BRITTANY WAS UP at dawn the next morning and found Philip Law in the catering barn where the children ate their meals. Breakfast had ended and the barn echoed with laughter and conversation as the kids left in their groups for their first activity, following the colored signs that marked the tracks through this section of the forest.

It was an idyllic location for a summer camp, a curve of land where the forest met the ocean and the sharp scent of pine mingled with the fresh sea air.

Reliving happy memories, she strolled across to Philip, who was in conversation with one of the other camp directors.

“Brittany.” Philip gave her a warm greeting, exchanged a few pleasantries and then got straight down to business. “How is the wrist? Would it survive a few archery lessons?”

“Yes, as long as you don’t expect me to demonstrate.” She accepted the coffee someone handed her with a smile of thanks, and then rolled her eyes as a few drops sloshed onto the floor. “Oops. Maybe archery is a little ambitious as I can’t even get a mug to my mouth without spilling it.”

“Anything you can do would be great. We have a lively, inquisitive group this year. They need to be kept busy.”

Brittany put her mug down on the nearest empty table and straddled a chair. “Zach mentioned that you’re thinking of running an archaeology activity.” She saw the surprise on his face. “You’re surprised we had a conversation? Did you think I would have buried his body so deep he’d turn to oil before anyone found him?”

“No. But I thought you’d have a few things to say.”

“I did, and I said them.” She retrieved her mug and sipped her coffee, trying to think about anything other than Zach. “So—archaeology. Tell me what you’re thinking. A talk in the barn or a session out in the woods digging?”

“Both? The focus of this place is always the outdoors and the environment, how we can preserve it and what it teaches us. Do you remember when we saw each other in the Ocean Club a few summers ago?”

“That time when Ryan was developing the apartments and we had to yell to be heard above the drilling and banging?” She put the mug back down. “I remember.”

“You were full of enthusiasm about a summer camp you’d led at Cambridge.”

“That was a day camp, not residential. They came for a week and helped on-site.”

“There are a few children here this week who I think would be interested. We can try it. If it’s popular, we’ll plan a full program for next year. I contacted the university back in the spring to see if they could spare someone. They couldn’t, but now you’re here and your credentials are impressive.”

“Kids don’t care whether you have a PhD.”

“But they’re going to care that you’ve been on digs all over the world. Didn’t you do an excavation in Egypt?”

“Years ago. Since then it’s been mostly the Mediterranean.” She took another sip of coffee. “I can definitely put something together, especially as we’re starting right at the beginning.” Her spirits lifted. Maybe the rest of the summer wouldn’t be such a washout after all. “How old are the kids in my group?”

“Seven to twelve.”

“And how long would I have them for?”

“Mornings for a week? Start with that. See how it goes. In the afternoon they can choose between water sports and coastal ecology. If it works out, you can do the same next week with a different group. Then write me a report with your recommendations for next year. I know you won’t be here, but give me something I can take to the university.”

“I can do that.” She felt a rush of excitement and energy that had been missing since she’d stepped off the plane. “When do you want me to start?”

Philip glanced down at her shorts and hiking boots. “Now? Why don’t I show you round, introduce you to a few of the team and we can take it from there. What equipment would you need?”

“They’ll learn more if they’re hands-on. It would be fun to do some actual digging, mark out a site. You’ll need to find me somewhere we can dig—” She pondered. “Can you get me a couple of masonry trowels? That flat type that they use to spread cement? I have a couple in my bag but a few more would be good. And I’ll buy a few toothbrushes next time I’m in the store.”

“We have toothbrushes. You want them all to clean their teeth before they smile at you?”

“No. I want to teach them that sometimes excavation requires cleaning up what you find, and that archaeologists often improvise when they’re looking for the right tool for the job. Talking of improvising—” she glanced over her shoulder “—can I take a few spoons from the kitchen?”

“Help yourself.” Philip rose to his feet. “I presume that’s not so you can eat dessert?”

“You can dig with a spoon.” She picked up the small backpack she’d brought with her with some of her equipment and walked with him out of the barn. “What exactly is Zach’s role here?”

Philip gave her a cautious look. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. I know he’s living in Seagull’s Nest.”

“He—” Philip paused. “He helps with the sponsorship program.”

“Tapping his rich contacts for money?”

“Something like that.” His answer somewhere between vague and evasive, Philip led her towards a group of eight children sitting in a circle. “These are the Seagulls. Seagulls, meet Dr. Forrest.”

With no time to give any more thought to Philip’s answer, she dropped her backpack down and joined them in the circle. “Call me Brittany. I was a Seagull when I was your age. It’s the best group.”

ZACH LEANED AGAINST the tree, watching. She was friendly and natural with the children, answering their questions and engaging them in conversation.

Camp had been part of her summer routine growing up and the year she turned eighteen, the summer they finally got together, she’d helped out with the younger children. She’d taken groups kayaking, taught archery and forest skills, and they’d loved her.

It seemed nothing had changed.

Within minutes of Philip’s introduction, they were bombarding her with questions. All except Travis Whitelaw. Travis had barely spoken since he’d arrived at camp a week earlier. He was part of the sponsorship program and Zach knew Philip was concerned.

Not that the boy was disruptive. He wasn’t. But he said nothing and made no attempt to integrate with the group.

When it came to activities he did what needed to be done and nothing more.

At Philip’s request, Zach had taken him up in the Cessna, but even that hadn’t induced Travis to talk.

Zach knew social workers were involved and he felt a pang of sympathy for the boy who trusted no one.

He knew exactly how that felt.

Brittany had obviously noticed the boy at the edge of the group, too, because she delved into her bag and handed something over, trying to draw him in.

She included Travis even when he made no effort to include himself.

Zach eased upright. Even as a teenager she’d sought out the kids who were on their own; the awkward, the homesick, the unpopular.

That was how she’d first got talking to him.

He’d hovered, silent and detached on the edge of the group, observing a life that wasn’t his. It was like looking through the window into a party to which you weren’t invited.

Brittany had ignored the fact he was older and pretty much a social leper. She’d talked to him as if he was someone worth knowing. To begin with he’d assumed he was being patronized. Then he’d noticed that she was the same way with everyone. Friendly and interested. Confident.

Realizing that any moment now he was going to be caught staring, Zach was about to walk away and return to the woodshop where a group of older children had spent the week constructing a raft, when Brittany glanced up and saw him.

It was too late to move. Too late to pretend he hadn’t been watching her.

The sounds of the forest faded away, as did the laughter of the children and the sounds of excited chatter.

There was only her.

And he saw something he’d never seen in her eyes before. Uncertainty and confusion.

She didn’t know what their relationship was anymore.

And he couldn’t help her because he didn’t know, either.

BRITTANY WATCHED AS Zach walked away. That brief wordless exchange had unsettled her.

Shaken, she focused her attention on the kids who were bursting with questions.

“So you’re like a detective?” asked one girl sitting cross-legged, peering through glasses as thick as bottles. “You’re looking for clues about what happened a long time ago?”

“That’s right. Clues and answers. We’re asking ourselves how an ancient community survived. We want to know how they lived, what they made and what they ate. Sometimes the answers are buried in the ground, so we have to dig to find them.”

A girl who wore her hair in neat braids stuck her hand up. “My mom doesn’t like me to get dirty.”

“Well, you don’t do it in your party dress.” Brittany decided not to mention the time Spy had called her late in the evening about something they’d found and Brittany had gone there straight from a restaurant in a minidress. By the time she left the site her legs had been muddy and her dress ruined, but the find had been worth the sacrifice. “Of course that’s another reason archaeology is the greatest thing ever—” she rocked back on her heels “—it’s the perfect excuse to get dirty.”

One of the boys perked up. “How do you know where to dig?”

“Survey, mapping and excavation.”

“Are you allowed to dig anywhere? My dad went mad when I dug up his potatoes.”

Brittany grinned. “There are laws that protect the land, and in every country they’re different. That’s why we have national parks, to protect them, so no one can ever build on them. Before builders can build on a site, there has to be an archaeological survey.”

“So you might find treasure and then you’d be rich?”

“There are laws that protect archaeological artifacts from being removed from a country. Whatever you find in a country has to stay there. Here in the US whatever you find belongs to the person who owns the land.”

“What do they do with it?”

“If it’s valuable, they might choose to give it to a museum.”

They fired questions at her. What was the most valuable thing she’d ever found? How far had she traveled? Did she have a whip like Indiana Jones? Had she seen the pyramids in Egypt?

At one point Philip Law came and sat on the edge of the group and Brittany saw the pleasure in his face as he witnessed the enthusiasm of the children.

She tried to find a way of explaining what she did in a way that would mean something to them. “When I used to come to camp, I kept a journal. Do you still do that?”

Two of the girls nodded. “We write it in the evening, after dinner and before campfire.”

“Archaeology is a bit like keeping a journal, only it’s a journal of human history. That’s why archaeologists don’t like artifacts to be removed from a site before they’ve seen it, because it isn’t just what we find that tells us about the past, it’s where we find it. Context. Do you know that word?”

She talked, expanded, watched their faces to see when she was getting too complicated.

One of the boys crept a little closer. “Have you ever found a dinosaur?”

“I’ve never found a dinosaur. Archaeologists don’t actually look for dinosaurs, but sometimes they might find one by accident.”

“I’d like to look for dinosaurs.”

“Then you need to study paleontology. Paleontologists are interested in the remains of plants and animals, whereas archaeologists are interested in humans and how they lived.” She answered their questions patiently and then Philip joined in. He suggested they mock up a site so that Brittany could give them a taste of what it meant to “dig.”

The morning passed quickly. The children were engaged, their excitement infectious and motivational. All except Travis. He said nothing. Even when Brittany made deliberate attempts to include him, he responded with the bare minimum.

Everyone had a story, she knew that. As an archaeologist she focused on the stories of those living in the past, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have an interest in people living in the present.

There was no doubt in her mind that she needed more information if she was to stand any chance of drawing him into the group.

THE CHILDREN HAD gone and Zach was sawing planks to the required length as a favor to Philip, when he realized he wasn’t alone.

He glanced up and saw Brittany leaning against the door frame watching him.

Given that he’d spent a good ten minutes watching her earlier that morning he wasn’t in a position to complain but this time he kept the eye contact brief. It was a bad idea to use a tool that could remove his fingers and look at Brittany at the same time.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Yes.” She eased away from the door and strolled towards him. “I wanted to talk to you about Travis.”

“Can’t help you with that.” He measured the wood and marked it. “You need to speak to Philip.”

“I intend to.” She helped him steady the plank. “I remember the summer I made a canoe. It used to be one of my favorite activities until it came to put it on the water. I was always terrified it would sink. He reminds me of you, by the way.”

“Philip?”

“Travis. He sits on the edge, as if that’s the only place he feels safe. He doesn’t trust anyone. You were the same.”

He could feel her looking at him as he positioned the plank carefully. “I thought we weren’t talking about the past?”

“I’m interested in what makes people behave the way they do.”

“Maybe you should have done psychology not archaeology.”

“There’s some overlap. It’s my job to ask questions.”

“But not personal questions.”

“No, not personal questions.” She ran her finger along the grain of the wood. “Do you ever think about it? About what happened between us?”

“We both know what happened. You felt sorry for me so you paid me attention.” He lined up the wood and picked up the saw. “You were hot, so I screwed you. I wanted to carry on screwing you so I went along with the whole marriage thing without thinking it through. End of story.” His summary was crude, brutal and fundamentally inaccurate but he was going for effect rather than accuracy.

“You think I felt sorry for you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No! I mean—” she frowned and searched for the right words “—I was sorry that you’d had a difficult life, but that had nothing to do with what happened between us.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” Exasperation crept into her voice. “Is that really what you think it was? Everything we shared—everything we had—you think that was pity?”

“I never knew what it was.”

“Why did you think I was interested in you, Zach?”

“Because you wanted to know about sex and you’re the sort who always turns to an expert when they want to learn something. It’s the way your brain works.” It was the reason that made the most sense to him. That and her teenage urge to rebel against everyone’s expectations.

She gave a soft laugh. “The sex was part of it, I’m not denying that.”

“Only part of it?”

“Hey, you’re good but not that good.”

He flicked her a glance and she blushed.

“Okay, maybe you are that good, but for the record arrogance isn’t attractive so your sex appeal has just diminished considerably.”

He didn’t want to think about sex, not right now when she was standing right in front of him with that silky dark hair caught in a careless braid that hung down her back. She was casually dressed, but she’d never looked sexier. He wanted to strip her naked in two moves and drive himself into that lithe softness.

He kept his hands on the saw. “It’s not arrogance, it’s about knowing yourself. Sex and screwing up. You said it yourself. The two things I was good at.”

“I was upset when I said that. It wasn’t true.”

“Aside from the fact you missed out flying, it was true.” He wondered if the conversation was bothering her as much as it bothered him. “Even now when I walk into Harbor Stores, I’m always under observation.”

“That’s because Mel wants to get inside your pants.”

The way she said it made him smile. “We both know how much that would thrill her parents. They don’t want me touching anything that belongs to them.”

“You’re wrong, Zach. Maybe that was how it was when you were younger, but to be fair you were a little scary. You were this brooding, silent, Heathcliff type.”

“Is this conversation going somewhere? I need to finish this. I’m flying a CEO and his family to their lodge in Bar Harbor later this afternoon.”

“You pretend you don’t care about anything, but I know that isn’t true. I know you care.”

“I don’t need anyone’s approval.”

“I know. You’re just a big tough guy who does his own thing.” She gave a crooked smile. “Maybe you could use some of your carpentry skills to remove that big chip on your shoulder. And while you’re at it, chop down some of those barriers you’ve built so that you can get out of your own way.”

He finished with the plank and laid it on the floor with the others. “Are you about done?”

“No. You still haven’t told me what you know about Travis.”

“What makes you think I know anything?”

“Because you always know twice as much about everything as you let on. I want to know what’s going on in the boy’s head. He’s not joining in. I don’t think the other kids are being mean or excluding him.” She bit her lip and frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe he isn’t interested. Maybe archaeology isn’t his idea of fun.”

Zach picked up the last piece of wood. “Or maybe he doesn’t know how to have fun. Maybe his life so far has been all about surviving and making it through the next hour.”

There was consternation in her eyes. “Do you think that’s it?”

He suspected he’d barely scratched the surface. It was times like this when he was reminded of the enormous gulf in their life experience. “It’s a guess.”

“Was that what it was like for you?”

He’d never talked about it. Not even to Philip, although he knew the man probably had a file a mile thick on him in his office. Zach had never seen it and wouldn’t have wanted to.

“We were talking about Travis.”

“I know, but I thought—” she broke off and drew a breath. “I thought maybe this once we could talk about you.”

“Why? So you can understand me?” He sawed through the last plank and added it to the others. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t need you to understand me?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that your life might be happier if you stopped pushing people away?”

He stilled. “Is that a general comment or a specific one?”

She pushed her hair away from her face, flustered. “General,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t suggesting—” Her eyes met his and the air temperature rose around them.

“Good,” he said roughly. “Because we agreed we weren’t going there.”

“I know! I don’t want to go there.”

He watched her mouth move, seeing the way she wrapped her lips around the lie and wondered why neither of them was mentioning the obvious.

That they’d already gone there.

It was too late to wish it hadn’t happened, because it had.

His gaze held hers for a long moment and then she dropped the piece of wood she’d been holding in her hands, turned and walked out of the barn.