He grunted and let go. Olivia got in a solid kick, and he doubled over. But not for long. He quickly recovered and, roaring several grossly unflattering names at her, straightened and reached for his gun. His face was now bloodred.
Good Lord, was he going to shoot her? The look in his eyes suggested that he might. Apparently, Martin had forgotten his audience, or he no longer cared he was being watched. His impulse control had vanished. He had the most hateful look on his face as he pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. The two businessmen coming to her aid stopped when they spotted the weapon.
“I said you’re coming with me,” he snarled as he lunged.
“No, I’m not.” She threw a twelve-dollar glass of iced tea at him. He ducked.
“Bitch.” He spit the word and tried to grab her again.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Now get away from me.”
The gun seemed to be growing in his hand. She backed away from him, and that infuriated him even more. He came at her again, and before she could protect herself, he backhanded her. He struck the side of her face, his knuckles clipping her jaw. It was a hard hit and hurt like hell. The blow threw her backward, but even as she was falling, she didn’t take her eyes off the gun.
She landed on her backside, winced from the impact on her tailbone, and quickly staggered to her feet.
She understood what the expression “seeing stars” meant. Dazed, she tried to back away.
The thug raised his gun again, and suddenly he was gone. Olivia saw a blur fly past her, tackling the bodyguard to the ground. The gun went one way, and the thug went the other, landing hard. Within seconds her rescuer had the man facedown on the grass and was putting handcuffs on him while reading him his rights. When he was finished, he motioned to another man wearing a badge and gun who was rushing across the terrace.
With one of his knees pressed against the bodyguard’s spine, the rescuer turned toward her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She could have sworn she saw an ethereal glow radiating all around him and the sound of a singing choir echoing overhead. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The blow to her jaw must be making her hallucinate. When she opened her eyes again, the vision and the choir were gone, but the man was still there, looking up at her with beautiful hazel eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked as he hauled the bodyguard to his feet.
“Olivia MacKenzie,” she answered. She sounded bewildered, but she couldn’t help that. The last few minutes had been hair-raising, and she was having trouble forming a clear thought.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Agent Grayson Kincaid. FBI. Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Maybe you should sit down.”
The bodyguard finally found his voice. “I was protecting my boss.”
“With a Glock?” Kincaid asked. “And against an unarmed woman?”
“She kicked me.”
A hint of a smile turned his expression. “Yeah, I saw.”
“I’m bringing charges.”
“You attacked her,” Kincaid snapped. “If I were you, I’d be real quiet right now.”
The bodyguard ignored the suggestion. “Mr. Jorguson has known for a long time that the FBI has been tailing him and listening in on his private conversations. What you’re doing is illegal, but you people don’t play by the rules, do you?”
“Stop talking,” Kincaid said.
Another agent grabbed hold of the bodyguard’s arm and led him away. He didn’t go peacefully. He was shouting for a lawyer.
“Hey, Ronan,” Kincaid shouted.
The agent dragging the bodyguard away turned back. “Yeah?”
“Did you see it?”
Ronan smiled. “Oh yeah, I saw it all. After I put this clown in the back of the car, I’ll go get Jorguson.”
Olivia glanced around the terrace. In all the commotion she hadn’t seen him slip away.
Kincaid nodded, then turned back to her.
“The gun is under the table,” she offered.
“I’ll get it,” Kincaid said.
He walked over to her, and she flinched when he reached out to touch her. Frowning, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how bad it is.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I’m fine.”
He ignored her protest. He gently pushed her hair away from the side of her face. “Your cheek’s okay, but he really clipped your jaw. It’s already starting to swell. You need to put ice on it. Maybe I should take you to the emergency room, have a physician look at your arm, too. I saw the way he twisted it.”
“I’ll be all right. I’ll ice it,” she promised when he looked like he wanted to argue.
He took a step back and said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to him faster.”
“You got here before he shot me. He really was going to shoot me, wasn’t he?” She was still astounded by the possibility and getting madder by the second.
“He might have tried,” he agreed.
She frowned. “You’re awfully nonchalant about it.”
“I would have taken him down before he shot you.”
Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, then sent the call to voice mail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man rounding the corner of the building and glaring at her. He stormed toward her, just as Kincaid bent to retrieve the bodyguard’s gun.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” the man shouted.
Since he was wearing a gun and badge, she knew he was also FBI. “Excuse me?”
“You ruined a perfectly good sting. Were you wearing a wire? Did you get anything we could use? No, I didn’t think so. You weren’t supposed to be here until one. We weren’t ready.”
The agent screaming at her was an older man, late fifties, she guessed. His face was bright red, and his anger could light fires.
He moved closer until he was all but touching her, but she refused to be intimidated. “Stop yelling at me.”
“She’s not with the FBI,” Kincaid said.
“How . . .” The confused agent took a step back. He looked at Olivia, then at Kincaid.
“I’d know if she was. Your undercover woman hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Two months’ planning,” the agent muttered. He pointed at Olivia. “Are you wearing a wire? Jorguson seems to think you are. Are you with a newspaper or—”
“Poole, leave her the hell alone,” Kincaid said.
Poole was staring at her chest. Uh-oh. Olivia knew where this was going.
“If you think you’re going to look for a wire, be advised. I’ll punch you, too,” she warned.
Distraught to have his investigation fall apart, Agent Poole stepped closer and said, “Listen, you. Don’t threaten me. I could make your life a nightmare.” He put his hand in front of her face and unfolded three fingers as he said, “I’m F. . .B. . .I.”
She smiled. It wasn’t the reaction he expected. “You want to talk nightmares?” she said. She put her hand up to his face and unfolded her three fingers. “I’m I. . .R. . .S.”
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
A Girl Named Summer is near and dear to my heart. It was the first book I wrote, and my youngest son was the inspiration for one of the characters.
The plot revolves around a fifteen-year-old girl and all of the joys and heartaches that come with that age. This is a story for mothers to share with their daughters and also for women to remember what falling in love was like for the very first time.
When I wrote A Girl Named Summer in 1984, I never imagined it would one day be read on an e-reader or a tablet, so I am particularly pleased to share it as an e-book. I haven’t changed a word of it and offer it to you in the spirit of the times that it was written. All of the books that I have published are now available as e-books, so happy reading, and thank you for the many years of support.
More Titles by Julie Garwood
Sweet Talk
The
Ideal Man
Sizzle
Fire and Ice
Shadow Music
Shadow Dance
Slow Burn
Murder List
Killjoy
Mercy
Heartbreaker
Ransom
Come the Spring
The Clayborne Brides
The Wedding
For the Roses
Prince Charming
Saving Grace
Castles
The Secret
The Prize
The Gift
Guardian Angel
The Bride
The Lion’s Lady
Honor’s Splendour
Rebellious Desire
Gentle Warrior
JULIE GARWOOD
A GIRL NAMED SUMMER
DUTTON
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
DUTTON
Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.); Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India; Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First eBook edition published by Dutton, June 2012
Copyright © 1986 by Julie Garwood
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-101-60353-6
Printed in the United States of America
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
For Elizabeth, Bryan, and Gerry
A GIRL
NAMED
SUMMER
Chapter 1
“Mother, does Michael have to wear that towel all the time?” Summer Matthews muttered. She knelt down in front of her three-year-old brother and looked him squarely in the eye while she snapped the oversized safety pin in position just below his chin.
“I can’t be Superman without my cape,” Michael replied. He frowned until the spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose became one brown streak. “Everyone knows you gots to wear a cape if you’re going to be Superman,” he continued in a tone that suggested his older sister was definitely simpleminded.
“Of course you do, dear, and it’s ‘have to wear,’ not ‘gots to wear,’” their mother answered.
Summer glanced up and watched her mother hunt through her gigantic purse. She’s lost her keys again, Summer thought in exasperation.
“Mother, at least make him take off those ridiculous boots while he’s in the house,” she pleaded. She turned back to her brother and slipped the bright red towel over his small shoulders. “Michael, winter boots are terrific when you want to play in the snow, but it just happens to be June.”
From the belligerent expression on Michael’s face, Summer concluded that her cool logic wasn’t making a dent, so she tried another approach. “Your feet are going to get all shriveled up and fall off if you don’t let some air get to them,” she warned in an ominous voice.
The threat didn’t faze him. But then, her little brother wasn’t easily intimidated. “Superman always wears red boots,” he proclaimed. He rolled his eyes heavenward, just the way Grandpa did when he was exasperated, and folded his arms in a militant manner across his chest. He was obviously in one of his stubborn moods, Summer finally realized, and she sighed in defeat.
“Summer, don’t tease your brother,” their mother admonished as she continued to pull items out of her purse.
“I give up,” Summer said. “Your keys are on the dining room table,” she added as an afterthought. “I just remembered seeing them there.”
“Why, of course they are,” her mother exclaimed with a grin. “Michael, you be a good boy and obey your sister while she’s in charge. Summer, don’t forget to give your grandfather his medicine at three o’clock. It’s on top of the refrigerator.”
“Tell her I get to wear my boots,” Michael demanded.
“Of course you must wear your boots,” their mother agreed. “But please take them off during naptime.”
“You win, half-pint,” Summer said.
After a quick hug and kiss for Michael and a peck on the cheek for Summer, their mother scooped up her keys from the table and hurried out the door.
As soon as they were alone, Summer turned to her brother. “Come on, I’ll fix your lunch.”
“No.” It was an automatic response, a word Michael had grown quite fond of lately, but Summer didn’t pay any attention and went into the kitchen. Michael followed her, hovering in the doorway while he watched her fix his sandwich.
“I’m not hungry,” he stubbornly protested when she placed the sandwich on the table.
“Yes, you are,” Summer answered. She lifted him up and settled him in his chair before he could continue his rebellion, then sat down opposite him.
“I won’t eat.”
Summer pretended a bored yawn and shrugged. She had learned the hard way to act as if she couldn’t care less when she really wanted something from Michael. One had to be an amateur psychologist when dealing with three-year-olds.
“Quit making squishes in your sandwich,” she scolded him.
Michael looked at Summer. “Why are you so mad?” he asked.
“Mad? I’m not mad, Michael. Why should I be mad? My entire summer vacation is completely ruined, but that shouldn’t make me mad, now should it?”
Wide blue eyes stared at her; they were replicas of her own. Although they looked very much like sister and brother, Michael’s hair was the color of the carrot slice he was stabbing into his sandwich, while Summer’s hair was a golden blond.
“Quit staring at me and eat.” Summer was in a rotten mood. “Life is the pits, Michael. Regina finally got her dad to let us work at the Pizza Paddle he owns, and now I have to stay home with you and Grandpa!
“Why am I sitting here trying to discuss my problems with a three-year-old?” Summer suddenly asked herself. Good grief, s
he was getting as strange as the rest of her family! And they were strange. She had come to that conclusion years ago, even before Grandpa had moved in with them. She loved all of them dearly, but sometimes their behavior embarrassed her.
Her father put in long hours at his flower shop and truly seemed to enjoy his work, but, honestly, sometimes their house looked like the city botanical gardens. He told her he brought home only the plants that needed “special attention,” and she could understand that, but did he have to talk to them? Every day as he watered and fertilized them, he moved from one to the other offering praise and encouragement. If people outside her family observed this ritual, Summer was confident they’d think he’d lost his mind.
Her mother, on the other hand, was so busy trying to keep up with the family and the house and the shop that she sometimes tended to be a little absentminded. Once, she’d left work late and had quickly stopped at the supermarket to buy a few things for dinner. When she arrived home, she turned to retrieve the bags from the backseat of her car, only to find that they weren’t there. Later, she confessed that she’d had so much running through her mind she’d forgotten the groceries and had actually left them sitting in the cart at the supermarket parking lot.
And then there was Summer’s grandfather. He spent almost every waking hour down in the basement working on his inventions. He hadn’t lived with them very long, but he fit right in with her eccentric family. They had become so accustomed to the loud noises coming from below they didn’t even react anymore.
“Anybody home?” The call from the front door interrupted Summer’s thoughts, and the high-pitched voice of Regina Morgan, her best friend, brought a smile to her face.
“Come in,” Summer yelled. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Regina bounded into the room but didn’t stop until she was hunting through the refrigerator.
“Hungry?” Summer teased. It was a joke, of course. Regina was always hungry.
Regina shrugged a reply. She crossed over to the kitchen table with an apple in one hand and a can of grape soda in the other and plopped down with all the grace of a skinny giraffe. “Hi, Mike. Summer, I just got back from my checkup at the doctor’s, and I grew another inch,” Regina mumbled between bites of apple. “I’m going to be an amazon, I just know it.”
A Girl Named Summer Page 2
