say about it, he would be gone soon...along with his condescension and his secrets.
* * *
“WHAT’S THAT SMELL?” JIMBO wrinkled his nose, the crease defined by the smattering of freckles squinched together.
“A skunk’s been through here,” Rick answered. “May still be somewhere around, so we’ll need to keep an eye out.”
“My dad shot a skunk once,” Howie announced.
“Yeah? Did it spray him?” Rick asked.
“Naw, he’s too fast. He runs real fast, my dad does.”
Rick was beginning to wonder how many of the Howard, Sr., stories he’d heard were real, how many were fabrications he’d fed to his son and how many were just hero-worship stories Howie made up? Some of them seemed pretty far-fetched.
But this new story caught Jimbo’s attention, and he barraged Howie with questions about Howard, Sr.’s, skunk adventure.
The kids were chatterboxes now, which was okay since they were headed back to camp. They’d had to remain silent on the hike out. Any unnecessary noise would’ve scared the animals away. But their silence had been abundantly rewarded. A doe and her three spotted-coat fawns grazing in a meadow the first morning. A mother raccoon and seven babies washing their breakfast at the edge of the cove on day two. And today...jackpot! Several adult beavers working on a dam. Even Mitchell’s sneeze had been a learning experience as the beavers slapped the water with their tails as a warning of nearby danger. But the big reward had been the bald eagle with a fish in its clutches.
Yep...a morning hike these kids would remember the rest of their lives.
Summer Delaney was harder to impress. Although her smile and conversation came easily with the kids, she had scarcely acknowledged his presence the past three days even though he’d tried to engage her in conversation several times. And the episode in the cove this morning had obviously sent her animosity for him soaring even higher...if that was possible.
Her dour expression, which seemed solely reserved for him, grated on his nerves, and it was only the fourth day of camp. He couldn’t put up with her prima donna ways for a month. They needed to have a private conversation and get whatever was bugging her off her chest. Her nicely formed chest. He tensed at the thought of her chest with everything off it.
“Ain’t there, Mr. Rick?”
The question brought Rick mercifully out of his daydream. “Aren’t there,” he corrected. “Ain’t isn’t a word.”
Austin rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mom, but my dad says ain’t all the time.”
“Mine, too!” Howie piped in.
Rick thought back but couldn’t replay the last part of the conversation. “What were you asking me about?”
“Ain’t, uh, aren’t there such things as white skunks?”
“Yep.”
Austin’s face broke out in a big told-you-so grin.
“I used to see lots of them when I worked at the Land Between the Lakes,” Rick said. “They’re beautiful animals. All white with a black stripe down the back instead of the opposite.”
“I bet that’s the kind my dad shot,” Howie bragged.
Summer, who was leading the group back to camp, turned left, onto a narrower path.
“Wrong way, Summer,” Rick called.
“I know where I’m going,” she answered over her shoulder, never breaking her stride.
Rick looked at his watch. They were a half mile from camp, running a little earlier today. As long as it was only a short diversion, they’d still be on time for breakfast at eight.
Less than a minute of walking brought them to a clearing. An old, ramshackle cabin stood in the middle, surrounded by wildflowers, with a grown-up roadbed leading in from the back. The roof and windows and doors were all gone, and a couple of the walls had rotted and caved in, but despite its decrepit appearance, the place held an aura of serenity.
“This is the old Byassee homestead,” Summer explained as the children gathered around her. “The Byassees were the people who owned the land our camp is on. They died a long time ago, but they left all of this land to their family, who eventually left it to a church, which built the first summer camp on it. It’s been sold several times since then. I like to come here and say thank-you to the Byassees. If they’d sold it to one of the development companies like a lot of people around here did with their land, this would be a subdivision, and we wouldn’t be here today.”
Ah! So Herschel Delaney knew his youngest daughter well, it seemed. Rick had to admit she was right, though. What a shame