The Summer Place

by Pamela Hearon

  The nightmares would end...eventually. When he learned to control them. And, damn it all to hell, he would learn to control them. “Ooh-rah!” The spirited grunt was all the reminder he needed. He was a marine.

  The clock read 4:53. Going back to sleep would be impossible, but it was still early. He stretched out, the damp sheet sticking to his back. Think about something pleasant to start the day.

  Summer Delaney aka fairy princess danced to the front of his mind. Beautiful? Yes. Pleasant? To everyone but him.

  “Nightmares by night, Summer Delaney by day. Maybe Afghanistan wasn’t so bad,” he growled, pushing out of bed, his body suddenly demanding activity.

  * * *

  THE RADIO BLASTED A BURST of static, and Summer grumbled as she hit the button to turn it off. Five-thirty...three days in a row. Before Tuesday, she hadn’t gotten up at five-thirty since...well, never that she could recall. She’d ended a few days at five-thirty, but couldn’t remember ever starting one that early.

  She shuffled to the bathroom, not coming fully awake until the spray from the shower hit her face. It was still dark outside as she dressed, but when she stepped out into the morning, the black was beginning to give way to a lovely shade of pink. A mist hung over the lake, giving it an ethereal quality that brought a sigh from her lips, just as it had yesterday and the day before. How had she gone her whole life without ever seeing the lake at this time of morning?

  An odd, crunching sound broke through the quiet and she turned in time to see Rick Warren, running down the gravel lane. He wore only shoes and running shorts, which hung low around his hips, and he carried what appeared to be a T-shirt gripped in his fist. His broad chest tapered down to a narrow waist and every inch of exposed skin glistened with dampness of sweat or dew. Maybe both.

  He surprised her when he didn’t veer toward his cabin, but ran past her and on down to the lake. Absorbed in what he was doing, he didn’t see her watching him, and she was relieved for that. She’d been gawking in a most unprincesslike manner. And it certainly wasn’t her pretty heart the sight had been appealing to.

  He disappeared, lost in the trees, but soon she heard the splash. In her mind’s eye, she could see him cutting through the water effortlessly, the muscles in his back and arms rippling like the early morning waves on the—

  “Morning, Summer.” Kenny waved from the path that marked the camp boundary, making his morning rounds.

  “Morning, Kenny.” Her heart beat much faster than could be explained by the startle from Kenny’s voice.

  “Enjoying the view?” He nodded toward the sliver of red sun barely breaking in the east, but casting a shimmering red reflection across the water.

  “Um, yeah,” she admitted with more than a little self-deprecation. “But I’ve got to leave it soon to get the girls up.”

  “It’ll be there again tomorrow.” Kenny nodded and continued his rounds.

  “Not if Charlie comes to his senses,” Summer muttered under her breath as the Rick Warren irritations of the past few days streamed back into her consciousness. She’d had as little contact with him as possible, and he’d stayed out of her way for the most part except to correct her on anything that didn’t meet his standards. His enormously high standards.

  But she’d awakened this morning with a glimmer of hope. Yesterday on the phone, Kate told her about Ron Smithey, who had been cut in the school layoffs and was looking for work. He was a P.E. teacher, would be perfect with the kids and would probably be thrilled to have two months of income this summer.

  If Rick Warren did anything else to undermine her, she was going straight to Charlie with her suggestion, which would, of course, include making her assistant director like she should have been all along.

  She glanced back toward the lake, soaking up a few more seconds of the beauty to carry with her through the day. Worry darkened her thoughts instead. Rick was swimming alone, and she couldn’t hear any movement on the water. He was an excellent swimmer; she’d seen that. Still, sometimes things happened...even to excellent swimmers.

  She didn’t like the guy, but she didn’t want him to drown. That would be a waste of a fine physical specimen of manhood. Just a glimpse would assure her he was okay.

  She got all the way to the beach before she saw him. And then it was just a wave of his hand before he disappeared under the water.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RICK’S FEET HIT BOTTOM. He gave a push and propelled himself once again to the surface. He’d saluted the four directions and the sun. His final salute was always to Dunk.

  He broke the surface, clapped one arm to attention at his side, threw the other straight up beside his ear. Palm out, he made a ninety-degree arc, bringing it back to the surface.

  The splashing behind him didn’t seem inordinately loud, so the arm circling his neck from behind caught him off guard. “What the he—” A wave filled his mouth with dirty lake water. He spewed it out.

  “Don’t...panic. I...have...you.”

  Summer Delaney’s voice. What in the hell was going on? He twisted his torso to see what she was up to. Her arm slid under his chin and diagonally across his chest, catching under his armpit. She dragged him backward, giving everything she had to a sidestroke.

  “Quit fighting me.” She spoke between strokes. “You’ll drown us both.”

  She thought he was drowning? He started to tell her different, but his head was snuggled comfortably between her breasts, and the movement of her body against his was certainly pleasant enough. What the hell? He lay back and relaxed until he felt sand beneath him.

  Summer crawled onto her knees, gasping for air, hovering over him. Her hand caught under his chin, tilting his head back. His mouth was already open. With a heave, she rolled him to his side.

  He should stop her, but she moved so quickly and so efficiently, he found himself admiring her technique. If this had been a test, she would’ve aced it.

  She’d managed to maneuver an arm under his side and had stretched out full length behind him, fists locked into place under his sternum.

  “Are you mounting me, or are you about to perform the Heimlich?” He felt her stiffen.

  Unfortunately, he’d done the same.

  * * *

  HIS VOICE DIDN’T SOUND LIKE any of the near-drowning victims she’d encountered. They gasped. They coughed. He...chuckled?

  “Oh! You...you...” Her brain wouldn’t switch modes fast enough to supply her mouth with an appropriate moniker. She scrambled to her knees, still gasping from exertion, and pulled him onto his back.

  His face wore a sober expression, but the side of his mouth twitched, and the twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.

  Damn him! He was mocking her. Humiliation stung her cheeks. “You weren’t drowning.”

  “No.” He smiled, and the early-morning sunlight brought a burnished glow to his tanned features. “But from the look on your face, you’d rather I had been.”

  He leaned up and propped himself on his elbows, exposing a tattoo over his heart. Despite her curiosity, she wouldn’t allow her eyes to linger.

  He didn’t feel the same way, apparently. When his gaze dropped from her face to her chest, his grin widened.

  Summer followed his gaze. Her wet T-shirt and cotton bra, both white, had molded to her body, leaving very little to the imagination. She bristled. “A gentleman wouldn’t gawk.”

  “My apologies, ma’am.” He gave the words an exaggerated drawl and sat all the way up, propping his arms on his bent knees. “That was good work, by the way. You did everything right.”

  Normally, the praise would have assuaged her anger somewhat, but something about Rick Warren threw her emotional state completely out of whack. Suspicion reared its head. “Didn’t know I was being judged.” Surely, he wasn’t low enough to fake a drowning. Besides, he hadn’t been aware she was watching him. “If you weren’t drowning, what was with all the waving? What were you doing out there?”

  He shrugged and cut his eyes away f
rom her. “Just a ritual salute to morning.” The response didn’t quite ring true.

  Damn, she was getting tired of General Warren’s secretive ways. Why all the mystery? What was he always writing in that folder, and why did he always close it when she approached? What was he hiding?

  Probing would have to wait until she had more time. Right then, she would have to shower again and change clothes. The hair would have to live with the lake water in it until quiet time. And all because Rick Warren didn’t play by the rules he’d established.

  “You shouldn’t be swimming alone for whatever reason.” She turned his own tables on him. “Rule number three. Never go anywhere near the water without a buddy.” Pulling her shirt away from her body, she stood. “You’ve broken the camp rules and set a bad example for the kids.”

  “The kids aren’t up yet, and this is the only time I can work out.” He cocked his head toward her and raised a challenging eyebrow. “Would you like to be my buddy for the rest of camp?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  She heard his snort as she walked away, and her teeth clenched involuntarily. She stopped and turned back to him. “Hey, Mr. Assistant Director.” He swiveled his head toward her. “Can I just call you Ass for short?”

  She didn’t wait for a response, just made another mental mark on the Problems with Rick Warren side of the board in her mind.

  If she had anything to say about it, he would be gone soon...along with his condescension and his secrets.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S THAT SMELL?” JIMBO wrinkled his nose, the crease defined by the smattering of freckles squinched together.

  “A skunk’s been through here,” Rick answered. “May still be somewhere around, so we’ll need to keep an eye out.”

  “My dad shot a skunk once,” Howie announced.

  “Yeah? Did it spray him?” Rick asked.

  “Naw, he’s too fast. He runs real fast, my dad does.”

  Rick was beginning to wonder how many of the Howard, Sr., stories he’d heard were real, how many were fabrications he’d fed to his son and how many were just hero-worship stories Howie made up? Some of them seemed pretty far-fetched.

  But this new story caught Jimbo’s attention, and he barraged Howie with questions about Howard, Sr.’s, skunk adventure.

  The kids were chatterboxes now, which was okay since they were headed back to camp. They’d had to remain silent on the hike out. Any unnecessary noise would’ve scared the animals away. But their silence had been abundantly rewarded. A doe and her three spotted-coat fawns grazing in a meadow the first morning. A mother raccoon and seven babies washing their breakfast at the edge of the cove on day two. And today...jackpot! Several adult beavers working on a dam. Even Mitchell’s sneeze had been a learning experience as the beavers slapped the water with their tails as a warning of nearby danger. But the big reward had been the bald eagle with a fish in its clutches.

  Yep...a morning hike these kids would remember the rest of their lives.

  Summer Delaney was harder to impress. Although her smile and conversation came easily with the kids, she had scarcely acknowledged his presence the past three days even though he’d tried to engage her in conversation several times. And the episode in the cove this morning had obviously sent her animosity for him soaring even higher...if that was possible.

  Her dour expression, which seemed solely reserved for him, grated on his nerves, and it was only the fourth day of camp. He couldn’t put up with her prima donna ways for a month. They needed to have a private conversation and get whatever was bugging her off her chest. Her nicely formed chest. He tensed at the thought of her chest with everything off it.

  “Ain’t there, Mr. Rick?”

  The question brought Rick mercifully out of his daydream. “Aren’t there,” he corrected. “Ain’t isn’t a word.”

  Austin rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mom, but my dad says ain’t all the time.”

  “Mine, too!” Howie piped in.

  Rick thought back but couldn’t replay the last part of the conversation. “What were you asking me about?”

  “Ain’t, uh, aren’t there such things as white skunks?”

  “Yep.”

  Austin’s face broke out in a big told-you-so grin.

  “I used to see lots of them when I worked at the Land Between the Lakes,” Rick said. “They’re beautiful animals. All white with a black stripe down the back instead of the opposite.”

  “I bet that’s the kind my dad shot,” Howie bragged.

  Summer, who was leading the group back to camp, turned left, onto a narrower path.

  “Wrong way, Summer,” Rick called.

  “I know where I’m going,” she answered over her shoulder, never breaking her stride.

  Rick looked at his watch. They were a half mile from camp, running a little earlier today. As long as it was only a short diversion, they’d still be on time for breakfast at eight.

  Less than a minute of walking brought them to a clearing. An old, ramshackle cabin stood in the middle, surrounded by wildflowers, with a grown-up roadbed leading in from the back. The roof and windows and doors were all gone, and a couple of the walls had rotted and caved in, but despite its decrepit appearance, the place held an aura of serenity.

  “This is the old Byassee homestead,” Summer explained as the children gathered around her. “The Byassees were the people who owned the land our camp is on. They died a long time ago, but they left all of this land to their family, who eventually left it to a church, which built the first summer camp on it. It’s been sold several times since then. I like to come here and say thank-you to the Byassees. If they’d sold it to one of the development companies like a lot of people around here did with their land, this would be a subdivision, and we wouldn’t be here today.”

  Ah! So Herschel Delaney knew his youngest daughter well, it seemed. Rick had to admit she was right, though. What a shame it would be to see the wild beauty of this place replaced by houses and asphalt. And speaking of wild beauty...

  Summer’s voice and eyes were full of emotion as she talked to the kids. Her passion and loyalty to the camp stirred Rick in a primal sort of way, making him wonder what it would be like to experience her passion firsthand.

  “Is it haunted?” Carlos asked, hanging close to Rick’s side, and Rick laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Of course not,” Summer answered. “But I like to think there might be angels watching over it.”

  “It has a pretty heart, Ms. Summer,” Becca said, bringing a smile to Summer’s face that made her look the part of an angel herself. An angelic exterior hiding a wild-child heart.

  One of the kids asked, “Can we look inside?”

  “You can’t go inside, but you can walk around and look.”

  “Watch for snakes,” Rick instructed. As peaceful as it seemed on the outside, the inside looked like a copperhead haven.

  Instinctively, the counselors spread out to guard from all angles in case any of the kids decided to disobey instructions and venture inside. Everyone ambled around for a few minutes but soon coalesced back into a large group. Some of the girls picked flowers and gave them to Summer.

  “Maybe we can come back to pick enough to make circlets for our hair.” Summer made a circle with her fingers and placed it on her head like a cap.

  Rick thought a minute, wondering how to make that more educational. “I’ll give them a list and description of common wildflowers from around here, and they can see how many they can identify.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Summer said. “This will just be a fun activity.” She emphasized fun.

  “Fun and educational—the best of both worlds.”

  Summer opened her mouth, and Rick sensed a protest was about to be voiced.

  “I insist,” he added.

  Summer’s glare eviscerated him. “Let’s go, kids.” She waved them forward. “Breakfast will be ready soon.�
�

  Rick fumed at the back of the group, as far away from the damn woman as possible. She didn’t think it was necessary for these kids to learn anything while they were here. It was all about looking pretty and...and what had Becca said the hut had? A pretty heart? Hell-pee-roo.

  “Oh, look!” Summer’s squeal caught his attention as she bounded off the path toward a group of trees, the girls following at her heels.

  “Halt!” Rick shouted, and the boys stopped in their tracks.

  “Tree frogs!” Summer pointed out a group of the small creatures clinging to an ancient tulip poplar.

  Some of the boys started to move in her direction. “Don’t!” Rick ordered. The boys turned back to him, confused. “We need to stay on the path.”

  “They can’t see them from there.” Summer’s voice held a controlled but angry edge.

  “But I can see from here.” Rick pointed to the thick groundcover. “The poison ivy you’re standing in could easily camouflage a copperhead.”

  Summer’s eyes widened. “Run! Everybody run!” She sprinted down the path, followed by the bobbing heads of the girls.

  At the head of the boys’ line, Neil turned around with a smirk, which faded quickly as his eyes grew wide.

  “Skunk,” he said quietly, as Rick’s olfactory system registered that the odor he’d grown used to had intensified.

  Rick turned slightly, and his peripheral vision caught sight of the uplifted tail. “Run!” he shouted. The boys followed directions, except for Willard, who tripped over his own feet in his haste.

  Rick became sickeningly aware of the foul-smelling mist that suffused the air as he stopped to help the boy up.

  * * *

  SUMMER STOPPED A LITTLE WAY down the path to let the girls pass. Looking back, she saw the horrific scene play out with Willard’s fall and Rick’s stopping to help him. She couldn’t see the spray, but their reaction and the smell invading her nostrils left little to the imagination.

  Neil stopped beside her. “Take the kids on into camp. Get some soap and use the hose behind the kitchen to have the girls wash their ankles and legs off. If they wash within about ten minutes, it should stop the poison ivy from making them break out.” As the assistant counselor took off for the camp, Summer started back to help the two stragglers.