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CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
The lakeside property was as beautiful as Deacon remembered. Pines and cedars grew thick around the perimeter of the large lake, bordering the deep-blue summer sky with their dark, craggy edges and filling the air with the fresh scent of evergreens.
The area he’d planned for the condos had been surveyed and sectioned off, and the heavy equipment sat in the clearing waiting to start excavation. This had been his dream. Something he obsessed about for years. Now he had another obsession. And it had nothing to do with building condos and making his first million. It had to do with a petite blonde with a wild side that set his hair on fire—something he should’ve figured out the first time she’d shown him her panties. And maybe deep down he had known. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to take her offer and run.
They had spent the night together. With his brothers at her house, he had taken her back to his hotel room, where they had explored her wild side…and his. He had missed his flight again. Something that Olivia had found quite amusing. But when he’d grumbled over it, she’d picked up the phone and made a call. Two hours later he’d been on French Kiss’s private jet—a slick silver plane with an embarrassing pair of purple lips on the tail.
The plane was now waiting at a small airfield for him to conclude his business. He had planned to come back and get the ball rolling—meet with the foreman, set up a timetable. Instead he stood there like the new kid on the first day of school. He felt disoriented and out of place, like he’d stepped into someone else’s life. Which was crazy. Louisiana was his home. He and his brothers had gone duck hunting in these woods and fishing in this very lake with their father.
Perhaps because he had grown up in the bayou, Donny John had never liked to spend much time there. Instead he had brought his sons here to the lake, a good two hours from their home, and taught them how to bait a hook and to wait patiently for the second nibble before they yanked the rod. When they had caught their limit, they’d return to camp, where Deacon’s mother would be waiting to fry up their catch. Then they would gather around the campfire and toast marshmallows while his mother told ghost stories that were more funny than scary. The memories were some of the happiest Deacon had.
A shriek of girlish giggles had him turning from the lake and looking at the path that led into the trees. Curious, he followed the sound until he found a clearing and three teenage girls sitting cross-legged in a circle. They appeared to be trying to start a fire with a flint stone and pocketknife. Their efforts were pathetic at best—mostly because they couldn’t seem to stop giggling. The giggles died when one looked up and saw Deacon. Her eyes widened, and she swatted each of her friends on the arm. All three looked at him and guiltily jumped to their feet. Each wore shorts and a navy blue T-shirt with the words Camp Chitimacha printed on the front. Which pretty much explained what they were doing there.
The real estate broker had informed him that a camp was located on the land, but the previous owner was supposed to have evicted it by now. Which meant it would be up to Deacon. Not that he could evict three young girls.
He nodded at the flint and knife they’d left on the ground next to a pile of sticks. “Trying to start a fire?” When they exchanged fearful glances, he introduced himself. “I’m Deacon Beaumont. I’m building condos down by the lake.”
“So you’re the jerk who’s closing down the camp?” the tall, skinny girl asked.
There was a moment when all three pairs of eyes narrowed on him when Deacon thought about backpedaling and lying through his teeth. Instead he nodded. “I am.”
“But it’s not fair,” the redhead said. “We’ve been coming to Camp Chitimacha for the last four years and now you’re just going to tear down the camp cabins? Where are we going to go next year?”
The short, plump teenager spoke up. “I’m going to fat camp. My mom already said.” She glared at Deacon and mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like butthole.
Realizing that things were about to get ugly, Deacon took a few steps back. “I’ll just let you girls get back to building your fire. But you might want to make a tinder nest for the spark to catch.”
“Thanks for the tip,” the plump girl said belligerently, but the tall, skinny girl had more common sense.
“You know how to start a fire?” she asked.
“Emily!” her plump friend snapped at her.
Emily shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going to keep him from tearing down the cabins, Izzy. And if he can build us a fire so we beat the Tiger Lilies, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t let him. They’ve stomped us every summer for the last four years, and I’m getting tired of hearing Chelsea Watts brag about it.” She looked at the redhead. “What do you think, Megan?”
Megan studied Deacon for a long moment. “You sure you can do it? It’s not as easy as it looks.”
Deacon grinned. “Of course I can do it. I spent every summer camping here with my family. And fire-starting was my specialty.” He rubbed his hands together. “In no time at all, you girls are going to be toasting marshmallows and enjoying s’mores.”
Unfortunately, “no time at all” turned into “much longer than he’d expected.” Sweat rolled off his temples and the muscles in his forearm ached from repeatedly flicking the flint against the steel blade of the pocketknife. When a spark finally caught the bark he’d formed into a nest, he was too out of breath to blow on it, so it quickly fizzled. But he refused to give up. Especially since the teenage girls had already lost faith in him. Emily picked at the polish on her big toe, while Megan drew in the dirt. Only Izzy continued to watch with a satisfied, know-it-all smile.
Finally a spark caught, and he leaned down and blew until a flame leaped to life. “Get the kindling!” he yelled. The girls quickly handed him the twigs they’d collected, and soon they had a small fire going.
“We did it!” Izzy did a couple of celebratory dance moves. “We have fire!”
Her friends joined her, and pretty soon all three girls were dancing around Deacon as he smiled with a deep sense of accomplishment. Maybe one day he’d teach his own daughters how to start a fire. The thought surprised him. Since he’d spent most of his life taking care of his family, the idea of kids and more responsibility hadn’t been appealing. But suddenly his mind was filled with images of him camping with a couple of cute little girls.
Had Olivia ever gone camping? Somehow he doubted it. She had been too wrapped up in French Kiss and earning Michael’s love. The thought saddened him. He hadn’t had the best of lives. He had lost his mother at an early age and had worked hard to keep food on the table. But he’d had fun in between the hard work—especially the summers spent here at the lake.
A hand waved in front of his face.
“Hey, are you okay?” Izzy asked. “You look kinda dazed out and sad.”
He blinked away the images. “Yeah, I’m good. Now let’s get some wood so that fire doesn’t go out.”
After tending the fire, he had the girls line it with rocks.
“You have to go,” Emily said as she placed the last rock in the circle. “Mandy, the camp counselor, will be coming back soon to check our progress. And if she finds you here, we won’t win the fire-starter award.”
