Kaitlyn Rice - The Runaway Bridesmaid

“After he knew who I was,” Isabel said. “Please tell me he had an awful week. That his dog died or his girlfriend broke up with him or he forgot to pay some major bill.”

“Sorry.” Darla’s hazel eyes were round with concern. “Trevor is generally levelheaded, but he can be intense about the summer camp. I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “That’s not what it sounded like to me. Who are Betsy and Dylan, anyway?”

Darla frowned. “He told you about them?”

“No, but he mentioned them as if they had something to do with my presence here.”

Darla stepped into the hallway and motioned for Isabel to follow, then closed the door gently between them and Angie, still in the laundry room.

“Dylan was a camper,” she said. “Sixteen, but grown-up good-looking and aware of it. Betsy was a twenty-two-year-old counselor Trevor hired for our first summer camp. She was cute and bubbly, and some of the guys had crushes on her. One afternoon when everyone was supposed to be out fishing, Trevor caught her in Dylan’s tent.”

“Having sex?” Isabel whispered.

“No, but almost. Trevor broke it up and lectured both of them.” Darla shook her head. “That was all that happened, but the rumors flew and Trevor had to explain the situation to the parents. Now, he has a no-female-counselor policy for the camp. I help him, here and there, but I’m not blond or twenty-two.”

Isabel was reminded of her mother’s no-boys policy. “That explains quite a bit, actually, but most girls wouldn’t dream of doing what Betsy did. Besides, I’m also older than twenty-two.”

“Not by much.” Darla grinned, looking Isabel up and down as if she was glad to see her. “And Trevor figures that even if the girls didn’t do what Betsy did, the boys would imagine them doing it, and his vision for the camp would be undermined.”

“His vision?”

“To teach the boys to make good choices for their futures.”

“Oh. Well, that’s admirable.” Isabel opened the laundry room door again and stepped inside. “He could have explained that to me.”

“He might talk to you more after he gets to know you,” Darla said, remaining in the hallway. “For now, how about lunch?”

The game’s constant beeps stopped, and Angie skipped to the doorway. “I’m hungry. Can I eat, too?”

“Certainly.” Darla peered down at the little girl. “What sounds better? Ham sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly?”

“S’mores!”

Darla grimaced. “You want S’mores for lunch?”

“At R.J.’s sleep-away camp, he godda have S’mores,” Angie said, licking her lips. “He said they godda have ’em every single day, wif a chocolate bar an’ two marshmallows.”

Darla laughed, promising to stock up on those ingredients as soon as possible.

She was still commenting on how cute Angie was an hour later, while she and Isabel stood at her kitchen sink washing lunch dishes. Angie was sitting nearby, devouring a slice of chocolate cake—the closest thing to S’mores that Darla had on hand.

Isabel and Angie spent the afternoon in the office with Darla, who was behind on paperwork. Isabel began addressing and stamping a stack of wedding invitations while Angie poked at the keys of an old manual typewriter.

The little girl wasn’t a problem. Darla was clearly smitten with her, and the pair reminded Isabel of each other. Both were tiny, and both were full of bounce.

After dinner, Isabel took Angie to their shared bedroom so the little girl could talk to her dad and brother on the telephone. Isabel spoke to Roger only briefly, answering questions about her car’s performance during the trip, then she handed the phone to the little girl while she sat nearby, stitching a beaded-bell wedding favor.

Angie prattled, telling her dad about their night in a Goodland, Kansas, motel, then she enumerated every detail about their arrival here—from the electronic game to the chocolate cake to the typewriter.

As she waited, Isabel thought about all that had happened today, too. However, she thought about the whole mess with Trevor Kincaid.

It was funny, but out there on the highway this morning, she’d felt playful and relaxed with him. Josie’s flex-your-flirt-muscles advice had been fresh in her mind, so she’d been friendly to the good-looking stranger.

And when she’d touched him, she’d caught his reaction. His muscles had tightened, his eyes had erupted and her thoughts had turned shamelessly to what he must be like in bed.

The strength of her reaction to him had shocked her. She’d never felt such a surge of sexuality. Maybe she was a sexual adventurer at heart. Maybe that natural curiosity had caused her to be distracted. And maybe that was when Trevor had formed a bad impression of her.

Damn. She’d be a fool to worry about him. Her plan for the summer was to have a blast helping Darla while Roger stayed at home, hopefully missing her.

And she would have fun, she knew.

As soon as she stopped worrying about Trevor Kincaid.

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