the child who’d just experienced a traumatic occurrence.
“Halt.” His harsh tone tightened Summer’s jaw. “There’s no use getting the oil on you, too.”
That brought her to a stop, although by then she was only a few feet away. The child’s frustrated cry opened her own frustration valve enough to allow a leak. “This could’ve been avoided if you’d listened to me when I warned everybody to run,” she fumed.
“And it wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t gone traipsing off the path like I warned everybody not to do.”
Summer’s eyes stung from the stench...and the indignation. “You’re going to blame me because you didn’t have enough sense to get out of the way of a skunk?”
Her attention snapped back to Willard as he began crying louder. In her anger with Rick, she’d forgotten Willard and his part in this.
“I hate thith. I hate thith plathe. I wanna go home!” the child screamed.
His words hit like a punch in Summer’s stomach. An unhappy child covered with skunk spray, wanting to go home. Not good. That kind of thing could make disgruntled talking start, and then it wouldn’t take much to get others jumping on the bandwagon...anybody who was homesick or even a little unhappy. The ripple effect personified.
This called for high-stakes damage control. She had to get to Charlie today with her idea about Ron Smithey. These boys had to start having fun, or this whole camp session might be a washout, and that would spell financial disaster.
“C’mon, bud. Let’s get back to the camp and get this stuff off us.” Rick’s hand was under Willard’s arm, and he hauled the child to his feet. “Summer, go on ahead and get some dishwashing liquid from Ginny. Then go to my cabin. In the bathroom, you’ll find a large bottle of Listerine. Bring them both down to the beach.”
Summer spun around and broke into a run.
Charlie met her where the path broke from the woods at the edge of camp. He sniffed and laughed. “You, too?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get any spray on me. This is just from standing near Rick and Willard.” The time wasn’t right to tell him what Willard said or bring up Ron Smithey. That could wait until this crisis was over.
“Get dishwashing liquid from Ginny and meet us at the beach,” she instructed. Charlie nodded and did an about-face. “And send one of the boys to get Willard a change of clothes,” she called as she hurried toward Rick’s cabin.
Walking into his bedroom was like walking into a military barracks. The bed was perfectly made with perfectly mitered corners, the spread and sheet folded back perfectly even.
A guilty urge passed through her to jump on it...or roll around in it...naked...with Rick. Her mouth went dry at the thought—other parts did quite the opposite.
Damn Rick Warren. He made her crazy. If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be certifiable.
The Listerine wasn’t hard to spot. Two gigantic bottles of it sat on the shelf in his bathroom. Was Rick a halitosis freak or was he drinking the stuff? She shivered at the thought and grabbed them both for good measure.
Passing the bedside table, she noticed Raine Lawson’s new thriller. She’d finished it just last week. Probably the only thing we have in common, she mused. Under it lay the folder Mr. Assistant Director carried with him, constantly scratching notes in. The one he always closed when she came around. What was in there?
Curiosity got the best of her, and she lifted the corner for a quick peek. Her eyes scanned over the top sheet, which appeared to be an inventory list of items in the dining hall and kitchen. Table, chairs, appliances—nothing of interest and nothing that gave her any clue as to why he would be counting these things.
She gave a frustrated sigh and hurried on to the closet, jerking open the door. A multitude of T-shirts met her eyes, all neatly hung facing the same way, grouped by color. She pulled a gray one off its hanger and opened the top drawer of the chest.
It was full of perfectly creased shorts, folded neatly and again arranged by color. She chose black to go with the gray shirt.
It was then that she paused for a moment and chewed her lip. He was going to need underwear, and the thought of picking out some for him made her belly do a flip. An image ran through her head, and she made a quick bet with herself.