight out of the Middle Ages.

  “I’ll introduce them to you now, ladies first. Ladies, if you’ll please stand up when I introduce you? Ms. Tara is the assistant counselor for the girls, Ms. Summer is the head counselor for the girls and Ms. Ginny is our cook and first-aid counselor.”

  Summer smiled and waved at Ginny and Charlie Prichard, who stood behind the serving counter. Ginny was a retired school nurse and Charlie a retired electrician. They were her parents’ best friends. Summer had known and loved them her whole life, considered them the closest thing she had to godparents. She knew they would side with her against Rick if it came to that.

  “That’s Mr. Charlie standing next to Ms. Ginny. He’s the camp director. Next to him is Mr. Kenny, our security guard. You won’t see too much of him because he patrols at night and sleeps most of the day. Over here is Mr. Neil, the boys’ assistant counselor. And I’m Mr. Rick, boys’ head counselor and assistant director of the camp.”

  Right. We’ll see how long that lasts.

  “Rule number two. Never step foot outside the camp without an adult.”

  Okay, that was a good one.

  “And rule number three. Always use the buddy system. Never go anywhere near the woods or the water without a buddy. When we’re hiking and swimming, we’ll always have a buddy to watch out for. Understood?”

  A few of the kids murmured, “Yes,” and a few others nodded.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes!” the kids shouted.

  “Yes, what?” Rick cupped his hand behind his ear.

  A few caught on. “Yes, Mr. Rick.”

  Rick beamed with pleasure, and Summer’s toes curled involuntarily. She looked away, disgusted by her body’s reaction.

  “Great. Now...do you have any questions?”

  “Can I uthe my thell phone?” The question came from a chubby boy with a distinct lisp. Two of the girls giggled and Rick shot them a look that withered them in their seats.

  Eight- and nine-year-olds with cell phones? When she’d been here, writing letters home every week was required.

  “Yes, Willard.” Rick’s answer surprised Summer more than the question had. She’d been definite Mr. Nineteenth Century would say no. “But only in the case of an emergency. If there’s no emergency, and we don’t anticipate there’ll be one, it remains in your bunk area and turned off. Got that?”

  “Yeth, Mithter Rick.”

  “Any other questions?”

  “What if we don’t like what there is to eat? I don’t like a lotta things.”

  Without looking, Summer already could identify the characteristic whine belonging to Lucy.

  “Hmm. I guess you’ll get hungry.”

  Summer cringed at Rick’s tone, and then smiled to herself. Charlie might want to get rid of this guy immediately.

  “But you need to try to eat every meal because you’re going to need lots of energy. We have so many fun things planned, and you’re going to want to be able to do them all. Any other questions?” No other hands went up. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have some eventually, so don’t hesitate to ask one of us when you do. Now—” he gave the group a wink “—is everybody ready for a snack?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rick!” The answer resounded from both of the long tables.

  “Okay then, Ms. Ginny has something ready for us. Line up single file and be sure to tell her thank-you.”

  Three of the boys jumped up and made a dash for the serving line.

  “Uh-uh-uh, gentleman.” Rick motioned them back to their seats. “Ladies first.”

  He’d done that twice, and it was already beginning to get old. Another point of contention to speak with him about.

  The girls made a wild dash, flashing one-upping grins at the boys as they picked up their boxes of apple juice and paper plates filled with grapes, carrots and cinnamon graham crackers smeared with peanut butter.

  Each of the girls said a polite thank-you to Ginny and Charlie as they took their food.

  “Rick’s gonna have these kids whipped into shape in no time, Summer.” Charlie pushed more plates to the front as he spoke. “That’ll sure make our jobs easier.”

  Irritation burned Summer’s throat. Surely, Ginny and Charlie didn’t approve of Rick’s strong-arm tactics. “Whipped might be one way to describe them, Charlie, but we have to remember they’re only eight- and nine-year-olds. We want them to have fun, too.”

  “They’ll have fun.” Rick’s deep voice right beside her startled her. She stepped back with her plate as the boys hurried through the line and made for the outdoors. “Being well behaved and having fun aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “I’ll bet Summer disagrees with that, Rick. She was a bit of a wild child.” Charlie shook his finger her direction. “Herschel and Agnes had their hands full with this one.”

  “Indeed.” Rick’s tone implied he was already aware of her past.

  Had her parents shared stories with him about her flighty assent to adulthood? The thought made her grit her teeth. Well, she would show them all she was firmly grounded now and that meant she wouldn’t be easily pushed around. “Being well behaved doesn’t have to mean following stuffy, ‘old school’ rules.”

  “Manners aren’t ‘old school.’”

  “But ‘ladies first’ is. Boys and girls are equal here. We should take turns.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Summer pressed for a firmer answer. “Does that mean you agree?”

  One end of Rick’s mouth twitched. “It means I’ll treat everyone here fairly.”

  Once again, S
ummer felt as though she was the unnamed subject of his sentence. She popped off a quick curtsy. “Then, if you’ll excuse me Mr. Rick, I’ll return to my charges.”

  Rick bowed gallantly. “Ms. Summer.”

  With her back turned to him, Summer allowed a smile to play on her lips. She may have been a wild child, but the definitive word was child. Rick Warren probably sprang from his mother’s womb in dress uniform. He was clueless when it came to kids.

  She’d give him a week—tops.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “OKAY, MEN. HAVE ANY OF YOU ever been in a canoe before?” Rick surveyed the group.

  Austin’s hand went up. “My grandpa’s got a fishing boat. I go with him a lot.”

  Rick pointed to the boats lined up on the shore. “Is it a canoe?”

  “Naw—”

  “No, sir,” Rick corrected.

  “No, sir,” Austin repeated. “It has a motor on the back.”

  “Well, in a canoe, your arms and the paddle are the motor.”

  He gave each of the boys a paddle and demonstrated how to hold it. They moved into waist-deep water and practiced rowing until he was satisfied they’d all gotten the hang of it. “Today, you men will be in the bow of the boat—that’s the front. The counselors will be in the back, which is the stern. The person in the back can guide the canoe by using the paddle like a rudder.” He showed them what he meant, then he had the boys stand and walk, practicing using their oars like rudders.

  “You never stand up in a canoe,” he warned. “It’s easy to flip over, but if that happens just swim to the nearest bank. We’ll pull the canoe over to that spot and then start again. This cove isn’t very big. We’ll never be too far from the shore.”

  “What if somebody’s not a good swimmer?”

  That Daniel wasn’t a swimmer had been noted on his camp application. Rick read the fear in the boy’s eyes and made a mental note to find time to work with him individually on his swimming. “Good question, Daniel. Lots of people who aren’t swimmers enjoy canoeing. That’s why everybody needs to put on one of the life jackets over there.” He pointed to the orange life vests hanging on hooks on the side of the shed. “The life jacket will hold you up, so all you have to do is kick and move your arms to propel yourself through the water. And if anybody would rather not go out in the canoe, that’s perfectly acceptable, too. But if you want to give this a try, go get on a life jacket and then line up and we’ll divide you up into groups.”