Almost Paradise

by Debbie Macomber

Roarke pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from her.

  “Buttercup paid us another visit,” she said after a long moment.

  “Ralph?”

  “Is fine…”

  His jaw tightened. “May I remind you, Miss White, that it is against camp policy to have a pet?”

  “Ralph is a mascot, not a pet.”

  “He’s a nuisance.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” she returned heatedly and took another sip of coffee in an effort to fortify her courage. “As for camp policy—what do you call Buttercup?”

  “The camp cat.”

  “She’s not a pet?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “My foot!”

  “If there are problems with Ralph, then the solution is simple—get rid of him.”

  “No way! Pamela’s strongly attached to that animal.” Surely Roarke wasn’t heartless enough to take away a child’s only friend. “This is the first time Pamela’s spent more than a few days away from home and family. That hamster’s helping her through the long separation from her brother and parents.”

  “If I allow Ralph to stay, then next year someone is likely to bring a boa constrictor and claim it’s not a pet, either.”

  Sherry twisted her head from side to side, glancing around her. Lowering her voice, she leaned forward and whispered, “No one knows about Ralph. I’m not telling, the girls aren’t telling. That leaves only you.”

  “Buttercup knows.”

  “She’s the problem,” Sherry gritted between clenched teeth.

  “No,” Roarke countered heatedly. “Ralph is.”

  From the hard set of the director’s mouth, Sherry could see that discussing this matter would solve nothing. She held up both palms in a gesture of defeat. “Fine.”

  “Fine what? You’ll get rid of Ralph?”

  “No! I’ll take care of the problem.”

  “How?” He eyed her dubiously.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet, but I will.”

  “That I don’t doubt. Just make sure I don’t know a thing about it.”

  “Right.” Playfully, she winked at him, stood, reached for a small pancake, popped it into her mouth, and left the dining hall. She understood Roarke’s concerns, but occasional exceptions to rules had to be made. Life was filled with too many variables for him to be so hard-nosed and stringent. Ralph had to be kept a secret, and more than that, the rodent couldn’t continue to rule the lives of her seven charges. A cage was one solution, but knowing Buttercup, that wouldn’t be enough to distract the cat from her daily raids.

  She found the answer in town. That night after the evening meal, Sherry carried in the solution for the girls to examine.

  “What’s it for?” Sally wanted to know when Sherry held the weapon up for their inspection.

  Bracing her feet like a trained commando, Sherry looped the strap over her shoulder and positioned the machine gun between her side and her elbow. “One shot from this and Buttercup won’t be troubling Ralph again.”

  “You aren’t going to…” Jan began.

  “…shoot him?” Jill finished her twin’s worried query.

  The girls’ eyes widened as Sherry’s mouth twisted into a dark scowl. “You bet. I’m going to shoot him—right between the eyes.”

  A startled gasp rose.

  “Miss White,” Pamela pleaded. “I don’t want you to hurt Buttercup.”

  Sherry relaxed and lowered the machine gun, grinning. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. This is a battery-operated water gun.”

  “Really?”

  “A water gun?” Diane asked, lowering her book long enough to examine Sherry’s weapon.

  “I knew that all along,” Gretchen said.

  “I’ll show you how it works.” Sherry aimed it at her bedroom door and fingered the trigger. Instantly, a piercing blast of water slammed against the pine door ten feet away.

  “Hey, not bad,” Diane said excitedly.

  “It’s as accurate as a real gun,” Sherry explained further. “After a shot or two from this beauty, Buttercup won’t come within fifty feet of this cabin.”

  The spontaneous applause gladdened Sherry’s heart. She accepted the praise of her charges with a deep bow and placed the weapon in her bedroom. Returning a moment later, she entered the room with a dark visor pulled down low over her eyes. She held out a deck of cards toward them.

  “Okay, girls, gather ’round,” she called. “Tonight’s lesson is about statistics.” Grinning, she playfully shuffled the cards from one hand to the other. “Anyone here ever played gin rummy?”

  If Sherry had thought her charges enjoyed the fairy tales, they were even more ecstatic about cards. Their ability to pick up the rules and the theory behind the games astonished her. It shouldn’t, she mused. After all, they were real live wizards!

  After she’d taught them the finer points of gin rummy, the seven had eagerly learned hearts and canasta. At nine-thirty, their scheduled bedtime, the girls didn’t want to quit. Cards were fun, and there was precious little time for that commodity at Camp Gitche Gumee.

  When the lights were out, Sherry lay in her own bed, wishing she could convince Jeff Roarke that camp, no matter what its specialty, was meant to be fun.

  No longer did Sherry think of Roarke in negative terms. They still disagreed on most subjects, but the wall of annoyance and frustration she’d felt toward him had been a means of hiding the sensual awareness she experienced the minute he walked into the room. Jeff Roarke was as sexy as the day was long. And since this was June, the days were lengthy enough to weave into the nights.

  Sherry expelled her breath and sat upright in the darkened room. It wasn’t only thoughts of Roarke that were keeping her awake. Guilt played a hand in her troubled musings. Her father and Phyliss were probably worried sick about her. Leaving the way she had hadn’t been one of her most brilliant schemes. By this time, no doubt, her stepmother had hired a detective agency to track her down.

  Contrite feelings about her evening sessions with the girls also played a role in her sleeplessness. She’d handed in the lesson plans to Roarke knowing that she’d misled him a little. It was stretching even her vivid imagination to link canasta and gin rummy with statistics.

  This summer had been meant to be carefree and fun, and Sherry was discovering that it was neither. Tossing aside the blankets, she reached for her jeans. Because her cell was in a dead zone, she searched for a pay phone and found one situated on the campgrounds, directly across from her cabin. If she talked to her father, she’d feel better and so would he. There wasn’t any need to let Phyliss know where she was, but it couldn’t hurt to keep in touch.

  Pulling her sweatshirt over her head, Sherry tiptoed between the bunks and quietly slipped out the front door. The night was filled with stars. A light breeze hummed across the treetops, their melody singing in the wind. Cotton-puff clouds roamed across the full moon, and the sweet scent of virgin forest filled the air. Tucking the tips of her fingers into her hip pockets, Sherry paused to examine the beauty of the world around her. It was lovely enough to take her breath away.

  The pay phone was well lit, and Sherry slipped her quarters into the appropriate slot. Her father’s groggy voice greeted her on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Sherry?”

  “How many other girls call you Dad?”

  Virgil White chuckled. “You give me as much trouble as ten daughters.”

  “Honestly, Dad!”

  “Sherry, where—”

  Her father’s voice was interrupted by a frenzied, eager one. “Oh thank God,” a female voice came over the line. “Sherry, darling, is that you?”

  “Hello, Phyliss. Listen, I’m at a pay phone and I’ve only got a few quarters—”

  “Virgil, do something…Sherry’s nearly penniless.”

  “Phyliss, I’ve got money, it’s just quarters I’m short of at the moment. Please listen. I wanted you to k
now I’m fine.”

  “Are you eating properly?”

  “Three meals a day,” Sherry assured her.

  “Liver once a week? Fresh fruit and vegetables?”

  “Every day, scout’s honor.”

  The sound of her father’s muffled laugh came over the wire. “You were never a Girl Scout.”

  Phyliss gasped and started to weep.

  “Dad, now look what you’ve done. Phyliss, I’m eating better than ever, and I have all the clothes I could possibly need.”

  “Money?”

  “I’m doing just great. Wonderful, in fact. I don’t need anything.”

  “Are you happy, baby?”

  “Very happy,” Sherry assured them both.

  “Where are you—at least tell me where you are,” her stepmother cried.

  Before she could answer, the operator came back on the line. “It will be another dollar twenty-five for the next three minutes.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Sherry,” Phyliss pleaded. “Remember to eat your garlic.”

  “I’ll remember,” she promised. “Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Phyliss.” At age twenty-five she didn’t require a babysitter, although Phyliss seemed convinced otherwise. As the good daughter, Sherry had done her duty.

  Gently she replaced the telephone receiver, feeling much relieved. Looking up, she discovered Roarke advancing toward her across the lawn in long, angry strides. Just the way he moved alerted her to his mood. She stiffened with apprehension and waited.

  “Miss White.” His gaze traveled from the telephone to her and then back again. “Who’s staying with the girls?”

  “I…they’re all asleep. I didn’t think it would matter if I slipped out for a couple minutes. I’d be able to hear them if there was a problem,” she went on hurriedly, trying to cover her guilty conscience. She really hadn’t been gone more than a few minutes.

  The anger left Roarke as quickly as it came. He knew he was being unreasonable. The source of his irritation wasn’t that Sherry had stepped outside her cabin. It was the fact that she’d made a phone call, and he strongly suspected she’d contacted a male friend.

  Self-consciously, Sherry lowered her head. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have left the girls. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you agree to something I say,” Roarke said, his face relaxing into a lazy smile.

  Sherry’s heart lifted in a strange, weightless way. She’d been tense, conscious once more that she’d done something to irritate him.

  “I’ll walk you back to your cabin,” he suggested softly.

  “Thank you.” It wasn’t necessary, for the cabin was within sight, but she was pleased Roarke chose to keep her company.

  “I saw you on the phone,” he commented, without emotion, a few minutes later. “I suppose you were talking to one of your boyfriends.”

  “No,” she corrected, “that was my family.”

  Roarke cleared his throat and straightened. “Is there a boyfriend waiting for you…where was it again?”

  “Seattle, and no, not anyone I’m serious about.” Sherry went still, her heart thundering against her breast. “And you? Do y-you have someone waiting in Berkeley?”

  Roarke shook his head. There was Fiona, another professor whom he saw socially. They’d seen each other in a friendly sort of way for a couple years, but he hadn’t experienced any of the physical response with Fiona that he did with Sherry. Come to think of it, Fiona’s views on romance were much like his own. “There’s no one special,” he said after a moment.

  “I see.” From the length of time that it took him to tell her that, Sherry suspected that there was someone. Her spirits dipped a little. Good grief, did she think he lived like a hermit? He couldn’t! He was too good-looking.

  Roarke’s gaze studied her, then, and in the veiled shadows of the moon, Sherry noted that it was impossible to make out the exact color of his eyes. Green or tawny, it didn’t seem to matter now that they were focused directly on her. Her breathing became shallow, and she couldn’t draw her gaze away from him. Finally, she dragged her eyes from his and looked up at the stars.

  Neither spoke for several minutes, and Sherry found the quiet disarming.

  “You seem to have adjusted well to the camp,” Roarke commented. “Other than a few problems with mornings, that is.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How did the lessons go this evening? Wasn’t it statistics you told me you were planning to discuss?”

  Sherry swallowed down her apprehension and answered in a small, quiet voice. “Everything went well.”

  Roarke’s eyes narrowed as he watched her struggle to keep the color from invading her cheeks. She might think herself clever, but he wasn’t completely ignorant of her creative efforts.

  “I may have deviated a little,” she admitted finally.

  “A little?” Roarke taunted. “Then let me ask you something.”

  “Sure.” She tried to make her voice light and airy, belying her nervousness.

  “Who got stuck with the queen of spades?”

  “Gretchen,” she returned automatically, then slipped her hand over her mouth. “You know?”

  “I had a fair idea. A little friendly game of hearts, I take it?”

  She nodded, studying him. “And canasta and gin rummy, while I was at it.”

  He did nothing more than shake his head in a gesture of defeat.

  “Are you going to lecture me?”

  “Will it do any good?”

  Sherry laughed softly. “Probably not.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She relaxed, liking him more by the minute. “Then you don’t mind?”

  Roarke sighed. “As long as you don’t fill their minds with romantic tales, I can live with it. But I’d like to ask about the lesson plans you handed in to me.”

  “Oh, I was planning to do everything I wrote down…I’m just using kind of…unorthodox methods.”

  “I figured as much.” His face relaxed into a languorous smile. “I’d guess that the night you intend a study on finances is really a game of Monopoly.”

  “Yes…how’d you know?” He didn’t sound irritated, and that lent Sherry confidence.

  “I have my ways.”

  “Do you know everything that goes on in this camp?” She’d never met anyone like him. Roarke seemed to be aware of every facet of his organization. How he managed to keep tabs on each area, each cabin, was beyond her.

  “I don’t know everything,” he countered, “but I try…”

  As his voice trailed off, the beauty of the night demanded their attention. Neither spoke for a long moment, but neither was inclined to leave, either.

  “I find it surprising that you don’t have someone special waiting for you.” Roarke’s voice was low, slightly bewildered.

  “It’s not so amazing.” A few men had been attracted to her—before Phyliss had drilled them on their intentions, invited them to dinner, and driven them crazy with her wackiness. A smile touched the corner of Sherry’s mouth. If there was anyone she wished to discourage, all she need do was introduce him to her loony stepmother. “I’m attending Seattle Pacific full-time, and I’m involved in volunteer work. There isn’t much opportunity to date.”

  While she was speaking, Roarke couldn’t stop looking at her. Her profile was cast against the moon shadows of the dark violet sky. The light breeze flirted with her hair, picking up the wispy strands at her temple and puffing them out and away from her face. Her dark hair was thick and inviting. He thought about lifting it in his hands, running the silky length through his fingers, burying his face in it and breathing in its fresh, clean scent. From the moment she’d first entered his office, he’d thought she was pretty. Now Roarke studied her and saw much more than the outward loveliness that had first appealed to him. Her spirit was what attracted him, her love of life, her enthusiasm.

  He’d never seen a campers enjoy their coun
selor more. Sherry was a natural with the children. Inventive. Clever. Fun. A hundred times since she’d arrived at camp, he’d been angered enough to question the wisdom of having hired her. But not tonight, not when he was standing in the moonlight with her at his side. Not now, when he would have given a month’s wages to taste her lips and feel her softness pressed against him. She was a counselor and he was the camp director, but tonight that would be so easy to forget. He was a man so strongly attracted to a woman that his heart beat with the energy of a callow youth’s.

  Sherry turned and her gaze was trapped in Roarke’s. At his tender look, her breath wedged in her lungs, tightening her chest. Her heart thudded nervously.

  “I guess I should go inside,” she said, hardly recognizing her own voice.

  Roarke nodded, willing her to leave him while he had the strength to resist her.

  Sherry didn’t move; her legs felt like mush and she sincerely doubted that they’d support her. If she budged at all, it was to lean closer to Roarke. Never in all her life had she wanted a man to hold her more. His gaze fell to her mouth, and she moistened her lips in invitation, yearning for his kiss.

  —

  Roarke groaned inwardly and closed his eyes, but that only served to increase his awareness of her. She smelled of flowers, fresh and unbelievably sweet. Warmth radiated from her, and he yearned to wrap his arms around her and feel for himself her incredible softness.

  “Good night, Sherry,” he said forcefully. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sherry sagged with relief and watched as Roarke marched away with the purposeful strides of a marine drill sergeant, his hands bunched into tight fists at his sides.

  Chapter 6

  “I demand that we form a search party,” Wendy cried, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Sherry. “You did when Ralph was missing.”

  “Wendy, sweetheart,” Sherry said, doing her best to keep calm. “Ralph is a living, breathing animal.”

  “A rodent hamustro, actually,” Sally informed them knowingly.

  “Whatever. The thing is—a misplaced Ken doll doesn’t take on the urgency of a missing rodent.”

  “But someone stole him.”

  Sherry refused to believe that any of the girls would want Ken badly enough to pilfer him from their cabin mate. “We’ll keep looking, Wendy, but for now that’s the best we can do.”