Summer Girl

by Boeshaar, Andrea

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-691-3

  Copyright © 2003 by Andrea Boeshaar. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  One

  Needs a “Summer Girl.” Jena Calhoun glanced at the piece of paper Mrs. Barlow handed to her at church yesterday, then looked back up at the Spanish-looking house looming in front of her. According to Mrs. Barlow, the owner and occupant of this place, a lawyer by the name of Travis Larson, would be expecting Jena.

  “You’ll be perfect for the position,” insisted old Mrs. Barlow who lived next door to the Larsons. “Travis’s daughters will adore you, and the job will solve all your problems.”

  Yes, it sure would, Jena thought as she neared her destination. Located on the corner of Prospect Avenue and Shorewood Boulevard, the two-story hacienda had a white stucco exterior with a red tile roof. It looked like it belonged in Mexico, not in this small suburb of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. A tall, redwood fence surrounded a tiny courtyard, and a narrow roof above the back door joined the house to a little apartment that sat above the two-car garage.

  Jena made her way up the front steps, her palms sweating and her stomach filled with perpetual flutters. She hadn’t ever been good at impressing others. She only knew how to be herself: Jennifer Ann Calhoun—Jena, for short.

  But would that be enough to get her the job?

  Lord, I need Your help. . .

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed on the doorbell. Within a minute, the door swung open, and she found herself looking up into the face of a very handsome man with a very stern countenance.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello,” she began, smiling politely, “I’m Jena Calhoun, and I’m here to interview for the summer girl position.”

  The dark-headed man’s expression changed from severe to surprise. “You? You’re Jena?”

  “Why, yes. Is there a problem?”

  “Well, no. . .” The man opened the door a bit wider and beckoned her inside. “I was just expecting someone a little younger—like, fifteen years old.”

  “Oh?”

  The man indulged her with a smile, patronizing as it seemed. “Usually summer girls are teenagers,” he explained. “I was expecting a fifteen-year-old.”

  “I see.” Jena chewed her lower lip in contemplation. Her friend, Mary Star, had given her a lift to Mayfair Mall, a popular shopping center on Milwaukee’s west side. From there, Jena had taken two city buses to get here to the small village of Shorewood, a suburb on the shores of Lake Michigan. It seemed such a shame that now she wouldn’t even get an interview. “Well,” she said at last, “thanks anyway.”

  She had turned to leave when the man grabbed her elbow. “Whoa! Where you going?”

  Jena swung around and looked at him, taking note of his frown and the concern in his chocolate-brown eyes. “I’m twenty-six. I guess I’m too old to be a summer girl.”

  The man chuckled. “Perhaps, but let’s talk anyway.” He guided her into the well-lit living room. Six tall white wood-framed windows graced the entire front wall. A sofa and matching love seat, upholstered in greens and mauves against an ivory background, had been expertly placed on plush, cream colored carpeting. Jena wondered if the man was going to ask her to slip out of her shoes before she walked on the immaculate wall-to-wall rug.

  He didn’t.

  “Come in, please, and sit down. Maybe I’ll redefine the summer girl position and interview you as a possible nanny.” He grinned.

  Jena, however, wondered if she’d just been insulted. She thought the title of “nanny” sounded so...subservient. She sat down on the sofa anyway as the man took a place on the love seat across from her.

  “So you’re the girl. . .I mean the woman Mrs. Barlow recommended.”

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “Hmm. . .” The man appeared thoughtful. “Mrs. Barlow kept referring to you as ‘such a sweet girl,’ so, obviously, I pictured a girl.”

  “Sorry.” Jena didn’t know what else to say, and she was beginning to regret even coming here.

  “Oh, no need for apologies.” Travis cleared his throat. “I understand you and Mrs. Barlow attend the same church.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “In Menomonee Falls.”

  Jena nodded.

  “You know,” he began with a puzzled frown, “I never did figure out why Mrs. Barlow went all the way out there just for church when there’s one not even a mile away from here.”

  “Her son’s family lives in the Falls,” Jena told him, “so she spends Sundays with them, and of course, she’s a proud grandmother.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about her son and his family.” The man rubbed his palms together. “Well, enough chitchat, let’s get down to business. I’ll tell you about the job. I have two daughters, Mandi and Carly. Mandi is six and Carly is three. My sister has cared for them since my wife died, shortly after Carly’s birth. But then Glenda, my sister, decided to elope.” Traces of sarcasm suddenly tainted his voice. “Not only did Glenda leave me without child care, but she ran off with my assistant, which leaves me overworked at the office. Nice sister, huh?”

  “Nice assistant,” Jena quipped.

  “Yeah, that too,” he muttered.

  The man relaxed against the back of the love seat, and Jena noticed his crisp white dress shirt’s sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He wore a loosened necktie and black dress pants. Sitting there, Jena thought he looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ Magazine.

  Her gaze moved back up to the man’s face. His gently angled jaw line was clean-shaven, and his lips appeared soft and tender, though bent into a natural smirk. His eyes were a deep brown, and Jena noticed they mirrored her assessment. From his expression, Jena couldn’t tell what he thought of her, but in just two words, she figured she could sum him up: handsome and arrogant.

  “By the way, my name is Travis Larson.”

  “Yes, I figured as much.”

  The smirk broadened. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Calhoun.”

  She smiled a reply, unsure if she could return the sentiment.

  “Do you drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. My girls are involved in a lot of activities. Swimming, gymnastics, a weekly playgroup.”

  “I don’t own a car.”

  Travis waved off her remark. “I do. I own two, in fact. You can use the station wagon.”

  Jena lifted an inquiring brow. “I can?”

  “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” he mused aloud, gazing off into the direction of the sleek, black grand piano, which jutted out from the corner of the living room. His gaze shifted back to Jena. “Do you like children?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in school?”

  “Yes. I attend Lakeview Bible College.”

  “Bible college, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you taking summer classes?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” Jena raised surprised brows.

  “I wouldn’t want your schooling to interfere with your cari
ng for my children.”

  “Oh. . .”

  “What’s your major?”

  Jena cleared her throat. “Home Economics with a minor in Child Development.”

  Travis looked taken aback. “Do women still major in those things? Sounds kind of obsolete to me, considering this day and age.”

  Jena merely shrugged. He was entitled to his opinion, faulty as it was.

  “What do you hope to do once you graduate?”

  “Manage a daycare center or teach kindergarten in a private school.”

  “Hmm. . .” He didn’t look very impressed. But after a moment’s deliberation, a slow grin spread across his face. “You know what? This is perfect! You can practice your home economic skills here in my household and use your child development techniques on my girls. You’re hired.” Travis stood.

  “I am?” Jena stood too. “But—”

  “I’ll pay you three hundred and fifty dollars a week plus room and board. You’ll have access to a car, but I’ll take care of all expenses, like gas, tires, tune-ups. In return, I’ll expect you to care for my girls from six o’clock a.m. until they go to bed at eight o’clock at night. . .six days a week. You may have Sundays off.”

  Jena’s eyes widened. To her, a poor college student, it sounded like a great deal! She had run out of money last week, after getting laid-off nearly a month ago from her part-time job as a waitress. Fortunately, her wee bit of savings and an unexpected grant had carried her through a few weeks. Then her roommate and best friend, Lisa, moved out of their apartment. Lisa had decided to go back home so she could save money for her upcoming wedding, and now Jena had to be out by the end of the month.

  But this job seemed a perfect solution to her financial situation. She’d make a lot more money as Travis Larson’s summer girl than she had earned waitressing, and she’d have a car and a place to live until the fall. By then, perhaps, she’d have enough money saved to finish her final semester of college and get another apartment.

  “Miss Calhoun?” Travis drawled, sounding like he was preparing to cross-examine a witness. “What do you say? Do Mandi and Carly have a new summer girl?”

  Jena looked across the room and straight into Travis Larson’s mahogany eyes. Something about his self-assured demeanor troubled her. She wondered if she’d really be able to work for him effectively, a handsome widower with dark, chestnut-colored hair, and an ego the size of Montana. . .

  “I want to accept, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Well, I do need the job; however—”

  “However?” He shook his head before arching a perplexed, dark brow. “I don’t understand your hesitation.”

  Jena sighed. Maybe she could work around his ego. She really needed the money. “Could I think about it?”

  “Of course.” Travis glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll leave the room for, say, ten minutes. How’s that?”

  Jena gave him a subtle nod. She had really wanted more than ten minutes, but the time allotment would have to do.

  True to his word, Travis exited, and Jena sat back down on the sofa. Leaning forward, she folded her hands over her knees and prayed for wisdom. Lord, what do I do? You know my financial needs. Should I take this job? And what about Mr. Larson? Can I work with him? She paused in thought. Can I somehow minister to this family? Is this Your will?

  She mulled over the details. The money sounded great, and she wouldn’t mind caring for children all summer. She could be outdoors with them, take them to the beach.“Miss Calhoun?”

  Jena lifted her head. “Yes?”

  “May I call you Jena?”

  “Certainly,” she said with a little smile.

  “Please call me Travis.”

  “I’ll try,” she stated honestly. However, with such a commanding presence, he seemed more like a Mr. Larson.

  He left the room again, and Jena continued her inner debate. Maybe he’d turn out to be a really nice guy once she got to know him. She frowned. Were lawyers really “nice guys”?

  “Jena?”

  She looked up at Travis, standing at the entrance of the living room once more. “Yes?”

  “May I show you photographs of my girls?” He stepped forward, holding a picture frame in each hand. “These are this year’s school pictures.” He handed one to Jena. “That’s Amanda Lyn—Mandi, for short.”

  “Oh, she’s cute,” Jena said, looking at the little blond girl with the toothless smile and cocoa-colored eyes.

  “And this is Carlotta Leann—Carly. She’s named after my wife’s grandmother.”

  Jena smiled. “I’ll bet she’s just as precious as she as looks.” Huge brown eyes in a little, round face surrounded by blondish-brown curls peered out from the picture frame. “They’re both darling,” Jena stated, handing back the photographs.

  For the first time, Jena saw Travis’s face split into a full-fledged smile. “Thank you.” He glanced from one picture to the next. “I’m very proud of my girls and. . .I think the three of you will get along.”

  Jena still hesitated. After all, her ten minutes weren’t up.

  Suddenly, his expression fell, and his attitude crumbled along with it. “Look,” he said, sitting down beside her, “I’ll be honest with you. I’m in a terrible bind. I’ve got no one to take care of my children and a law firm to run. I’ve interviewed dozens of summer girl applicants, and I wouldn’t leave my goldfish with any of them, let alone my daughters. You are the first decent one to ring my doorbell. And if Mrs. Barlow says you’re ‘a sweet girl,’ I trust it’s true. Mrs. Barlow has been my next door neighbor for the last eight years, and she’s one tough old lady—no offense intended,” he added quickly. “I mean quite the opposite, really.”

  Jena was stunned by his candidness.

  So stunned, she accepted the job.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Travis said, smiling, and Jena thought he actually looked. . .grateful! Then he glanced at the framed photographs, still in his hands, before looking back at her. “Just one more thing, Jena.”

  “What’s that?”

  He paused and his gaze returned to hers. His dark eyes held an almost pleading look. “Can you start today?”

  Two

  “Okay, you can come down now,” Travis called up the stairs.

  A couple of doors squeaked open, and two pairs of feet came running down the carpeted steps.

  “Was she another dud, Daddy?”

  Jena looked expectantly at Travis, but he didn’t even glance her way. He just smiled fondly at the little girl hugging him around the knees.

  “Hardly a dud, Sweetie. We’ve got ourselves a summer girl. Look.” The little girls peered curiously at Jena, and Travis made the introductions.

  “She doesn’t look like a summer girl, Daddy,” Mandi said precociously.

  “Well, maybe we’ll call her your new nanny, then.”

  “You know, I really would rather be a summer girl,” Jena interjected. She smiled at Travis’s surprised expression and added, “Summer is my favorite time of year.”

  “Mine too!” exclaimed Mandi.

  “Mine too!” little Carly mimicked.

  “Terrific!” Travis said with a clap of hands. “I can tell you two girls are going to like Jena.”

  “Miss Jena,” she corrected. At Travis’s wondering glance, she explained, “During my internship last year, I learned that it’s best for children to address adults respectfully by using a preface such as Miss, Mister, or Missus. But your girls don’t have to use my last name, since I think that would be too formal for this situation. They may simply refer to me as Miss Jena.”

  “I see.” The smirk returned, and Travis looked much like that handsome, arrogant man Jena saw just minutes ago. “Any other rules that I should be aware of. . .Miss Jena?”

  “Hmm. . .well, no, I think that’s it,” she replied, feeling her face warm with embarrassment.

  “Good.” Travis turned to his daughters. “Mandi, Carly, Miss Jena is going to be your ne
w summer girl.” He suddenly frowned and looked back at Jena. “Somehow that doesn’t sound quite right, the words ‘Miss Jena’ and ‘summer girl’ in the same sentence.”

  “I know, Daddy,” Mandi said, “Miss Jena can be our summer lady.”

  Travis laughed. “All right. Summer lady it is.”

  Jena shrugged, feeling more than a little chagrined now.

  “Can the girls and I show you the apartment you’ll be staying in?”

  “Sure.” She followed Travis and his daughters who bounced and skipped beside their daddy. They walked through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the courtyard which was more like an enclosed patio complete with a round, white wrought-iron table, and matching chairs. They passed under the walkway until they arrived at another door. It was painted white and a little half-moon seemed to be smiling lopsidedly at her.

  Travis pulled a ring of keys from out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “The apartment is pretty much furnished,” he told Jena. “My sister used to live up here.”

  “But then she married Tony,” Mandi stated informatively. “And now Daddy has no one to watch me and Carly.”

  “Yes, I do,” Travis replied as they all walked up the polished, wooden stairs. “I have Miss Jena to watch you.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Chuckling at his daughter, Travis unlocked another door at the top of the stairs. They all entered the living room where the two girls made for the overstuffed sofa and flounced on it as though they’d done it a thousand times before. They sank into it, all giggles and flailing limbs.

  Smiling, Jena looked around the room. The walls were a dusty-rose, the woodwork painted white. Ivory draperies hung on four large windows that looked out over the quiet, tree-lined avenue. A deep maroon fabric covered the sofa, the same color as the carpet. In the corner stood a small tea table and chair, and on the adjacent wall were two built-in bookshelves.

  “After my wife, Meg, died,” Travis explained, “I supplied this apartment with our old furniture so my sister would be comfortable up here. Then I bought new items for my place, thinking they would somehow ease the pain of losing my wife.”

  “Did they?” Jena inquired softly.