Page 73 of Mr. B

“No, you are not free to wander anywhere. You will go in groups with either Emily or Robby, and you will stick to the beach. No one goes anywhere by themselves. We’ll go inland tomorrow to the hot springs.”

“Are you afraid we’ll get lost?”

“Just stay with the group.”

“Has anyone ever gotten lost on the overnight?”

“No, and please don’t be the first.”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked through the trees to the small clearing they’d used for the last several years. There were stumps around a fire ring, along with some fallen logs that had had their bark removed and were rolled close to the fire area.

The kids dropped the gear, then broke off into two groups. “Be back by dinner.”

Cassandra watched them go. “Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Nah. Where can they go?” He took her hand. “As far as I know, there are no pirates on the island.”

She pulled her hand away. “Stop.”

He moved closer to her. “Would it really be that big of a deal if they all got kidnapped by pirates?”

“Weston.”

“Just overnight. Freed in the morning, unharmed.”

Cassandra smiled. “And these pirates would leave us alone?”

“Of course. We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Hmm. I guess I could get behind that.”

Chapter eighteen

“Don’t even say the word.”

Wes, Cassandra, and the kids roasted hot dogs over a campfire for dinner, then made popcorn in a large cast-iron Dutch oven, adding caramel and marshmallows. Both Wes and Cassandra passed on the sweet popcorn and munched on chips instead.

When it grew late and the fire was the only light, they told ghost stories. The boys far outnumbered the girls, and they enjoyed the girls' gasps, over-the-shoulder glances, and sharp intakes of breath. Wes had heard most of the stories over the years, or versions of them, but he enjoyed watching the kids' reactions. Even Cassandra jumped at one of the endings.

She glanced at him, then pointed. “Don’t say it.”

“Are we a little freaked out?”

“No.”

He laughed as he held up a crooked finger. “Beware the man with the hook.”

“I’m ignoring you.” She turned her attention to Robby, who was telling the final story of the night.

When the story was over, with the girls all thoroughly disturbed by the graphic ending, Wes stood. “Okay, time to crawl into those sleeping bags.”

The kids all grumbled, and one spoke up. “It’s still early, man.”

“It’s nearly eleven. At camp, you’d be in bed already.”

“Can we at least talk a little?”