Her chilled skin heated as she watched the fluid grace of his powerful body. He wore a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off the sculpted muscles in his arms. She squinted at the armbands circling his big biceps. Were those tattoos? Her gaze drifted lower, past the shorts to his legs. The rhythm and strength behind each step made her heart pound in time.

Then she noticed the brace on his left knee, and how he moved with a slight limp. Was that where he'd been shot? In the knee? Thoughts of him in pain, of what he must have gone through, made her ache-until he moved past her and she blinked at the spectacular view he presented from behind.

The shorts fit just tight enough across his backside to let her see the flex of his gluts. She leaned forward for a better look.

Stop that! she scolded herself. You're ogling the man's butt.

Yes, but look at it! she argued back, bending out over the low wall. It's gorgeous! He's gorgeous!

He reached the top of the trail and started down, forcing her to bend farther out and over. She craned her neck, tipping her head.

A loud clanging exploded in the air. Crows flew up from the aspens on a rush of black wings. She jumped so hard she bobbled her coffee mug, then nearly tumbled off the balcony catching it. With her heart racing like a scared rabbit, she scurried back from the edge.

What the heck was that? She pressed the now-empty cup to her chest. Her gaze dropped to the camp in time to see Carol stepping away from the big bell mounted on a pole in the center of camp. Maddy let out an embarrassed laugh. Reveille. Rise and shine, campers. Time to greet the day.


Deciding to skip another stilted encounter with Joe, Maddy opted for a granola bar she'd unearthed from the depths of her purse. After polishing it off, she headed downstairs for her first good look at the arts and crafts room below her apartment. The door opened with a creak of hinges. Inside, fingers of sunlight strained past the solid wooden shutters that had been battened down through the winter. A flip of a switch next to the door brought a few bare bulbs to life overhead. Not a vast improvement for light, but enough to reveal several dust-covered folding tables and a stack of metal chairs in one corner.

She tried not to think of spiders and other crawly things.

Then her gaze fell on the floor-to-ceiling cabinets that filled the wall to her right. With her nose wrinkling at the grandmother's-attic scent, she headed in that direction and opened two of the doors with another squeak of hinges.

Her breath caught with wonder at the treasure trove that lay within. To someone else the contents might have looked like a jumbled mass of discarded, half-used craft supplies one step away from going in the trash, but to her… it was Aladdin's Cave.

She eagerly pushed up the sleeves of the paint-splattered men's shirt she'd tied at the waist over jeans so tattered they'd split at the knees. The shirt had been pilfered from Nigel's "pre-Maddy" ward-robe, since button-down whites had quickly been deemed too boring even for an accountant. They did, however, make perfect painting shirts, and reminded her of the early days of their marriage when he'd been healthy enough to have shoulders broader than her own.

An hour later, craft supplies lay strewn across the closest table like battle-scarred survivors of past summer camps. With a cleaning cloth in hand, she bumped her hips back and forth and belted out a rock song-not that she could carry a tune in a bucket, but she never minded torturing her own ears.

"Wow, you don't waste much time," Sandy said.

Maddy whirled with a gasp to find Sandy and Carol standing in the open doorway. She laughed in embarrassment to be caught singing and doing the cha-cha with a dust rag. "Sorry. You startled me."

"We missed you at breakfast," Carol said, moving forward.

Maddy shrugged. "I was eager to get going."

"Well, you keep on with organizing the supplies. We'll start on cobweb eradication," Carol directed. "First, though, we need more light."

Maddy returned to her task as the other two went outside to prop open all the shutters, which were hinged at the top. By the time they came back inside, sunlight and fresh air filled the room.

"Is it my imagination," Sandy said as she took up a broom, "or was Joe acting a little weird at breakfast?"

"A little weird?" Carol replied. Maddy went still at their words, her ears alert. At the sink, Carol filled a bucket with soapy water. "If you ask me, he's been acting a lot weird since the cookout last night. And this morning he was downright surly."

"Exactly. Last year he was a bit of a hardnose, but in a fun way. When we teased him about it, he teased us right back. This year…" Sandy shook her head. "It's like he's pissed about something but trying not to show it."

"All I can think is that last year he thought working here was a temporary thing while he was out on medical leave." Carol attacked the tables with a soapy rag. "Maybe he's depressed about leaving the Rangers."

"Well, he doesn't have to act like working here is a life sentence." Sandy swept dirt out the door.

"We should think of something to cheer him up."

"I know," Sandy said with a grin. "Tag football. Tonight after dinner. Maddy, are you in?"

"Me and sports?" She laughed, looking for a graceful way out of their plans. Asking Joe to play tag football with her would definitely not improve his mood. "I'm, um, afraid that's a really bad idea."

"C'mon," Sandy wheedled. "How bad can you be?"

"There aren't enough words in the English language to express how badly I stink at sports."

"Really?" Sandy lit up. "Cool. We'll put you on Joe's team. You can be his handicap."

"No, wait." Carol wrung out her rag. "Let's make it a real challenge. Joe likes a challenge, right?"

"What do you have in mind?" Sandy asked as she resumed sweeping.

"Joe and the geriatrics against the rest of us."

"The geriatrics?" Sandy laughed.

"You know." Carol moved to the second table. "Harold, Mama, and the kitchen staff."

"What about Maddy?"

"She goes on Joe's team. Not," Carol added quickly, "that you're a geriatric."

"No." Maddy tried to smile. "I'm just his handicap."

"We'll trounce 'em!" Sandy grinned.

"Which will at least make him laugh," Carol said.

Maddy started to protest, but their enthusiasm rolled right over her words. By the time the lunch bell clanged, she was torn between panic and depression.

Sandy and Carol headed for the door, still making plans. When Maddy just stood there, Carol turned back. "Aren't you coming?"

"Actually, I have a lot to do. Could you bring me something back?"

"Sure," Carol agreed, and the two started down the trail.

Maddy pinched her forehead. What was she going to do?

Chapter 6

The gift of good intentions is often a burden to the receiver.

– How to Have a Perfect Life


"Gee, that went over well," Sandy grumbled as the screen door to the dining hall snapped shut behind Joe's retreating back. Through the large screen windows along the side walls, he remained in plain view as he went down the wooden stairs and toward the riverbank.

Maddy struggled with guilt as she watched him go. Ignoring Joe's silent treatment for her own benefit was difficult enough, but how did she ignore the fact that her presence clearly upset him? She couldn't skip every meal. Yet, all through dinner he'd sat quietly eating while the coordinators and Mama Fraser made plans for the following day. They'd gathered at the long table closest to the massive rock fireplace, amid a sea of other tables that would soon ring with the voices of campers.

Their lively conversation had died, though, when the meal ended and Carol suggested a game of tag football. Joe had simply stood, claimed he had a canoe to fix in the boathouse, and left.

"You're right," Dana said to Carol. "Something's clearly bothering him."

"But what?" Bobbi asked. "I refuse to believe he's depressed at the thought of being the permanent director of Camp Enchantment. How on earth could anyone be depressed about that?" Her gaze took in the lodge-style dining hall with its high log ceiling. Indian designs had been carved into the columns and beams, and years' worth of wood smoke permeated the air. "Living here year-round has to be one of the best jobs ever!"

"To us, yes," Carol agreed with a nervous glance at Joe's mother. "But maybe not to him."

"Actually, Bobbi has a point." Sandy scooted forward, her blond hair in its usual perky ponytail. "It could be something else."

"Maybe it's personal, like trouble with his love life." Bobbi turned to Mama. "Is he dating anyone?"

"Get real." Sandy scoffed before Mama could answer. "Men who look like Joe don't have dating problems."

"You don't know that." Bobbi's face creased into a scowl. "Just because he looks like… you know-"

"A total babe?" Leah offered with a sigh.

"Guys, please." Carol blushed. "His mother is sitting right here."

"Don't let me stop you." Mama chuckled. "I'm rather proud that women think my son is sexy. Although Bobbi's right. Being a… what did you call him? A baby?"

"No." Leah laughed. "Not baby. A 'babe.' "

Maddy could have argued that after the way he'd acted toward her the last day and a half.

"Well," Mama said. "Being a 'babe' doesn't mean he's never had woman trouble."

"Are you saying that's it?" Sandy frowned. "Some woman messed him over?"

"Give us her name." Bobbi's face turned thunderous. "We'll take care of her."

"Now, girls." Mama held up a hand. "I simply said it was a possibility."

"In which case there's nothing we can do to cheer him up." Carol sighed in defeat.

"Wait. I know," Sandy piped up. "I could date him."

"In your dreams," Dana scoffed. "Face it, Sandy, he's known all of us since we were in training bras, which I think pretty much ruins our chances with him."

"Life is so unfair." Sandy pouted.

Carol looked at his mother. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Oh, I never meddle in my son's affairs."

Maddy choked on her iced tea, then gasped for breath.

Dana pounded her between the shoulder blades. "You okay?"

"Fine," Maddy replied, wheezing. "I just… swallowed wrong."

"So, Madeline." Mama smiled sweetly. "I don't suppose you have an idea for how to cheer Joe up."

"Not a clue." Actually, she did. She could move back to Austin and get out of Joe's life. Unfortunately, quitting her job a week before camp started would leave him in the lurch-which was not a good way to make up for hurting him in the past.

As the others continued brainstorming about ways to make Joe happy, she took the opportunity to gather her dirty dishes. "If y'all will excuse me, I think I'll head back to the Craft Shack and do a little work."

"Okay." Carol gave her a distracted wave. "We'll see you in the morning."

What a mess, she thought as she slid her tray through the opening to the kitchen. She could hear the kitchen staff, local women from one of the nearby pueblos, talking in their native tongue. It made her feel even more of an outsider. Everyone seemed to belong here but her.

When she left the dining hall, she glanced up to where the Craft Shack sat on the rise waiting for her, then in the direction Joe had gone. Sooner or later, they needed to clear the air between them or they'd both be in for a miserable summer. Unfortunately, she couldn't follow him right then, because everyone would see.

What would the others think if they knew she was the woman behind Joe's dark mood? Visions of them ganging up against her made her cringe. At the first opportunity, she definitely needed to have a very calm, very adult conversation with Joe. Together maybe they could find a mature way to deal with each other.


Rock music blared from the boom box in the corner, warring with the scream of the electric sander in Joe's hand. The sound of wild guitar licks suited him just fine as he sweated over prepping one of the canoes for a fiberglass patch. Finally satisfied that the area was smooth, he flipped off the sander, leaving only the angry beat of the music as he straightened. Removing his protective eye gear, he mopped his forehead with his arm. Fiber-glass dust gnawed at his skin, making him contemplate a dive into the river to rinse off. Maybe the exertion of a late-night swim would help him work off the temper simmering in his gut.