Nick broke the connection and stepped back. He gestured with his chin toward a few stray duffle bags the kids had forgotten to take onto the bus. “I need to get this stuff loaded up.” He was already ten feet away scooping up bags before he had even finished the sentence.
Lindsey shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry about him. He’s just…”
Rosemary watched Nick toss items into the back of the bus. “He’s carrying a lot of pain, that one.”
“I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t really talk to anyone, and when he does, he’s usually a creep.”
“He’s just a prickly pear,” Rosemary replied.
“A what?”
“A prickly pear. I’ve had at least one in my class every year since I started teaching. It’s the kind of person who’s tough and thorny on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside.”
Lindsey eyed Nick as he dragged a bag across the pavement with the delicacy of a caveman. “I don’t know, Rosemary. Soft and sweet would not be the first two adjectives I would choose for him.”
“Not yet,” Rosemary said with a twinkle in her eye. “People can always surprise you.”
Mrs. Quigley joined them. “Nick, can you come over here for a moment. I have one more essential item to give to you and Lindsey.”
Nick tossed the last bag onto the bus, released an impatient breath, and joined them, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. His fingertips drummed against his biceps.
Mrs. Quigley pulled out a tattered piece of fabric. “This is Langley Park’s flag.”
Lindsey shared a confused look with Nick. “What are we supposed to do with it?”
“I keep forgetting,” Mrs. Quigley replied. “You two aren’t from around here.”
“Thank Christ,” Nick said under his breath so only Lindsey could hear.
“This is the flag you’ll be using to represent Langley Park when you play capture the flag at Camp Clem,” Rosemary said, reverently touching the faded, yellow fabric.
The flag was about the size of a sports pennant. Sunflowers were embroidered around the edge with a capital L and a capital P stitched into the center.
“This very flag has been part of Langley Park since 1935. It started out in Langley Park’s very first school. Then it was given to the Community Center almost forty years ago,” Mrs. Quigley said.
“It’s a Langley Park rite of passage to bring this flag up to Camp Clemens,” Rosemary added.
“Indeed, so please take extra care with it,” Mrs. Quigley said, eyes flitting between Lindsey and Nick. Her gaze settled on Lindsey, and she handed over the flag. Her only real choice since Nick’s arms were still crossed tightly against his chest.
“Ready to get this show on the road?”
They turned to see the bus driver, Mr. Robbins, wiping his glasses on his Camp Clemens t-shirt.
“I guess the fun starts now,” Nick muttered as he boarded the bus.
“Enjoy your time at Camp Clemens, Lindsey,” Rosemary said with a warm smile. “And remember what I said about those prickly pears.”
Rosemary started toward her car, but Lindsey called her back. She wanted to stop the words from tumbling out, but she couldn’t help herself. Her lip trembled. “I talked to my mom last night. She knows all about Camp Clemens.” Lindsey paused. “If my dad calls while I’m gone, will you let him know I’m okay, and that I…”
“Of course, dear.” Rosemary squeezed her arm, but her signature bright smile had dimmed a fraction.
At least they’d stopped singing, Nick thought to himself.
Lindsey had led the kids in all manner of silly camp songs: “This Land is Your Land,” “Do Your Ears Hang Low,” “The Hokey Pokey,” and that stupid song about eating apples and bananas where you butcher the words by switching the vowel sounds. He hadn’t had to deal with that kind of bullshit much this summer. The last thing his twelve-year-old boys wanted to do was sing out loud in front of each other. But something about riding the bus to sleepaway camp made his usually self-conscious campers less inhibited, and they belted out the ridiculous lyrics along with the girls.
He exhaled a sigh of relief. The bus had quieted, and the children hunkered down into the depths of the green, faux leather bus seats. Nick tried to angle his large body into a comfortable position, but it was no use. These seats were made for tiny people who enjoyed sitting at a perfect ninety degree angle. He shifted his knees to the side and wedged his back into the space between the seat and the side of the bus.
Like most shitty camp buses, this one didn’t have air conditioning. All the windows were down as low as they could go. Thankfully, the dry Kansas breeze cooled as the bus traveled east into Missouri and toward the Ozarks. He glanced across the bus aisle at Lindsey. She was focused on the Camp Clemens manual. Her lips moved silently as she read. She was pretty. He could admit that much. Chestnut brown hair with hints of red that reminded him of the autumn Kentucky sun streaming through the brown and crimson leaves of the maple tree in his backyard. She was the only girl at Kids’ Camp who hadn’t thrown herself at him. He couldn’t blame the other girls, though. He knew he was easy on the eyes. His features mirrored his dad’s, and, from a young age, he had observed how women responded to his father. A prickly sensation of anger tangled with resentment festered deep within his chest.
Looks weren’t the only thing he had in common with his father.
Just like dear old dad, he wasn’t a good person either. He didn’t smile. He didn’t socialize. It made his stomach turn to think these girls would still be interested in someone so cruel and unkind.
But not Lindsey.
He had seen her every day at Kids’ Camp. She never made excuses to talk to him like the other girls did. He recognized their pathetic attempts at attracting his attention.
“Nick, have you seen my attendance roster?”
“Nick, could you help me carry this heavy cooler?”
“Nick, do you like my new dress?”
No, Lindsey wasn’t like the other girls. She kept to her campers. She only communicated with him as a last resort.
The bus hit a pothole, and the vehicle bounced up and down. Lindsey glanced up and caught him staring. He shifted against the sticky seat.
She set the binder on her lap. “Nick?”
He cocked his head in response. He had gotten pretty damn good at not behaving like a human being.
“We should probably look over this together. It’s everything we’ll be doing at Camp Clem. It may be good to know what we’re in for ahead of time.”
The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could look at it with Lindsey now, or he’d have to learn it all by himself. The former seemed like less work. He slid across the aisle and sat next to her.
She looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. He had never noticed the color of her eyes before. They weren’t blue or green, but a perfect combination of the two colors like the ocean at dusk. She glanced at her camera bag and the small box and set the items on the floor by her feet, allowing them to sit shoulder to shoulder.
“So,” she said, her fingers working in a nervous, disjointed fashion as she flipped pages, “we’re here Monday through Friday, but we leave Friday morning after breakfast. That gives us half a day of activities today and then three full days, Tuesday through Thursday.”
That much he knew. His lack of response told her that, and she continued.
“Capture the flag is no joke at this place. It looks like we play it almost every day.”
He leaned in to see the schedule and was hit with her scent. She didn’t smell like most girls her age, drenched in fruity, floral perfume that made his head spin and not in a good way. Lindsey smelled of sweet cream and summer rain, earthy and warm. She tensed as he moved in closer, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned and met his eye. But just as their gazes locked, his size thirteen foot bumped into the box on the bus floor.
“Sorry about that,” he said, making a clumsy attempt to maneuver his legs to fit into the snug
seat.
“It’s nothing—just a package from my mom. It’s probably filled with gummy bears and graham crackers. She still tries to feed me like I’m a sugar-addicted toddler.”
Of course, Lindsey came from a family that sent her care packages. Her bedroom was probably plastered with rainbows and unicorn posters. He would bet her family had “board game night” at least once a week. That prickly sensation in his chest pulsed with resentment. He was just about to make a snide comment about her life filled with picket fences and pony rides when she met his gaze and those blue-green eyes sliced into him with kindness and warmth. He wasn’t prepared for it. Girls usually looked at him like he was some shiny, new toy they wanted to show off to their friends.
“That’s cool your parents send you snacks,” he said. He sounded like a fucking moron, but her eyes and that sweet, delicate scent set him off balance.
“Not my parents, just my mom.”
The bus hit another bump, and his shoulder brushed hers. She reached over and gripped his arm and steadied herself. Her fingertips pressed into his skin, and he had the sudden urge to reach his arm around her and draw her into his large frame. He imagined the way her body would feel, cuddled in close to him. All he’d have to do was tilt his head a few inches, and he could press a kiss to her temple. He swallowed hard and pushed the image out of his mind. Lindsey Hanlon was just another girl in this bullshit town, full of bullshit people, in his bullshit world. He stiffened and shifted his body away from her.
Lindsey motioned to the binder. “We should…”
“Yeah, let’s just skim over each page.”
She nodded.
Nick read through the first half of the binder. Standard camp shit. Daily activity listings. Mealtimes. Health clinic information. He was about to turn the page when Lindsey swayed and leaned against him. Her eyes fluttered closed. How the hell was she falling asleep? He looked back at the campers. At least two-thirds of them had fallen asleep, and the remaining kids were reading quietly.
“Fast car,” Lindsey murmured. Her hands went slack, and she released her grip on the binder. Nick caught it before it slid off her lap, but his movement caused her to slide into him.
His chest tightened. “What about a car?”
Her head rested against his shoulder. Wisps of her chestnut-brown hair brushed against his skin and tickled his arm. He inhaled. He couldn’t fucking help himself. She smelled like what home was supposed to be, safe and warm, sweet and solid.
Her body relaxed against his. “The song.”
He listened. Just below the sound of the breeze passing through the open windows and the bump and grind of the road, “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman played on the bus driver’s radio. Each note, each lyric came to him in gentle drafts of air like an invitation to somewhere he had never dreamed of going.
“Yeah, I hear it, Lindsey.”
“I love this song,” she yawned, slurring her sleepy words together.
Nick trained his gaze on the road. “Me, too,” he whispered as his words drifted into the wind.
2
The bus came to a jarring stop, and Lindsey shot up. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”
She wiped her hand across her mouth. Oh, for Pete’s sake! Not only did she fall asleep, she drooled.
Nick slid out of the seat. He met her gaze with empty eyes. “Congratulations on waking up. We’re here.”
She nodded. She always fell asleep during car trips. She thought of her parents drinking coffee in the front seat of their Volvo. The rich aroma filled the car as the sound of the road map crinkling across the dashboard and the hum of the engine made her eyelids feel heavy. The memory washed over her like summer rain until she was hit by the harsh slap of reality.
That life was over.
Lindsey packed the thought away. She stood and turned toward the children at the back of the bus. Some of them must have slept during the drive, too. Several kids had indentation marks pressed into the sides of their faces where they’d rested their cheek against the bus window. At least she wasn’t the only one napping. She pressed a self-conscious hand to her cheek, but it was smooth.
If she hadn’t slept against the window, she must have…
A hot blush bloomed on her cheeks. But there was no time to worry about falling asleep on Nick Kincade’s shoulder.
She raised her hand and made a peace sign which, at the Langley Park Kids’ Camp, meant stop talking. The kids quieted. “Okay, guys. We’re here!” She tried to inject excitement into her voice. The Langley Park flag was balled up on the seat. She grabbed it and held it up. “Let’s have some fun and make everybody back in Langley Park proud!”
The bus was quiet for a beat before the kids broke out into cheers.
Okay. This wasn’t going to be too bad.
She looked out the bus window and caught Nick’s eye. He gave her a “what the fuck” expression. Forget him. She was here to make sure these kids had fun and stayed safe. She didn’t know where that little pep talk came from, but it didn’t matter. Nick had ignored her the entire summer. What was another five days?
She was about to toss him a “screw you” look when an older woman in a Camp Clemens t-shirt walked up behind him.
“Welcome, welcome, Langley Park campers! I’m Hannah Harris, the Director of Camp Clem.”
Lindsey stepped off the bus and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Lindsey, and this is Nick,” she said, hoping Nick would show an ounce of excitement.
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said in his sweetest Kentucky drawl. “Is that Hannah with or without an H?”
Hannah seemed delighted with the question. She pointed to her name tag. “Why, it’s with an H!”
What a jerk!
Nick’s lips quirked into a cocky smirk. Lindsey threw daggers at him with her eyes, but he met her gaze with one of amusement.
Hannah held up a clipboard. “I was checking our records. I couldn’t find either of you on our past camper rosters.”
“Nick and I have never been to Camp Clem,” Lindsey answered.
“But you’re from Langley Park, right?”
“No, I’m from Maine and Nick’s from Kentucky.”
Hannah put a hand to her chest. “How exciting!”
“You’re from Maine?” Nick asked, pinning her with his gaze.
“Yeah, I am.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was the first real question he had ever asked her.
“Let me share a little 411 on Camp Clem,” Hannah said. She was an attractive woman, but she had to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. Something about her injecting teen speak into her vocabulary sounded as disjointed as an opera singer opening for a heavy metal band.
“You may not know this, but Camp Clemens is nestled in the Mark Twain National Forest. You may wonder why we’re called Camp Clemens?”
“Because Samuel Clemens is Mark Twain’s real name,” Nick said with enough enthusiasm to fill a thimble.
Hannah beamed, unfazed. “That’s right! He’s from Missouri. Everything here at Camp Clem is named after him or his works of fiction. Isn’t that fun?” She didn’t wait for them to answer. “We’ve got Lake Langhorne.” She gestured down the hill toward a giant body of water and a line of canoes lined up against the side of a boathouse. “The Langley Park girls will be staying in Becky Cabin and the boys in Sawyer Cabin.” She pointed to two simple rectangular structures separated by a small building made of concrete blocks. “Those cabins are the closest to the bluff. It’s a pretty serious drop into the lake and quite shallow at the bottom. You’ll need to be mindful not to get too close.”
“What’s between them?” Lindsey asked. She figured it was a bathroom of sorts, but there was a thick red line spray painted down the middle of the structure. The line progressed onto the grass for several yards in front of the building.
“That’s the latrine. Showers and toilets. One side is for the boys, the other for the girls.”
“And the red line?” Lindsey asked.
Hannah’s expression became serious. “Gleeful glimpses, only.”
Lindsey glanced at Nick. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” Lindsey said.
“Gleeful. Glimpses. Only.” Hannah said each word slowly. “That’s our little motto to help the campers make positive choices.” She lowered her voice and glanced over at the Langley Park kids who were milling around the back of the bus. “The boys can’t cross over the red line onto the girls’ side and the girls can’t cross over to the boys’ side. This is how we keep all those bubbling, preteen hormones in check.”
Lindsey looked at the red line.
“A sound plan,” Nick said.
Lindsey could tell he was biting back a laugh. She was having a hard time keeping a straight face, too, but she wasn’t about to let Nick know that.
Hannah nodded. “At Camp Clem, we pride ourselves on being a place where preteens make lifelong friendships while building new skills in a safe and nurturing environment.” A dreamy look passed over the woman’s face, but she startled when two cabin doors creaked open then slammed shut.
A young man and young woman emerged from the two respective cabins: Becky and Sawyer.
“Hi, guys! I’m Meg, and this is Trevor,” the young woman said.
They only seemed to be a little older than she and Nick. They were both smiling brightly and wearing the same Camp Clemens t-shirt as Hannah.
“We are so excited you guys made it!” Meg said. She raised her hands into some kind of cheerleader-like pose.
Trevor nodded. He wasn’t just a big guy. He was huge. He looked like he could be a linebacker in the NFL.
“Nick and Lindsey, meet Meg and Trevor, two of my finest cabin leaders. They’ll fill you in on all the details.”
“We sure will,” Meg parroted back and again employed cheerleading arms.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Hannah said and hurried down a path toward another arriving bus.
As soon as Hannah was out of sight, Meg dropped the cheerleader front. Trevor pulled out a ball cap from his back pocket and pulled it low, hiding his eyes from view.
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 52