“Okay.” Honey got back into her car, starting the ignition. “Thanks!”
Once Moira and Ragvald were safely out of sight behind her, she let out her breath. That was definitely a storynotto tell her kids. They already thought she was having some kind of belated midlife crisis, running away to be a camp counselor at nearly fifty years old. If she called them with a wild tale of ax-wielding Vikings, they’d be on the next plane to Montana to drag her out of camp, and back to her senses.
For the first time since she’d sent off her application form, a tiny worm of doubt coiled in her stomach. Perhaps her children’s doubts about this whole business weren’tentirelyunjustified.
Maybe I should just turn around now.
But that would mean going home. Back to her small, lonely rental, with the walls she wasn’t allowed to paint and the furniture that didn’t fit. Back to the long days and longer nights, trying to fill the hours until summer vacation ended and school restarted. Her job as a teacher was an endless, exhausting grind, but at least it kept her too busy to dwell on the past.
Mostly.
Torn between common sense and stubborn hope, Honey followed the dirt track as it curved through the woods. It carried on further than she’d expected, well away from the main road—which hadn’t been all that ‘main’ to start with, in this backwater part of Montana. Camp Thunderbird really was in the middle of nowhere.
Just as she was beginning to think she must have somehow taken a wrong turn, the forest opened up, revealing a spectacular vista across a broad, sky-blue lake. The granite-topped peak of Thunder Mountain rose above it, perfectly reflected in the crystal waters. She could make out a long pier with a few boats tied at the end, and a couple of rustic buildings. Further back from the water were small, cozy log cabins, set in scattered groups surrounded by lush green meadows. Thick pine forest rose beyond, like hands cupped protectively around the camp.
Honey’s breath caught. Without so much as a brochure, she’d had no idea what to expect. But even if she’d had a whole website to study in advance, no picture could have captured the true beauty of this place. Even with the forested mountain and brilliant blue water right before her wondering eyes, she could scarcely believe that it was real.
“Well now,” Honey murmured, her doubts melting away. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
* * *
As Moira had promised, the road took her to a large gravel parking lot at the edge of the camp. To Honey’s surprise, it was busy. Packs of teens hauled backpacks out of cars, or stood around in small groups studying folders printed with the camp logo.
But the kids don’t arrive until tomorrow!was Honey’s first shocked thought. As she parked, she glanced at her watch, honestly worried that she’d somehow missed an entire day of training. From her job, she was used to being thrown head-first into challenging situations, but the prospect of having to lead a group of campers before she’d so much as set foot in a cabin herself was still daunting.
As she got out of her car, she realized her mistake. Although they all looked like veritable babies to her eyes, on closer inspection the fresh-faced, glossy-haired youngsters were mostly in their early twenties. They had to be counselors. Herfellowcounselors.
Oh dear.
Honey had known, of course, that she was a bit older—okay, a lot older—than the typical summer camp counselor. But the camp director hadn’t seemed fazed by her age. In fact, he’d seemed positively delighted by her decades of teaching experience. She’d assumed she wouldn’t stand outthatmuch amongst the camp staff.
Even in her twenties, she would have been an ugly duckling in this crowd of swans. They all seemed impossibly fit and toned, practically glowing with youthful vitality. Honey swallowed a sudden resurgence of nerves. She’d never felt more out of place in her life.
Well, it was too late to back out now. Looking around, she spotted a cluster of large wooden buildings a little way off. Most of the other counselors were heading in that direction, rucksacks slung casually over their shoulders. That must be the way to the camp office.
Trying to look confident, she fell in behind a group of bronzed, towering young men who looked like they spent their days pumping iron in between modeling shoots. Most of them ignored her entirely, but a couple did slight double-takes in her direction. They probably thought she was some kid’s mom, and were wondering what she was doing at camp a day early.
Somewhat desperately, Honey tried to spot someone in the crowd who was closer to her own age than her kids’. Ragvald had looked to be in his forties, and Moira had struck her as too poised and self-assured to be fresh out of college. There had to besomeother mature counselors here besides herself.
If there were, she didn’t spot any. But to her surprise, there was a kid—not a willowy teen or clean-cut college student, but an actual kid. The dark, slender boy couldn’t have been older than ten. He hovered a little way off, occasionally darting out of sight behind some kind of storage shed before reappearing again.
Honey hesitated, looking around at the other counselors. If any of them had noticed the boy, they didn’t feel the need to do anything about it. Still, she couldn’t ignore a child who might need help.
The boy had disappeared behind the building again. As she headed over, she caught a snatch of a low, pleading whisper: “Just let me tell someone.Please, Rufus.”
“Hi,” Honey said, coming round the corner. “What’s going on back here?”
The boy had been crouching on his hands and knees, apparently talking to an enormous pile of firewood stacked alongside the shed. At her voice, he jumped, shooting to his feet. A look of alarm dashed across his face, followed hastily by blank innocence. Honey, who had seen that exact sequence on countless young faces, was not fooled.
“Nothing!” The boy oh-so-casually edged sideways, clearly trying to block something with his narrow body. “Are you one of the new counselors? Do you need help to find the office?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you needed help.” Honey crouched to put herself closer to his level, keeping her body language loose and easy. “My name’s Honey. What’s yours?”
The boy stayed poised on his toes, arms spread a little to block her view. He had a thoughtful, intelligent face, currently somewhat pinched with worry. His dark hair was braided back in tight cornrows. “Finley.”
“Hi, Finley.” Honey offered him a warm smile. “Who were you talking to just now?”
Finley’s turquoise eyes flicked toward the woodpile, then quickly away. “No one.”
