The thick mass of towering rock and dense pines rose out of the water, deep in the middle of the lake. Black-and-orange clouds hung heavy in the trees. Nicky eased up on the throttle and steered the boat toward the island. They’d barely exchanged more than a word or two since they’d left camp. Not that it was always easy to make yourself heard over the rush of the wind and the smack of waves hitting the boat. Maybe he was simply waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t have a clue what to say.
So, her first love hadn’t just broken her heart, he’d lied to her about who he was and where he was from. Repeatedly and intentionally. Which probably meant he’d just been some bored teenager from a nearby cottage who’d thought it would be fun to sneak into a camp. Wouldn’t be the only time that had happened. Except, this time she’d been the foolish girl who’d been too quick to trust and to give her heart away. A mistake she wouldn’t make again.
Nicky focused on coasting the boat through an obstacle course of jutting rocks and yellow buoys. Whatever she’d once felt for this man was ancient history. All that mattered now was saving her camp. Luke was nothing more to her now than someone her boss had invited up for the weekend.
She cut the motor, filling the air with a silence that was so still it was almost deafening.
Luke whistled under his breath. “George told me that a former camper had given Camp Spirit an actual island in their will, but I’ve never seen it.”
She almost smiled. “It’s about a two-hour trip by canoe, though way less by motorboat. It was bequeathed to Camp Spirit about three years ago, but we haven’t been able to do much with it, to be honest. George has this vision of turning it into an offshoot youth camp for older teens that are either in trouble with the law or at risk of going that way. But we don’t have the resources to make it happen.”
“Do you get a lot of donations?”
She steered the boat toward a small strip of beach. “Not really. A few former campers give us twenty or thirty dollars a month. But even though George kind of runs the place like a charity, he’s never applied to legally become one because we don’t hit all the criteria, and that turns off a lot of donors. Sometimes business people or organizations partner with us to build something specific. And then there’s Mystery Donor.”
His eyebrows rose. “‘Mystery Donor’?”
“That’s what the counselors call him or her. Seven or eight years ago, someone gave George a huge, huge donation. Close to a million dollars, actually. With careful management, George was able to use it to fund new buildings and new projects. It kept us going for years. But as only George knew their name, the summer staff got into the habit of praying, ‘Thank You, God, for the Mystery Donor!’ and it stuck.”
She chuckled. But Luke frowned. His gaze ran over the steep stone crags. His brow furrowed. The whole trip there she’d been catching little sideways glimpses of him, without really meaning to. Evaluating the man he was against the boy she remembered. His shoulders had gone from husky to strong. Dark stubble on his jawline hinted of a man who didn’t like a close shave. No ring on his finger, implying he’d never settled down. There was still a slight curve at the corner of a mouth that looked just as soft as the day he’d first kissed her. “Well, I know things are tight financially, and I wish I had the kind of money that could help you guys out.”
“Oh, trust me, you’re not the only one. Just because I love working for George, doesn’t mean I’m ever going to have the amount of money to buy this place out from under him. The land itself is worth far, far more than the business standing on it.” She reached to touch his shoulder. Then caught herself midair. “You’re a sport’s reporter, not a millionaire.”
“George asked me to come up because he had something important to talk to me about before the canoe trip. Do you know what it was?”
She sat straight. “No. I honestly don’t.” For that matter she didn’t really know why George had wanted her to take down the old boxes of camp records and photographs. “I just presumed he wanted to talk to you about a newspaper article.”
To their left, an aquatic obstacle course hung over the surface of the water in a collection of nets, tires and climbing ropes. They glided past it. Then, to the right, they could see the small sliver of murky sand that formed the island’s only beach. A thin wooden dock ran along one side of it with a red-and-white sign that warned potential trespassers they were entering Camp Spirit property. She tossed the rope around a pillar, caught it on the first try and pulled the craft in to the dock.
They climbed out and she sighed. The beach was a mess of driftwood and seaweed. Trevor was supposed to have done a proper cleanup of the campsite earlier in the week. Apparently he hadn’t bothered.
“Looks like I’m going to need two pairs of hands, after all. I’ll run ahead to the campsite and make sure it’s not a mess. If you could stay here and clear some of this mess off the beach...that would be amazing.”
“You sure you’re okay going off alone, after everything that happened this morning?” Luke sounded concerned. He had no reason to be. Whether they were on the mainland or the island, this camp was still her baby.
“Absolutely. You’re probably more sore from catching me that I am from crashing into you.” Light rain began to fall, dimpling the water and denting the mud by her feet. She started up the beach. The ground was scuffed with footprints. Even worse. Trespassers always made a mess of things. “Also, it looks like the island had a visitor recently. Fortunately, whoever they were, they’re gone now, otherwise their boat would still be here. There’s nowhere else on the island they could’ve safely moored.”
Luke ran his hand through his hair. “Thanks again for letting me come with you. I know this isn’t the ideal place for us to talk, but I thought it was important we cleared the air as soon as possible.” There was a smile back in his voice again.
But this time she didn’t smile back. Between the rain, Trevor’s failure to get his work done and the signs of a trespasser, her evening had just gotten a whole lot busier. “I appreciate that. But it’s okay. Really. You’ve apologized. I’ve accepted it. And I had a whole half-hour-long boat ride to let it sink in.” Because that’s what adults did in situations like this. They got over things. They didn’t let themselves fall into a cute guy’s arms and cry, no matter how stressed, worried and tired they felt.
She turned toward the woods. Branches were broken along the path that led to the campsite. Whoever had stopped by the island had also done some exploring while they were here. There was an arrow imbedded in the tree ahead of her. Slim, vicious, with jagged metal in the head. A titanium hunter’s arrow. She grit her teeth and yanked it out of the wood. “Looks like our trespasser is also a hunter, and decided to use the trees for target practice.”
Luke snorted. “Well, that’s a super-expensive arrow for someone to go shooting into trees on a little island like this. That’s the kind of gear you’d expect from someone who’d just dropped a few thousand bucks on a high-tech compound bow because they figured they’d go illegally bag a few bears or moose.”
She blinked. He was absolutely right. But she hardly expected Luke to know that. “You know archery?”
“Now I do.” He stepped closer and looked down at the arrow in her hands. “Been taking lessons for years and brought my bow up just in case I got the chance to shoot a few at your range on the mainland. I didn’t actually know the first thing about archery back when you knew me before. Just pretended I did to impress you. But the way you used
