“Why haven’t you married and had a family if that’s what you think life is all about, Allie?”

She was thoughtful for a moment. “I guess I’ve been waiting to fall in love with a man my soul could love.”

He fell silent. What could he say? Her words completely disarmed him, and he couldn’t bring himself to make light of her admission. Her sincerity was without question. She would never marry lightly, or hold back any of herself. The man who captured her heart would have to be someone worthy of that love. He swallowed hard. “You deserve the best, Allie. Don’t settle for anything less.”

LEONA KARR

A native of Colorado, the author has always been inspired by God’s magnificence, and she delights in using mountain valleys, craggy cliffs and high, snow-tipped peaks as a setting for many of her books. She began writing professionally in 1980 and has enjoyed seeing more than thirty of her romance books in print. The theme of “love conquers all” is an important message in all her stories.

Even though Leona contracted polio the year before the vaccine was approved, the blessings in her life have been many. “Wheeling and dealing” from a wheelchair, she has helped raise four children, pursued a career as a reading specialist and recently, after being widowed for five years, found a new love and soul mate in her own “Love Inspired” marriage. She strives to write stories that will enrich the spiritual lives of those who read them, and is grateful to the many readers who have found her books filled with warm, endearing characters like those in Rocky Mountain Miracle.

Rocky Mountain Miracle
Leona Karr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For I know the plans I have for you, saith the Lord, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and hope.

—Jeremiah 29:11

With love to my husband, Michael, my friend, sweetheart and beloved soulmate

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Thick stands of ponderosa pine trees hugged a narrow mountain road winding upward into the Colorado Rocky Mountains. Allie Lindsey’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as her thoughts raced ahead.

A few miles more and she’d be meeting Scott Davidson again for the first time in nearly six years. When they were both in high school, the two of them had spent the summer as teenage counselors in a youth church camp, and Allie had had a crush on the good-looking young man. She smiled inwardly as she remembered an adolescent kiss that had sent her heart pounding on the last night at camp.

After that summer, Allie had lost track of Scott when he and his younger brother, Jimmy, quit coming to Colorado to spend summers with their divorced father, and instead remained in California with their mother. But now Scott was back. Allie gave her chin a determined lift and mentally braced herself for the confrontation with him that lay ahead. As she navigated the twisting road in her blue Chevy she went over in her mind once again the events of the day before.

“What do you mean, we have to cancel the church camp?” Allie had stared at the church secretary as if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. “You can’t mean it, Harriet.”

The older woman sighed, “I’m afraid so.”

Allie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d stopped by the church to help with last minute preparations for the summer camp only ten days away. For months, the junior youth group had been raising money to spend two whole weeks in the Colorado Rockies at a place called Rainbow Camp. Anticipation was like a live wire sending sparks in every direction as twenty boys and girls, ages eight to twelve, prepared for the June camp.

Allie was a middle school counselor for Denver public schools, and she knew how important this outing was for some of the city kids. Although they lived in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, most had never camped out beside a mountain brook, breathed pine-scented air or sang songs around a dancing campfire.

“We got this in the mail today.” Harriet handed her a letter.

Allie’s greenish-blue eyes widened in disbelief as she read it. Mr. Sam Davidson who owned the land and buildings that had been used by churches and charity groups for years had recently died. His son Scott was cancelling all summer reservations in lieu of making preparations for selling the mountain property. Allie remembered Scott’s father, Sam Davidson, as a generous soul who was extremely patient with the hordes of young people who flowed in and out of his camp all summer.

“Apparently Mr. Davidson passed away several weeks ago but no one notified us,” she added. “I guess the lawyers were waiting to see what his son was going to do. And now we know,” Harriet said with a tightening of her lips. “I just talked to Reverend Hanson on the phone. He’s out of town attending a regional conference in New Mexico, and won’t be back until next weekend. He knows that at this late date there’s no chance of finding other accommodations, so he says to break the news as gently as we can.” Harriet looked at Allie hopefully. “Maybe you’re the one to do it. I mean, with your background and all.”

“Oh, sure.” Allie shoved a long strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. “I know exactly how to break a bunch of kids’ hearts.” She read the letter again, and then straightened her shoulders. “Well, I suppose it has to be done.”

Breathing a prayer that she would handle the situation as well as possible under the circumstances, Allie walked slowly down the stairs to a full-length basement room used for all kinds of church activities.

As she approached the door, she could hear Lily Twesbury’s voice enthusiastically describing various wildflowers to be seen in mountain meadows and along the riverbeds. “We’ll have lots of fun hiking all over the place, and making our own nature books to bring back home.”

Some of the kids clapped and cheered, sending daggers straight into Allie’s heart. As inconspicuously as she could, Allie slipped to the back of the room. As she stood there, looking at the circle of children sitting on the floor, her eyes settled on Randy Cleaver’s dark head.

Randy was a ten-year-old boy who had been on the streets most of his life because of a home situation with alcoholic parents. Allie knew the boy from escapades that had sent the wiry little troublemaker to her counseling office at school. Randy was tough as nails. A real handful. Just recently he’d been put in a foster home with church-going guardians who thought that sending him to church camp might help straighten him out. Now that hope was down the drain.

She had been the one to convince the boy that he ought to give summer camp a try, but she wasn’t sure he’d agreed for the right reasons. A city kid, raised in one of the toughest neighborhoods, Randy showed little appreciation for wildflowers and nature studies. But he’d been surprisingly cooperative when it came to washing cars in order to earn money for the outing. She hated to think how he might act out his disappointment.

Randy was sitting beside Cathy Crawford, a small eight-year-old girl with a mop of yellow curls. She had contracted meningitis when she was only four, and it had left her with a significant hearing impairment. Tiny for her age, she was terribly shy. She wasn’t inclined to do much talking even when she was in a friendly group and understood what was going on. The little girl was so sheltered by her parents that she rarely made any decisions on her own. Allie really felt that Cathy needed this time away from her parents, and it had taken a great deal of coaxing on Allie’s part to persuade her family that attending a summer camp would be a positive experience for their daughter. Now all of that effort was going to be wasted.

As soon as the last slide was shown, Trudy Daniels, a plump Sunday school teacher in her early twenties, came in with refreshments. “Here you go, gang.” With squeals of delight the youngsters rushed toward the trays of cookies and drinks.

Allie’s spirits sank lower just thinking about Trudy’s reaction to the news that all of their work was for naught. The young woman was a spark plug in the youth program and had become Allie’s good friend. They’d spent numberless hours seeing to a hundred details that two weeks in the mountains with twenty children and five chaperones entailed.

After Allie told her the news, Trudy sighed. “Well, I guess if it’s God’s will, we should accept it.”

Allie stared at her and echoed, “God’s will?” The words hung in the air. How could it be God’s will? The Bible was full of praise for His wondrous creation of rivers, mountains and open sky. Why would the good Lord want to deprive these children of experiencing that heavenly wonder?

With inspirational insight, the answer came bright and clear. He wouldn’t! It wasn’t divine intervention standing in the way of these children enjoying God’s out-of-doors—it was Scott Davidson.

Allie turned to Trudy, her eyes flashing. “I’ve got an idea. Reverend Hanson is going to be out of town for the next few days. Let’s hold off saying anything to anyone about this until he gets back,” she said, and then made a quick exit before her puzzled friend could ask any questions.

Hurrying upstairs, Allie made her way to the church office, and got Scott’s number from Harriet.

Allie dialed the number, moistened her lips and was ready with her persuasive argument. But after a few rings, a recording kicked in.

The voice was one she remembered, and just hearing it threw her off balance for a moment. She gave a nervous laugh. “Hi, Scott. This is Allie Lindsey—a voice from your past. I’d like to talk with you about the cancellation of our church camp, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call.” She gave him her telephone number and then added, “Nice to hear your voice again.”

After she hung up, Allie stared at the telephone for a long minute. A mixture of emotions she couldn’t quite define made her uneasy. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Scott why she was calling? Maybe she should have waited until he called back to tell him? No, better to be up front about it. He might think she was trying to renew a personal relationship with him. For all she knew he could have married in the six years since she’d seen him last.

“Well?” Harriet prodded.

Allie reined in her wayward thoughts and gave Harriet a reassuring smile. “Don’t say anything to anyone about the letter until I talk with him. Hopefully, he’ll give me a call later today.”

But he didn’t.

Allie jumped every time the phone rang, but it was only someone wanting to clean her carpets, or soliciting donations. She spent a restless night, and by nine o’clock the next morning, Scott Davidson still hadn’t returned her call.

With stubborn intent, she phoned him again, and got the same recording, but she could tell from the short signal that he’d picked up his earlier messages. That’s when she made up her mind to confront him face-to-face. Rainbow Camp was only a couple of hours from Denver. If she left right away, she could get there a little before noon, and make it back by nightfall.

She took a moment to study her reflection in a mirror, trying to decide if Scott would find her terribly changed from the high school girl he’d kissed in the moonlight. Her slender figure was still in good condition from routine jogging and watching her diet. Her honey-brown hair had darkened slightly but it still had golden highlights and a soft natural curl that framed her face and highlighted her blue eyes. A summer sun had begun to touch her arms, legs and face with a warm tan.

Not movie star material, she thought as she playfully blew a kiss at her reflection. “But you’ll do.”

As she left the city behind and headed west into pine-covered hillsides, thick aspen groves and vaulting rocky cliffs, Allie realized how much she’d missed these mountains. She’d only returned to Colorado late in September, having left the state after graduating from high school in order to attend an eastern college where her parents had moved in their retirement. Allie had been born to them late in life, and after their deaths, she had accepted the middle school counselor’s position in Denver because the memories of growing up here were warm and inviting.

Her six-year’s absence faded as the miles sped by, and she was again filled with awe at God’s magnificence as the narrow road climbed in a serpentine pattern over mountain passes and then dropped down into beautiful valleys where green meadows and white-foamed streams flowed in silvery ribbons. Sam Davidson had built his Rainbow Camp in one of these beautiful mountain canyons. The buildings of the camp were set along a mountain river fed by melting snow from glaciers in the high country.

As Allie turned off of the highway to follow a graveled road through the trees, her heart quickened with expectation. A narrow bridge built of weathered timbers crossed the fast moving stream, and when a familiar panorama of cabins and other buildings came into view, a nostalgic lump caught in her throat.

Picnic tables still nestled in the grove of lodgepole pines and white-trunked aspen. Inviting paths hugged the riverbank and skirted smooth huge boulders where one could sit for an idle moment or a few minutes of meditation. She wondered if Steller’s jays still nested in the high ponderosa pines growing close to the recreation and cafeteria building. This was the beauty she wanted to share with Randy, Cathy and the other children.

The abandoned air of the camp mocked her mission. The cabins were closed. No woodpiles had been collected on the porches to feed the fireplaces. The larger buildings were dark and shuttered, and as her eyes anxiously traveled over the rustic three-storied log-and-rock house that had been Sam’s home, she failed to see any sign that it was occupied. She had assumed because Scott’s voice was on the telephone answering machine that he must be staying here.

She forced herself to ignore a rising sense of frustration as she parked in a wide clearing in front of the main house, and let the car door shut with a bang that echoed her uneasiness.

As she hurried up a flight of wooden stairs leading up to a veranda porch that skirted the front of the log house, she thought she saw a flicker of movement behind the large front window. Her breathing quickened.

So someone was here!

The front door opened before she reached it. As he stood just inside, filling up the doorway, she let out her breath in giddy relief. “Scott, you’re here! I was beginning to think that I’d made the trip for nothing.” When he didn’t answer, she said quickly, “I hope you don’t mind…my coming like this?”

She knew nervousness was making her talk too fast, but the man standing there staring at her was not the Scott Davidson she remembered at all. Instead of soft lips easing into a boyish smile, his mouth was held in a firm line and his unsmiling grayish-green eyes narrowed. His dark hair no longer drifted in unruly waves around his face but was precisely layered in a short, fashionable cut that matched his expensive slacks and monogrammed sports shirt.

When his frown was her only answer, she added pointedly, “It’s important that I speak with you.”

Allie felt a rising sense of defeat just looking at him. This was a stranger who eyed her with obvious annoyance. What has happened to you, Scott? She firmed her chin. “When you didn’t return my call I decided to drive up and see you.”

His expression didn’t change. “I’m trying to get everything taken care of in a few days and get back to my brokerage business. I’m sorry, but I haven’t had time to return all my calls,” he added in way of apology, but there was no warmth in his voice. “You said on the phone that you wanted to talk about the cancellation of a church camp. I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing, Allie. The property is already in the hands of the Realtor, and I’ve had several offers on it already.”

“I understand, but surely you can spare a few minutes to talk about it,” she said pointedly, determined that he wasn’t going to turn her away from her mission so easily.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Still got that streak of dogged stubbornness, I see. All right, come in, and we’ll talk. I have to admit that when I got your message, I thought about that optimistic nature of yours, Allie, and wondered if you were still looking at life as some kind of a great adventure.”

“You were pretty much of an optimist, yourself,” she reminded him.

He didn’t answer as he waved her into the living room that seemed unchanged to Allie after all these years. The same Indian rug was spread in front of the fireplace, and the lingering tobacco scent of Sam’s pipe still mingled with an aromatic residue of pine log fires that had warmed chilly evenings for many years. Small tables and wall shelves held bits of driftwood, polished rocks from the riverbed, dried wild-flowers and other treasures that Sam had brought in from the outdoors. The same Western pictures hung on the wall, and Sam’s old scarred upright piano stood in the corner with its wobbly piano bench. Allie remembered the evenings some of the young campers had collected around the old piano, singing a rollicking tune or quiet hymn. As before, a couple of lumpy couches faced each other in a conversational grouping near the large front window.

Scott must have been sitting there when she drove up because there were papers scattered on one of the cushions. He motioned for her to sit down on the clean couch while he scooted papers into a pile on the other one. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m afraid that’s all I have to offer.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” Her stomach was much too tight to even think about drinking or eating. “I’m truly sorry about your father,” she said, seeking neutral ground for the moment. “He was a wonderful man.”

Allie was taken back by the emptiness in Scott’s reply. “In some ways he was, and in other ways he was a fool. He lived from hand to mouth, barely managed to pay the taxes, let alone keep the place up the way he should have. Dad had dozens of opportunities to sell the property because of the nearby ski resorts, but, no, he turned them all down.” Scott ran agitated fingers through his raven hair. “Stubborn. Pig-headed. Wouldn’t listen to anyone. I begged him to come to California with me. I’ve done well with my investments. He didn’t have to die here alone, almost penniless.”

“But your father loved this place,” she protested. “And he gave of himself to many young people whose lives were changed because of him. He was rich in ways that really matter.”

Scott stared at her for a long moment, and then said sadly, “You haven’t grown up at all, have you, Allie? I can tell that you’re still caught up in the illusion that depriving yourself of all the good things in life is akin to holiness.”

“It would depend upon your definition of good things.”

The ring of a telephone in the hall stopped him from answering, and brought him to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m expecting a call.” He disappeared through the doorway.

She heard him answer the phone and say, “No, Mother, it’s all right, things are moving slower than I expected.”

Allie had never met Scott’s mother, Madeline. The Davidsons were divorced when both sons were small, but from the things Scott and Jimmy had said about their mom, Madeline was a no-nonsense, worldly businesswoman. Allie could tell from Scott’s end of the telephone that he was being pressured to leave the property in the hands of a Realtor and come back to California. She wondered where Jimmy was, and if he was as eager to get rid of the property as Scott and his mother were. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring so there must not be any Mrs. Scott Davidson.

While waiting for him to finish his telephone conversation, Allie got up from the couch and idly walked over to one of the bookcases. Drawing out a couple of photo albums that caught her eye, she remembered that Scott’s father loved to take pictures with his small camera.

Sitting back down on the couch, Allie started thumbing through one of the albums. She smiled at photos of a boyish Scott and grinning Jimmy as the boys grew with each summer visit. Three years younger than Scott, Jimmy idolized his older brother and Allie chuckled seeing their grinning faces as they held up a prize fish, or showed off by walking across the river on a fallen log.

In the second album, she found some pictures taken the summer when she and Scott were teenage counselors at the church camp. Glowing-faced young people she’d forgotten were pictured eating hot dogs, or squealing as they dipped their feet into the white-foamed stream. She quietly laughed at a photo of herself sitting on a log, her shoulder-length blond hair flying in every direction and her bare legs dangling in the water. There were a couple of photos of her and Scott walking hand in hand, and she remembered the midnight walk with Scott that ended with her first romantic embrace and kiss.

How simple and wonderful life had been that halcyon summer, she thought, looking at a picture of the two of them taken the summer when they were seventeen. Then they’d gone their separate ways, and lost track of each other. Now their paths had crossed again, but she felt as distant from Scott Davidson as she would have with a stranger.

Closing the albums, she steeled herself for what lay ahead. Seeing the old Scott, smiling and carefree in the photos gave her the courage she needed to ignore his distant, cold manner. When he hung up the hall phone and came back into the room, she laughed and said, “Look what I found.”

“Dad’s old photos?”

Impulsively, she reached up, grabbed his hand, pulled him down on the couch beside her. Maybe, just maybe, he might be touched by the memories of the wonderful summers he’d spent in Colorado with his father.

Scott stiffened against her nearness as she sat close to him, turning the pages of the album. He didn’t need any old photos to remember the way her face glowed with animation and laughter, nor the way her supple body had felt as she walked hand in hand beside him in the moonlight. His first love had changed little in six years. Her honey-gold hair still glinted with highlights, and a touch of lipstick defined the sweet curve of her lips. Her lavender-blue eyes as soft as a summer sky still radiated an innocent warmth. How foolishly naive they’d been that summer between high school and college. Their childish faith had seemed enough to slay dragons, but the world had been waiting with its unrelenting harsh reality, and they hadn’t even known it.

Aware of his gaze traveling over her face, Allie suddenly felt self-conscious. What was he thinking? Was he remembering the kiss he’d given her, and his promise to keep in touch? They’d been separated by a whole continent when he went to college in California, and she attended an eastern university. Life had spun off in different directions for both of them, and even before the end of their freshman year they had lost touch with each other. Now, for the first time since she’d arrived, he seemed to be aware of her as a person.

Laughing softly, she pointed to a photo taken on skit night at camp when everyone dressed in costume. There they were in the front row, Scott as Robin Hood, and she was Maid Marian. Jimmy stood next to Scott, a pillow stuffed in his pants, playing chubby Friar Tuck. Jimmy had made up a corny skit about Sherwood Forest. The boys had run around, pretending to use bows and arrows while rescuing Maid Marian from the castle.

Allie glanced at Scott’s face, expecting a brief smile, but his expression was as tight and full of pain as any she’d ever seen. Stunned by his response to the photo, she stammered, “What…what is it?”

He turned hard eyes on her. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You don’t know about Jimmy?”

Her mouth was suddenly as parched as a desert. Living with her parents in the east and going to college there had cut her off from any of her Colorado contacts, and since she’d been back at the start of the school year, she hadn’t heard anything of the Davidsons until the church letter from Scott. “What is it? What happened?”

She saw him clench his hands so tightly that the veins stood up like purple chords. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered,” she echoed, cursing herself for not knowing. Oh, dear God, why hadn’t someone told her?

“Two years ago.” He drew in a deep breath, trying to control the raging anger that was still there. “Jimmy was killed in a street fight that broke out during a demonstration against drug houses.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Scott’s lips twisted bitterly. “If it hadn’t been for me, my brother wouldn’t have been killed that night.”

“You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”

“Oh, it was under my control, all right. When some Christian young people from various churches were trying to get a handle on some of the street gangs, I talked Jimmy into helping. He always did what I wanted him to do, and was my shadow growing up. My mother kept telling me whatever happened to him would be on my conscience. She was right. It should have been me, not Jimmy, who died in the streets.”

“But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen.” Allie tried to take his hand but he jerked it away.

“I decided not to go on the demonstration because I had a religious seminar that night, but Jimmy went. If God wasn’t going to protect him that night, I should have been there, watching out for him. Instead of wasting my time listening to someone preach about God’s goodness.”

“God is good. Jimmy was a victim of the free choice between good or evil that all people have—why blame God?”

“Because the shape the world’s in is proof enough for me that God is an absentee Lord. I’m through believing that there’s a divine power interested in me or anyone else. Someone else can carry the banner high—and get killed for it. Not me.”

“Aren’t you being a little self-indulgent?”

His jaw tightened. “Save your Sunday school lectures, Allie. I’ve heard them all before.”

She searched for some way to help him through the guilt that was obviously eating him alive, but her master’s degree in counseling seemed totally inadequate in the face of his bitterness. Not only had he changed on the outside, but a loss of faith was like a malignancy eating away at his soul.

He stood up. “I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing, Allie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to working on a hundred details that have to be cleared up before the property sells. You can see for yourself how impossible it would be to get the camp in any kind of shape in less than two weeks.”

She grabbed the objection like a fish to a hook. “That wouldn’t be a problem. I know we could get a working crew from the church to come up and put the place in order.”

“I don’t have time to oversee—”

“I do,” she said brightly, standing up and facing him. “I’m on my summer break from my school counselor’s job. You could leave everything to me and go about your business getting ready to sell the place. You see, there’s this little boy, Randy Cleaver. He’s been on the streets most of his life because of alcoholic parents and there’s a little girl who’s losing her hearing—”

“Save it, Allie. I told you I’m way past trying to fix the ills of the world.”

“I know.” She paused, searching for guidance, and suddenly divine inspiration like a heavenly butterfly flitted through her thoughts. She knew exactly what approach she should use to touch his conscience. “I was really thinking about Jimmy and your dad. This place has always been special to them.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Even now, Rainbow Camp really belongs as much to your father and brother as it does to you, doesn’t it? If Sam and Jimmy were here, I don’t think they’d disappoint a bunch of kids who have their hearts set on coming to summer camp.”

“But Dad and Jimmy aren’t here, are they?”

“I believe they are, in spirit, and you know what they would want you to do,” she countered.

Of course he knew. Anger built up in Scott that he was the one who had been left to deal with the past.

Abruptly he walked away from her, and as he let his gaze travel around the room, his heart tightened. Jimmy’s worn baseball glove lay on the shelf where Allie had removed the photo albums, and in a nearby corner of the room stood several fishing rods where his dad had left them.

Scott put his hand on the mantel of the fireplace, and bent his head as his ears were suddenly filled with remembered sounds; his dad thumping out a hymn on the old piano, and Jimmy’s boyish voice on the stairs. His shoulders went slack.

You know what they would want you to do.

Finally, he lifted his head, turned around, and looked at Allie with those intense eyes of his. She drew in a prayerful breath as she waited for him to speak.

Please, God.

“All right, Allie. You win,” he said in a thick voice of surrender. “In memory of Dad and Jimmy, you can have your church camp one more time.”

“Thank you.”

She could have hugged him in joyful relief, but he was already walking toward the door, opening it, as if anxious to have her gone.

Chapter Two

Why did you agree to her request? Scott asked himself as he endeavored to put his thoughts in order after a restless night.

His time plan for turning the property over to a Realtor for immediate listing had been ambushed by a blue-eyed charmer from his past. When he’d heard Allie Lindsey’s voice on his answering machine, he’d felt an undefinable quiver of excitement, but as soon as she had stated her business, the joy had died. The few days he’d spent in the old house had been trying enough, but enduring a two-week church camp would only create a situation that he’d been trying to avoid. The last thing he wanted to do was to surround himself with a past that had promised so much, and delivered only heart-wrenching disappointment.

The camp was, also, far from being ready for twenty kids and their chaperones. His father’s death six weeks ago had put an end to any preparations for the summer. Scott had been slow in picking up the reins and canceling reservations because his father had not kept any kind of organized records. Fortunately, the Irish couple, Patrick and Dorie O’Toole, who worked for his dad had filled him in on the summer schedule.

The O’Tooles had helped Sam run the camp for more than fifteen years. They’d been friends with Scott since he was eleven years old, and all the summers that he and Jimmy had spent in Colorado, the couple had been almost family. The boys had spent lots of nights at their house, listening to Patrick play the guitar, and eating Dorie’s good cooking whenever they got the chance. Patrick was a raw-bone handyman who did everything from handling the camp’s maintenance to supervising exuberant youngsters during the summer and playing a mean game of chess with Sam. His chubby, outgoing wife, Dorie, ran the camp dining room, and her plump figure was a testimonial to her own cooking. She always had a ready hug and smile, and having children around her seemed to make up for the lack of her own. Scott knew how much his dad depended upon the O’Tooles to keep things in the camp running smoothly.

A sense of urgency suddenly overtook Scott. Right after the funeral, Scott had told them that he was closing down the camp and selling the property. They seemed to understand that it was the only thing he could do. Property values were at a premium in this mountain area because of the developing ski areas close by.

What if Pat and Dorie had already sold their own house across the river and moved away? How on earth will I get the camp ready by myself? he asked himself with a start. The last time he’d seen them at the funeral, the grief in their eyes and the slump of their shoulders had told him how much they loved his father. With so many other things on his mind, Scott hadn’t given them a thought—until now. With a jolt, he realized that he hadn’t seen either of them in the few days that he’d been back.

Throwing back the bed covers, he slipped into a pair of cords and a sportsman’s pullover. A valiant sun was breaking through the low, misty clouds as he left the house, and the promise of a lovely June day was in the offing. Breathing in deeply the high mountain air, he drew in pungent smells of pine resin and tangy cedar. He’d almost forgotten how beautifully clear and fresh everything looked with the sparkle of sunshine deepening nature’s tapestries. His ears were filled with the sound of rushing waters lapping and sucking over rocks in the swift-flowing river, and he remembered early morning fishing treks with his dad along the banks. They’d catch their breakfast, and the taste of fresh rainbow trout cooked in butter would always linger in his memory. He’d tried ordering trout in fancy Los Angeles restaurants, but the meal had always been a disappointment.

Just like life, he thought, and he stiffened against memories that taunted him. He should have handled everything through a Realtor. Coming back was a mistake, a big mistake.

He broke into an easy run and his footsteps echoed on the planked bridge as he crossed the river. Patrick and Dorie’s log house was built on the side of a hill on the opposite side of the river from the camp. He bounded up the roughly hewn steps, and knocked briskly on the thick pine door. Homemade chimes hanging from a porch rafter moved in the early morning breeze, making sounds like the muffled notes of an organ.

“Well, saints preserve us, look who’s here,” Dorie said, wiping her hands on her voluminous apron as she opened the door. “We were thinking that you were still in Californy.”

“I’ve been back a few days. I’m trying to go through some things at the house.” He knew his excuse was lame for not coming by and seeing them.

“Pat! Pat, we got company,” she called to her husband. Then she winked at Scott. “Sure, and I knew there was some reason for making a batch of buttermilk pancakes. It isn’t every day a handsome fellow comes calling.”

“You must have heard my stomach growling all the way here,” he teased back, his spirits suddenly made lighter by her laughter. He remembered all the times that he’d found comfort in her good humor. More than once through the years she’d put loving arms around a lonely boy who missed his mother. She’d never met Madeline Davidson, but Scott could tell Dorie didn’t hold much with a mother who could be away from her sons three months out of the year.

“Come on to the kitchen,” she said, leading the way.

Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee. He was a lanky fellow with a short, reddish beard that covered his bony chin, and a thatch of sandy-colored hair that never wanted to smooth down. There was a surprised lift to his eyebrows as he looked at Scott, but his expression wasn’t friendly like his wife’s. “We didn’t expect to see you in these parts again,” he said gruffly.

Patrick’s briskness made it clear that he didn’t look upon a visit from Scott as a cause for celebration. “What you come over for? Need some help tearing down the place? Can’t them high-flying land speculators bring in their own crews?”

The gravel in his voice warned Scott that he’d put himself in the enemy camp by deciding to sell out to investors. He knew that Pat was like a lot of people who had homes in the canyon. For years they’d fought to keep out any kind of modern developments. They didn’t like progress or change, and his father had been one of them.

“Now, Patrick,” Dorie said with a warning shake of her pancake ladle—she always called him by his full name when she was irritated with him. “Don’t you badger Scott. He’s just trying to do the right thing.”

“I’m here because I need yours and Dorie’s help,” Scott said frankly. He knew better than to try and outfox the Irishman. As plainly as he could, he told them about his visit from Allie Lindsey.

“Oh, that’s the pretty little lass that you took up with one summer,” Dorie said eagerly. “I remember her.”

Scott ignored the speculative look in her eyes. “We haven’t been in touch for years. Anyway, I wrote a letter canceling her church’s camp reservation, and Allie came to see me, hoping to talk me into honoring Dad’s commitment.”

“Oh, my,” Dorie said, a frown creasing her round face.

“You can see the difficulty.” Scott looked Pat straight in the eyes. “The cabins aren’t ready. The buildings need all kinds of cleaning. I frankly don’t see how we could get the place ready in a week, do you?” Somehow he knew he shouldn’t tell the Irishman that he’d already committed himself.

Pat took a slow sip of coffee from his mug without giving Scott any indication that he had even heard what Scott had been saying. Then he turned to look at Scott, and he said in a non-committal tone. “I reckon it could be done.”

“Sure it could,” Dorie jumped in eagerly. “All the bedding is clean and ready. Glory, I could make a list of things we need in the shake of a cat’s tail.”

“What do you think, Pat?” Scott asked in a deferential manner. They all knew that the decision rested with him. Dorie was wife enough not to push him, and Scott knew better than to pressure him.

Pat leaned back in his chair, his broad forehead creased in a thoughtful expression. “I reckon me and Dorie could handle things all right. I don’t hold with the idea of disappointing a bunch of young ’uns.”

Scott felt a heavy weight roll off of him. “I appreciate it, Patrick.” Now, he could leave the whole camping thing in good hands and tend to his own business.

Dorie beamed. “It’s funny how the good Lord works things out, isn’t it? You and Allie together again after all these years. Such a cute couple, you were.”

Scott said rather shortly, “Don’t try and play Cupid, Dorie. I doubt that we’ll even see much of each other.” He could have said that he had no intention of interacting with the church group. As far as Allie was concerned, he’d already told her how he felt about her strong religious convictions. He knew that she disapproved of his worldly lifestyle and anti-religious convictions. “We have nothing in common anymore.”

“It’s Jimmy’s death, isn’t it?” Dorie said gently. “Sure and I can see why your heart’s broken. T’was a horrible thing to have happened.” Then she touched his arm with her gentle hand, and said softly, “Your father grieved over the loss of his son, but it didn’t destroy his faith in God.”

“I’m not my father,” Scott said firmly.

Patrick nodded. “No, you’re not, more’s the pity, lad.”

He left their house, knowing it was true—you can’t go home again. Too many things change.

When Allie and Trudy arrived at the camp early in the morning a few days later, Allie couldn’t believe how different it looked from her first visit. There was a hint of expectancy all over the place. A grocery delivery truck was parked at a side kitchen door, some of the cabins were open and a load of wood had been dumped nearby, waiting to be distributed among the buildings.

Scott had called her, reporting that the O’Tooles had agreed to take charge and get the camp ready. He told her that an extra pair of hands or two would be appreciated, but he was emphatic about not needing an invasion of church people. “They’ll just be in the way,” he said ungraciously.

“Okay,” she responded without further comment, relieved that he hadn’t found some way to back out of their agreement. “If it’s all right with you, my friend, Trudy, and I will come up for a couple of days and see how we can help out.”

“Good. Dorie will appreciate the extra hands.”

“It’ll be nice to see the O’Tooles again. I remember them as a very nice couple who really enjoyed having all of us around.”

“Dorie remembers you, too,” he admitted but omitted in what context.

“Don’t you remember the picnic box Dorie fixed for us the day we decided to hike up to the top of Redridge?”

“I remember,” he answered flatly. “See you in a couple of days.”

Such enthusiasm, she thought as she hung up. He obviously didn’t intend to engage in any watercolor memories of “the way we were.” Fine. He could chill out all he wanted, she decided with a spurt of pride—or was it disappointment? All she cared about was making sure the kids had a wonderful outing. Anyway, she doubted that Scott would stick around for the whole time, unless making arrangements for selling the property kept him at the camp.

“I can hardly wait to meet this ogre,” Trudy confessed as they drove into the camp. “He sounds like a real loser.”

“Oh, Scott’s not really all that bad,” Allie said quickly, surprised that she was so ready to defend him. “I told you what happened to his brother. Scott’s carrying around a heavy load of guilt, and I suspect his mother isn’t helping much.”

“Uh-huh.” Trudy’s tone was noncommittal. She’d lost a young husband in a car accident when a drunk driver plowed into them one evening after church services. Instead of blaming God and giving up, Trudy had used her anger to help in the campaign against drinking and driving.

“Don’t rock the boat, Trudy,” Allie warned as she stopped the car in front of the old house. “Scott agreed to let us have our camp, and that’s all that matters. Don’t be attacking him. We really don’t know what happened and what kind of wounds need healing under that crisp veneer of his.”

Trudy studied her friend’s flushed face, and let out a slow whistle. “Are you still carrying something around for this fellow?”

“Of course not,” Allie said quickly. Maybe too quickly, she told herself, wondering why the question made her feel defensive. Why was she letting Trudy bait her? “We haven’t seen each other for years. And the last time we were together we were just teenagers.”

“Some first loves are deep enough to last a lifetime,” Trudy warned.

“I wouldn’t think a little hand-holding, and one adolescent kiss in the moonlight could be called a deep first love.”

“But you haven’t forgotten him.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But at the time, I was naive enough to believe that Scott and I were soul mates. I guess that’s why I felt differently about him from all of the other fellows I’d dated at that time.”

“Okay, a word of warning from an older and wiser woman—”

“You’re a year older than I am,” laughed Allie.

“Right. Heed your elders. Don’t tear yourself up because the young boy who kissed you in the moonlight is now a man who has turned against himself and God. Just remember, Allie, life has a way of giving us lessons that we need, and Scott Davidson may be in for more than his share.”

“It’s so sad that he’s lost his dad and his brother. The place must be filled with painful memories for him,” Allie lamented as they got out of the car and walked up the steps of the house. In spite of herself, she felt a faint flicker of apprehension as they waited for him to answer their knock.

No sign of life at the windows. Allie tried to deny a wave of disappointment when it was obvious that he wasn’t there and wasn’t going to open the door. Maybe he’d already locked up the house, turned the camp over to the O’Tooles and gone back to California.

“Let’s check in at the dining hall. I bet Dorie has a bunch of chores lined up for us to tackle.”

A row of cabins stretched along the river, and an L-shaped dormitory stood next to a large building that was divided into the dining hall and activity room. Allie could see that even though Sam had tried to keep up with needed repairs, all of the buildings were showing the effects of time.

“See that stand of huge spruce trees?” Allie pointed ahead. “Right in the middle of them, there’s a natural grouping of rocks around an open space that makes a wonderful setting for early-morning worship services. It’s great for private meditation too, although my favorite spot is a large boulder just around the bend of the river.”

She drew in a deep breath of pine-scented air, and time sped backward to the wonderful hours she’d spent walking through the trees and listening to the musical roar of the rushing stream.

“You love this place, don’t you?” Trudy said with a smile.

Allie nodded, “I didn’t realize how much I really do. I can hardly wait to walk some of the old trails and check out some of my favorite spots along the river.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a good cook,” Trudy said. “The outdoors always makes me ravenous.” She stuck her hands in her ample overalls. It was clear that having lots of good food for a healthy appetite was the most important thing as far as Trudy was concerned.

“Hiking over some of these hills will give you an appetite, all right.”

“Hiking?” Trudy mimicked. “Who said anything about hiking?”

Allie laughed as they mounted the steps to the dining room, and then sobered as the door flew open and Scott came out.

“Oh,” she said with a start of surprise. “I thought you weren’t here. I mean, we stopped at the house and I was thinking that you might have left the O’Tooles in charge, and locked up the house, and—” she caught herself. Quit babbling. What was there about him that flustered her so much that she sounded like a ninny?

“I’m still here, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” she said collecting herself. “This is my friend, Trudy Daniels.”

“Nice to meet you, Trudy,” Scott said politely.

“And you,” Trudy responded with a smug smile. Allie could tell that Scott didn’t look like anything Trudy had imagined. He wore jeans and a tight knit shirt that molded his well-conditioned muscles, and a deep tan testified to hours on the beach or on the water, and skiing. The veiled look she sent Allie, said, “Wow!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Mr. Davidson.”

“Scott,” he corrected.

Trudy cocked her head and studied him with her large guileless eyes. “I have a feeling this will turn out to be the best outing our church kids ever had.”

Allie hid a smile. Leave it to Trudy to put a positive spin on his reluctance to have them here.

“I hope that’s the case, but we’re playing catch-up,” Scott answered honestly. “I’m really depending upon Pat and Dorie to run things.” At that moment a sleek Mercedes came into view on the river bridge. Scott frowned as he looked at his watch. “I guess hauling in that load of firewood took me longer than I imagined. I’ve got some business appointments that will keep me busy. Why don’t you check with the O’Tooles and see what needs to be done? Please excuse me.”

With a thin smile, he brushed by them, and strode quickly toward the house where two men in business suits were getting out of their car.

“So that’s the heartthrob,” mused Trudy. “He’s got a way about him, all right. No wonder you’re having trouble closing the book on young love.”

“I told you, we enjoyed an adolescent friendship for one summer. That’s all, for heaven’s sake. Will you quit trying to make it into some Romeo and Juliet drama?”

“I will, if you will.”

“What?”

Trudy laughed. “I’m betting that the shiny flush on your face has nothing to do with the sun, nor is the high mountain air responsible for your quick breathing. You like this guy.”

“Sure, I like him,” admitted Allie. “At least, I used to, but that’s water under the proverbial bridge. Scott’s gone his way, and I’ve gone mine. Really, Trudy, I don’t want to discuss it any further. We’re here to help get things ready for the church camp. What Scott does or doesn’t do isn’t any concern of mine.”

“Uh-huh,” Trudy said.

“Let’s go see what they have for us to do.” She led the way into the dining room, and her breath caught as she looked around. The place looked as if a whirlwind had swept through it. Nothing was set up for the feeding of a crowd of hungry campers. Chairs were stacked, tables shoved together and all the counters loaded down with stacks of trays, cups and dishes. Only the floor looked bright and shiny from a recent scrubbing.

At that moment Dorie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard voices,” she said as she greeted them with a merry wave of her hand from the kitchen. “Come on in. I’m busy putting away all the foodstuffs that have just been delivered.”

“Can we help?”

“Sure.” She looked as happy as a busy bee flitting around a field of clover. “I like to set up the kitchen myself.” She nodded toward the connecting door between the dining room and the activity room. “I think Pat’s been needing some help. Why don’t you gals give a look-see?”

“Okay. We’re here to do whatever needs doing.”

“I’ll let you know when I need an extra pair of hands,” Dorie promised.

They left her happily humming to herself as she filled the freezer, fridge and cupboards. When they entered the recreation room, they saw that the same happy mood did not apply to her husband. Pat O’Toole was sitting on the edge of a raised dais that served as a stage, staring moodily around the room, as he filled his pipe.

“Oh, oh,” murmured Allie. The recreation room was in a sorry state. All but one wall and the ceiling showed ugly watermarks around the windows and on the ceiling. Only one wall had been freshly painted a pretty rose color, and a heap of painting tarps and paint cans pushed to one side were evidence of an interrupted project.

Allie wasn’t sure that Patrick O’Toole really remembered her. Unlike his wife, he had no welcoming smile on his lips nor recognition in his eyes as she introduced herself and Trudy. He just nodded at the introduction, and continued to give his attention to a pipe that he was trying to light.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. O’Toole,” Allie said brightly, ignoring his distant manner. “We’re from the church. Just tell us what you want us to do. We’re here to help.”

He peered at her from under bushy eyebrows. “So you’re the lass that talked Scott into keeping the camp open?”

“Yes, thank God,” she said, relieved that he was speaking to her at least. “We appreciate your offer to handle everything for us.”

“We’ve got some nice kids who are looking forward to coming to Rainbow Camp,” Trudy said.

Patrick shook his head. “Well, ladies, I reckon I forgot how many things were left half-done after Sam’s passing. Look at this room, would you?” He got up and walked around the room, pointing out the unpainted walls and ceiling. “We got all the leaks fixed and were starting to paint when Sam had his spell.” He shook his head sadly, and Allie heard the break in his voice. “It’s a disgrace to his memory to have anybody even see the place like this.”

The two women exchanged glances, and Allie wasn’t surprised when her friend spoke up. “Well then, Mr. O’Toole, I guess we’d better get to painting,” Trudy told him in her take-charge manner. She eyed the ceiling. “A nice tall ladder will do just fine.” In a few minutes she had organized the whole project. Allie knew that she was the one responsible for redecorating all the Sunday school rooms. Trudy could wield a paintbrush roller with the best of them.

The room was rather long and narrow, and even though one of the longer walls had already been done, the challenge of painting the other three and the ceiling kept them busy through the morning.

When Dorie brought in some drinks and sandwiches, they took a brief break for lunch. She nodded her approval. “Sam picked out that color. Said it reminded him of that cluster of moss roses down by the spring.”

Pat sighed. “I was telling him, the color would show hand prints to beat the band, but he didn’t care. Crazy guy.” He turned his head away quickly as if there were something in his eye.

They had to push to finish by late afternoon, but a sense of satisfaction made their effort worthwhile. They took a few minutes to enjoy their work as soft sunlight bathed the walls in a warm glow. It had certainly been satisfying.

“Nice work, ladies,” Patrick said with a smile. “Sure and you’re a credit to the Painters’ Union.” He winked at Trudy. “If I weren’t a married man, I’d be giving you the eye, lass. I’ve got a few rooms at the house that could use your touch.”

They were all weary, but pleased with the job they’d done. Patrick started carrying out empty paint cans, and painting debris to the trash while Allie and Trudy put the room to rights.

“I’ll ask Dorie for some cleaning rags,” Trudy said, and headed for the kitchen.

A moment later, while Allie was putting some lids on some leftover paint cans, Scott came in the rec room. He took one look around at the freshly painted room with an expression of utter disbelief on his face.

Allie stood up, brushed back her hair, suddenly aware of the paint spatters on her arms, jeans and shirt. She looked a mess, but then, what did it matter? She smiled. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”

For a moment, he looked speechless. Then he swore, “What in blazes! Why on earth did you put in all this work, painting this room?”

She looked at him, stunned and dumbfounded. What was he so angry about?

“Is this some kind of subtle trick you’re playing?” he lashed out.

“Trick?”

“Whatever you’re trying to pull off, it won’t work,” he warred her. “You can’t make me change my mind, Allie.”

“I’m not trying to make you change your mind.”

“Good, because I’ve just made arrangements for this building to be pulled down in three weeks.”

Chapter Three

Scott struggled against a wave of exasperation. He was caught between trying to get things ready for the campers, while at the same time initiating a schedule to level the area and clear the property for potential buyers. Agreeing to open the camp had been a bad idea in the beginning, and it was getting worse by the minute.

Allie looked exhausted, tense and angry with him for challenging the decision to paint the room. On the defensive, he said, “I wished you’d asked me about it before putting in all this work.”

With a determined lift to her head, she replied firmly, “It was important to Pat that we finish the job your father started before he died. Patrick knew Sam wouldn’t want people in here with rain-stained walls even if this is the last time the room is to be used.”

Scott silently fumed. It was just like her and Patrick to bring his father into the matter. They’d made their feelings clear enough, but it was the height of folly for them to spruce up the place. “Well, what’s done is done.”

In a moment of weighted silence that followed, Trudy came in with a broom and cleaning rags, and seeing Scott, started bragging about the job they’d done.

“Are we painters, or are we painters?” she challenged, grinning. “I just may give up my job working in my dad’s restaurant, and find me a new career.”

Her light banter fell flat. Allie’s posture was stiff, and tension radiated from her jutting chin. Scott avoided eye contact with both of the women.

When neither Allie nor Scott returned Trudy’s smile, her expression changed to one of puzzlement. “What gives? Did I miss something?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Allie said. She reached out and took the broom from Trudy, and started sweeping. “As soon as we get this room cleaned up, we ought to check out one of the cabins and get settled. I don’t suppose it matters which one.”

“I think the first cabin is ready. I just checked to make sure you had bedding and firewood,” Scott said crisply. He ignored Allie, who had her back to him as she swept the floor. He recognized a cold shoulder when he got one, and directed his comments to Trudy. “I think everything’s in order for the couple of nights you’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Trudy answered. “We’ll be ready for a hot bath, won’t we, Allie?” A slight nod was all she got as Allie gave her attention to picking up some drop cloths.

“I’d invite you to put up at the house, but it’s a mess,” Scott said in an apologetic tone. “I’m trying to get everything sorted and moved out. I don’t think Dad threw away anything all the years he’d been here. He’s got so much worthless stuff packed away that I’m tempted to just bag and dump it.”

“That must be a challenge,” Trudy said sympathetically, doing her best to keep the conversation moving along compatible lines. “I’d sure hate to have the job of cleaning out my folk’s house. Every cupboard and closet is packed with stuff.”

“I’ve arranged for some book buyers, and secondhand store people to look things over. What they don’t take, I’ll have to haul away.” Scott wished he could just walk away from the whole thing. Maybe his mother was right. He should have stayed in California and handled everything long distance. Too late now, he chided himself. His hands were tied for another two weeks. He owed it to Pat and Dorie to stick around until the church camp was over.

“I love old stuff,” Trudy told him. Her large brown eyes sparkled. “Can I have a look-see before you get rid of all of it?”

Scott looked surprised. “Sure, be my guest. I have to warn you that most of the stuff is worn-out and wasn’t worth much when it was new.”

“You never can tell,” Trudy said with her usual optimism. “There might be a treasure amidst all the junk.”

“If there is, you’re welcome to it.” He gave one last look around at the newly painted room, and managed to say, “You ladies did a nice job.” Even if it was a stupid thing to do.

After he’d gone, Allie explained the situation to Trudy. “This building is going to be torn down with the rest of the camp in three weeks. Scott couldn’t believe we’d gone to all the work to paint it.” She shook her head, every bone in her body protesting the day of hard labor. “I can’t believe it, either.”

“Hey, some things aren’t suppose to last forever. You just have to enjoy them while you can, and then let them go.” Trudy tipped back her dark head and surveyed the rose-colored walls. “It’s enough that for three more weeks this is going to be the prettiest room in camp.”

Allie smiled at her. “How’d you get so smart?”

“Oh, it just comes naturally,” she answered flippantly. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

As they laughed together, Allie’s spirits rose, and by the time they’d put the activity room in order, she’d felt a new rush of energy. “Let’s move our stuff into the cabin, and see if the shower is working.”

“It’d better be. I’ve got enough rose-colored spots on me to pass for a case of measles.”

“Dorie’s invited us over to their house for supper.” Allie told her. “Their house is on the hillside across from the river. It’s about a half-mile walk up a dirt road as I remember.” Then she added with a smile, “Dorie said something about stuffed pork chops.”

“Stuffed pork chops?” Trudy patted her rather ample hips. “I really shouldn’t, but I’ve worked up an appetite with all this painting and cleaning.” She eyed Allie’s slim figure and sighed. “I bet you could eat twice as much as me, and never put on a pound.”

“I wasn’t raised around good cooking the way you were,” Allie said kindly. Trudy’s folks owned a successful family restaurant, and since she was around food all the time, it was no wonder she had trouble keeping her weight down. “Come on, let’s finish up here, and have a little time to put our feet up before dinner.”

When they checked the first cabin, they saw that Scott had been true to his word. Fresh bedding was in a neat pile at the foot of two of the beds, clean towels in the bathroom and an automatic coffeepot ready to be plugged in. An electric wall heater had been turned on low, but what surprised them both was wood laid for a fire in the fireplace, just waiting for the touch of a match.

“I love a log fire,” said Trudy as she plopped down on a rug, and lit the log kindling. When it was glowing, she stretched out full length in front of the fire, and closed her eyes. “I may have to change my mind about that guy.” She opened one eye and peered at Allie. “Maybe you should give him a little slack.”

“He’s got all the slack he needs,” Allie answered crisply as she got ready to take a shower.

“Hmm, sounds like there still may be a spark or two left between the two of you.”

Allie answered evenly, “Don’t try to play Cupid, Trudy. I don’t even know this changed Scott Davidson, and we have absolutely nothing in common anymore. After the church camp, we probably will never see each other again.” She gave a wry smile. “Of course, I may wring his neck long before then.”

“Uh-huh,” Trudy murmured. “You remember the old saying, don’t you? Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Something between you two is still burning, I’m thinking.”

“Well, think again,” Allie said curtly and went into the bathroom to take her shower. She was still fuming about the way Scott had lashed out at her. He was so blinded by his own selfish agenda that he couldn’t even appreciate Patrick’s feelings about the half-finished job Scott’s dad had left. Allie usually was able to keep a firm rein on her temper, but she was ready to hold a mirror up to Scott Davidson, and let him take a look at the self-centered person he’d become.

When they were ready to go to dinner at the O’Tooles’, Allie expected to drive the short distance, but Trudy said she’d better work off the pork chops before and after she ate them.

A lavender twilight was just settling in the canyon as heady pine-scented breezes still warm from the day’s sun sent pale green aspen leaves quivering over their heads. As they walked across a narrow bridge spanning the river, rushing waters rose and fell over polished stones, creating a melody of gurgling sounds. Glimmers of silver shone like liquid ribbons in flowing waters darkening to purple in the approaching night.

They had just started up a narrow road cut into the side of the hill, when they heard an engine coming up behind them. Moving quickly to one side, they looked over their shoulders just as Sam’s old pickup truck slowed down and stopped beside them.

“Want a lift?” Scott leaned over and opened the passenger door.

Before Allie could refuse, Trudy readily accepted, “Sure, thanks. The road’s steeper than I had expected. I didn’t know we were going to hike halfway up a mountain.” Laughing, she waved Allie into the seat first. “After you.”

A stubborn set to Trudy’s full lips warned Allie not to make a scene about who was going to sit in the middle next to Scott. Allie sent her a veiled look, thinking, “I’ll get even with you later,” as she climbed into the truck beside Scott.

The truck was an old one, and Trudy’s ample hips took up more than a third of the high, narrow seat. Allie did her best to keep from crowding Scott, but there was little she could do about the close quarters. As she sat beside him, she tried to ignore the effect of his body warmth, and the faint scent of spicy aftershave lotion that teased her nostrils. His hair was still moist from a recent shower, and she remembered how the dark strands had waved around his face when they’d gone swimming in a river pool. His profile was the same and yet different because his attractive masculine features were marred by unhappy lines in his forehead and around his mouth. He drove without looking at her, and she was uncomfortable in this forced intimacy.

Window lights were visible through the trees as he turned off the road and drove a short distance to a wide clearing in front of the house. Almost immediately the front door flew open, and Patrick’s rangy frame filled the doorway.

Scott was aware of Allie’s obvious relief as she got out of the car. When he’d offered a lift, he’d hoped that some of the earlier friction over the room painting might be set aside, but he’d felt her body stiffness as she tried to keep as much distance between them as the cab would allow. Undoubtedly the next two weeks would only increase the chasm that had already widened between them. Once the campers arrived, he planned to keep his distance from her and the others.

Accepting this dinner invitation had been spur of the moment. Even as he asked himself why on earth he’d let himself in for a whole evening with Allie, he knew the answer. He didn’t want to be alone in the house with memories of his dad and Jimmy. The sooner he was finished with Rainbow Camp the better, he decided as he took a deep breath, put a smile on his face and followed Allie and Trudy into the house.

Dorie had dinner ready, and she shooed them into the kitchen with a flutter of her apron. They sat at a round table, and bowed their heads as Pat said his favorite grace. “Father, God, be our guest, and may this food to us be blessed.”

The meal was beautifully simple and delicious: golden-brown stuffed pork chops, accompanied by fresh garden peas and a spinach salad. Rhubarb pie with wild strawberries was served with rich, amber coffee.

“It does my heart good to see you haven’t lost your appetite,” Dorie told Scott in a tone that suggested that there were other things about him that had been lost since she’d seen him last.

The O’Tooles were as hospitable as ever, but as the evening progressed, Scott realized that they were in the same place they’d been years ago when they first started working summers for his father. Contented with few luxuries, they still depended upon things they could grow, chickens and pigs they could raise and a goat they could milk. Patrick’s handyman work brought in what little income they had during the winter months, and he wondered how they would replace the modest income that the two of them earned helping his father with the camp. If they weren’t so shortsighted, they’d recognize that he was doing them a favor by selling off his dad’s land. Any new development in the area would raise the value of everyone’s property, and if the O’Tooles sold out at a huge profit, they could live more comfortably somewhere else.

Scott hadn’t intended to put his thoughts into words, but there was a lull in the table conversation that invited a change in topic. The women had been talking about church affairs, and the new minister that both Trudy and Allie liked.

“Have you and Dorie thought about selling this place?” Scott asked Patrick as they were sipping their coffee and eating Dorie’s delicious pie.

Both Patrick and Dorie lowered their forks almost as one, and looked at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. “Are you thinking of buying it?” Patrick asked dryly.

“No, of course not.” Scott forced a laugh. He knew then that he should have kept his thoughts to himself.

“Land’s sake, why would we be wanting to sell our home?” Dorie asked.

“Because you could get the kind of price that would put money in the bank.”

“Money for what?” Dorie asked, frowning. “To buy another house? To live somewhere else not half as nice?”

Allie brushed her lips with a napkin to hide the smile on her face. Scott had stepped into the mud hole with both feet. Obviously, money was the wrong criteria to measure the O’Tooles’ wealth of happiness. Didn’t he realize that Pat and Dorie were living a life of peace, joy and contentment that a huge bank account could never replace? What saddened Allie was remembering that as a youth Scott had never talked about making big money as a goal in life, but the man sitting across the table from her had sadly settled on financial prosperity as the measure of his life. What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

To ease the tension, Allie said, “What do you say we get the kitchen cleared, and then persuade Patrick to get out his guitar? Trudy and I have been harmonizing on some good old country tunes. We thought we’d do a couple for ‘Skit Night’ if Patrick would help us practice.”

“I reckon I could strum a tune or two for a couple of pretty lasses,” Patrick conceded as a smile creased his craggy face.

Scott suddenly felt out of place, and wished he’d stayed at the house. He had nothing in common with these people anymore. He couldn’t see that they had matured at all.

As soon as he could, he got to his feet and he said, “Thanks for the wonderful dinner, Dorie. I’m sorry but I’d better run along. I’ve got some business calls coming in later.”

“Sure and you’re always welcome at our table, Scott,” Dorie said with a sincere smile. “I’m hoping we’ll be seeing more of you while you’re here. You’ll probably be helping out with the young ’uns, won’t you?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered quickly. “I really had planned to have everything wound up by now and get back to my brokerage business. Because of the delay, I’ve had to put a computer in one of the bedrooms so I can work from here. I don’t expect to have any free time.”

“’Tis a shame you can’t take a little vacation for yourself,” Dorie said sadly. “Especially since this is the last time that there’ll be a Rainbow Camp.”

“The property will be put to good use,” Scott assured her. “There’s no doubt that I’ll get my price out of it.”

“So you’ve made up your mind to sell out, have ya?” Patrick pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Yes, I have,” Scott said firmly, looking the older man straight in the eyes.

“The Lord has made good use of that place for a good many years, and Sam was a good partner doing His work.”

“There’s a buyer all lined up to sign the papers,” Scott said flatly. “It’s a done deal.”

“Maybe not,” Patrick said. “Ever hear the saying, ‘Man proposes, and God disposes’?”

Scott gave a short laugh. He wasn’t going to argue. He’d made his plans, and he’d learned the hard way not to trust anything or anyone, but himself.

“Oh, you can’t leave now, Scott,” Trudy protested. “That hike back to the camp will finish me off for sure. If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably still be huffing and puffing to get here.”

“If Scott wants to leave, I’ll run you ladies back to camp,” Patrick volunteered, giving Scott a dismissing wave of his hand. “Go on, son, tend to your business.”

Allie surprised herself by jumping to Scott’s defense. “Time has a way of running over us sometimes. Maybe it’s a good idea if we all call it a night. Tomorrow is going to be another busy day.”

Dorie nodded. “I got a hundred things to do in the kitchen, but we’ll be ready for the children when they get here,” she said with the air of a coach urging her team to victory.

After a few minutes of conversation about what preparations still had to be made, Allie and Trudy said good-night. They gave Dorie a hug as they prepared to leave and Scott thanked her for the wonderful meal.

“We’ll take a rain check on the guitar playing,” Allie reassured Patrick, knowing in her heart that there wasn’t going to be any time for such idle happenings.

When Patrick saw the pickup parked out in front, he demanded, “Why are you driving Sam’s old Ford when you got that fancy rental car?”

“I was thinking about leaving it with you. I thought you might know someone who could make use of it. I hate to junk it.”

“Junk it!” He looked aghast. “You’re out of your blithering mind. Why there’s plenty of miles left in the old baby. Your dad and I spent many hours keeping it running. You’ll not be junking it, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Good,” said Scott, silently smiling as he turned away.

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