by Alyssa Kress
Kate topped the ridge, blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, and gazed down at the scene below her in the peach orchard.
Eight nine-year-olds were involved in a variety of activities among the gnarled trees. None of these activities included fruit-picking. Kate saw a rather rough game of tag, an inning of peach-baseball, and two kids who were using the opportunity to practice their judo.
"Oh, man," murmured Orlando, by her side.
Kate thought she heard admiration in the boy's voice. Reluctantly, she admitted to some admiration of her own. Griffith was determined to be the worst camp counselor in history. He thought that by doing so, Kate would be forced to get rid of him.
It was clever. And, in its own strange way, honest. He'd warned her he was going to be a bad-ass counselor.
"Where is he?" Kate asked.
"Where is who?" Orlando asked, too innocent.
Kate shot him a glance. This was Orlando's fourth summer, and she hadn't made any progress with the boy. He remained defiant, tough, impenetrable — a mask for the despair and low self-esteem Kate thought he suffered.
Orlando looked up at her, still fake-innocent. "Oh, you mean the guy who's supposed to be a counselor? The one who showed up all beat up the first night? I think I see him under the last peach tree.
Without commenting on Orlando's attitude, Kate turned to look under the last peach tree. Between the leafy branches she could see Griffith. He was lying on his back in the grass, propped on his elbows. Even from a distance of fifty yards it was evident he hadn't shaved; a shadow of mousy brown covered his jaw. His black eye, however, had much improved, with only a ring of greenish-blue underneath.
The effect, Kate had to admit, was not unpleasantly rakish. She felt something inside of her tense.
Frowning, she gestured to Orlando. "Come on." She started down the hill toward Griffith. Orlando dragged his heels behind her.
Griffith, chewing on a blade of grass, turned his head in their direction. He stilled. It was a momentary stillness, an obviously involuntary one.
Had he been waiting for her? Kate wondered. The notion gave her a surprising jolt of excitement.
Meanwhile, Griffith recovered. His gaze flicked briefly to Orlando, then switched back to Kate as they walked up. A slow and deliberate smile spread over his face. "Ah, hello Kate. To what do I owe the honor?"
Kate raised an eyebrow and looked toward the cavorting nine-year-olds. "I don't see many peaches in the baskets."
"Oh?" Griffith sounded innocent. "Is that where they're supposed to go?"
"The idea is to give the children a sense of responsibility and achievement." When the proceeds from the harvest were added up at the end of the session, the campers were allowed to vote on how to spend the money. It became something of a competition between the campers of each session as to who could purchase the best stuff. Last month's session had raised enough to buy new basketball hoops.
"Ah," Griffith said. "So that's the point." Unmoving from his casual, reclining position, he smiled.
Kate smiled back. "I'm not going to send you away."
"You will." His smile became positively roguish. "In fact, you're going to wish you got rid of me, as you should have, yesterday." His smile dimmed as he glanced toward Orlando, this time with an odd glint of pique. He plucked up a handful of grass.
Kate put a hand on the boy's shoulder. The child flinched, but she kept her hand there. "This is Orlando," she told Griffith. "Since he's one of my most veteran campers, I've decided he would be the most help to you. You know, to show you how things are done around here."
Orlando scrunched out from under Kate's arm. "You mean you think putting me with the babies will keep me from getting into more trouble."
What she meant was she was ready to try the most drastic, unlikely scheme to get through to the boy. "We're going to call him your junior counselor," Kate told Griffith, pretending she hadn't heard Orlando.
Griffith's gray-eyed gaze went from one of them to the other: a curious, intelligent gaze. Whatever his faults, Kate wouldn't deny the man was sharp. "Well, Orlando," he said slowly, almost menacingly. "Congratulations."
Standing a foot away from Kate, shoulders up, Orlando narrowed his eyes at Griffith.
It occurred to Kate that the two knew each other, and had already had some kind of altercation. She felt a pang of unease. Maybe this wild plan of hers was too wild.
She turned to Orlando. "Would you rather be a junior counselor here, with Griffith, or for Arnie's group?"
With his shoulders still up, Orlando's eyes did not leave Griffith. "Oh, I'll stay here."
Kate's gaze moved to Griffith. He was regarding Orlando through very narrow eyes. Kate bit her lower lip.
So far, Griffith hadn't done anything beyond the bounds. He hadn't abandoned the kids, hadn't raised a voice or a hand to them. In this, Kate saw he had a well-developed — perhaps over-developed — sense of pride. He might strive to become the worst camp counselor in the world, but at the same time nobody was going to get hurt on his watch.
"You can go now, Orlando," Kate told the teenager. "Maybe you can get the boys to actually start picking peaches."
Orlando threw Kate a powerfully sarcastic look, and started off toward the peach baseball game.
"It won't work," Griffith said, once Orlando was out of earshot.
"We'll see." Kate turned back to her counselor, suddenly aware that they were alone now. Her heart started beating faster and she could feel heat beneath her shirt. Even in Arnie's oversized clothes and half reclining, the man gave off...something. A weird kind of power.
She refused to give in to it, or allow her stupid nerves to let him win this round. Affecting disdain, she said, "At the moment, I'm finding it hard to believe you're worth millions."
Griffith snorted. "You're not the only one." For a second his gaze flicked resentfully toward the receding Orlando. "You need to send me home."
Kate rolled her eyes. "I'm not getting rid of you, Griffith. In fact — " Kate smiled blithely. "In fact, the more you try to drive me away, the more determined I am to keep you. I'm not even trying to find anyone to replace you any more."
Griffith shook his head. "You will." His gaze travelled toward the misbehaving campers. "You won't be able to stand it any more."
Kate laughed. "It's you who isn't going to be able to take it any more." With no children of his own, he wasn't used to the chaos they could produce, let alone the mayhem he'd been deliberately courting. And Orlando might be just the thing to tip him over the edge. "You're going to end up shaping up and becoming a real camp counselor. You'll have to."
Griffith turned his gaze back to Kate and their eyes met. The usual battle lines formed in the air between them.
But there was a subtle difference this morning. Where before there'd been nothing but rancor in the connection, today there was...a kind of mutual respect. Kate acknowledged Griffith was a worthy opponent. He saw the same in her.
And that respect — the challenge — made something hum within Kate. Something...not completely unpleasant.
"Maybe you're going to get more than you bargained for," he said softly.
She felt a shiver, a very odd and disturbing sensation. She wondered: was he suggesting she might become susceptible to him? Oh, no. After sleeping for eleven years, her libido was not going to waken for this selfish jerk.
A cold smile curved her lips, marred only by that weird and disturbing sensation inside. "Oh, Griffith, I think I know what you're worth."
His smile widened, but whatever rude comment he might have made was cut off as something behind Kate caught his attention. "Hey!" he roared. With no visible effort, he went from a semi-recline to his feet. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Tut, tut. Your language," Kate murmured, but turned around to see what was the matter.
Orlando was squeezing a peach over the peach basket, juice running over his fingers and down his arms. With squeals of delight, the nine-year-olds were
abandoning their other activities and picking up windfall peaches, evidently eager to imitate.
"That's disgusting!" Griffith yelled, jogging toward the group and waving his arms. "No, no, no. You'll make absolute messes of yourselves. And anyway, that basket is for whole peaches, not juice."
Then, in the midst of this admonitory tirade Griffith stopped abruptly. He turned to look at Kate. She could practically see the wheels spinning in his head.
With his eyebrows rising, he stooped to pick up a windfall peach of his own. He very deliberately strolled with it over to the basket, where he commenced to whoop and squeeze with the rest of them.
They made one wild, hollering group.
Kate turned from the sight with a smile on her lips. It was a mess, yes, but the man was starting to bond with the boys.
As for the chaotic aspect of the thing, well, Kate didn't think millionaire businessman Griffith Blaine was going to be able to take that part much longer.
At least, she was almost sure of it.
~~~
Griffith didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to take this. It was the end of his second full day at Camp Wild Hills, only ten-thirty at night, but he was ready to drop in his tracks.
He had dropped in his tracks, actually, half-an-hour ago. He'd slipped into the narrow little bed in Bunkhouse Three, thrown the covers over his head, and wondered if tonight he was going to be able to get any sleep.
Judging by the shouts and laughter and the little bodies jumping about the room, the answer would be no. Again.
As if to emphasize the point, the boy in the bed above Griffith's went flying across the narrow room to the bed across the aisle. The action was accompanied by a banshee-like shriek. Both beds shook ominously. Griffith gritted his teeth, but he didn't move.
Kate had put Griffith and the nine-year-olds in their own bunkhouse. She'd said this would lighten the load for Arnie and the teenager counselors. As if Griffith cared.
He'd done none of the recommended procedures for putting the kids to bed. No checking everyone had changed into pajamas, no warning of lights out — no lights out at all, actually — and certainly no bedtime story.
For the love of God.
"You did what?" a high, male voice demanded.
There was a hushed answer and then a burst of squealing laughter.
Griffith didn't want to know. Another boy jumped from one of the high bunks to the one across. Hopefully, someone would crack their head open. Griffith prayed it would happen when Kate walked in to check on them. Surely she'd have to get rid of him then.
From somewhere down the cabin, a high male voice protested, "No, you can't have it!"
"But I — "
"No! Give it back!" There was the sound of a scuffle, but no thudding heads, unfortunately. Uneasily, Griffith wondered if even a head injury would budge Kate. She should have dumped him by now. Yesterday, he'd let his kids break all the rules during supper. Boys had been jumping up and down from their seats and bopping each other on the head. There'd even been a wrestling match on the floor under the table.
But Kate hadn't told Griffith to get lost.
He'd done his best to misbehave all day long, from helping the kids make 'peach juice' to getting lost while hiking them to the swimming pool. Well, actually that last bit had been an accident. Fortunately, Orlando had known the way back from their lost position, and had led the troop to the pool area while regarding Griffith with disdainful disbelief.
Kate had watched the nine-year-olds straggle in late, some of them not even in their swimming suits. But she hadn't batted an eye. She'd almost looked pleased. The woman was — not human.
A third boy flew across the aisle and a tussle broke out at the other end of the room. Staying in bed, Griffith ground his back molars.
Couldn't Kate see that everybody hated him? — Not only the kids, but the counselors, too? Even Arnie didn't seem to like Griffith so much as find amusement in his situation. And Kate, of course, loathed him.
It was just like being back at Dorchester Prep. Griffith was the unwanted, unadept butt of everybody's jokes. It was only once he'd started to make money that people had begun to like Griffith, or at least act nice. Yeah, now, when Griffith drove his Porsche or whipped out his platinum card, people acted nice to him all over the place.
Not having his Porsche or his platinum card at the moment, Griffith had no advantages.
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Never mind, didn't matter. Time was working on his side. Even if Kate never saw reason, he was going to get out of here. People back in L.A. would realize he'd disappeared. A search would be undertaken — probably had begun already. Any day now — any minute — someone would drive up to rescue him.
Griffith took several more breaths, but he couldn't block out the chaos and the noise in the narrow wooden cabin. Was there anything in the world less conducive to sleep than a child? That would be nine children, he supposed. Nine energetic, noisy, over-athletic children who, if they didn't shut up and settle down were going to drive. Him. Wild.
With one furious burst of motion, Griffith threw off his sheets. Wearing the pajamas Arnie had lent him, rolled up at the wrists and ankles, he leaped from the bed.
There was a surprised cessation of movement on the part of the children. Everyone turned to look at him.
It wouldn't hurt to take charge, Griffith told himself, glaring back at them. Kate obviously wasn't coming by to check on them tonight. So there would be no harm, just this once. God, he wanted some sleep.
"Everyone," he said, using the opportunity of silence to pitch his voice low. "It is time to go to bed."
A chorus of protests met this announcement.
"But — "
"You said — "
"It isn't time — "
"Enough!" Griffith raised his voice now, just enough to rise above the melee. It worked. They all quieted, eyes blinking in disbelief. "You have five minutes," he said. "And then I'm coming around to check. Anybody who isn't in bed, under the covers, will be deducted five points."
"Five points?" somebody asked. "Five points from what?"
"Never you mind," grumbled Griffith, who'd borrowed the threat from prep school. He pointedly raised his left wrist and looked down at the dime store watch Kate had given him. "Starting now."
There was a moment of obvious indecision. In that moment, Griffith moved toward the closest bed. "In you go," he told the boy, a short, scrawny specimen. The boy gave him one flashing glare of defiance before receding in the face of Griffith's stalwart approach. Griffith pulled the sheets over the kid's legs and tucked him in. He moved to the next bed.
Slowly, but surely, bodies began moving onto beds. Limbs that had been hanging from the beds above withdrew. Griffith went from one bed to the next, skipping nobody, and quietly tucking in sheets.
Voices, thank God, stilled. Griffith began to hope he might be able to get some sleep, after all. Then he came to the last bunk, the one at the opposite end of the cabin from his own. Orlando sat on the bottom bunk, cross-legged on top of his blankets. In his eyes gleamed the same alert watchfulness he'd worn all day.
They hadn't spoken of their little deal gone awry. But Orlando's vigilant expression told Griffith the boy expected the older man to go for his pound of flesh, to use his position to get back at the kid who hadn't agreed to an I.O.U. to guide him down the hill.
Griffith admitted the temptation had been there. It had been almost too marvelous Kate had decided to give him Orlando as 'helper.' But then he'd seen the way Orlando was looking at him, like a dog waiting to be whipped, and he hadn't felt like giving the kid such satisfaction.
Now Griffith jerked his head at the boy. "Go to sleep."
"I'm not tired."
"You must be kidding."
"I'm never tired." Orlando's fine black brows drew together. "Why is she keeping you?"
Griffith's motion, turning back to bed, checked. He swiveled toward Orlando. He didn't bother asking to who
m Orlando referred. Considering, and discarding, a variety of colorful answers, he settled on giving Orlando a shrug and, "Beats me."
"No." Orlando's gaze was shrewd. "You know why."
Once again, he'd stopped Griffith in his tracks. The thought of the water he was going to divert from the camp flashed through Griffith's mind. But although that would be an excellent reason to have imprisoned and enslaved him, Kate didn't even know about the water yet. On the contrary, her reasons for making his life miserable were not logical, they were completely irrational, bursting with — with wild emotion.
She'd seen he wanted her. He hadn't meant for her to see. He hadn't even meant to want her. And from that one accident everything had just...escalated. Griffith, himself, couldn't explain how or why. "She doesn't have to have a reason," he claimed. Bending under the bunk above so no one else could hear, Griffith felt his injured pride wax. "The woman is pure poison."
Orlando's dark eyes flared at him. "Not Miss Kate."
Griffith had to draw back from the blaze in the kid's eyes. "What? You like her?"
Impossible. Orlando, Griffith had soon discovered, was known as the biggest trouble-maker in camp.
Nevertheless his thin face now went hard. "Miss Kate is the best," he said, fiercely.
Griffith didn't dare try arguing that one. He backed away, his palms out. "Okay, fine. Whatever."
"Better than you."
"No doubt," Griffith muttered. "Good night."
Orlando didn't answer. Griffith turned from the kid's furious eyes to trudge back down the aisle, checking that everyone was still in bed as he went. At last he got to his own bed, crawled in, and struggled to find a comfortable position on the tiny mattress.
Orlando's words came back to him. So Kate wasn't poison but he was, huh? Griffith's triumph at restoring order turned to gall. He assured himself he was not feeling even the tiniest bit guilty. He had every right to that water. It was all perfectly legal. And anyway, a fifty-unit luxury housing development was a bigger public benefit than a summer camp. Any tax accountant would agree. His housing project ought to be the one using the water.
