these cookies are good for you, you only want to eat them as a special treat after you’ve eaten your fruits and vegetables and proteins. You shouldn’t ever let sweets take the place of food that’s better for you.”
As the girls filled the baking sheets with mounds of cookie dough, Ginny placed them in the oven. “Thanks for making my job easier today,” she told them. “These will be a delicious bedtime snack tonight.”
After they’d cleaned up the work space and washed their hands, Tara announced, “It’s time for quiet time.”
The girls laughed, leaving Summer to wonder what was so funny about the announcement. She shot a questioning look at Tara, but the young woman was busy answering questions and herding the girls out the door.
The next hour wasn’t going to be so quiet for Summer, but it was time to do what she had to do. “Is Charlie around?” she asked Ginny.
“Maybe in his office. I don’t think I’ve seen him since right after lunch.” The woman’s chin wrinkled in concern. “Everything okay?”
No use trying to pretend with Ginny—the woman had changed Summer’s diapers. “I just have some concerns about the camp I’d like to discuss with him.”
Ginny gave her a knowing smile. “About the camp or Rick Warren?”
“You know me too well, Ginny.”
“Charlie said yesterday he was surprised you hadn’t been in to talk to him yet.” Ginny bent down and peered through the oven window to check on the baking cookies, the yummy scent of which had already started to permeate the air. “You and Rick are like oil and water. Not a bad combination, but it takes some shaking up to get it to mix.”
“I’d like to shake him up, all right. He’s so...so...” Summer groped for the appropriate word.
“Take charge?” Ginny offered.
“Bossy,” Summer spewed. “And rigid and cocky. And he doesn’t know beans about kids, or fun, or what summer camp is supposed to be like.”
Ginny had pulled the binder of handwritten recipes from the shelf, and started leafing through it. “Maybe you could teach him. But he does come across a bit stodgy, so you’d have to make him think it’s his idea.”
“That wouldn’t be hard since everything is his idea.” Summer stalked off, Ginny’s chuckle echoing behind her.
Charlie’s office door was closed, so she gave a couple of light raps with her knuckles.
“Come in.”
Not Charlie’s voice, and she tensed. If she hadn’t already pushed the door open a little, she would’ve left.
Rick sat at Charlie’s desk. He glanced up. “Hey, Summer. Charlie’s not here.” He went back to writing.
His dismissive attitude toward her once again caused her to see red. She closed the door and walked to the desk, planting herself in front of it. “I guess it was you I was meant to talk to, then.”
Rick laid the pen down. “Okay.” He leaned back in the chair, giving her his full attention. “Talk.”
Even in the closed room, not the slightest hint of skunk odor hung in the air. She sniffed again. “Listerine and dishwashing liquid, huh?”
“An old park ranger trick.” Rick regarded her warily. “But something tells me you didn’t come here to discuss trade secrets.”
“No, you’re right. I, um...” She cleared her throat. “Rick, I don’t know you very well, and it was very nice of you to take this job on such short notice and help my parents out.” His enormous shoulders fell as he relaxed. “But—” she took a deep breath, determined to say what was on her mind “—I don’t think you’re cut out to be a camp counselor, and I think it would be better for everyone if you let me, um, Charlie, find someone who’s better suited to working with kids.”
One eyebrow shot up and his face reddened slightly as if the act had taken some exertion. “Why? You missing your boyfriend? Gonna talk Mommy and Daddy into letting him take my place?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Hardly. I would never run to my parents with anything that might worry them. In fact, I’m doing the opposite. They’ve invested everything they have in this place, and they can’t afford to have even a single kid talking about what a horrible place it is and how much he hates it. What if he wants to go home, and what if that causes others to start thinking the same thing?”
“You’re referring to Willard.”
Summer’s pulse swished through her ears. “Yeah, but not just Willard. You’ve got all the boys marching around like little wooden soldiers—”