|
SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE by Susan Wiggs
On Sale: July 25, 2006
Paperback
544 pages
ISBN: 0778323250
Will a summer of goodbyes be the start of new beginnings?
Real estate expert Olivia Bellamy reluctantly trades a trendy Manhattan summer for her family's old resort camp in the Catskills, where her primary task will be renovating the bungalow colony for her grandparents, who want on last summer together filled with fun, friends and family. A posh resort in its heyday, the camp is now in disarray and Olivia is forced to hire contractor Connor Davis--a still-smoldering flame from her own summers at camp. But as the days grow warm, not even the inviting blue waters of Willow Lake can cool the passions flaring or keep shocking secrets at bay. The nostalgic joy of summers past breathes new promise into a special place and people...a promise meant to last long after the season ends.
"Susan Wiggs paints the details of human relationships with the finesse of a master."
-Jodi Picoult
"Susan Wiggs tackles contemporary issues in the crucible of family with gutsy poignancy and adroit touches of whimsy that make for an irresistible read."
-BookPage
"Wiggs' thoroughly captivating tale draws readers into her characters' lives and minds in a way that makes them real and true and unforgettable."
-Booklist on Lakeside Cottage
"The characters' intimate personal interactions are pure gold. Especially appealing are Wiggs's evocations of timeless summer pleasures."
-Publisher's Weekly on Lakeside Cottage
"...another excellent title to her already outstanding body of work.
-Booklist (starred review) on Table for Five
According to the Salem Statesman-Journal, "Wiggs is one of our best observers of stories of the heart" who "knows how to capture emotion on virtually every page of every book." And Publishers Weekly has praised the "mythic styling" in Susan Wiggs's books, adding that her stories feature "a smart, unorthodox coupling to which Wiggs adds humor, brains and a certain cultivation."
The author has won two RITA awards and a Favorite Book of the Year designation from Romance Writers of America. Her books have earned starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist, and regularly appear on national bestseller lists. Wiggs's work has been translated into thirteen languages and published in twenty countries. She's been featured in the national media, including National Public Radio's "Talk of the Nation."
Her goal as a writer is to write the kind of books people cling to in crowded airports, or whenever life gets too crazy.
Susan Wiggs lives with her family on an island in the Pacific Northwest, where she is at work on her next novel. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 4469, Rollingbay, WA 98061 or visit her on the Web at www.susanwiggs.com.
Olivia Bellamy, Manhattan real estate consultant extraordinaire, leaves the city behind to head to her family's summer camp in the Catskills. At her grandmother's behest, she is overseeing the camp's renovations in time for their 50th anniversary celebration. And with Camp Kioga having been shuttered for the past few years, she has her work cut out for her. In addition to the enormity of the job and tight schedule, the only available contractor happens to be her first love --- the man who broke her heart at this very camp nine years ago. Connor Davis, like Olivia, was a camper at Camp Kioga and, during the summer of '91, formed an unlikely bond (which later blossomed into a romance) with the awkward “Lolly” (as Olivia was known back then). At the time, she was a naïve, chubby teen with braces whose knowledge of books and trivia far exceeded her athletic or romantic prowess.
Now all grown up, baby fat vanished, and with three failed engagements behind her, she thought she had escaped her heartache when she left Manhattan, only to come face to face with her past, in the guise of the handsome Connor. Since he's the only contractor for miles, Olivia reluctantly hires him to assist with the renovation. Can she keep her long-buried hurt feelings to herself and be professional? "She was surprised by how vividly she recalled the sounds and smells, the quality of the light and the stillness of the lake, the dizzying joy and nauseating disappointment she'd experienced that summer. I'm crazy for going back there, she thought."
Luckily, Olivia brought reinforcements. Longtime friend and unemployed stagehand Freddie has agreed to join her. Her super-organized event planner cousin, Dare, has also volunteered to help get the camp in shape in time for the party. Even her Uncle Greg, smarting from his recent separation, has returned to Camp Kioga with his two teenage kids, Daisy and Max.
Old secrets have a way of surfacing at Camp Kioga, as Olivia tries to uncover the details of her father's secret affair that took place here in the summer of '77. But she doesn't have the market cornered on family drama. Connor Davis has plenty of his own. When Lolly was fretting about her plump teenage body, Connor was trying to keep an eye on his dad, Terry, who was the camp maintenance man and a notorious alcoholic. Even though he's now grown and his father has stopped drinking, the drama hasn't ceased. His younger half brother, Julian, has come to stay with him for the summer, but not for a friendly family reunion. Jordan is at the camp under Connor's supervision courtesy of a court order. After getting into trouble with the local police, he was given a choice of trying to stay on the straight and narrow or do time in Juvenile Hall. Once again Connor must act the strict parent, but soon he can see that hard work and Daisy's attentive friendship start to turn this troubled kid around.
SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE is the first book in Susan Wiggs's new series entitled The Lakeshore Chronicles, all about the lives and loves of the Bellamy family (Book #2, THE WINTER LODGE, will publish in February 2007). It serves up all the ingredients of a satisfying beach read --- romance, lost loves, childhood memories, family, a little intrigue, wrongs righted, and a celebration. As in her earlier work, SUMMER BY THE SEA, the author revisits the theme of rekindling romance with a first love. With the scenic backdrop of the rustic mountain setting, it will charm those who cherish their memories of summer camp and delight those who have never been. Readers will root for Olivia and Connor as they attempt to answer that age-old question: Can you ever truly get over your first love?
--- Reviewed by Bronwyn Miller
 Click here now to buy this book from Amazon.com.
WELCOME TO CAMP KIOGA
Franklin Delano Roosevelt once said, "America's greatest contribution to the world is the summer camp." Anyone who visits Camp Kioga discovers this for himself. Camp Kioga is a place where dreams still live and breathe, where you can dive into the crystalline waters of a pristine lake, hike to a mountaintop and lift your eyes to heaven, gaze into the brightly glowing embers of a campfire at night, and imagine all that life has in store for you.
CAMP KIOGA RULES
Camp Kioga flies three flags-the official camp flag, and the flags of the state of New York and the United States-which are raised each morning at sunrise and saluted by all campers at reveille. When flags are flown on the same halyard with the flag of the United States, the latter should always be at the peak. When the flags are flown from adjacent staffs, the flag of the United States should be hoisted first and lowered last. No flag or pennant may be placed above the flag of the United States or to the right of the flag of the United States. When the flag is half masted, both flags are half masted, with the U.S. flag at the midpoint and the other flags below.
Prologue
Olivia Bellamy tried to decide what was worse. Being trapped at the top of a flagpole with no help in sight, or having help arrive in the form of a Hells Angel.
Her plan to raise the flags over Camp Kioga for the first time in ten years had seemed so simple. Then the cable and pulley snagged, but Olivia was undaunted. She had set up an old aluminum ladder and climbed to the top, only to discover she still couldn't reach the snag. Shinnying up the pole was no big deal, she told herself-until she accidentally kicked over the ladder.
You idiot, she thought, hugging the pole for dear life. It was a long way down, and this was not exactly the Batpole. The galvanized steel was old and corroded, and if she slid down, she'd rip the skin from her hands and inner thighs.
She had just begun to inch toward the ground when a loud snort of unmuffled exhaust sounded from the road. She was so startled that she nearly let go of the pole. Instinctively, she clung tighter and shut her eyes. Go away, she thought. I can't deal with whoever you are right now.
The blast of the engine grew louder, and she opened her eyes. The intruder turned out to be a biker clad in black leather, his face concealed by a menacing black helmet and shades. Behind the black-and-chrome motorcycle, a rooster tail of dust rose in a tall plume.
Just my luck, she thought. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, and Easy Rider comes to my rescue.
Her arms and shoulders were starting to tremble. So much for all those hours of strength training at the gym.
At the base of the flagpole, the biker stopped, dismounted and engaged the kickstand. Then he leaned back to look straight up at her.
Despite the circumstances, Olivia found herself wondering what her butt looked like from his perspective. Growing up as she had, comforting herself with food until she'd earned any number of unflattering childhood nicknames, she'd never quite gotten over feeling self-conscious about her figure.
Play it cool, she decided. "Hey," she said.
"Hey. What's up?" Though she couldn't see his face, Olivia thought she detected a grin in his voice. She became sure of it when he added, "Okay, sorry. Couldn't help myself."
Great. Just her luck. A wise guy.
To his credit, he didn't make her suffer. He picked up the ladder and leaned it against the flagpole. "Take it slow," he coached her. "I'll hold this steady."
Olivia was sweating now, having reached the limit of her endurance. She scooted downward inch by inch, while her denim shorts rode upward. She hoped he wouldn't notice they were giving her an enormous wedgie.
"You're almost there," called the stranger. "Just a little more."
The lower she shinnied, the less he sounded like a stranger. By the time her foot touched the top rung of the ladder, she was having seriously bad premonitions about this guy. She hadn't been anywhere near this place in years, this camp where she'd found both her wildest dreams and her worst nightmares. These days, she didn't know a soul in the remote mountain wilderness…did she?
In true neurotic fashion, she couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she hadn't done anything to her hair that morning. She wasn't wearing a smidge of makeup. She couldn't even recall whether or not she'd brushed her teeth. And the denim cutoffs she was wearing were too short. The tank top, too clingy.
Climbing down the ladder, she knew with each step that what awaited her at the bottom would be, at best, awkward humiliation. In order to reach solid ground, she was forced to descend into his waiting arms, which were braced on either side of the ladder to hold it steady. He smelled of leather and something else. The wind, maybe.
Her muscles, which had been screaming in protest a moment ago, now threatened to go slack with exhaustion. She used the last of her strength to give his arm a push so she wasn't trapped. He let go of the ladder and held up his cyborg hands, palms out, as if to show he came in peace. They were huge, in their black gloves. Darth Vader hands. Terminator hands.
"Okay," he said. "You're safe now."
She leaned back against the ladder. When she looked up at him, the ground beneath her feet didn't feel so safe. Nothing felt safe.
He was huge, his bulk enhanced by all that leather, including chaps. A biker in chaps over faded Levi's, the leather worn to softness in all the most interesting places. She eyed the ripped T-shirt visible through the half-open jacket. His battered boots appeared as though they belonged to a man who actually worked in them. Except for the chains. She could see no earthly purpose for that bit of bling, except that it was sexy. Oh, God. It was.
"Thanks," she said, quickly stepping out from between the guy and the ladder. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along." In his mirrored glasses, she could see her own reflection- flushed cheeks, wind-tossed hair. She wiped her hands on her shorts. "What, um…" She fumbled. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe all this fresh air and sunshine had muddled her brain. She adopted a neutral tone and decided to play it cool. "Can I help you?"
"I think it's the other way around. You left a message on my voice mail. Something about a construction project?" With that, he peeled away the sunglasses, then unstrapped the helmet and took it off.
Oh, God, Olivia thought. I wanted it to be anyone but you.
He removed the gloves, keeping his eyes on her as he tugged them off, finger by finger. He squinted. "Do I…have we met?"
Was he kidding? she wondered. Did he really not know?
When she didn't respond, he turned away and expertly raised the flag. Immediately, the wind filled it like a sail.
Watching him, Olivia forgot to move. To breathe. To think. With one look at those heartbreaker eyes, she was hurled back in time, the years peeling away like pages from a calendar. She wasn't looking at Easy Rider. She was looking into the face of a man, but in those ice-blue eyes, she could see the boy he was so long ago.
And not just any boy. The boy. The one who owned all the firsts, every significant milestone of her troubled and painful adolescence-the first boy she'd ever loved. The first she'd ever kissed. The first she'd ever- The first to break her heart.
Her whole body flared to life with a fiery blush. Maybe that was why the term "old flame" had been invented. Somebody always got burned.
"Connor Davis," she said, speaking his name aloud for the first time in nine years. "Fancy meeting you here." Inside, she was thinking, I want to die. Let me die right here, right now, and I'll never ask for another thing as long as I live.
"That's me," he said unnecessarily.
As if she could forget. The promise of the boy he had been was fulfilled in the man standing before her. He would be twenty-eight now, to her twenty-seven. Lanky height had filled out with solid breadth. His cocky grin and twinkling eyes were still the same, though the GI Joe jawline had been softened by a day's growth of beard. And he still-Olivia blinked, making sure she wasn't seeing things-yes, he still wore a tiny silver hoop in one ear. She herself had done the piercing, thirteen years ago, it must have been.
"So you're…" He studied the back of his left hand, where it appeared that he had scrawled something in purple ink. "You're Olive Bellamy?"
"Olivia." She prayed for him to recognize her the way she had recognized him, as someone from the past, someone important, someone who'd had a life-changing impact on his future. God, someone who'd risked getting sent home from camp for piercing his ear.
"Yeah, sorry. Olivia." He studied her with blatant male appreciation. He clearly misinterpreted her look of outrage. "Didn't have a piece of paper handy when I checked my messages," he explained, indicating the purple ink with which he'd scrawled a message on his hand. Then he frowned. "Have we met before?"
She gave a short, harsh laugh. "You're kidding, right?
This is a joke." Had she really changed that much? Well, okay, yes. Nearly a decade had passed. She'd lost a ton of weight. Gone from nut brown to honey blond. Traded her glasses for contacts. But still...
He just stared at her. Clueless. "Should I know you?"
She folded her arms, glared at him and summoned a phrase he'd probably remember, because it was one of the first lies they'd ever old each other. "I'm your new best friend," she said, and watched the color drain from his tanned, handsome face.
His gorgeous blue eyes narrowed and then widened in dawning wonder. His Adam's apple rippled as he swallowed, then quickly cleared his throat.
"Holy shit," he said in a low murmur. His hand went up in an unconscious gesture and touched the little sliver hoop. "Lolly?"
|
