That made both men smile. One of the things Bruce liked most about Camp True North Springs was how much pride the staff took in their work. It was compelling, given how his work was starting to sit uneasy on his spirit. He’d never admit to a scrap of envy for the simple, significant life Mason, Dana and the others shared, but it was there—sitting insistent and impatient in the back of his mind.

  Mason brushed the dust off his pants as he walked toward Bruce. “Ever done baby shots?”

  Bruce stared for a second before asking, “You mean, like portraits?”

  “Isabel is thinking about a set of her and Olivia.” Isabel was a young widow with a sweet baby girl. “Dana was talking about how she’s not had any pictures taken since William died.”

  The bittersweet request sent a pang to Bruce’s heart. “I got some good shots of the two of them on the first day,” he offered.

  Mason pulled a bandanna from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Bit different than sitting for a real portrait, I think. Dana sees it as reaffirming that they’re still a family even though William is gone. It’d have to be done carefully. ‘Compassionately’ was the word Dana used.” He shifted his weight. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

  The pang grew into something closer to a calling. “I’d consider it an honor,” Bruce answered, his throat tightening a bit with the words. He would. He’d do anything within his power to make things a bit easier for these families.

  “I’ll tell Dana to talk to her again. We’ll see what we can set up.” Mason put his work gloves back on. “You were out there by the ducks for a while. Get whatever shot you were looking for?”

  Bruce smiled. “I did. Gonna get a whole series, from eggs in the nest to ducklings in the pond.”

  “Sounds cute,” Carson said. “But don’t tick off the male. Or the female, for that matter. They don’t take well to paparazzi.”

  Bruce thought about the Don’t mess with me glare the male duck had given him. “Oh, they made that clear. I’ll be cautious. And respectful.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Speaking of cautious, have you seen Willa this morning?”

  “Everybody’s over in the vegetable garden this morning. Seb’s got some salad project going.” Mason gave a smirk. “I didn’t ask the details.”

  Seb was forever inventing ways to involve the families in the camp meals. Bruce would have given anything to be a fly on the wall when Jack and Joe had been on church cookie–baking duty that first Sunday. Those two must have been a handful. “Okay.”

  “Hope it goes better with Joe today,” Carson called out as he started pushing a wheelbarrow toward the workshop behind the barns. “I’ll send up a few prayers your way.”

  “It didn’t go very well,” Mason commented.

  “No, actually, I think it went fine,” Bruce replied. “I didn’t really expect him to make it into the water the first time. Big leap for a little guy with his issues—and his mom’s issues.”

  “So you want to ask Willa if he’s coming back again this afternoon?”

  “Actually, I want to ask Willa if she’d be the one to try and make sure Joe comes back this afternoon. It might take some convincing. I think she should do it.”

  Mason shook his head. “Are you sure she’s up to that?”

  “No,” Bruce admitted. “She’s likely to give in way too easily on this. We need to keep Joe from giving up after only one try.”

  Mason glanced over in the direction of the camp garden. “Tall order. Especially for her.”

  “No kidding. But, Mason, he wants to. I can see it in him. If we can just get him over his fear—”

  “Don’t push, Bruce,” Mason cut in. “They’re all here for healing, not to chalk up victories.”

  “What if they’re the same thing?”

  Mason gave him a dubious look. “This from the guy who tried to run from the camp on the first day? You’ve got a lot of personal stake in Willa and her boys. Maybe too much. Don’t make this about your penance when it needs to be about them.”

  Ouch. Bruce would have been annoyed if there wasn’t such a painful ring of truth in what Mason just said. “I don’t remember you ever being such a direct guy.”

  With a smirk, Mason touched his wedding band. “Dana’s influence. But I mean it—tread carefully.” After a moment, he added, “Does she know? Have you told her how you’re connected with what happened to Rick?”

  “Of course not,” Bruce shot back. “She shouldn’t ever know.” Panic struck him. “You haven’t said anything, have you?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. It’s your secret to tell. But are you sure she shouldn’t know? Wouldn’t it be better if she did? Less painful?”

  “Who are you kidding? She shouldn’t ever know. It’s better for everyone that way.”

  If there was one thing Willa Scottson should never know, it was that. Right now he was sorry he’d ever admitted it to Mason that one night when he was feeling especially low and his defenses were down.

  No. Bruce intended to take that story to his grave.

  * * *

  Willa looked up from unearthing carrots with Jack and Joe to find Bruce standing over her shoulder. “Would it be okay if we took a walk?”

  “Now?” she asked. She didn’t really want to take a walk with him. “The boys and I are busy liberating carrots.” When Bruce raised an eyebrow at the odd term, she offered, “Seb’s term. Evidently, it sounds cooler than harvesting salad.”

  As if to prove her point, Jack practically fell over backward as a fat orange carrot came popping out of the sandy soil. “You’re free!” the boy yelled as if he’d just sprung the vegetable from jail. The cook was quite the character; that was for sure. But the boys were having fun, so why not?

  “Nelly and Deborah said they’d...‘liberate’...with Jack and Joe for a minute so we could talk. If that’s okay.”

  She’d wondered when he was going to come and talk about yesterday’s lesson. It would take some willpower to bite back the I told you so clamoring in her to get out. Still, Bruce had made an effort, and Joe didn’t seem too upset by the fact that it had failed. But failed it had. Her heart still ached at the way Joe’s head had dipped down as he walked back up from the pond to meet her and Jack on the big house porch. She’d known they weren’t ready. Maybe yesterday would put the whole issue to rest for the remainder of their stay here.

  Willa waited for Bruce to launch into some explanation or sales pitch about the value of swimming. She didn’t think swimming was invaluable—it was; it had been before—but she did recognize that it was impossible. At least for now, at least for them. Hopefully, Bruce would recognize that as well.

  He motioned toward the back of the property, away from the garden and away from the pond. There was nothing picturesque or special about the expanse of open space back behind the buildings, but it did have the spacious quietness that seemed to fill the camp. All that space made it an easy place to feel small, to hide and maybe to heal. With the exception of the whole swimming thing, Willa had to admit the near-constant twist of anxiety had begun to leave her stomach. There was nothing to prove at Camp True North Springs, no mask of strength to keep on. Everybody could be broken openly and honestly with each other. Maybe coming here wasn’t the gigantic mistake she’d first believed it to be. Maybe.

  They walked for a minute or so without talking. She appreciated that he made sure the garden was never out of sight, and more than once, Willa turned to check on the boys. They were so preoccupied liberating carrots they barely noticed she was gone.

  “Willa is such an usual name,” he began. “Is there a story behind it?”

  Was that a journalism ploy, or was he truly curious?

  “It’s not that my parents were disappointed they didn’t have a boy they could name William.”

  He cocked his head. “Do people think that?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Well, my dad’s name is William. So it’s not as far-fetched as you’d think. Dad was actually named after his mother—my grandmother, Willamena. I was named after both of them. That’s a mouthful when you’re in kindergarten, so I ended up Willa.”

  Bruce shrugged “Willamena sounds...regal, I suppose.”

  She laughed. When that brought a dubious look from him, she explained, “The reason why neither of the boys is a William is that—” she ticked off on her fingers “—one, you can’t really split that between twin boys. And two, Rick was Richard Scottson III and couldn’t bear to saddle either of the boys with something like that.” Regal indeed.

  “Still, I suppose it’s nice to have a name with a story—or at least a history—to it.”

  “Nothing behind Bruce?”

  Now he chuckled. “Not a single interesting thing about it.”

  They’d gone as far from the boys as she wanted to go, so Willa stopped walking and turned to face Bruce directly. “You didn’t ask for this walk to chat about names.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up as he shook his head. “Are you always this direct?”

  Willa pushed out a breath. “My life doesn’t leave a lot of room for much else. And it’s hot.” Still, she’d already said more to him than she’d planned to. Was he easy to talk to or just full of those journalism tricks to get people to talk?

  Bruce shifted his weight and tucked one hand in the pocket of his very adventure-looking khaki shorts. The man continually looked like a catalog for outdoorsman products—complete with a fit build, tousled hair and a hefty dose of rugged good looks. “I have a favor to ask you. A big one.”

  That was nervy. “What?”

  “I was hoping you’d do everything you could think of to encourage Joe to come to another lesson this afternoon.”

  Why hadn’t she seen this coming? “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

  He held up a hand in an apologetic gesture. “I get that it’s probably the last thing you want. But you should have seen his eyes yesterday. He wants to do this. He just hasn’t mustered up enough nerve yet. I don’t want to see him fail.”

  “You don’t want to see him fail.” You don’t have any right to see him do anything, she wanted to snap back. “I’m his mother. I think this is my call.”

  “Which is why I need your help. You’re the one who will know how to convince him.”

  Willa didn’t bother squelching the mean look she knew was crossing her features. “Why would I convince him to do something I don’t think he should do in the first place?”

  Bruce straightened. “Because, with all due respect, you’re wrong. Joe needs to do this. I know he’s only six, and I know I’m not a parent—”

  “You’re not his parent,” she snapped.

  “I know that. But I make my living observing people, and I can see it clear as day that this represents something to him. Even on his level, at his age. Willa, I think if he fails, it’ll stick with him for a long time.”

  Willa hated even the slightest possibility that Bruce could be right. Joe had been quiet and sullen since the lesson. More than once today, she’d caught him looking at the pond, staring at the water with something she refused to recognize as longing. It was one thing to work up enough nerve to allow him to try. But to encourage him? To try to keep him from quitting when it was the thing she most wanted?

  “I know it’s asking a lot,” he insisted. “I know I don’t really have a right to ask.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “But don’t you think your boys deserve a victory while they’re here?” he went on. “Some small accomplishment to feel good about?”

  This isn’t small, she wanted to shout. This is enormous. Far too big. He’s just a little boy.

  “I’ve met a lot of people who’ve done a lot of reckless running in their lives. Some people run up mountains and dive off cliffs for all the wrong reasons, trying to prove something they should have proven in a much smaller way a long time ago. If I can give Joe that...”

  She glared at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  He shook his head again. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.”

  She didn’t believe him. No one gives a passionate speech like that and then says they’re not really sure. There was something behind why Bruce was putting so much stock in Joe swimming.

  Or maybe it was just her overprotective-mother instinct kicking in. Could it really be possible he was just trying to help?

  Chapter Six

  Joe did not come to the swimming lesson on Wednesday. Nor did Willa agree to encourage him.

  Bruce fought his own sense of discouragement. Joe deserved another chance; Bruce just didn’t know how to give it to him.

  Instead, he tried to be grateful that there was no time for lessons today. Today all the camp families were at the North Springs Nature Center. With the plants in the wild riot of their spring bloom, the lush green and vibrant colors made it the perfect place to get some great shots of the families. In another month, all that growth would fade to brown in summer’s sweltering heat, even up here.

  He kept his mind focused on the happy victory that had just occurred. Bruce, Dana, Isabel and Olivia had come up an hour earlier than the other families so that they could get a good session of photographs in before Olivia took to napping in the sling Isabel carried her in most of the time. The rugged terrain of both the camp and the center had made a traditional baby stroller impractical, and everyone found the sight of Olivia snuggled up against Isabel charming.

  Both mother and daughter required extra care at first—handling that was much more about who wasn’t in the photograph than who was. There was a lot of grief to wade through at first, but the shots toward the end were sweet and tender and downright heartwarming. Now, walking along the trail behind the other families, Bruce found himself smiling as he recalled a frame of Olivia reaching one tiny hand up to touch her mother’s cheek.

  A high-pitched yelp caught his attention. Bruce looked up to see Willa grasping at Jack and Joe, taking small but rushed steps backward and away from something.

  He stashed his camera in his backpack the way he always did around them and dashed forward. Willa nearly crashed into him as she continued edging her way back down the path. She yelped nearly as loud at their close contact as she had cried out at whatever had sent her down the path.

  Bruce grabbed her shoulders for a second to keep her and the boys from tumbling over, as she had the two of them clamped to either side with an iron grip. “What’s wrong?”

  She stayed pressed up against him as she pointed a few feet up the path. “That!”

  Bruce followed her gesture and found a smallish tarantula standing in the path. Frozen, he could guess, by the shriek of the tall being that had come across him on the path.

  “It’s huge.” Willa’s voice was a mix of squeak and whisper.

  “He’s more afraid of you than you are of him,” Bruce said. Him, because the size told Bruce it was a male. The females were much larger, but he didn’t think that was the sort of fact he ought to share right now.

  “I doubt that,” Willa said.

  “He’s hairy,” Joe said with a hint of wonder.

  “He’s looking for his lady spider. She’s probably over there, somewhere in her den.”

  Willa started backing up against Bruce again, but something in him said to hold steady. “It’s okay. Just give him a minute.”

  “I don’t want to give him a second.” Willa squinted her eyes shut. Bruce felt her lean a bit against him.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of him,” Bruce said in a low, reassuring tone. “He only looks scary. He’s using the path, just like we are.”

  “Will that big spider bite us?” Joe said, squeaking a bit himself. Bruce felt Joe’s arms clamp around his leg.

  He put his arm on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s called a tarantula. And he won’t bite you unless he thinks you’re going to hurt him. People have held them. Some people even keep them as pets.” That brought a mortified groan from Willa and Jack. “I don’t personally recommend it,” Bruce said. “Everyone’s better off with them living out here.”

  “Have you held one?” Jack asked, looking a little too intrigued.

  “Once,” Bruce admitted. “That was enough for me. But just stay still for a moment and let him walk away. It’s actually pretty neat how they walk.”

  “I’d rather he run away, thanks,” Willa said.

  Maybe it wasn’t just Jack and Joe who needed a little victory of courage while they were here. “Don’t turn back now. Everyone else is farther down the trail. Just stay for a minute and let him pass.” When Willa gulped loud enough for Bruce to hear, he added, “You can do this, Willa. He’s not going to hurt you or anyone.”

  He was glad that Willa didn’t turn and run. He kept his hand on Joe’s shoulder and, after a moment, put his other hand on Jack’s as well. He didn’t dare touch Willa but was glad she stayed right there, pressed against him fiercely enough that he could hear her short, tight breaths.

  Everyone stood still. After half a minute, Willa squeaked, “Why isn’t he moving?”

  “He’s as worried as you are. Oh, wait, look—there he goes.” The black-and-brown spider moved one leg, then another, then slowly made his way across the path. He sped up in a flurry of furry legs and disappeared under the brush.

  Willa softened against him, bringing her hands up to cover her face as she let out the breath he knew she’d been holding. Bruce dared to put a hand on her shoulder then. “He’s gone,” he said, surprised at the tenderness in his own voice.

  He looked down at the boys. “Your mom was very brave just then. You too.” Pronouncing their courage set a small glow under his ribs.

  “I don’t think so,” Willa said, taking her hands off her eyes and giving him a dubious look he found, well...endearing.