The Summer Place

by Pamela Hearon

  Can they both be right?

  Summer Delaney has turned over a new leaf. Now she’s ready to step up and run her parents’ Kentucky camp—the place she loves most in the world. Too bad her parents aren’t convinced of her dedication. In fact, they’ve hired someone else—someone with very conflicting ideas about how the camp should operate!

  A former marine, Rick Warren’s approach is all about following orders. From the outset, it’s clear that they don’t see eye to eye. But there’s an unexpected effect from all that clashing of wills. The heat of debate turns to steamy attraction—one they simply can’t resist. Still, with the camp’s future hanging in the balance, Summer must prove she’s changed and can work with Rick to create a place kids will love—and a place where their love might have a chance….

  The audacity of the guy!

  Having the responsibility of the camp passed to Rick, a virtual stranger, had made Summer’s heart sink then...and every time she’d thought about it since—including now.

  She had tried to show her assertion at the meeting. But when she’d brought up the subject of downtime, Rick had poo-pooed her ideas.

  No doubt about it: Rick Warren put her on edge, made her feel as if he were hiding something. Snooping around her cabin that morning, hiding the file he held. She didn’t know what he was up to, but she didn’t like it. Or him.

  Right at that moment, Rick’s face broke into a dazzling smile, directed at the mother who was standing too close, and a flare of anger shot through Summer. Tsk, tsk. Flirting with the parents. How inappropriate.

  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.

  Dear Reader,

  If you’ve read my Harlequin Superromance debut Out of the Depths (August 2012), you’ve already met Rick Warren, the former marine whose heroic nature begged for his own story. But what fresh, new challenge could I come up with for a man who stared death in the eye and never blinked? Inspiration for Rick’s story hit during a day of fishing with my husband on Kentucky Lake. Well, actually, he fished, and I read.

  As we trolled along the banks of a secluded cove, an unexpected sound floated through the tree line…the loud, excited laughter of children. We’d happened into a cove that bordered a summer camp. The sound warmed my retired-schoolteacher’s heart, but it also reminded me how children’s unpredictable actions day after day would make some people uncomfortable. People such as Rick Warren. A month with eight- and nine-year-olds would challenge even a hardened marine.

  When I concentrated on the sound, an image of diminutive Summer Delaney solidified in my brain. Although Rick towered over her, she was holding her ground against him, hands on hips, chin jutted forward defiantly. She stared him down with not so much as a blink. Here was the woman who could bring Rick to his knees—or at least, cause him to kneel on one of them!

  I hope you enjoy your stay at Camp Sunny Daze…it’s The Summer Place to be!

  BFF,

  Pamela Hearon

  The Summer Place

  Pamela Hearon

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Pamela Hearon lived thirty-one years in western Kentucky before love with a handsome Yankee lured her away. She and her husband raised their family of three children and several cats while she taught English to quirky eighth-graders. Life has taught her that, no matter the location, small-town America has a charm all its own—a place where down-to-earth people and heartwarming stories abound. And although the Midwest is now home, Kentucky still holds a generous piece of Pamela’s heart. When it’s time to tell her stories, the voice in her head has a decidedly Southern drawl.

  Books by Pamela Hearon

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1799—OUT OF THE DEPTHS

  To Dick, the True North of my life’s compass. All the routes led me to you.

  Acknowledgments

  It’s been a long time since any of my children were in summer camp, so writing a book about one required a great deal of research, which, in this case, translates as picking the brains of my friends. As a result, I have many people I want to thank.

  Thank you to my neighbor, Chad Mowery, a former marine. The information you shared made Rick come alive for me in a way that my imagination never would have.

  Thanks to Mhairi Kerr, my expert on current summer campery.

  Many thanks to my dear friend Gary Bielefeld, aka Mr. Fossil, for consulting with me on mammoth molars and for having the uncanny ability to always make me smile.

  Thank you to my editors, Megan Long and Karen Reid, for being so great to work with and for making suggestions that make my stories stronger.

  Thanks to my agent, Jennifer Weltz, for continuing to believe in me.

  Thank you to my critique partners, Kimberly Lang, Sandra Jones, Angela Campbell and Maggie Van Well, for your willingness to read my stuff no matter how many times I run it by you and whose kind words of encouragement keep me going.

  Thank you to my children (all adults now), Heather, Nathan and Michelle, for being so easy to blend into a real family.

  Thanks to my friends for putting up with my preoccupation and my odd choices of conversation topics.

  Most of all, thank you to my husband, Dick. You’ve taught me not to take myself so seriously and just how much fun true love can be.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE

  “BET YOU’RE LAUGHING YOUR ASS off, aren’t you, Dunk?” Rick Warren directed his comment skyward. He unlatched his seat belt but made no move to exit the car, rethinking the favor Gus Hargrove was calling in.

  One summer, that was the commitment. Compared to his former tours of duty, two months was nothing, and anything was better than unemployment—sitting at home, putting on a beer belly. Besides, he’d already said yes. Honor. Courage. Commitment. Time to face this like a marine.

  He opened the car door and strode across the street and up the walk of the gray stone house. Neither his confident manner nor the doorbell’s seraphic chime could lift the dread from the pit of his stomach.

  The wisp of a woman who was Agnes Delaney opened the door and welcomed him into the house with her genial “Come in, come in.” Her husband, Herschel, showed up close on her heels, his beefy, red face broken by a toothy grin.

  “Rick.” Herschel’s large hand clapped hard on his back. “Glad to have you on board.”

  Rick forced a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I slept better last night than I have in months.” Agnes’s eyes shimmered with gratitude as she looped her arm through Rick’s and led him down a wide hallway. “Let’s go in here and sit while we talk. I need to keep an eye on Peewee.”

  Agnes steered him into a great room, which opened onto a large lawn and pool area. A Yorkie was doing laps around the pool, chasing birds, squirrels, butterflies—anything that moved.

  “Very nice.” Rick indicated the room with its rich leather furnishings and
fabulous view.

  “Well, hopefully, now you’re here we’ll be able to keep it,” Agnes said, and gave his arm a motherly pat, and he began to feel a little better about his decision.

  “You see, Rick...” Herschel indicated a chair, then sank heavily into his own well-worn one. “I didn’t say anything before, but Agnes and I invested our complete retirement fund into this venture. With the downturn in the economy, we’ve had several years of barely breaking even. If things don’t go well this year, we’ll have no choice but to sell.”

  Wow, no pressure here. Dread took another swat at Rick’s insides. He waited to sit until Agnes perched lightly on the end of the couch. “Well, sir, I’ll do my best. How many campers are we expecting?”

  “Since we can only afford a skeleton crew of six adults, we’ve cut it off at twenty. Ten boys and ten girls for each month-long session. The first month is eight- and nine-year-olds. The second is ten-, eleven- and twelve-year-olds. There’ll be a week between.”

  Rick nodded. “That sounds manageable.”

  “Would you like some iced tea?” Agnes jumped up and moved toward the bar.

  “Yes, ma’am, please.” What he really wanted was a cold beer.

  “We have four barracks that sleep ten each, but we’ll only use two of them this summer to cut down on utility expenses,” Herschel continued. “Each one has a counselor’s room at the back. Both assistants indicated they’d like the night duty since it ups the pay a little for them, but if you want...”

  Rick shook his head. “No, that’s fine.” After a long day with the kids, a few hours off would be imperative to his sanity.

  Herschel seemed to read his mind. “Long days. Six in the morning to ten at night.”

  “I’ve never had a job that didn’t have long hours.” Rick took a drink as he processed all the information being thrown at him. “Will I be bunking with the other boys’ counselor, then?”

  “No, we don’t expect you to do that, and like I said before, I’d rather not open up the other dorms. We own a couple of cabins just across the path from the camp property that we rent out during deer season. If you’d like one of them for the summer, you can stay rent free. Gus and Nadine always moved into one of them. Saves the drive back and forth from Paducah to the lake every day.”

  No pets. No girlfriend. Rick couldn’t foresee any reason to drive back home to an empty house every night. “I like that idea. Thanks.”

  Agnes handed him a glass of tea and a piece of paper. A quick glance showed him it was a contract, and his throat threatened to cut off the sweet tea making its way down the passage. He breathed slowly to loosen the muscles and focused back to what Herschel was saying.

  “...assistant director and head counselor for the boys. Charlie Prichard’s been camp director for several years, so he knows what he’s doing. He’ll make sure the place runs smoothly and just wants you to take care of the activities like Gus did. Hell, you’ve headed up a government office, so twenty kids should be a piece of cake.”

  Rick cringed inwardly at the mention of his recently defunct position, but he kept his face impassive.

  “We hired a couple of new graduates for the assistant counselor positions.” Herschel took a long draw from his tea and smacked his lips appreciatively.

  “And what about the girls’ head counselor?” He’d have to work closely with whoever was in that position.

  Agnes cocked her head and shrugged, reminding him of a bird listening for a worm. “We thought we had someone hired, but she backed out yesterday. That’s why I sounded so anxious when you called.” She gave him a warm smile that made him feel quite heroic and terribly uncomfortable. “We’re still looking.”

  “Nadine says she’ll stay on, but only as our last resort.” Herschel gave a lopsided grin. “She and Gus are gonna miss having summers off together. Neither of them wants to make the drive from the lake every day even though they’ve always said the little cabin in the woods is like a second honeymoon.”

  Having twenty kids within spitting distance hardly sounded like a romantic haven to Rick.

  “What about the assistant counselor?” he suggested. “Is she a possibility?”

  “Tara doesn’t want the responsibility.” Agnes dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “We still have a few weeks. We’ll find someone.”

  Rick wasn’t so sure. “And if you don’t?”

  “Couple of possibilities,” Herschel said. “We could make the first session an all-boys camp this year. Plenty of applicants. That would buy us some more time.”

  Rick considered the option. “Sort of a boot camp? Give the young men a little taste of a soldier’s life?”

  Herschel shrugged. “As long as it’s fun. Gotta make sure they enjoy it.”

  Rick nodded. “And the other possibility?”

  “Send the deposits back, call it quits and put it on the market.” Herschel grimaced as if in pain. “Gus said you’re getting your real-estate license?”

  “I’ve just started the online class,” Rick explained. “My mom’s a Realtor in Little Rock, so it was a knee-jerk reaction when I found out the Department of Wildlife office was closing.”

  “Maybe you can make some notes? You know, just some suggestions of things that need to be done, in case it ever comes down to having to sell the camp?”

  Agnes interrupted before Rick could answer. “Let’s not talk about that until...until we have to.” Her voice faltered, and she looked at Rick again as if he were a godsend. “Selling’s a last resort, and we’d rather not do it unless we’re forced to. Our hope is to pass the property on to our girls someday.”

  His own selfishness poked a finger in Rick’s chest. Man up, Warren. These people need you to save their camp. He clapped his hands together in a show of enthusiasm. “Well, let’s get started. You mentioned you had copies of the applications for me? I’d like to start getting to know my soon-to-be charges.”

  “Sure.” Herschel eased out of the chair. “I’ll get those for you.” His heavy tread up the stairs echoed across the spacious room.

  Agnes smiled sweetly. “You’ll be good at this, I can tell. Children say and do the cutest things.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but they have to be watched constantly.” Rick’s brain flashed an image of the little Afghani girl who sprang up in his nightmares sometimes. He blinked the image back into the recesses.

  “Are you married? Any children?” Agnes asked.

  “No, ma’am, to both questions. But I led my share of nature hikes when I was a park ranger. Inevitably, there was some kid who wanted a closer look at a copperhead.”

  “I’ve known one or two like that.” An amused glint lit her eyes.

  Peewee’s yelp pulled their attention to the backyard. An irate blue jay swooped down at the dog as he made his laps.

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “Such a baby. We got him after our youngest moved out, and I’m afraid we’ve spoiled him rotten. Just like we did the girls.”

  “How many children do you have?” Rick killed some time with polite conversation.

  “Three girls. The oldest two are married now. The youngest is, well...” Agnes’s eyebrows drew in as if she were searching for the correct word.

  “Agnes!” Herschel’s loud bellow echoed from somewhere upstairs. “What’d you do with those forms?”

  “They’re on your desk.” Agnes’s voice rose to a screech. “I saw them this morning.”

  “Well, you must’ve stuck them somewhere.”

  “I know where I’d like to stick them,” she muttered under her breath. She sat her glass down. “Herschel had triple bypass surgery a year ago, and he still has some brain fog. I’ll be right back.”

  In the couple’s absence, Rick looked over the contract. It seemed to be standard, so he went ahead and signed on the line, then tried to get his mind off what he’d just committed to by sipping his tea and watching the bird taunt the dog some more. The dog’s yelp was irritating. He found himself rooting for the bird.

 
; Suddenly, Peewee made a beeline toward the corner of the yard, giving happy little yips.

  Rick’s gaze followed the dog. He blinked. Hell-pee-roo! A fairy had appeared through the wooden gate. He blinked again. Not a fairy, but a girl—maybe a tiny woman?—dressed in a fairy costume, complete with a long, full pink dress, a sparkling crown and wings.

  “Stop it, Peewee.” The high female voice admonished the dog, who was springing up and down like he was attached to a pogo stick. “You’re going to get me dirty. Stop it!”

  The dog paid no heed to the command.

  The fairy stooped down and set her bag on the ground. It fell over, startling the dog, who yelped and jumped back a few feet. Then, with lightning speed, he darted to the bag, grabbed something and took off around the pool.

  “Damn it, Peewee,” the fairy shrieked. “Give me back my wand.”

  Rick walked over to the door and stepped outside, waiting until the dog came around the shallow end and headed his direction, then he moved directly into the dog’s path. “Peewee! Halt!” he bellowed.

  The stunned dog dropped the stick and let out a yelp like he’d been kicked. He darted past Rick and launched himself into the arms of the fairy, who Rick could tell was most definitely a young woman now that he had a closer look. He picked up the stick lying at his feet.

  “Oh, poor baby,” the fairy cooed, moving in Rick’s direction. “It’s okay. Calm down now.” As she neared, the dog shrank deeper under her arm, whimpering and trembling violently, and pushing her cleavage into a splendid presentation within the round neck of her gown. “Thanks.” She smiled with gratitude as she took the stick and held it for the dog to sniff. “But you nearly scared him to death.”

  “Dogs, kids and marines—you have to let them know who’s in charge.”

  The fairy’s chin rose a fraction. “And who’s in charge is determined by who yells the loudest?” Her smile wavered and then vanished completely. “I’ve never felt his heart beat this fast. You don’t think he could have a heart attack, do you?” Her eyes—the bluest Rick had ever encountered—grew wide with concern. She puckered her lips and pulled the pooch against her cheek. “Shhh. Shhhh. You’re my good little boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re my good little Peewee boy.”