The Triplets' Summer Adventure
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Laurel Blount
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Chapter One
“Those sweet children are coming to Red Hawk Camp expecting a nice hot breakfast.” Lorna Lipscomb’s voice quavered. “And I won’t be there to fix it.”
“Not your fault,” just-for-the-summer park ranger Nick Marshall assured the elderly camp cook for the third time. “You didn’t break your leg on purpose.” Cradling his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, he scooted boxes and cans around on the pantry shelves.
And sighed. This was not looking good.
“Well, no, but most of these children have missed too many meals already. I can’t stand the thought of them going hungry.”
In spite of his predicament, Nick smiled. Lorna was a sweet lady. This camp was run on a shoestring, but the people involved were some of the best he’d ever seen.
And he’d seen plenty.
“Don’t worry. Nobody’s going hungry. I’ll find something to feed the kids.”
Something. Probably. He just didn’t know what. He had fifteen minutes to come up with breakfast for fifty day campers, ages four to eight, and there was nothing in this pantry but canned goods and jumbo bags of flour and sugar.
He didn’t need flour and sugar. He needed the world’s biggest box of cornflakes.
He also needed to get off the phone, but Lorna was still fretting.
“The doctors say my leg’s broken in two places. By the time I’m better, camp will be over. You’ll have to find another cook. I’m so sorry.”
“We are, too, but we’ll figure something out.” Nick closed the pantry door and crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator, hoping he’d find something he could manage. Bacon, maybe. He fried bacon like a boss. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go, Lorna. Everybody here is praying for you, and if there’s any way we can help, let us know.” He disconnected the call before she started another round of apologies.
As he scanned the contents of the fridge, he sent up a prayer for Lorna’s speedy recovery. He tacked on a plea for some sort of fast, kid-friendly breakfast that could be prepared by a guy without much cooking experience.
Because, of course. No bacon.
He shut the refrigerator door and tried to think. Okay. It was just breakfast for a bunch of kids. How hard could that be? He’d promised Lorna he’d figure this out, and he would.
He always figured things out. Sooner or later.
And this dining hall might be short on bacon and cornflakes, but it sure had a great view. The huge, screened windows framed vistas of the Blue Ridge Mountains, dappled with various shades of summer green. The early morning mist lingered in pockets, birds were singing their hearts out, and the whole world looked fresh, innocent and clean.
It looked that way, maybe, from here. But it wasn’t. Nick had seen more of the world than most, and he knew it could also be heartbreaking, ruthless and downright scary in places.
He also knew that, in a few minutes, a busload of kids who’d also seen too much of the world’s rougher side and who’d normally never have a chance to go to a camp as nice as this one would show up for their second day of healthy food and outdoor fun.
That was a very good thing. He liked being a part of very good things, even when plans went sideways. Which, in his experience, they usually did. That was why he almost never made them.
One thing was for sure. This do-your-brother-a-favor summer job wasn’t going to be half as boring as he’d thought.
He hadn’t planned on working this summer at all. He’d come home to Cedar Ridge, Georgia, to attend the weddings of not one but two of his foster sisters. He’d just finished working on a construction crew in Ecuador, building some much-needed low-cost housing, and he’d been looking forward to a restful summer of family, food and long, hot showers. He’d only taken the job as Red Hawk State Park’s ranger as a favor for his brother Logan.
The former ranger had retired abruptly due to health issues and moved to Florida. Sheriff Logan Carter’s office had signed on to cosponsor a summer day camp for local disadvantaged kids at the park, but without a ranger on-site, the outreach was a no-go.
“You’ll be home all summer anyway,” Logan had pointed out. “What with Jina’s wedding at the end of May and then Torey’s in August. This will give you something interesting to do. Besides, you’ve been a ranger before, haven’t you?”
He hadn’t sounded too sure. Nick’s foster family couldn’t keep up with his employment. In all honesty, neither could he. His foster mom Ruby said he changed jobs like other people changed socks.
She was exaggerating. Slightly.
But, yeah, he’d worked as a park ranger. Two—no. Three times. He’d also been a bush pilot in Alaska, and a wilderness guide in Montana. He’d worked on crab boats, dairy farms, construction crews and oil rigs. And last year he’d spent six months smuggling medical supplies past some pretty nasty guys in Honduras.
Now that had been interesting. Being a park ranger in the tiny mountain town of Cedar Ridge, Georgia? Not so much.
But he’d liked the idea of helping his brother out. He’d missed his family. As much as he loved traveling the world, these people had been his tribe since he’d been grafted into Ruby Sawyer’s foster family at age fourteen.
By that time his mom had been dead a year—cancer had taken her at twenty-nine. He’d been heartsick. Bone-deep angry, too. His free-spirited, delightfully irresponsible mom had been more like a sister than a parent, and he’d loathed living in the stodgy foster homes. He’d run away countless times that first year, spending more nights on the streets than in a bed.
After coming to Ruby’s, he’d kept a packed knapsack stashed in her goat barn for three months, planning his next escape. But over time, he’d realized that the little mountain farmhouse was different. Bit by bit, Ruby and her five other “hard to place” foster kids had worked their way into Nick’s bruised heart.
Finally, one day, he’d walked into the kitchen and wordlessly handed Ruby his battered backpack. Ruby-like, she’d needed no explanation.
Glad you’ve decided to stay on, son, she’d said. We’ve got right attached to you. Now go get washed up. It’s near time for supper, and we’re having chili. Your favorite.
From that day on, Ruby and his foster siblings were his people. Maybe he didn’t see them all that often, but he loved them with all his heart. So, when his sisters got married, no matter where Nick was or what he was doing, he jumped on a plane and came home.
And when one of them asked him for a favor, he said yes, if he could. Why not? It was only for a few months. He’d planned on staying largely behind the scenes at the camp, letting the counselors and staff run that part of the show while he kept an eye on the park itself.
That plan wasn’t working out so well.
The camp was underfunded and understaffed, and Nick, it turned out, was the official go-to guy for all unassigned problems. There were a lot of those. Today was only day two, and he’d already been pressed to stand in for a counselor who was benched with an impressive case of poison ivy, remove a snake that’d taken up residence in the girls’ restroom and clear a fire ant nest out of the camp’s well pump.
Now he was on breakfast duty.
He opened the fridge again and delved deeper. Milk. Orange juice. A lot of hot dogs. He reached in, moving things around.
“Nick? What are you doing? Where’s the cook?”
His foster brother stood in the doorway, looking concerned. Logan was wearing his sheriff’s uniform, so he was likely on his way to work. Apparently he’d made a detour to ensure everything at the camp was going according to plan.
Logan really liked plans. And he knew that Nick really didn’t. Hence the check-in.
“In the emergency room. Mrs. Lipscomb tripped over her Pomeranian this morning. She’ll be fine, but she broke her leg and is out of commission for the summer.”
“What?” Logan came into the kitchen, the screen door slamming shut behind him. “The campers will show up expecting breakfast in...” He glanced at his watch.
“A few minutes. I know. I’m on it.” Nick started opening cupboards. Pots, pans. Cans of baked beans. Ah, jam! Grape and strawberry. Score. Now he just needed something to put jam on.
“What are you going to do?”
“No idea. Want to run to Angelo’s and buy some doughnuts?” Their sister Maggie was co-owner of the local eatery, and she’d help out. But Angelo’s was all the way down the mountain in town. He looked at the clock ticking on the log wall. “Better use your sirens.”
“I can’t.” Logan looked agonized.
“You’re probably right. A sheriff using his sirens to pick up doughnuts—I definitely see a potential public relations problem.”
His brother wasn’t amused. “Not what I meant. I have a meeting with the Georgia State Patrol commander this morning.” He raked a hand through his short, brown hair. “This isn’t good, Nick. We promised to provide the campers with two square meals a day, and some of these kids come from...pretty hard places.”
He didn’t have to explain what he meant, not to Nick. They both knew way too much about hard places.
“We can’t let them go hungry,” Logan said. “They have to know they can depend on these meals. That they can depend on us. You know how it is.”
Yeah. He did.
“I’ll handle it. Go to your meeting.”
Logan looked torn. “You’re sure you can pull this off?”
Nick shut the cupboard with more force than necessary. “Do you want me to lie to you?” It was a rhetorical question. Logan had a thing about lying. “I’m not sure about anything right now, but I’ll figure something out.” His brother still looked doubtful, so Nick gave him a grin and a wink. “Remember who you’re talking to. Trust me, I’ve dealt with way bigger disasters than this.”
“That’d be more comforting if I didn’t suspect you caused so many of them,” Logan muttered, but his mouth twitched. “All right. I’ll try to come back after the meeting and help out. I can’t promise, though. It depends on what I’m dealing with in the county today. Maybe I’d better give Maggie a buzz. She can probably give us some help with lunch, anyway.”
“Good idea. See? It’s all going to work out.”
Logan still didn’t look convinced, but he headed outside. As the screen door slapped shut behind him, Nick blew out a long breath.
His brother was right. Maggie would help if she could. He and his foster brothers and sisters always helped each other. But in the meantime, he still had breakfast to deal with.
He scanned the kitchen. He needed something simple. Maybe that jam on some toast? Hadn’t he seen packages of bread somewhere?
He was deep in the pantry when he heard the screen door slap again.
“Nick?” his brother called.
“Clock’s ticking, bro. If you can’t help, at least stop bugging me.” Nick stuck his head out of the pantry and stopped short.
Logan wasn’t alone. A woman was with him.
“Sorry,” he murmured as his brother shot him a look. He glanced at the woman, trying not to stare. She looked familiar, but now that he was back in his hometown, most people did.
This particular woman was blonde and slim. She wore a serious expression and a sedate gray skirt with a white blouse, so probably not associated with the park or the camp. She looked like she was on her way to an office job.
The thought made him shudder, but, hey, he was a live-and-let-live kind of guy. If other people wanted to spend their lives in cubicles, he was fine with it.
The woman looked back with worried eyes that were a unique shade of green—another tug at old memories. But not only old ones. He’d seen eyes like that recently. Where?
Her hair was shoulder length and super curly—although she’d tried her best to restrain it with hair clasps. The memories tugged harder.
Curly hair. Super-green eyes. That way she studied him without even a hint of a smile. His sense of recognition swelled like a storm cloud.
Good grief. It couldn’t be...
“You remember Cara Andrews,” Logan said, his voice carefully polite. “Don’t you?”
Oh, yeah. Yeah, he sure did.
And suddenly breakfast for fifty was the least of his problems.
“Nick Marshall.” Cara murmured her high school enemy’s name with a sense of disbelief. “You’re not supposed to be here.” The words popped out before she could stop them. “Your name wasn’t on the staff list.”
She was certain of that because she’d read everything she could find about this camp before she’d signed the triplets up. A low-cost summer camp that provided meals, transportation and high-quality outdoor activities? It sounded too good to be true, making Cara instantly suspicious.
Her “too good to be true” ex-husband, Dr. Todd Baker, was the reason her boys qualified for the subsidized camp in the first place. His accountant’s fancy footwork had gotten the child support payments down to the bare minimum, and his high-priced lawyer had made veiled threats that if Cara kicked up too much of a fuss, Todd would file for sole custody of the boys.
It was almost certainly a bluff. He didn’t want them. He never had. But when it came to her boys, Cara didn’t take risks.
So she’d caved, and for the two years since her divorce, money problems kept her nerves on edge. But that was nothing new. She’d been on hyper-alert for so long she’d forgotten how not to worry. The triplets had been born too early, and right from the start, all their complicated care had fallen to Cara. Her fun-loving husband hadn’t found fatherhood much fun at all.
What he had found was more and more reasons to work late at his dental office—with the secretary he’d hired to replace Cara after the obstetrician put her on bed rest. Britney was perfect for the job, Todd had assured her. Pleasant, attractive, friendly.
Too good to be true.
So, yes, Cara had double-checked everything about this camp, and Nick’s name and photo weren’t on the staff list. She’d definitely have noticed. Even back in high school, Nick Marshall had been the kind of guy people noticed, and from what she saw, he hadn’t changed much in the past eleven years.
Same sun-streaked, light brown hair with the one lock that flopped over his forehead. Same coffee-brown eyes, same too-handsome-for-his-own-good face, with that aggravating mouth prone to teasing grins. His shoulders were broader than she remembered—that was the only change she could see.
“Nick was a last-minute addition,” Logan Carter explained. “Cara needs to talk to somebody about her boys’ experience at the camp yesterday,” the sheriff went on. “I really do have to get to that meeting, so I’ll leave you to it. If that’s okay?”
Cara didn’t think it was okay at all, but the sheriff was out the door before she could object.
Nick didn’t seem happy, either. He shot a narrow-eyed look at his brother’s retreating back before turning his attention to her. “It’s been a while, Cara. I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I haven’t been back long.” She hoped he wouldn’t press for details. Most people did, and reliving her humiliation on a daily basis was getting old. She’d been the valedictorian of their high school class, but she’d dropped out of college to marry Todd. She’d put him through dental school, then managed his office until the boys were born.
Until Britney.
She’d spent the last two years earning her degree online—she’d even gotten her master’s. She was putting her life back together, she reminded herself. Bit by bit.
But Nick only shrugged. “Yeah, same here. So, what can I help you with?”
Her relief at his disinterest mingled with annoyance. Of course Nick wouldn’t care enough to ask questions. He’d never paid any attention to her unless he was playing some silly prank.
“I enrolled my three boys in the Fledgling group here at camp,” she said. “And yesterday—”
That was as far as she got.
“Those triplets!” Nick pointed at her as comprehension dawned on his face. “They’re yours!” He laughed and shook his head. “That’s been bugging me. I couldn’t put my finger on who they reminded me of. It was you! They’ve got your eyes.”
Nick Marshall remembered her eyes? Cara wasn’t sure what to think about that—or about the silly flutter that started up in her stomach at the idea.
“The triplets are mine,” she confirmed briskly. “And yes, they all have green eyes.”
“Not just green.” Nick leaned forward, looking into her eyes with such intensity that it felt like he was much closer to her than he actually was. “They’re a really interesting color. I never saw the match of them until I was in Peru one September. The hills there are exactly the same color that time of year. Or colors,” he went on as if thinking out loud. “Not one green but a dozen different shades all layered together. It’s something to see, I’ll tell you that. Beautiful.”
Oh. Cara’s mouth went dry. This was unexpected.
Nobody had paid her a compliment like that in...well. Years. She wasn’t sure what to say, so after an awkward second, she circled back to her point. “So, like I said, I wanted to talk to you about my sons. They—”
“I should’ve guessed. If anybody would have triplets, it’d be you,” Nick went on as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Excuse me?”
“Back in high school, you always were the poster girl for overachievement.”
“That... That has nothing to do with this,” she stuttered. “Having triplets...it’s not...deliberate.”
“It was a joke, Cara.” He studied her, a smile curving his mouth. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
The casual observation cut through her flustery feelings like a hot knife through butter. Because Nick was wrong. She had changed. More than he could possibly imagine.
She’d had no choice. But she wasn’t about to explain that to the guy who’d once slipped a live mouse into her purse during Spanish class.
“I didn’t drive all the way up this mountain to reminisce about high school, Nick. I came to talk about my boys. They came home crying yesterday.”
“Did they?” He didn’t seem perturbed—but then again, Nick never did. “Why?”
“The activities were upsetting, and in my opinion, not appropriate for kids their age.”
“Is that so? Can you be more specific?”
“I can.” She unsnapped her purse and pulled out the list she’d made in the wee small hours last night.
Nick quirked an eyebrow. “You wrote it down?”
His tone was polite, but she heard amusement behind the question. She narrowed her eyes.
“I like to be organized.”
“I remember.” A chuckle. “All right. I’m listening. Shoot.” As he spoke, he stuck his head back into the pantry.
Cara tightened her lips. Typical Nick. She spoke to his back. “First of all, Aaron was handed a cockroach. By a counselor.” She still couldn’t quite believe that.
“Oh, yeah.” Nick’s voice was muffled, and she could hear rustlings as he moved things around. “I can explain that. They had a special class on bugs yesterday with an entomologist. Really cool. Rats,” he muttered. “These are hot dog buns. So much for toast.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He stepped out of the pantry and sighed. “Listen, it was a Madagascar hissing cockroach. They’re harmless, and the kids washed their hands afterward. Probably.”
Probably? She shuddered. “Nonetheless, I’d rather my four-year-old wasn’t forced to handle them.”
“Nonetheless.” Nick repeated the word solemnly, but she heard that whiff of amusement again. “Was he forced? I mean, did he tell the counselor he didn’t want to hold it?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Aaron can be a little shy sometimes.”
“Well, no worries. I’ll give the counselor a heads-up. He’s a nice guy, so I’m sure he had no idea he was upsetting anybody. Anyway, it was the first day for him, too. Bound to be a few hiccups.” He laughed. “More than a few. Where are your boys, by the way? Aren’t they coming to camp today?”
“They’re riding the bus in.” She’d considered bringing them with her, but after careful consideration, she’d decided against that. The boys needed to get used to riding the bus. It was going to be a necessity in the fall, when she started her new job teaching remedial math at the college where her father worked. The bus had been one important checkmark in the pro-camp column—they’d get that experience before pre-K started.
Besides, she’d preferred to have this conversation privately. She didn’t want to air her concerns in front of the boys. They were unhappy enough as it was.
The truth was, they’d been unhappy ever since the move. She’d hoped their sadness would pass. Instead it seemed to be settling in, and that worried her.
A lot.
The books she’d read—and she’d read plenty—had suggested fresh air, sunshine and friendly companionship. This very low-cost camp had seemed like the answer to her prayers, but so far it was only making things worse.
“Look,” Nick was saying, “I wouldn’t worry about one bad day. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your boys haven’t spent much time outside before this. Right?”
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
“Well.” He coughed. “They showed up to camp wearing polo shirts and ironed khakis, for one thing. And they acted like they’d never seen a lizard before. Totally freaked out when one ran across the table at lunchtime.”
That lizard had been another topic of tearful discussion last night, and it was point number two on her list. “About that—”
“Look.” Nick glanced at his watch. “I’d love to talk more about this, but I’ve got a crisis to deal with. The camp cook is out with an injury, and a horde of hungry kids are showing up for breakfast in just a few minutes. I’m pinch-hitting, which seems to be my job description around here, and I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to feed them. So—”
“Pancakes,” Cara informed him impatiently. She didn’t like having her concerns waved aside. And if he could interrupt, so could she.
“What?”
“Pancakes are on the menu today. Pancakes, orange wedges and sausage patties.”
He frowned at her. “How do you know that?”
She frowned back. “The menus were on the information sheet. And the website.”
“Oh.” Nick ran a hand through his dark hair, standing it on end. “Pancakes,” he repeated. “I’m supposed to make pancakes for fifty kids.”
“It won’t be that hard. They’re quick and easy, and you’ve got a big griddle over there.” She nodded at the gigantic stove hulking in the corner of the log building. “Although you’d better get busy mixing up your batter if you plan to have them ready anytime soon.”
“Batter. Right. Um. You don’t happen to know how to mix up a gigantic batch of pancake batter, do you?”
“It’s exactly the same as mixing up a small batch. You just multiply everything.” When he kept staring at her, she made an impatient noise. “It’s just math, Nick.”
“Math was never my best subject. And I’m not too good at cooking, either.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “You were always great at math, as I recall. How are you at making pancakes?”
Oh, for pity’s sake. He couldn’t be serious. “Are you asking me to help you make breakfast?” She shook her head. “Nick—”
“You wouldn’t only be helping me. You don’t want all those kids to go hungry, do you? Or worse, eat pancakes made by a guy who can’t do double-digit multiplication in his head? Besides,” he added with a wink, “you can run down the rest of your list of complaints while you cook.”
Cara hesitated. On the one hand, this was typical Nick. He was a genius at charming people into doing what he wanted them to do—and she’d been suckered more than once before she’d wised up.
On the other hand, her boys were really looking forward to this particular meal. Sugary breakfasts were a rarity for them, and the prospect of those pancakes had enticed them onto the bus this morning. She whuffed out a sigh. “Oh, all right. But you’re helping.”
“Of course.” Nick bowed. “I’m at your service, Chef.”
Chef. The word took her by surprise. She’d once dreamed of becoming a chef. Back years ago, when she’d still believed any dream could come true if you just tried hard enough.
Now she knew better.
She studied him sternly.
“Do you want my help or not?” she asked. He nodded. “Then stop being silly and get me an apron. And a really, really big bowl.”
