Temptation (2 page)

No, no one did, and since Candy was the person she loved best, Eden determined to do a better job of concealing the wounds that were still open. “I've put it behind me, Candy.”

“Maybe. But I know that the camp was initially my venture, and that I roped you in.”

“You didn't rope me in. I wanted to invest. We both know it was a pitifully small amount.”

“Not to me. The extra money made it possible for me to include the equestrian program. Then, when you agreed to come in and give riding lessons . . .”

“Just keeping a close eye on my investment,” Eden said lightly. “Next year I won't be a part-time riding instructor and bookkeeper. I'll be a full-fledged counselor. No regrets, Candy.” This time she meant it. “It's ours.”

“And the bank's.”

Eden shrugged that away. “We need this place. You, because it's what you've always wanted to do, always worked and studied toward. Me . . .” She hesitated, then sighed. “Let's face it, I haven't got anything else. The camp's putting a roof over my head, giving me three meals a day and a goal. I need to prove I can make it.”

“People think we're crazy.”

The pride came back, with a feeling of recklessness Eden was just learning to savor. “Let them.”

With a laugh, Candy tugged at Eden's hair. “Let's eat.”

Two hours later, Eden was winding up the day's first riding lesson. This was her specialty, her contribution to the partnership she and Candy had made. It had also been decided to trust Eden with the books, mainly because no one could have been more inept with figures than Candice Bartholomew.

Candy had interviewed and hired a staff of counselors, a nutritionist and a nurse. They hoped to have a pool and a swimming instructor one day, but for now there was supervised swimming and rowing on the lake, arts and crafts, hiking and archery. Candy had spent months refining a program for the summer, while Eden had juggled the profit-and-loss statements. She prayed the money would hold out while Candy ordered supplies.

Unlike Candy, Eden wasn't certain the first week of camp would be the toughest. Her partner had all the training, all the qualifications for running the camp, but Candy also had an optimist's flair for overlooking details like red ink on the books.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Eden signaled from the center of the corral. “That's all for today.” She scanned the six young faces under their black riding hats. “You're doing very well.”

“When can we gallop, Miss Carlbough?”

“After you learn to trot.” She patted one of the horses' flanks. Wouldn't it be lovely, she thought, to gallop off into the hills, riding so fast even memories couldn't follow? Foolish, Eden told herself; she gave her attention back to the girls. “Dismount, then cool down your horses. Remember, they depend on you.” The breeze tossed her bangs, and she brushed at them absently. “Remember to put all the tack in its proper place for the next class.”

This caused the groans she expected. Riding and playing with the horses was one thing, tidying up afterward was another. Eden considered exerting discipline without causing resentment another accomplishment. Over the past week, she'd learned to link the girls' faces and names. The eleven and twelve-year-olds in her group had an enthusiasm that kept her on her toes. She'd already separated in her mind the two or three she instructed who had the kind of horse fever she recognized from her own adolescence. It was rewarding, after an hour on her feet in the sun, to answer the rapid-fire questions. Ultimately, one by one, she nudged them toward the stables.

“Eden!” Turning, she spotted Candy hustling toward her. Even from a distance, Eden recognized concern.

“What's happened?”

“We're missing three kids.”

“What?” Panic came first, and quickly. Years of training had her pulling it back. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean they're nowhere in camp. Roberta Snow, Linda Hopkins and Marcie Jamison.” Candy dragged a hand through her hair, a habitual gesture of tension. “Barbara was lining up her group for rowing, and they didn't show. We've looked everywhere.”

“We can't panic,” Eden said, as much to warn herself as Candy. “Roberta Snow? Isn't she the little brunette who stuck a lizard down one of the other girls' shirts? And the one who set off the morning bell at 3:00 a.m.?”

“Yes, that's her.” Candy set her teeth. “The little darling. Judge Harper Snow's granddaughter. If she's skinned her knee, we'll probably face a lawsuit.” With a shake of her head, Candy switched to an undertone. “The last anyone saw of her this morning, she was walking east.” She pointed a finger, paint-spattered from her early art class. “No one noticed the other girls, but my bet is that they're with her. Darling Roberta is an inveterate leader.”

“If she's walking that way, wouldn't she run into that apple orchard?”

“Yeah.” Candy shut her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I'm going to have six girls up to their wrists in modeling clay in ten minutes, or I'd go off myself. Eden, I'm almost sure they headed for the orchard. One of the other girls admitted she heard Roberta planning to sneak over there for a few samples. We don't want any trouble with the owner. He's letting us use his lake only because I begged, shamelessly. He wasn't thrilled about having a girls' summer camp for a neighbor.”

“Well, he has one,” Eden pointed out. “So we'll all have to deal with it. I'm the one most easily spared around here, so I'll go after them.”

“I was hoping you'd say that. Seriously, Eden, if they've snuck into that orchard, which I'd bet my last dime they have, we could be in for it. The man made no bones about how he feels about his land and his privacy.”

“Three little girls are hardly going to do any damage to a bunch of apple trees.” Eden began to walk, with Candy scurrying to keep pace.

“He's Chase Elliot. You know, Elliot Apples? Juice, cider, sauce, jelly, chocolate-covered apple seeds, whatever can be made from an apple, they do it. He made it abundantly clear that he didn't want to find any little girls climbing his trees.”

“He won't find them, I will.” Leaving Candy behind, Eden swung over a fence.

“Put Roberta on a leash when you catch up to her.” Candy watched her disappear through the trees.

Eden followed the path from the camp, pleased when she found a crumpled candy wrapper. Roberta. With a grim smile, Eden picked it up and stuffed it in her pocket. Judge Snow's granddaughter had already earned a reputation for her stash of sweets.

It was warm now, but the path veered through a cool grove of aspens. Sunlight dappled the ground, making the walk, if not her errand, pleasant. Squirrels dashed here and there, confident enough in their own speed not to be alarmed at Eden's intrusion. Once, a rabbit darted across her path, and disappeared into the brush with a frantic rustle. Overhead a woodpecker drummed, sending out an echo.

It occurred to Eden that she was more completely alone than she had ever been before. No civilization here. She bent down for another candy wrapper. Well, very little of it.

There were new scents here, earth, animal, vegetation, to be discovered. Wildflowers sprang up, tougher and more resilient than hothouse roses. It pleased her that she was even beginning to be able to recognize a few. They came back, year after year, without pampering, taking what came and thriving on it. They gave her hope. She could find a place here. Had found a place, she corrected herself. Her friends in Philadelphia might think her mad, but she was beginning to enjoy it.

The grove of aspens thinned abruptly, and the sunlight was strong again. She blinked against it, then shielded her eyes as she scanned the Elliot orchards.

Apple trees stretched ahead of her as far as she could see, to the north, south and east. Row after row after row of trees lined the slopes. Some of them were old and gnarled, some young and straight. Instantly she thought of early spring and the overwhelming scent of apple blossoms.

It would be magnificent, she thought as she stepped up to the fence that separated the properties. The fragrance, the pretty white-and-pink blossoms, the freshly green leaves, would be a marvelous sight. Now the leaves were dark and thick, and instead of blossoms, she could see fruit in the trees closest to her. Small, shiny, and green they hung, waiting for the sun to ripen them.

How many times had she eaten applesauce that had begun right here? The idea made her smile as she began to climb the fence. Her vision of an orchard had been a lazy little grove guarded by an old man in overalls. A quaint picture, but nothing as huge and impressive as the reality.

The sound of giggling took her by surprise. Shifting toward the direction of the sound, Eden watched an apple fall from a tree and roll toward her feet. Bending, she picked it up, tossing it away as she walked closer. When she looked up, she spotted three pairs of sneakers beneath the cover of leaves and branches.

“Ladies.” Eden spoke coolly and was rewarded by three startled gasps, “Apparently you took a wrong turn on your way to the lake.”

Roberta's triangular, freckled face appeared through the leaves. “Hi, Miss Carlbough. Would you like an apple?”

The devil. But even as she thought it, Eden had to tighten her lips against a smile. “Down,” she said simply, then stepped closer to the trunk to assist.

They didn't need her. Three agile little bodies scrambled down and dropped lightly onto the ground. In a gesture she knew could be intimidating, Eden lifted her left eyebrow.

“I'm sure you're aware that leaving camp property unsupervised and without permission is against the rules.”

“Yes, Miss Carlbough.” The response would have been humble if it hadn't been for the gleam in Roberta's eye.

“Since none of you seem interested in rowing today, Mrs. Petrie has a great deal of washing up to be done in the kitchen.” Pleased by her own inspiration, Eden decided Candy would approve. “You're to report to Miss Bartholomew, then to Mrs. Petrie for kitchen detail.”

Only two of the girls dropped their heads and looked down at the ground.

“Miss Carlbough, do you think it's fair to give us extra kitchen detail?” Roberta, one half-eaten apple still in hand, tilted her pointed chin. “After all, our parents are paying for the camp.”

Eden felt her palms grow damp. Judge Snow was a wealthy and powerful man with a reputation for indulging his granddaughter. If the little monster complained . . . No. Eden took a deep breath and not by a flicker showed her anxiety. She wouldn't be intimidated or blackmailed by a pint-size con artist with apple juice on her chin.

“Yes, your parents are paying for you to be entertained, instructed and disciplined. When they signed you up for Camp Liberty, it was with the understanding that you would obey the rules. But if you prefer, I'd be glad to call your parents and discuss this incident with them.”

“No, ma'am.” Knowing when to retreat, Roberta smiled charmingly. “We'll be glad to help Mrs. Petrie, and we're sorry for breaking the rules.”

And I'm sure you have a bridge I could buy, Eden thought, but she kept her face impassive. “Fine. It's time to start back.”

“My hat!” Roberta would have darted back up the tree if Eden hadn't made a lucky grab for her. “I left my hat up there. Please, Miss Carlbough, it's my Phillies cap, and it's autographed and everything.”

“You start back. I'll get it. I don't want Miss Bartholomew to worry any longer than necessary.”

“We'll apologize.”

“See that you do.” Eden watched them scramble over the fence. “And no detours,” she called out. “Or I keep the cap,” One look at Roberta assured her that that bit of blackmail was all that was needed. “Monsters,” she murmured as they jogged back into the grove, but the smile finally escaped. Turning back, she studied the tree.

All she had to do was climb up. It had looked simple enough when Roberta and her partners-in-crime had done it. Somehow, it didn't look as simple now. Squaring her shoulders, Eden stepped forward to grab a low-hanging branch. She'd done a little mountain-climbing in Switzerland; how much harder could this be? Pulling herself up, she hooked her foot in the first vee she found. The bark was rough against her palm. Concentrating on her goal, she ignored the scrapes. With both feet secured, she reached for the next branch and began to work her way up. Leaves brushed her cheeks.

She spotted the cap hanging on a short branch, two arms' lengths out of reach. When she made the mistake of looking down, her stomach clenched. So don't look, Eden ordered herself. What you can't see can't hurt you. She hoped.

Eden cautiously inched her way out to the cap. When her fingers made contact with it, she let out a low breath of relief. After setting it on her own head, she found herself looking out, beyond the tree, over the orchard.

Now it was the symmetry that caught her admiration. From her bird's height, she could see the order as well as the beauty. She could just barely glimpse a slice of the lake beyond the aspens. It winked blue in the distance. There were barnlike buildings, and what appeared to be a greenhouse, far off to the right. About a quarter of a mile away, there was a truck, apparently abandoned, on a wide dirt path. In the quiet, birds began to sing again. Turning her head, she saw the bright yellow flash of a butterfly.

The scent of leaves and fruit and earth was tangy, basic. Unable to resist, Eden reached out and plucked a sun-warmed apple.

He'd never miss it, she decided as she bit into the skin. The tart flavor, not quite ripe, shot into her mouth. She shivered at the shock of it, the sensual appeal, then bit again. Delicious, she thought. Exciting. Forbidden fruit usually was, she remembered, but she grinned as she took a third bite.

“What in the devil are you doing?”

She started, almost unseating herself, as the voice boomed up from below. She swallowed the bite of apple quickly before peering down through the leaves.