Читать книгу The Runaway Bridesmaid - Kaitlyn Rice - Страница 11

Isabel and Angie followed Trevor through a large office, then into one of several smaller rooms off to the side. He waved toward a bench that ran along a long, windowless wall. “Have a seat,” he said.

“Wow, look at that tree chair!” Angie exclaimed, eyeing the bench constructed from a rough log. She ran the length of it twice, then plopped down in its middle and ran her hand along the smoothed seat.

Isabel remained near the doorway, watching as Trevor strode behind a cluttered desk, sat down and picked up a large map.

She sat on the bench near Angie, feeling confused. “Why are we here?” she asked. “Didn’t Sam mention the Ripple River room?”

“Yes, and I started to tell you bef—”

The bench squeaked loudly, drawing their attention. Angie was bouncing on her bottom. Isabel knew why. She lifted her brows and turned to Trevor. “Rest room?”

“Out in the main office.” After a subtle sigh, he dropped the map and got up to point out the way to Angie.

When he returned, he explained, “The Ripple River room is small, and really meant for one person.” He sat in his chair, then leaned back, dropping his elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers. He stared at Isabel, his expression sober. “I’m not sure where to put you, considering this change. We’ll have to wait for Sam.”

Although he didn’t say she’d caused trouble by bringing Angie, he implied it.

Oh, man, did he imply it.

“I explained that Angie is only here because of special circumstances.”

“I know.”

A minute later, Angie hopped back into the room on one foot. Kids that age could amuse themselves so easily, Isabel thought. Taking an extra notebook and pen from her purse, she handed them to the little girl.

He’d see. Angie would be no trouble at all.

Trevor returned his attention to his map, and the office grew quiet again. Isabel heard only the occasional rattle of his map, the scratch of Angie’s pen against the paper and the tick of the clock.

She perused the Lonely Stars quilt tacked to the wall behind Trevor’s head. All of her quilts were her own unique designs. She’d done this one in rich indigo blues and deep forest greens, with stars in a silvery white.

“I sold your quilt to Darla last year,” Isabel said to break the uncomfortable silence. “She said it was your Christmas present.”

Trevor looked up at her, then turned in his chair to scrutinize the quilt, seeming almost surprised to discover it there against his office wall. “That’s right, you have some sort of crafts business, don’t you?” he said. “I’d forgotten how Darla knew you.”

Success! He’d sounded halfway friendly again.

She’d keep talking to see if it helped. “Actually, my mother started Blumecrafts when I was a baby, and built it up in catalog sales. She died four years ago, but I kept the business going.”

She gazed at the quilt, wondering if he would appreciate the artistry and work she’d put into it.

He turned back around and leveled a sober stare at her. “You make a decent living, selling these quilts?”

“I do fine, especially since we’ve put the catalogs on the Internet. I also sell handmade baskets and some accessories—my hand-pieced leather handbags were a hit on the West Coast last year.” She lifted her chin. “You can’t buy Blumecrafts items at your average retail store.”

He’d nodded all the way through her explanation, but as soon as she quieted he said, “I expected you to be older.”

What did her age have to do with this conversation?

Isabel wondered if the man was ever impressed, and why she cared one way or another. “I’m old enough.”

That map must be incredibly interesting, because he started reading it again.

“Do you have some kind of problem with me?” she asked.

His eyes never left his map. “No.”

“No?”

He flicked a glance toward her feet, of all things.

She slid them farther under the bench and waited for him to look at her. After a drawn-out moment, he did, and those forehead dimples deepened.

She shrugged, soliciting an answer.

“You want honesty?”

“Absolutely.”

He set down his map and watched her a moment, and only the clock’s tick and the scratching of Angie’s pen filled the silence.

“Here it is. Sam and Darla’s normal duties here at the lodge are time-consuming. The wedding planning and the camp add more work.” He nodded toward Angie, who was busy drawing and didn’t notice. “You should’ve realized you were putting Darla on the spot.” He paused, then added, “But of course that’s none of my business. So—” He shrugged. “No.”

Isabel wasn’t going to turn her car around and drive her little friend all the way home, especially since Darla had said it would be fine to bring her.

She glanced at Angie. The little girl was entertaining herself beautifully, drawing a picture of the Grinch with a short haircut like Trevor’s. Isabel wanted to tell Angie to add the row of eyebrow dents.

“I’ll keep her with me,” she said to Trevor, instead. “If I’m busy in the office, she can color or play with some of the toys she brought.”

Trevor folded those strong hands and studied the ceiling for a long while, no doubt thinking hard about his reply. “But you’re here to help Darla,” he finally said.

Isabel shook her head. “And?”

Trevor gave Isabel the same look R.J. sometimes gave Angie—as if her question had been so ridiculous, it was hardly worth answering. “And Darla works her buns off.”

Isabel knew Darla worked alongside Sam, handling everything from branding cattle to managing the guest accounts. But she was paid to do so, and Sam was her fiancé, to boot. This whole place would soon become partly hers.

Isabel had figured she could help wherever she could and stay out of the way otherwise. After all, she was volunteering here this summer.

“I can handle whatever Darla needs me to do and still keep an eye on Angie.”

Trevor’s gaze fell from her face to her chest and lingered, then traveled down her legs. His scrutiny stopped on her sandals again.

Isabel stared at him, waiting for him to finish his inspection. When he raised his gaze to meet her narrowed one, he blinked a couple of times. “Unless you sit out there in Darla’s office every day, the chores are mostly outside.” He lifted a single eyebrow. “Filth. Bugs. Sweat. You’ll hate it here.”

For twenty-seven years, Isabel had lived in a country house that hadn’t been air conditioned until very recently—her eccentric mother hadn’t believed in it. Isabel had learned to work a garden when she was six, and she’d walked the distance into town from the age of eight.

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of dirt or work.”

And she wasn’t intimidated by Trevor Kincaid.

Funny. She’d liked him out on that highway. He’d been considerate to help her, and he’d put up with her nervous babbling. First impressions could be so wrong.

He stared past her head. “Did you notice? She brought a friend.”

Isabel was baffled by the statement until she realized he was talking to Sam, who had arrived in the doorway.

She turned around in time to see Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. His coppery eyes focused on Angie, then Isabel, then Trevor again. “Let’s talk outside, bud.”

Trevor slid off his seat and stalked out of the room behind his buddy. When Isabel heard their footsteps stop on the porch, she got up and crossed to the doorway, wishing she could hear their conversation.

As soon as she stood up, however, Angie popped up off the bench, too, and asked if she could get a drink from the water cooler out in the reception area.

Damn.

Taking the little girl by the hand, Isabel led her out to help her fill a paper cone. A moment later, Sam returned. Alone.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he said. “It was Darla on the phone, telling me about her mother’s visit with the oncologist. She also explained the situation with your friend. It slipped her mind until I told her you’d arrived.” He shook his head. “Our bustling summer’s already taking its toll on her.”

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Isabel said. “And I hope we haven’t caused too many problems.”

“What problems?” Sam asked, extending her the graciousness she’d sought from Trevor. “You have a choice to make, though. The Woodland room, here at the lodge, is vacant now. It’s big enough for several people. Only problem is, the counselors and camp kids meet to party in the community room next door sometimes. It can get loud.”

“And the other choice?”

“There’s the spare bedroom up at the house. It’s small, you’d be a little squeezed with an added cot, but the little girl might feel more at home.”

“Where’s Trevor staying?”

“After the camp starts, he’ll stay at the lodge.”

“Well, Angie and I would love to stay at the house.”

Sam shoved backward out the screen door. “Follow me,” he said, his lazy grin making Isabel feel much better. “It’s a bit of a walk. I’ll have Trevor grab your things and drive them over.”

Isabel frowned. “But weren’t we going to carry it?”

“That was before I knew you had luggage for two,” Sam said, in a way that didn’t make her feel as if she had messed up.

Isabel didn’t want to be waited on, especially by Trevor. “If you’d give me directions to the house, I could load it back up and drive it over,” she suggested.

Sam glanced at the boxes, bags and cases lining the drive. “We’ll get them, really. I insist.”

Isabel gave in.

As they made their way down a wood chip path lined with evergreen trees, Angie skipped along, singing a made-up song about hummingbirds. Isabel knew she should be enjoying herself, too. She was too upset.

She’d come with such high hopes. Bringing Angie along for a few weeks had seemed a minor snag. Trevor had burst her bubble in no time. She’d give her brand-new shoes and gingham suit to know what he’d said about her out there on that porch.

The woods opened out to a circular drive, and beyond that sat a house with tons of windows. Sam led Isabel in through a side entry. “This is a shortcut to your room,” he said. “If you’ll find me at the lodge after you’re unpacked and rested, I can show you around. We have snacks in the kitchen and in the community room.” He glanced at Angie. “There’s plenty for a kid to do.”

After turning down a hallway containing some beautiful wildlife prints, Sam opened another door. “This is the Ripple River room. Hope you’ll be comfortable.”

As Isabel had suspected, her own Ripple River quilt lay on the full-size bed. She was thrilled to see the way Darla had decorated the rest of the room using colors from her design. A small, natural wood desk and matching rocker invited relaxation, and two windows provided incredible views of the trees.

“This is gorgeous. Thanks.” Impulsively, Isabel gave Sam a quick hug before he left her and Angie alone.

Trevor walked in two minutes later, his arms bulging from the weight of the two largest suitcases. Angie had already flopped down on the floor to watch cartoons on a wall-mounted television.

“Thank you,” Isabel said as he set them inside the doorway. “I’ll help you bring in the rest.” She started to follow him out, but he stopped and turned around.

“Relax. Sam’s helping me.”

The set of his jaw said the rest.

Had Isabel gone through a reality warp out in the plains of western Kansas? She was the woman who took care of everyone around her. Always had. Always would. Why were these men expecting so little of her?

She didn’t like it. As soon as possible, she’d make it clear that she was here to help.

She opened one of her suitcases and got busy, pretending she didn’t notice when Sam and Trevor came and left again. Forty-five minutes later, she’d finished unpacking and setting up the room. She turned off the television and took Angie with her to find Sam, for that tour.

The offices were vacant. Isabel led Angie through the same hallway that led to the bathroom. Halfway down, they ran into a middle-aged woman with a laundry cart, who introduced herself as Edith, the head housekeeper. She said she thought Sam might be checking the bus at the side of the lodge, and directed Isabel and Angie to follow the exit signs.

On their way, they passed by the laundry room, where Angie saw an electronic game that had been shoved into a corner. “Hooh! I love this game,” she said, galloping into the room to take a closer look. “Can I play? The Git-n-Go has it, and R.J. never gives me a turn.”

“You don’t want to see the kitchen or community room?” Isabel asked. “Sam said they have snacks and other games.”

“I want to play this game!” Angie said, her brown eyes pleading.

Isabel studied the game, which appeared innocent enough. Some thoughtful person had even left a bowl of tokens on the floor next to it. She glanced over her shoulder and realized the housekeeper was waiting to make sure they found their way out.

“Of course she can play,” Edith said. “Go on out and talk to Sam, if you want. I’ll be working in this hallway, anyway.”

Both women smiled at Angie’s joyful whoops. “You be good,” Isabel told her young friend. “I’ll go tell Sam we’re unpacked but not ready for a tour, then come right back to see how you’re doing.”

The little girl had already plugged a token into the game and didn’t answer.

“Angie,” Isabel said, and waited until the little girl had stopped and turned around. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Izza-bell. I’ll be good and teach that ee-bil ol’ grouch a lesson.”

Apparently, Isabel wasn’t the only one with that goal.

Right outside the laundry room, she found the exit and walked out onto the opposite side of the porch. Trevor’s Jeep was parked in the drive again, but Sam was nowhere in sight. As she stepped off the porch to search for him, Isabel felt a rush of excitement about being in such a great place, so far away from her everyday world. The warmth of the sunshine on her bare arms felt good, and the spicy scent of the pine trees enveloped her.

Isabel paused, hearing rushing water somewhere nearby. That was right. Darla had told her the property backed on to the St. Vrain River. She couldn’t wait to explore.

But Sam wasn’t out here. A big blue bus was parked adjacent to the building, and beyond that Isabel could see a dirt road and a gated pasture. She’d just turned around, thinking she would wait to talk to Sam later, when his voice drifted to her from the direction of the lodge.

Isabel hastened around the rear corner of the building, until Sam’s next statement stopped her in her tracks. “That doesn’t matter, bud. She’s Darla’s guest, and she drove all the way from Kansas to help out.”

He called Trevor “bud,” didn’t he?

They were together, talking about her!

“She got lost on that highway with a map and help, and she thought nothing about getting into a stranger’s car. I’m only saying that she’s incredibly naive, and I can’t use her help at the camp.”

Trevor’s voice had grown clearer with each hurtful word, as if he and Sam were moving closer.

Isabel inched toward the bus.

Sam said something about Darla, but his quieter voice didn’t carry over the sounds of the wind and the water.

“Right, but I doubt that she can handle camp cooking,” Trevor responded, “and she’d surely get herself lost out in the back country.”

“She’d be great with the kids, though.” Sam sounded clear, as if he was very close. Slowly Isabel retreated toward the front of the lodge.

“That’s your opinion,” Trevor said. “Remember what happened with Betsy and Dylan? We’re trying to get these boys to set loftier goals than their next hot date. Half of them would get crushes on Isabel.” He paused, then added in a lower voice, “I’m glad the camp boys didn’t see the lingerie showing through her jacket a while ago.”

Isabel’s eyes flew down to her chest. Sure enough, she’d popped a button and her lacy bra was showing. That’d teach her to buy clothes off a department store rack without checking for good construction.

“I’m wondering if it’s you who has the crush,” Sam said, and he’d sounded as if he was a few feet away!

Whirling around, Isabel returned to the side entrance, hoping it was unlocked. It was, thank God. She escaped inside, then returned to the laundry room, where she found Angie still playing on the first token.

Isabel must have been gone five minutes, but she felt changed. And she’d learned something just now. Trevor certainly didn’t have a crush on her. Despite what he’d told her, he had problems with her.

Personally.

Isabel bowed her shoulders and peeked down at her chest. The gap widened, forming a nice oval peephole that showed quite a bit of cleavage.

Lord. She’d wanted to look polished, that was all. She’d loved the outfit when she’d seen Peyton wearing it at the April wedding, and she’d been excited to find a copy at a Wichita store. She’d put the whole outfit, right down to the shoes, on her credit card.

She never used her credit card.

She reached down to tug the edges of the jacket together, then heard someone approach down the hallway. That wouldn’t be Sam. He walked quietly, appearing in doorways as if by magic. This heavier step was Trevor’s.

She let her hands fall to her sides and stepped farther into the room.

“I thought I heard that game going,” he said from behind her. “Did you two find everything you need?”

He’d learned gracious behavior? Isabel turned, forcing herself to forget about whether her bra was showing. “We’ll be fine.”

“Sam said you might want a tour of the lodge?” he asked, his gaze moving downward. Now she knew why he’d been ogling her earlier. Then and there, Isabel decided she wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her again.

She stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “No, thanks. We’ll just hang out here until Darla arrives,” she said, her voice syrupy.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Unless you have something for me to do now? Cook beans and wieners over a fire? Navigate an excursion across the Continental Divide?” She waited until she saw his forehead crease before adding, “Tempt a teenager?”

His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have been listening.”

“I didn’t intend to listen,” she said. “You should have been honest with me when I asked why you were so bothered. How can I be of any help to Darla and Sam if you’re running around behind my back, telling them I’m worthless?”

Trevor blinked, gazing at her. “You’re right,” he murmured after a moment. “I should have talked to you about any problems.”

Well, hallelujah! He hadn’t apologized, but he’d admitted his mistake.

“You should also realize I didn’t come here to be waited on,” Isabel said. “I came to help Darla.”

“I realize that.”

She matched his stare until he turned around and left again. Then she stood for a moment, waiting for her knees to stop shaking.

She wasn’t accustomed to confrontation. Not at all. But she couldn’t allow the man to think he could walk all over her. She had too much Ella Blume in her, she supposed.

Isabel went to her room to change into shorts and a T-shirt, then spent the next hour playing the video game with Angie and trying like the dickens to forget Trevor Kincaid’s words and actions.

When Darla arrived, Isabel’s hug for her was long and enthusiastic. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she backed away. “How’s your mom?”

“Coping. She’s awfully tired, but she keeps a good attitude.” Darla frowned into Isabel’s eyes. “And how are you, my dear? Sam said you and Trevor had a run-in?”

“After he knew who I was,” Isabel said. “Please tell me he had an awful week. That his dog died or his girlfriend broke up with him or he forgot to pay some major bill.”

“Sorry.” Darla’s hazel eyes were round with concern. “Trevor is generally levelheaded, but he can be intense about the summer camp. I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “That’s not what it sounded like to me. Who are Betsy and Dylan, anyway?”

Darla frowned. “He told you about them?”

“No, but he mentioned them as if they had something to do with my presence here.”

Darla stepped into the hallway and motioned for Isabel to follow, then closed the door gently between them and Angie, still in the laundry room.

“Dylan was a camper,” she said. “Sixteen, but grown-up good-looking and aware of it. Betsy was a twenty-two-year-old counselor Trevor hired for our first summer camp. She was cute and bubbly, and some of the guys had crushes on her. One afternoon when everyone was supposed to be out fishing, Trevor caught her in Dylan’s tent.”

“Having sex?” Isabel whispered.

“No, but almost. Trevor broke it up and lectured both of them.” Darla shook her head. “That was all that happened, but the rumors flew and Trevor had to explain the situation to the parents. Now, he has a no-female-counselor policy for the camp. I help him, here and there, but I’m not blond or twenty-two.”

Isabel was reminded of her mother’s no-boys policy. “That explains quite a bit, actually, but most girls wouldn’t dream of doing what Betsy did. Besides, I’m also older than twenty-two.”

“Not by much.” Darla grinned, looking Isabel up and down as if she was glad to see her. “And Trevor figures that even if the girls didn’t do what Betsy did, the boys would imagine them doing it, and his vision for the camp would be undermined.”

“His vision?”

“To teach the boys to make good choices for their futures.”

“Oh. Well, that’s admirable.” Isabel opened the laundry room door again and stepped inside. “He could have explained that to me.”

“He might talk to you more after he gets to know you,” Darla said, remaining in the hallway. “For now, how about lunch?”

The game’s constant beeps stopped, and Angie skipped to the doorway. “I’m hungry. Can I eat, too?”

“Certainly.” Darla peered down at the little girl. “What sounds better? Ham sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly?”

“S’mores!”

Darla grimaced. “You want S’mores for lunch?”

“At R.J.’s sleep-away camp, he godda have S’mores,” Angie said, licking her lips. “He said they godda have ’em every single day, wif a chocolate bar an’ two marshmallows.”

Darla laughed, promising to stock up on those ingredients as soon as possible.

She was still commenting on how cute Angie was an hour later, while she and Isabel stood at her kitchen sink washing lunch dishes. Angie was sitting nearby, devouring a slice of chocolate cake—the closest thing to S’mores that Darla had on hand.

Isabel and Angie spent the afternoon in the office with Darla, who was behind on paperwork. Isabel began addressing and stamping a stack of wedding invitations while Angie poked at the keys of an old manual typewriter.

The little girl wasn’t a problem. Darla was clearly smitten with her, and the pair reminded Isabel of each other. Both were tiny, and both were full of bounce.

After dinner, Isabel took Angie to their shared bedroom so the little girl could talk to her dad and brother on the telephone. Isabel spoke to Roger only briefly, answering questions about her car’s performance during the trip, then she handed the phone to the little girl while she sat nearby, stitching a beaded-bell wedding favor.

Angie prattled, telling her dad about their night in a Goodland, Kansas, motel, then she enumerated every detail about their arrival here—from the electronic game to the chocolate cake to the typewriter.

As she waited, Isabel thought about all that had happened today, too. However, she thought about the whole mess with Trevor Kincaid.

It was funny, but out there on the highway this morning, she’d felt playful and relaxed with him. Josie’s flex-your-flirt-muscles advice had been fresh in her mind, so she’d been friendly to the good-looking stranger.

And when she’d touched him, she’d caught his reaction. His muscles had tightened, his eyes had erupted and her thoughts had turned shamelessly to what he must be like in bed.

The strength of her reaction to him had shocked her. She’d never felt such a surge of sexuality. Maybe she was a sexual adventurer at heart. Maybe that natural curiosity had caused her to be distracted. And maybe that was when Trevor had formed a bad impression of her.

Damn. She’d be a fool to worry about him. Her plan for the summer was to have a blast helping Darla while Roger stayed at home, hopefully missing her.

And she would have fun, she knew.

As soon as she stopped worrying about Trevor Kincaid.