Brenda Harlen - Some Kind of Hero

“This will be our fourth season,” Riane said proudly.

“And two of the counselors we’ve hired for this summer were campers here our first year.”

“You must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“For the most part,” she agreed. “But there are still too many kids turned away each year simply because of the limited size of our facility.”

“And that’s why you’re expanding?” he guessed.

“We have the space,” Riane told him. “And, thanks to increased contributions this year, we have the funds. By the start of next season, we’ll have six new cabins, each one designed to sleep five campers and a counselor.”

“How many buildings do you have now?”

“Twelve cabins, a mess hall, an arts and crafts center,” she gestured as she explained, “and the stables.”

“Stables?”

She nodded and set off toward a fenced paddock he’d passed on the drive in. “We have half a dozen horses the children are taught to care for and ride.”

“How many people work here?”

“In addition to the counselors, who are mostly volunteers, there’s a registered nurse and child psychologist on staff. Plus Jared, our horse trainer, year-round groundskeeper, camp supervisor and chef.”

“Chef?”

“Someone has to feed the kids.”

“How many kids?” Joel wondered aloud.

“We have sixty kids for each of four two-week sessions.”

“That’s a lot of macaroni and cheese.”

“Jared does better than that,” Riane assured him.

They stopped at the fence that bordered the paddock, leaning against the rails to watch the horses grazing.

“Have I bored you to death yet with all this stuff?”

Joel shook his head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing.”

“Even with the expansion, it won’t be enough. We’re considering weekend programs in the spring and fall in addition to the summer camp. In the not-too-distant future, I’d like to open another site—maybe in Virginia or Pennsylvania. Somewhere close by, so I can stay involved with both.”

She sighed again, a heartfelt expression of frustration and futility. “Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

“Like what?”

“You.”

He studied the pair of sleek, chestnut horses grazing contentedly in the paddock. “I’m not very interesting.”

Riane clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a sound of disapproval. “That’s hardly the kind of statement to impress a woman,” she chided.

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “What should I say?”

She shook her head. “I would have thought a guy like you would have figured that out by now.”

“And I would think that a woman like you wouldn’t be swayed by mere words.”

She smiled now, and the curve of those soft, tempting lips did strange things to his heart again.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

Unable to resist, he reached out and skimmed the pad of his finger over her bottom lip. He heard her breath catch, watched her lips part slightly in response to his touch. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wide.

“What would sway you, Riane?”

She swallowed, her scrambled brain desperately searching for coherent words to respond to his question. She had to say something, anything, to get him to back off. Anything but the truth. Because the truth was that all it would take to sway her was his touch. He hadn’t even kissed her; he’d just brushed his finger over the curve of her lip and her insides had melted.

She’d experienced attraction before but never like this. The jolt of desire, so quick and unexpected, completely debilitated her.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek, threaded his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. She forced herself to meet his gaze, then wished she hadn’t done so. Tightly restrained passion simmered in the depths of his blue eyes. A challenge. A promise.

“What would sway you?” he asked again.

She swept her tongue along her bottom lip, unconsciously following the same path as his fingertip.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be swayed at all,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth again. “Maybe it would have to be your decision.”

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly. Yes, it would be her decision. And yes, she wanted him.

“You’re a strong woman,” he continued, the low tone of his voice as hypnotic as the desire in his eyes. “Capable. Confident. Passionate.”

Her heart melted just a little. No one had ever called her passionate before. No one had ever made her feel so passionate.

“And complicated,” he finished, almost reluctantly, before combing his fingers through the ends of her hair and dropping his hand back to his side. “I don’t have time for complications.”

The desire he’d so effectively stirred up inside of her gave way to hurt and disappointment. She shoved those unwelcome emotions aside in favor of anger.

“What are you looking for, Logan, a quick tumble to satisfy your basic urges?”

“I wasn’t looking for someone like you,” he admitted.

“Then what are you doing here?”

He looked around, and seemed almost surprised by the setting. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And I thought I could stay away. But I can’t. You’ve got me all tied up in knots and I don’t know what to do about it.”

As far as poetry went, it was somewhat lacking, and yet his words touched something inside her. Or maybe it wasn’t the words so much as the frustration evident in his voice. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. The realization soothed her bruised pride, empowered her fragile heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “Why don’t we just forget about that little outburst and start over?”

“Sure,” Riane agreed, wishing it would be half as easy to forget the unwelcome feelings he’d stirred inside her. She folded her arms against the wooden fence. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

Everything. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Joel Logan, especially what it was about him that had her so enthralled. Through her charity work and her parents’ political connections, she’d had occasion to dine with millionaires, dance with movie stars, discuss international relations with heads of state. She’d never been flustered by the mere presence of a man—until Joel had shown up at her ball.

But that was hardly an admission she was willing to make, so she opted to start with something more simple. “Where did you grow up?”

He seemed surprised by her question, almost relieved. “Philadelphia.”

“Is that where you live now?”

He shook his head. “No. I moved to Fairweather, Pennsylvania, a few years back.”

“Is that where your family is?”

“I don’t know that I have any family left.”

“What do you mean—you don’t know?”

“I haven’t seen my mother since I was six years old. She left me with my grandmother and took off for parts unknown. My grandmother died five years later.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling unaccountably saddened on his behalf. Her mother often teased that the kids who came to her camp were her surrogate siblings—the brothers and sisters she never had. Riane couldn’t deny that there was probably some truth to that. But if she felt there was something missing from her life, she also knew how fortunate she was to have always had the unquestioning love and support of her parents. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be well and truly alone.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“I have no idea who my father is.”

“You never knew him?”