One Summer

by JoAnn Ross

  “Good for you.” He pulled another bottle from the cooler. The fact that he’d switched to a nonalcoholic Kaliber might be a clue to one of his secrets. Or perhaps he was just being cautious because he was driving. “It must feel good to set a goal and succeed at it.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  “Unless it involves a mission, I’m not much on setting goals.”

  “Which brings me to the question I’ve been wanting to ask,” Charity said. “What are your plans?”

  “Immediate? Or long-term?”

  She felt a little prick of annoyance at how he’d dodged what should have been a simple enough question, but hadn’t she done exactly the same thing when he’d brought up her wedding? “Immediate.”

  He shrugged. “With the exception of the save-the-date e-mail I got about Cole’s wedding, I’ve spent the past year not making plans. Just driving around the country, taking photos.”

  “You’ve spent an entire year moving from place to place?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about your family?” Okay, so admittedly that was prying.

  “I told you, I don’t have any.”

  “None?” Charity might have more stepparents than the average person, but the idea of having no one was unfathomable to her.

  “None.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “That depends on the family. Getting back to your original question, although the Marines have sent me all over the globe, somehow I’ve missed the Pacific Northwest. It’s turning out to be a nice part of the country, so now that I’m here, I may as well stick around and take some more photos.”

  If she hadn’t already come up with a plan for Gabriel St. James, Charity would have been appalled at the little burst of pleasure she felt at finding out that he wasn’t on his way out of Shelter Bay.

  Despite ignoring her mother’s urging to leave her hair loose, she felt the breeze coming off the ocean nevertheless cause some strands to flutter onto her face. When Gabe reached across the table to tuck them behind her ear, his gaze turned intense. Unwavering.

  “Getting back to your marriage,” he said.

  Damn. He was just going to keep it up until she told him something. And it wasn’t as if what had happened had been her fault. As Sedona kept telling her, her rat of a fiancé should be the one ashamed of himself.

  “I was going to marry Ethan,” she said. “That’s his name. Ethan Douglas. He’s an attorney at his father’s international commodities-trading company in Chicago. And the definitive word is was. We’re past tense. Over. Bygones.”

  “If it was that easy to get past, why did you take a sex moratorium?”

  “I’m beginning to suspect the photography was just a cover,” she said with an uncharacteristic flare of annoyance. “I’m getting the feeling you were actually an interrogator for military intelligence, because this is starting to feel like the third degree.”

  She waited for him to apologize. He didn’t.

  Plus, although I may have forgotten a lot about dating, I do remember that talking about exes doesn’t make for the most scintillating dinner conversation. So, since it’s a lovely meal at a gorgeous location, I don’t want to ruin the evening talking about it.

  “All I’m going to say is that I spent my life watching my mother follow her heart instead of her head. With less-than-satisfactory results. So, after I got out of school, which had been all-consuming, and took a job in a large domestic-animal practice, I started thinking it might be nice to have someone to share my life with. But, unlike Mom, I opted to go with my head. Which, unfortunately, didn’t work out. So now I’m in a holding pattern.”

  “Yet you’re here. With me.”

  “Actually, I’ll admit to an ulterior motive.”

  “You wouldn’t get any resistance from me if that motive had anything to do with jumping my bones.”

  “I’m sorry.” She gave him her sweetest smile. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He leaned back. Crossed his arms over that broad chest. If his body language meant anything, she wasn’t in for an easy time. “So, what’s your motive? Other than trying to convince me to keep the mutt?”

  “Oh, that’s already settled.” She gave a breezy wave of her hand.

  “And you would know this how?”

  “Sedona, who runs Take the Cake, saw you with the dog on the beach today. And she wasn’t the only one. Reports were that the two of you looked as if you’ve already bonded.”

  “Secondhand, hearsay reports,” he pointed out.

  “So they’re false?”

  “Not exactly. Let’s just say that he’s starting to grow on me. But”—he held up a hand, forestalling her saying how pleased she was about that—“on the outside chance I actually do decide to keep him, there’s going to be a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This is a fifty-state project. After I get done in Washington and Alaska, I’m going to finish up in Hawaii.”

  “Oh.” She knew, of course, where he was going with that. Wasn’t that why she’d ended up with the Persian she was trying to talk Sedona into adopting? “Well. It wouldn’t be for that long, right?”

  “Shouldn’t be.”

  “Then I might be able to help out. Meanwhile, why don’t we agree to jump off that bridge when we come to it?”

  “Works for me. And your motive for eating crab on the beach with me is?”

  “There’s this camp.”

  “Camp.” His expression was even less encouraging than his folded arms. However, having come up with the idea, which was even more perfect the more she’d thought about it, Charity doggedly forged on.

  “A summer camp. At Rainbow Lake, just a couple miles out of town.”

  “I’ve been there. When I first arrived. But I didn’t see any campers. Just tourists. Mostly families.”

  “That’s because the camp doesn’t officially start until tomorrow.”

  “It’s a nice place. But I pretty much gave up sleeping on the ground when I left the Marines.”

  “The campers stay in one side of nice new duplex cabins,” she said. “Most of the counselors bunk on the other side, though others, who are assigned to teach and run activities, have rooms with staff in the lodge. Volunteers usually drive in from town, except for one night when everyone has to get up really early for a canoe trip to the island to have a breakfast cookout, which is a lot of fun. There’s this couple—Fred and Ethel Dalton—”

  He arched the brow that had been sliced by that scar. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Those are actually their real names. Anyway, they won the lottery a few years ago, quit their jobs, bought the lodge, and built the cabins. Since they’d also spent years as foster parents, they decided to establish a camp for foster siblings. Every summer, the kids get to spend two weeks with each other. What most people don’t realize is that three out of every four foster siblings end up being separated.”

  Was it just her imagination? Or did the expression on his harshly hewn face soften, just a bit? “That’s a rotten deal.”

  “Isn’t it? Camp Rainbow is different from your typical summer camp. Along with the usual swimming, canoeing, and making s’mores, there are lots of activities to teach the kids problem solving, goal setting, effective communication, and cooperation.”

  “All disguised as fun.”

  “Exactly.” She was pleased that he’d caught on so soon. It made her mission ever so much easier. “Campers bake bread, plant trees, even build shelters or lead an orientation expedition. The goal is to teach them elemental survival skills and wilderness training to build inner and outer strength.”

  “Now it’s starting to sound a lot like boot camp.”

  She laughed at that comparison. And liked that he’d actually made a joke. Was he lightening up?

  “Ethel’s a child psychologist, or was until she retired, and Fred spent twenty-five years teaching geography and ecology at Coast
al Community College. They’re both active on environmental issues, so they’re wonderful at helping the children experience a sense of connection to the earth, and everyone’s importance in the greater scheme of things.”

  “Good for them.”

  “I volunteered last summer, and signed up again this year. I take shelter dogs out there, and the kids take care of them. It’s good for the dogs because they get a ridiculous amount of love and attention. But it’s good for the kids, too. Not only does it teach them responsibility—the dogs return all that attention with unconditional love. Something not many of them have known.”

  “I suppose they wouldn’t have ended up in the foster system if they had.”

  Oh, yes. The man was definitely lightening up. His expression, and his entire demeanor, which had been guarded, had softened. Interesting that although he probably wouldn’t readily admit it, he was a sucker for kids and animals. Which gave them something in common.

  “So, I guess you want to take the mutt out to the camp for the kids to play with?” he asked.

  “Oh, no! Well, I mean, you could always bring him along, but—”

  “Wait. Just. A. Damn. Minute.” So much for light and empathy. The rock-hard Marine who’d undoubtedly faced down death countless times was back. In spades. “Why would I be going out there?”

  She leaned forward across the table to stress her point. “These kids have already had so much taken away from them. The one thing no one can take away is the special memories of their time together at camp. So, I was thinking, what better way to preserve memories than having photos of the experience?”

  “Look, I can see that it’s for a good cause. But just because I took some wedding photos for a friend doesn’t mean I’ve sunk to shooting camper group shots that anyone, probably even Fred or Ethel, could handle.”

  “Oh, I’m not asking for that,” she said quickly. Too quickly, Charity realized as that dark brow arched again. “Let me backtrack.”

  “That might be helpful. But the answer is still no.”

  “Would you just wait until you hear me out before you go back into ultimate Lone Ranger mode? Which, by the way, isn’t all that appealing.”

  With a weary sigh, he waved her on.

  “We don’t need a professional photographer for the group shots. We all bring cameras, and although we’re amateurs, we end up with photos for the kids to take home with them. So they can remember the good times.”

  “Makes sense. But I still don’t see why you’d need me.”

  “Because it occurred to me that the photos would be even more meaningful if the kids were to take the pictures themselves.”

  “Again, that’s not a bad idea. How many kids are you talking about?”

  “About seventy-five, give or take a few. The number varies every year.”

  “That’s a lot of cameras you’re talking about.”

  She shrugged. “They’re less expensive the more you buy. And I can afford it. My grandfather left me a bit of an inheritance.”

  Her mother’s father had died on a solo around-the-world sailing trip when Amanda had been only twelve years old, but being both a wealthy and prudent man, he’d thought ahead to set up trust funds for any possible grandchildren. Which would be her. Charity had often thought that her mother’s seemingly constant search for a man’s love was, in large part, due to having lost her father at such a tender age.

  Given that her grandmother had been widowed young, and her own mother’s history, Charity had also wondered, on occasion, if the women in her family were marriage cursed.

  “Still, that’s generous of you.”

  “They’re great kids. Though, I have to admit, the last day, as they all climb onto their separate buses, could break even the Grinch’s heart.”

  She sighed. Then shook off that sad memory and concentrated on the positive.

  So, anyway, along with having the kids work with the animals, we have different workshops. Last year Sedona taught a baking class. And Sax’s grandmother taught the girls how to knit, and her husband, Bernard, taught chess and knot tying.

  “An annual event is the dawn canoe trip I mentioned out to the island in the middle of the lake, where Fred shows all the kids how to cook their entire breakfast in a coffee can over a fire. Then, of course, there’s skit night, and—”

  “I’ve got the picture.”

  “You haven’t even heard my plan.”

  “I don’t need to. You’ve got a bunch of foster kids who spend most of the year away from their brothers and sisters. You’re buying cameras so they can create scrapbook memories.”

  “Scrapbooks are on the agenda. There’s a store in town, Memories on Main, whose owner’s agreed to donate a bunch of paper, glue sticks, and other supplies.”

  Damn. As his eyes shuttered, Charity feared she was losing him.

  Determined, she forged on. “But a lot of people are intimidated by even point-and-shoot cameras, which is why I thought, if you could perhaps just agree to donate a few hours teaching some basic techniques—”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You will?” She’d been so expecting yet another immediate refusal, her mind had been spinning forward, trying to think of the arguments she might use to persuade him. Having him suddenly agree to at least consider her idea threw her off track.

  “Like I said, I’m not on any real schedule. The woman at the place I’m camped seems to like me—”

  “Now, there’s a surprise,” Charity muttered, then, when she realized she’d spoken that thought out loud, found herself desperately wishing for the ground to open up beneath the table. There were, after all, the occasional earthquakes in this part of the country. Or even better, maybe they’d be hit by a tsunami.

  He flashed her a wicked smile that had her thinking of the pirates that were rumored to have occasionally sailed off this coast. “She’s ninety if she’s a day.” He paused a heartbeat. “Just in case you were jealous.”

  “I’m not. I was merely surprised, given that the Marine warrior glower you’ve perfected isn’t exactly charming.”

  “Your mother seemed to like me okay.”

  “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, since my mother isn’t known for stellar judgment when it comes to men. And we’re getting off track,” she complained. “We were discussing the camp.”

  “And I said I’d think about it. Meanwhile, what would you say to packing up this stuff and walking off some of the dinner while I do?”

  One of the few traits Charity shared with her mother was optimism that no matter how dark things could get, there was always a shiny lining lurking somewhere behind the storm clouds. All she needed was a bit more time. . . .

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  24

  Even as the setting sun cast a golden border of light around the clouds, a storm was gathering darkly on the horizon. Misty fog began to curl around their feet as they walked along the water’s edge. Sandpipers skittered in and out of the frothy sea-foam; gulls whirled; the scents of salt and seaweed rode on the ocean breeze. In the distance, nearly swallowed up by the gray fog, the Shelter Bay lighthouse flashed its bright yellow warning.

  There was not another person to be seen for miles. They could have been the only two people in the world.

  Although the nightmares he’d suffered had mostly subsided once he’d gotten back to work, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Gabe felt both his mind and body begin to relax.

  “This is nice,” she said, unknowingly repeating his thoughts as they walked along damp sand strewn with rounded stones, bits of shiny quartz, seashells, and kelp.

  “You’re not going to get any argument from me.”

  A drizzling moisture—more than mist, not quite rain, and almost invisible to the eye—began to fall. After all the years living with the constant sand and dust in Iraq and Afghanistan that would embed itself into tents, trucks, and every pore in his body, the light rain felt clean, fresh, and cool.

/>   “Want to go back?” He wasn’t all that eager to, but felt obliged to ask.

  “Why?”

  “It’s raining.”

  She laughed and lifted her face to the sky. “You’re in Oregon. This is what natives call liquid sunshine. If you want to see real rain, you’ll have to stick around a few months.”

  Her laugh affected him like sunshine. Linking their fingers together, he balanced her as she stepped over some slick, seaweed-draped rocks.

  “My former fiancé comes from an old, established Chicago family,” she said out of the blue. “Not only does it predate the Great Fire, Ethan can trace his family line all the way back to Stephen Douglas.”

  “Of the Lincoln-Douglas debates?”

  “That would the be one.”

  “Guess they were also loaded?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Their main business is international commodities trading, but they’ve got their fingers into just about any financial pie you can name. Banking, real estate, insurance. The wedding was at the chichi Oakbridge Polo Club. Where the Douglases have been members for all eighty years of its existence.”

  “I can’t trace my family tree back eighty years.” He’d never wanted to, either.

  “Join the club.” She bent over, picked up a variegated stone, and tossed it into the surf. Gabe suspected she was gathering her thoughts, trying, yet again, to decide how much to share.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t grow up without money,” she continued. “My mother always said you can fall in love with a rich man as well as a poor one, and since you may have noticed that if you Google high maintenance, you’d get about a gazillion hits with her photo, their wealth didn’t intimidate me. Nor did the fact that Ethan’s father and uncles sat on boards of so many corporations. Thanks to Mom’s liking the high life, I know how to play country-club games.”

  “Even though you don’t like them.”

  “Hate them,” she admitted. She looked up at him. He could see the reflection of himself trapped in her rain-forest green eyes. “Be honest. Can you see me fitting in with the polo set?”