by Sandra Brown
His eyes were wild with lust and his chest heaved with exertion. He took one step toward her, but the rigid lines on her resolute face and the green ice of her brilliant eyes halted him. He knew he had gone too far.
“Stay away from me,” she gasped in a strangled voice. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll file a formal complaint of sexual harassment.”
“Crap. Even if you had the guts to carry it that far, who’d believe you? Dozens of people have seen us together. You’ve put out signals. I’ve acted on them. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re what’s simple if you can’t distinguish between friendship and a come-on!” she said angrily. “We’re coworkers. That’s all.”
“For the time being.”
“Forever, Mr. Ross.”
He made a scoffing sound as he straightened his clothing. “We’ll see.”
He left, but Kathleen knew that she had merely stalled him. He was probably planning his next course of attack. She sat down at her desk and covered her face with her hands. Now what?
Damn him, he was right—she wouldn’t file charges of sexual harassment. She could probably make them stick, but she didn’t want to invest the time and energy it would require to see it through. Even if she won, she would still be working at Mason’s, and recently she had come to feel that the formal department store wasn’t providing her with enough challenge. It was staid. She wanted to work in an environment where the attitude toward fashion was progressive and innovative.
David Ross was the catalyst she had needed to make the difficult decision of leaving the safe and familiar for the unknown.
At least that’s what she had told herself. What she refused to acknowledge was that rather than confronting a problem, she had run away from it. Retreat had been her strategy since the loss of her parents. Some things were so bad that one’s only choice for coping was to flee.
Inexplicably, Erik Gudjonsen’s face was suddenly emblazoned on the backs of her eyelids. His self-assured expression was all too reminiscent of David Ross’s. What was it with men even remotely good looking? Was a handsome face supposed to allow them special privileges? Did they think all women were ready to fall into bed with them? To surrender to practiced hands and lips? To…
She ignored the sudden acceleration of her pulse and the tingling feeling that prickled the erogenous parts of her body. For a fleeting instant, she wondered what it felt like to be kissed by a man with a mustache.
To hell with that! Kathleen told herself emphatically, and swung her legs over the side of the bunk and stamped into the bathroom.
She showered in tepid water with her special moisturizing soap and, after toweling off, laved herself with an after-bath splash. Her heavy hair was released from the restrictive rubber bands and brushed vigorously. She thought of leaving it to hang free, but decided against it. Even after the sun dipped behind the mountains, the evenings could still be warm. She gathered her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and tied a navy-blue ribbon around it. The wisps that framed her face were damp from her shower and curled beguilingly against her dewy skin.
She didn’t wear much makeup while at the camp. A light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and high cheekbones only accented her apricot-tanned skin and called attention to the red highlights in her auburn hair. She smoothed a blushing gel onto the hollows under her cheekbones, gouged out a scoop of peach-flavored lip gloss with the tip of her little finger and applied it to her lips. After whisking her mascara wand along the tips of long black lashes, she was finished.
Kathleen slipped into lacy bikini panties, which was the one feminine luxury she allowed herself during the summer, and the uniform pair of navy shorts. However, for dinner she usually replaced the camp T-shirt with a blouse. What I’d give for an evening to really dress up, Kathleen thought wistfully as she slipped on clean white tennis socks and sneakers.
She crossed the compound in the direction of the mess hall just as the dinner bell sounded. Meals were the one thing the children were eager to line up for, and she joined them at the door.
“Hey, Kathy,” called one of the other counselors. Mike Simpson was a brawny college boy majoring in physical education at the University of Arkansas. His size belied his easygoing manner and gentle patience with the kids. He coached them in the more vigorous sports, like soccer, softball and volleyball.
“Hi, Mike,” Kathleen shouted over the loud racket the children made while they stood in squirming lines waiting to invade the cafeteria.
“The Harrisons asked that you join them in their office before dinner. They’re waiting for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” Kathleen flung over her shoulder as she descended the steps.
Behind her, she heard Mike say, “Very funny. Which one of you wise guys pinched me? Huh?” His question was met with shrill laughter.
She was still smiling as she pushed open the door to the air-conditioned building that housed the administrative offices of Mountain View.
“Kathleen, is that you?” Edna Harrison called out to her as she shut the door behind her.
“Yes,” Kathleen answered. She crossed the outer office toward the Harrisons’ private living quarters.
“Come in, dear. We’ve been waiting for you.”
By now, Kathleen was standing framed in the doorway and she came face-to-face with Erik Gudjonsen. He stood up from his seat on the early-American sofa. His back was to the Harrisons.
“Kathleen Haley, meet Erik Gudjonsen,” Edna said. “He’s the photographer from UBC. Erik, Kathleen is one of our board members. We simply couldn’t run the camp without her.”
“Oh, I’ve met Ms. Haley. We bumped into each other this afternoon.”
Chapter Two
Kathleen wished she didn’t lack the nerve to slap his smug face. For the benefit of her friends, she said politely, “Hello again, Mr. Gudjonsen.”
“Come in and sit down, Kathleen,” B. J. said. “Mr. Gudjonsen was asking some questions about Mountain View, and I told him you were the one who could best explain the concept of the camp, since you had lived it. We’ll go to dinner shortly.”
Because Edna and B. J. Harrison were seated in the only two easy chairs in the room, Kathleen had no choice but to sit beside Erik on the sofa. Self-consciously, she tugged on the legs of her shorts as she sat down.
“How was your day, Edna, B. J.?” she asked.
The couple was as dear to her as parents. In their early sixties, they were still robust and healthy. The love and concern they showed the orphans who came to their camp each summer was inspiring.
Kathleen always thought of the Harrisons as a unit, and oddly enough, they resembled each other. Both were short and plump. While Edna’s eyes were warm brown and her husband’s gray, they both reflected open friendliness. They walked with the same purposeful stride. Their gestures when they talked were almost identical.
Kathleen doubted that either of them had ever had an uncharitable thought about even the most unscrupulous character. They found goodness in everyone and everything. As she thought on it now, Kathleen realized that the similarities that had developed between them weren’t so surprising since they had been married for more than forty years.
“We had a leaky pipe in one of the cabins and I tinkered with that today,” B. J. was saying. “I think I saved a plumber’s fee. We’ll know in a day or so.” He chuckled.
“Thank you, dear.” Edna patted his knee. “Tomorrow you can work on that ornery air conditioner.”
“You see, Erik?” B. J. opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “They’re never satisfied.”
“Oh, you!” Edna exclaimed softly, shoving her husband’s shoulder lovingly. She turned her attention back to the photographer, who was enjoying the older couple’s display of affection. “Erik, Kathleen first came to our camp when she was fourteen. I don’t want to embarrass you, Kathleen, but I’m sure Erik would like to hear your story.” Her kind eyes were anxious, but the smile on the young woman’s face
reassured her.
“No. I’m never reluctant to talk about Mountain View.” Kathleen forced herself to face Erik. Sitting so close beside him on the small sofa made her uncomfortably aware of him. His raw masculinity was a tangible quality that touched her and left behind prickly sensations.
“My parents were killed in a boating accident when I was thirteen. They had no living relatives, and I had no brothers or sisters. Friends in our church placed me in an orphanage in Atlanta. It was well run and reputed as one of the best in the country. But having lived in a family environment as an only child, I found it difficult to adjust. My grade average dropped significantly. I became belligerent. In short, I was a brat.”
B. J. laughed, but Edna shot him a reproving look and it subsided.
“The next summer, the orphanage sent me here. I had a terrible attitude toward the idea, as I had about anything at that time. I thought I had been dealt with unjustly by everyone, by God. But that summer, the whole course of my life changed.”
Her voice became charged with emotion and she smiled tremulously at the Harrisons. “B. J. and Edna refused to let me destroy my life with bitterness and hatred. They taught me how to love again by loving me when I was most unlovable. I started acting like a human being again and not a wounded animal. I owe them a debt of gratitude that I can never repay.”
“You’ve repaid us a thousand times over, Kathleen.” Edna turned her tear-laden eyes to Erik. “You see, Mr. Gudjonsen, Kathleen came back to our camp each summer until she grew too old. Then, during her college years, we asked her to serve as a counselor. Since she knows the pain and disillusionment most of our campers harbor, she is better able to relate to them than anyone. We’ve seen her work miracles with even the most maladjusted children. When a position on the Board of Directors came open, we offered it to Kathleen. She was reluctant to accept it, but we insisted. No one has been disappointed. Last year she singlehandedly raised enough money to air condition the mess hall and install two basketball goals.”
Kathleen blushed under what she considered unearned praise. Her discomfort was heightened when she lifted her eyes and saw that Erik was staring at her.
Aware of her embarrassment, he turned his attention to his hosts. “I want to hear more about your success here, but right now I’m starving. May we continue our conversation in the dining room?”
“A boy after my own heart!” B. J. exclaimed jovially as he stood up, slapping his palms against his thighs.
“Don’t count on being able to conduct a conversation over dinner, Erik,” Edna cautioned. Using his first name came quite easily. “Our dining room isn’t exactly conducive to serious debate.”
He laughed as he casually took Kathleen’s arm and steered her through the outer office to the front door. “It doesn’t matter. I want to capture the spirit of the camp, anyway.”
“Oh, well, if it’s spirit you’re after, you’re at the right place.” B. J. laughed.
“Would it be against the rules to take my camera in there?” Erik asked.
“It wouldn’t matter to us,” Edna said. “You’re making the rules for as long as you’re here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Edna,” she corrected.
The smile he gave her could have graced the cover of GQ. “Edna. I’ll just run to my car and join you in a minute. Save me a place in line, B. J.”
“Sure thing. Kathleen, why don’t you go along with Erik and make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
She started to object, but what could she say that wouldn’t sound ungracious? For some reason, she was hesitant to be alone with him. Perhaps his easy charm was disturbingly reminiscent of David Ross’s. Or maybe, as Erik himself had suggested, she was suspicious of journalists. Mountain View’s program had no hidden agendas, and, because the camp was so dear to her, she would naturally resent anyone poking around looking for scandal where none existed.
“You two hurry up now, or all the food will be gone. We won’t let anyone go back for seconds until you have gone through the line,” Edna said.
The older couple strolled off arm in arm in the direction of the dining hall. “Where is your car?” Kathleen asked.
“Parked by my cabin.”
She turned around and struck off on the path through the trees that led to the cabins reserved for visitors.
It wasn’t far, but by the time they reached his parked Blazer, she was winded. Probably because she had covered the distance in record time. He seemed to know that she was uncomfortable with him. As he lowered the tailgate, she thought she detected a dimple partially hidden by his mustache.
He opened a black plastic box and removed a videotape cartridge. He then loaded it into the video camera. Kathleen had never seen one of the complicated cameras up close, and in spite of herself, she was intrigued.
“Can you carry that?” Nodding his head, he indicated a long tubular carrying case.
“Sure,” she said, reaching in. Her arm was nearly wrenched from its socket when she tried to lift it. She hadn’t expected it to be so heavy.
“What’s in here?”
“A tripod.”
“It weighs a ton,” she complained.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I asked you to carry it.” He winked. “Besides, no one but me touches my camera.”
Deftly, he raised the tailgate with one hand and they started back toward the compound. They didn’t speak. Kathleen doubted she could. The weight of the tripod case had her puffing by the time they reached the dining hall.
Gallantly, Erik held the door for her and she gave him a withering glare as she stumbled past him and went inside. The dull roar of two hundred children’s voices greeted them.
“Where can I stick this?” he asked as he surveyed the room.
“That’s a loaded question, Mr. Gudjonsen,” she muttered under her breath.
“Tsk-tsk, Ms. Haley.”
“There you are.” Edna interrupted Kathleen’s well-chosen comeback by bustling up to them. “Erik, why don’t you put your equipment on the dais. No one will bother it there. Hurry up and get your food and join us at the far table. It’s marginally quieter over there.”
Erik retrieved the case from Kathleen and placed it and his camera where Edna had indicated.
“Shall we?” Erik enthused, rubbing his hands together and nodding toward the cafeteria line.
“By all means,” Kathleen said coolly. “I think you’ll be surprised by the food. It’s better than most home cooking.”
“Right now, anything sounds good. I haven’t eaten today.”
“Watching your figure?” she asked snidely, for if anyone didn’t need to worry about his shape, it was Erik Gudjonsen.
His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. “No. It’s a helluva lot more fun to watch yours.”
She bit her lip to keep from saying what she thought of his sexist comment. She was obliged to introduce him to the ladies who ran the kitchen for Mountain View and managed to provide the campers and staff with three delicious meals a day. Most of them were old enough to be Erik’s mother, but they simpered and basked under his inordinate commendation of the meal.
Their plates were heaped with pot roast and vegetables as they passed down the line. Kathleen was reaching for a glass of mint-sprigged iced tea when Erik caught her hand and sniffed the air.
“Do you smell peaches?”
Peaches? Her lip gloss? She fought her impulse to lick her lips nervously. His eyes raked her face, as if trying to detect something elusive.
“Peaches?” she asked innocently. “Oh, there are your peaches. Peach cobbler for dessert,” she said, relieved.
Turning back to him triumphantly, she was startled to find that he wasn’t so ready to accept her explanation. His warm stare on her face was alarming, and she tugged on her hand several times before he released it.
“Good. I love peaches,” he said. Kathleen was uneasy at the tone of his voice, for in some way it held a threat to her.
They joined the other counselors and the Harrisons at a separate table off-limits to the children. Introductions were made all around, and Erik apologized in advance if he couldn’t remember everyone’s name for the first few days.
He ate heartily, but courteously answered any questions directed to him. Kathleen thought the other female counselors sickeningly attentive, but Erik treated them all, no matter how homely or pretty, in a friendly manner.
A real ladies’ man, she thought snidely.
“Tell us about yourself, Erik,” B. J. said around a mouthful of potatoes.
Erik shrugged modestly. “There’s really not much to tell.”
“Now, Erik, we all know that you’re well known in your field. Weren’t you in Asia?” Edna asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve had some good assignments. I was in Saudi Arabia during Desert Storm.”
“Have you ever been in danger?” asked one of the younger girl counselors breathlessly.
He smiled. “A few times. Usually, I shoot just run-of-the-mill stuff.”
Try as they did, no one could get him to recount any tale of valiant struggle, though they were sure there had been some. Before he was sent to the camp, Edna had been told by the network officials that Erik Gudjonsen was one of their most accomplished photographers, as well as one who could add a human-interest touch to any story, no matter how mundane or extraordinary.
When he had finished eating, Erik stood up and excused himself. “I’d better do some shooting before the natives get too restless,” he said, indicating the children.
“Good idea,” B. J. agreed. “Anything we can do to help?”
“No, just act normally. I really hope I don’t attract the kids’ attention. I want them to behave just as they are now. I could use the able assistance of my key grip here, though.”
Kathleen didn’t realize he was referring to her until a silence fell on the group. She looked up at him. “Me?” she asked in astonishment.
“If you don’t mind. Now that you’re familiar with the equipment.”
