“You have something against Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma, Kincade?”
“You got the job?” Em asked, joining them on the porch.
“You’re looking at Kansas City Downtown Airport’s newest Director of Aviation,” Nick said with a grin. “I start next week.”
“Hearts are breaking at every port. Airports, that is. Captain Nick is putting down roots,” Sam said, clapping his friend on the back.
“Are you going to miss flying?” Em asked.
“I’ll still get to fly. I’ll run the airport, but I’ll also do some flight instruction. I may even pick up some corporate flights if the opportunity presents itself. Right now, I need to figure out a more permanent living situation.”
“Seriously, dude,” Sam said, “you’re always welcome at my place. You know that.”
“Wait a second,” Em said and shared a look with Michael. “Nick, you should move into our carriage house apartment until you find a place in Langley Park.”
“Absolutely,” Michael said, wrapping an arm around Em’s shoulders. “Em and I grew up listening to Sam belt out show tunes. It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”
Sam shook his head.
“What about your mom? Isn’t she arriving soon?” Nick asked. “Won’t she need the carriage house?”
“She can stay in our guest room in the Foursquare,” Em answered.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. I’m ready to jump when something goes on the market in the area—so I shouldn’t be in your hair for too long. I do have an aunt nearby in Mission Springs. She’s offered to let me stay with her, but that would involve weekly Euchre tournaments with her Junior League ladies. I politely declined.”
“Understandable,” Michael said.
“Really, Nick, it would be no trouble at all. You can stay as long as you need to,” Em added.
“Thanks, guys,” Nick said. “You know I love you, Sam. But with my new job and the crazy hours, it may be good to have a place to myself.”
Sam clapped Nick on the back. “Whatever works, bud. I’m just glad you’re making Langley Park your home.”
Michael gestured toward the door. “Let’s head inside. We can hammer out the details while we try to figure out how the hell to put this nursery together. Who writes these directions?”
But just as the group was about to go inside the house, a sedan turned onto Foxglove Lane and caught their attention. The car drove past them, but within a matter of minutes, it was back and pulled up in front of Em’s old Foursquare. There was a woman inside the car. She was wearing sunglasses and a hat. A long cascade of chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders.
“Do you think that’s Mrs. G’s goddaughter?” Em asked.
“I’m not sure,” Michael answered. “I’ve never met her. Mrs. G said she’d spent a summer in Langley Park when she was sixteen. She worked at the Langley Park Community Center’s summer camp. Did you ever meet her, Sam? Mrs. G said you guys are the same age.”
Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Nick stared at the woman. “I worked at the Langley Park Community Center’s summer camp when I was sixteen.”
“You did?” Sam asked. “How the hell did I not know that?”
“My mom sent me to stay with my aunt in Mission Springs. I pretty much kept to myself,” Nick answered, gaze locked on the mysterious woman.
The woman got out of the car and stared up at the Foursquare. She must not have noticed them on the porch and kept her gaze locked on the house. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. Nothing about her said look at me, but Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Hello!” Em called out, stepping off the porch and crossing the yard as the men followed behind.
The woman let out a startled gasp, and her hands went up protectively.
“I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Em MacCaslin. This is Michael MacCarron. We’re your neighbors. And this is Sam Sinclair and Nick Kincade. They’re our friends, and they live in Langley Park, too.”
The woman’s hands were shaking. She clasped them in front of her and produced a tight smile. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m Lindsey—”
“Lindsey Hanlon,” Nick said.
“It’s Lindsey Davies, now,” she said, looking away. But she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“Do you two know each other?” Em asked.
Nick had gone pale. “We both worked at the Community Center’s summer camp. That was the summer I was just telling you about.”
A blush crept up Lindsey’s neck. “I hardly remember that summer. It was such a long time ago.”
Lindsey took a step back. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long trip. I’d like to get settled inside.”
“Of course,” Em said. “Were you able to get the key from Mrs. G? She’s your godmother, right?”
Lindsey nodded.
“Are your things being delivered today?” Michael asked. “If you need any help carrying boxes or moving furniture, just let us know. We’re happy to help.”
“There’s no moving truck,” Lindsey answered and took another step back.
A pregnant silence hung in the air.
“Well,” Em said, taking Michael’s hand. “You know where we’ll be. You’re welcome at our place anytime.”
Lindsey gave a quick nod then turned and hurried inside the Foursquare.
“I don’t think she remembers you, Nick,” Sam said.
Nick stared up at the house. “No, I know she remembers me. She only wishes she didn’t.”
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
1
16 years ago—Summer
“You are one lucky girl, Lindsey Hanlon. I’d kill to be going to Camp Clem with Nick Kincade!”
Lindsey glanced over at Monica with her jet-black ponytail and mischievous eyes. She gave the girl a distracted nod, adjusted the straps of her backpack, and stepped into the shade of one of the old burr oak trees standing tall above the Langley Park Community Recreation Center. Ten preteen girls, in a frenzy of blooming hormones and tittering excitement, buzzed around her, hitting each other, pillow fight style, with their sleeping bags.
She shifted the straps of her pack again. It was hot. It could get warm in her hometown of Camden, Maine, but this summer, she wasn’t spending her days photographing the scenery along Penobscot Bay. No, this summer, she was staying with her godmother, Rosemary Giacopazzi, just a stone’s throw from Kansas City in the quaint town of Langley Park, Kansas.
Her godmother had pulled some strings and gotten her a job as a camp counselor at the day camp so she could, as her godmother would say, “make new friends and experience the wonders of Langley Park.”
Unfortunately, in the two and a half months she had been there, the closest she’d gotten to wondrous was a double scoop of rocky road at the local ice cream parlor.
The majority of the counselors were sixteen like she was, but most of them were from the area and went to the same high school. She and Nick Kincade were the only camp counselors from out of town. At the beginning of the summer, she had thought this commonality would have made Nick an ally, maybe even a friend. On top of that, she was put in charge of the preteen girls, and he had the preteen boys. They were two fish out of water, thrown
together in a town they didn’t know, doing essentially the same job. They should have been instant friends.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Monica nudged her playfully. The community center allowed fourteen-year-olds to volunteer as junior counselors. Since Lindsey’s first day on the job, the junior counselor, Monica Brandt, always made an effort to talk with her while the older counselors stuck to their cliques.
Lindsey nudged Monica back. “I’d trade places with you if I could. Nick’s barely spoken to me all summer—and when he has—he’s usually a total jerk. I can’t imagine what’s going to change about that at Camp Clem.” She glanced Nick’s way. He towered above a group of preteen boys who were picking red berries off the shrubs and throwing them at the girls.
Monica’s gaze flicked to Nick. “He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, that Kentucky drawl is about the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. And it’s not like he’s spoken much to me either this summer. But who needs the guy to talk when he looks like that? He’s like a southern version of Brad Pitt and Justin Timberlake’s six-foot-four-inch lovechild. He’s like all the hotness of Bay Watch crammed into one guy.”
Lindsey bit back a laugh. “I’m not sure it’s possible for Brad Pitt and Justin Timberlake to have a lovechild—southern or otherwise.”
Monica leaned in and lowered her voice. “Camp Clem is four hours away, hidden deep in the Missouri Ozarks. It’s sleepaway camp. You’ll be with Nick 24/7 for the next five days! And what’ll I be doing? I’ll be stuck here in Langley Park playing junior counselor and taking the six-year-old day campers to the Langley Botanic Gardens for another scavenger hunt. It’s better than being trapped in my grandmother’s bakery, I’ll give you that. But I still wouldn’t mind five uninterrupted days staring at Mr. Pitt-Timberlake.”
“I hate to burst this Nick Kincade fantasy you’ve created for me, but I don’t think there’s going to be a whole lot of alone time. There’s me, my ten twelve-year-old girl campers and his ten twelve-year-old boys. Real intimate, all twenty-two of us,” Lindsey said, stealing another glance at Nick. He was staring down at his iPod. His campers had joined the girls in the sleeping bag fight, and Nick was utterly oblivious to the preteen mayhem unfolding around him.
The shrill shriek of a whistle halted the commotion, and Nick looked up to find Lindsey and Monica staring at him. Lindsey turned away. The last thing she wanted was for Nick Kincade to think she liked him. But that didn’t stop a hot blush from creeping up her neck.
Another whistle shriek pierced the air.
“Time to start the day and go collect my pack of nose pickers,” Monica said with a wide smile. “I want to hear all about how you cracked the hard shell of Nicholas Kincade’s brooding outer layer the minute you get back!”
Lindsey shook her head and watched Monica jog over to where the younger children were waving goodbye to their parents and lining up in front of the counselors. This had been Lindsey’s usual routine for the last ten weeks. But not today. A yellow school bus pulled up and stopped in front of her. The words Camp Clemens were painted on the side of the bus in bold lettering.
Beads of sweat pooled in the space between her breasts. How was she going to get through five days with Nick constantly by her side? It had been relatively easy not to interact with anyone her age this summer. She was always with her campers during the day, and there was never a lack of something to do; a squabble to be sorted, or an activity that needed to be completed. The kids took up all of her time at Kids’ Camp, and, when she wasn’t working, she’d explore Langley Park on her own, snapping photographs on her dad’s old Nikon camera along the way.
She tried to remember the last interaction she’d had with Nick. A few days ago, she had asked him to keep an eye on her campers while she used the restroom. He didn’t even properly answer, only gave her a quick, detached nod—the cocky jerk.
The bus doors opened with a mechanical whoosh, and the tinny sound of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” drifted out the door. The driver said something, but Lindsey couldn’t make out his words over the music. She put her hand to her ear, and the driver turned down the volume on a radio duct taped to the dash.
The driver squinted at her through a pair of thick, filmy bifocals. “Are you Mrs. Quigley?”
“No, I’m just a camp counselor,” Lindsey answered. She hoped this guy was qualified to drive a bus. Behind the grimy glasses, the driver’s right eye oscillated back and forth like a bowling pin teetering in slow motion.
“Hello, you must be Mr. Robbins. I’m Mrs. Quigley,” came a voice calling out from behind. It was Karen Quigley, the Langley Park Kids’ Camp Director.
The gray-haired bus driver extricated his considerable girth from behind the steering wheel and shifted to face them. He cleaned off his glasses with the hem of his shirt. “Hello there, Mrs. Quigley. Are your children ready for Camp Clemens?”
Karen juggled several pieces of paper and two large binders. “They certainly are! I just need a moment to speak with my counselors, and then we’ll start loading the kids onto the bus.”
“Take your time,” Mr. Robbins said, shifting back into driving position.
Karen waved Nick over and handed each of them a thick binder. “This is everything you’ll need. Emergency contact numbers. Allergy and diet information. The camp schedule and planned activities. And remember, there are going to be other day camps attending Camp Clemens this week. You’ll always want to be counting heads and taking attendance. You leave with twenty children. We’d like you to return with the same number,” she added with a shrill laugh.
Lindsey nodded. Mrs. Quigley was very big on calling roll. Monica shared that, eons ago when Mrs. Quigley was a camp counselor, she’d accidentally left a child on a canoe for four hours before realizing she was one kid short.
Mrs. Quigley clapped. “Lindsey, you go first.”
Lindsey hated doing this. Every morning of Kids’ Camp, she had stood next to Nick and endured his smirks and muffled laughter as she took attendance.
She opened the camp binder and glanced at the camper roll call sheet. “All right. Rachel?”
“Here, Miss Lindsey!” called a smiling girl with sandy blond hair.
“Taylor?”
“Here.”
“Heather?”
“Here.”
She kept going, calling name after name, but paused and bit her lip when she got to the last four.
“Keep going, Lindsey,” Mrs. Quigley said, gesturing with her hand. “We need to get these kiddos on the bus.”
Lindsey nodded. “Megan?”
Nick released an amused huff.
She ignored him.
“Here, Miss Lindsey.”
“Meghan with an H?” Lindsey continued.
Nick looked down. He had a smug smirk plastered across his face.
“Here,” the second Meghan replied.
“Hanna?” Lindsey said.
“Here.”
“Hannah with an H?” Lindsey called out. Thank god this was her last camper.
“I’m here, Miss Lindsey.”
Mrs. Quigley made a few notes on a clipboard. “Your turn, Nick.”
“I called roll right before you got here, Mrs. Quigley. All my campers are present and accounted for.”
What a kiss ass! Nick did the absolute bare minimum. His campers were always the ones causing trouble or pulling pranks. But in front of Mrs. Quigley, he played the part of the conscientious, prepared counselor.
“Good thinking, Nick,” Mrs. Quigley said, barely glancing up.
Lindsey threw him a sharp glance. “I don’t know what’s so funny about my roll call,” she whispered.
“Meghan with an H. Hannah with an H. This town is so fucking generic.”
The breath caught in her throat. “Don’t talk like that. The kids could hear you.”
“If the worst thing they learn from me is that they come from a shit town and pick up a few curse words, they’re getting off easy.”
Lindsey narrowed her gaze. She had expected to find that aloof, distant expression she’d come to know well this summer. Instead, she caught a flash of pain in his blue eyes. There was something there. Something dark huddled, frightened and exposed inside, Nick Kincade. But then he blinked, and the depth she had just seen vanished into two pools of empty blue.
“Lindsey, dear,” came a voice.
Her godmother, Rosemary Giacopazzi, came bustling up with her camera bag and a small box in tow. “You don’t want to forget your camera, honey. And a package just arrived at the house from your mom.”
Lindsey collected the items as the preteen campers surrounded Rosemary.
“Mrs. G! Mrs. G!” the children called out, taking turns hugging the tiny woman. Rosemary was the beloved third-grade teacher at Langley Park Elementary. Lindsey noted early on that everywhere they went in town, her godmother was mobbed by excited children and parents spouting warm words and effusive praise.
“All right, boys and girls,” Rosemary said, “are you all ready for a grand adventure?”
The children cheered and whooped.
“Remember to listen to your counselors. Have fun and be kind to each other.”
All whoops and horseplay disappeared, and the children nodded earnestly.
Mrs. Quigley checked her watch. “Time to load up,” she said and ushered the children onto the bus.
Rosemary waved goodbye to the children then turned her attention to Lindsey and Nick. “These five days are as much for you two as they are for the kids. I met my husband when I was a camp counselor at Camp Clemens.” She reached out and gave both Lindsey and Nick’s hands a squeeze. “It’s a special place.”
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 51