The Runaway Bridesmaid. Kaitlyn Rice

closer.

      Isabel inched toward the bus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Personally.

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

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

      She never used her credit card.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “I realize that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Darla frowned. “He told you about them?”

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

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

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

      “Having sex?” Isabel whispered.

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

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

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

      “His vision?”

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

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

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

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

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

      “S’mores!”

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

      “At R.J.’s sleep-away camp, he godda have S’mores,”