“Yeah, I know. That’s why I asked you to carry it.” He winked. “Besides, no one but me touches my camera.”
Deftly, he raised the tailgate with one hand and they started back toward the compound. They didn’t speak. Kathleen doubted she could. The weight of the tripod case had her puffing by the time they reached the dining hall.
Gallantly, Erik held the door for her and she gave him a withering glare as she stumbled past him and went inside. The dull roar of two hundred children’s voices greeted them.
“Where can I stick this?” he asked as he surveyed the room.
“That’s a loaded question, Mr. Gudjonsen,” she muttered under her breath.
“Tsk-tsk, Ms. Haley.”
“There you are.” Edna interrupted Kathleen’s well-chosen comeback by bustling up to them. “Erik, why don’t you put your equipment on the dais. No one will bother it there. Hurry up and get your food and join us at the far table. It’s marginally quieter over there.”
Erik retrieved the case from Kathleen and placed it and his camera where Edna had indicated.
“Shall we?” Erik enthused, rubbing his hands together and nodding toward the cafeteria line.
“By all means,” Kathleen said coolly. “I think you’ll be surprised by the food. It’s better than most home cooking.”
“Right now, anything sounds good. I haven’t eaten today.”
“Watching your figure?” she asked snidely, for if anyone didn’t need to worry about his shape, it was Erik Gudjonsen.
His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. “No. It’s a helluva lot more fun to watch yours.”
She bit her lip to keep from saying what she thought of his sexist comment. She was obliged to introduce him to the ladies who ran the kitchen for Mountain View and managed to provide the campers and staff with three delicious meals a day. Most of them were old enough to be Erik’s mother, but they simpered and basked under his inordinate commendation of the meal.
Their plates were heaped with pot roast and vegetables as they passed down the line. Kathleen was reaching for a glass of mint-sprigged iced tea when Erik caught her hand and sniffed the air.
“Do you smell peaches?”
Peaches? Her lip gloss? She fought her impulse to lick her lips nervously. His eyes raked her face, as if trying to detect something elusive.
“Peaches?” she asked innocently. “Oh, there are your peaches. Peach cobbler for dessert,” she said, relieved.
Turning back to him triumphantly, she was startled to find that he wasn’t so ready to accept her explanation. His warm stare on her face was alarming, and she tugged on her hand several times before he released it.
“Good. I love peaches,” he said. Kathleen was uneasy at the tone of his voice, for in some way it held a threat to her.
They joined the other counselors and the Harrisons at a separate table off-limits to the children. Introductions were made all around, and Erik apologized in advance if he couldn’t remember everyone’s name for the first few days.
He ate heartily, but courteously answered any questions directed to him. Kathleen thought the other female counselors sickeningly attentive, but Erik treated them all, no matter how homely or pretty, in a friendly manner.
A real ladies’ man, she thought snidely.
“Tell us about yourself, Erik,” B. J. said around a mouthful of potatoes.
Erik shrugged modestly. “There’s really not much to tell.”
“Now, Erik, we all know that you’re well known in your field. Weren’t you in Asia?” Edna asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve had some good assignments. I was in Saudi Arabia during Desert Storm.”
“Have you ever been in danger?” asked one of the younger girl counselors breathlessly.
He smiled. “A few times. Usually, I shoot just run-of-the-mill stuff.”
Try as they did, no one could get him to recount any tale of valiant struggle, though they were sure there had been some. Before he was sent to the camp, Edna had been told by the network officials that Erik Gudjonsen was one of their most accomplished photographers, as well as one who could add a human-interest touch to any story, no matter how mundane or extraordinary.