SUMMER'S END: Regan Stone Series: Book One Read online

  Summer’s End

  Regan Stone Series, Book One

  Sally Henson

  Contents

  Book Cover

  Summer’s End

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Join Sally’s Notes

  Leave a Review

  Also by Sally Henson

  Sally Henson

  Thank You’s

  Summer’s End

  Regan Stone Series

  Book One

  by Sally Henson

  Summer’s End

  2nd Edition

  Copyright © 2017 by Sally Henson

  http://www.SallyHensonWriter.com

  Cover design by Tugboat Design

  Editing by Anne Rose, Mariel Rutland, and Kristyn Pearson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respected owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes.

  Thank you for purchasing

  SUMMER’S END.

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  1

  Rule Number One: No gossiping.

  Gossipers are lowly creatures that dish out half-truths and lies, trying to make themselves feel better about who they are.

  Rule Number Two: No back-stabbing.

  Back-stabbing could be construed as gossip, but we see it as one of the highest forms of betrayal.

  Rule Number Three: No dating within the group.

  This prevents hard feelings and broken hearts that just aren't necessary.

  It's July, the hottest month of the year, the best time to indulge with my friends in the cool water of the quarry swimming hole, and we do so on a regular basis. I don't have too many friends, on purpose. There are five of us that hang out together, but two are the closest friends I have—Lane Cary and Tobi Bridlow. I'm closer to Lane than anyone. His family and mine have spent every Sunday afternoon together after church for years.

  Tobi and I have known each other since kindergarten and have been good friends since junior high. She likes science and her mind is constantly working, like mine. She's much more impulsive than I am, though, and knows how to make me laugh.

  In a little over an hour, the five of us are going for a morning swim at the cliffs. I'm cleaning my room when the phone rings. By the third ring, I realize Mom isn't going to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Cameron got his chores done early.” It's Tobi. “We're on our way.”

  “Great, see you then.” I hang up, head to the kitchen, and slap together some PB and J sandwiches.

  This group of five came about my freshman year when expectations came at us like a tsunami. School, parents, peers—they all have their demands. Lane and I were already best friends. He kind of took me under his wing. The five of us had the same expectations at home; good grades, good behavior, and no mistakes. We made a good fit. Peers, on the other hand, had a totally different set of expectations. There's not much to do in a small town. We have to make our own fun. If you wanted to be popular or fit in, there were two major requirements: drinking and sex. Somehow Lane managed to fit in everywhere without having to give in. He's laid back, a great baseball player, funny, good looking—all the ingredients to make it happen for him.

  Although the five of us are great friends, we still have our tough moments. There are three females with hormones and menstrual cycles and two boys with erratic intervals of surging testosterone. Sometimes we girls get grouchy when our uterus sheds it's lining every month. They guys fly off the handle every once in a while. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, there’s also some beneath the surface flirting between the sexes. Which is why we have a few rules. The five of us together make a fun, parentally acceptable number of friends.

  Mom comes in from the garden with her basket full of veggies. “Lane just pulled in.”

  “'Good.” I put the sandwiches in the cooler without looking up.

  “Regan,” Mom starts in her warning tone as she washes the tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden. “I know you’re a good swimmer, but you still need to be careful. And keep the others in line, too.” She’s referring mostly to Tobi, who can sometimes be a little crazy.

  I nod in agreement. Lane does his usual knock-knock and walks inside. “Good morning!” He has an irresistible smile.

  “It's good to see you, Lane.” Mom adores him. “You look out for my little girl today.”

  “Oh, yes ma'am.” Lane addresses adults with “ma'am” and “sir.” Parents love that stuff. He stands near the table with his hands behind his back, grasping his cap he removed when he walked in the door. I like the way his hair curls up where his cap rests in his hair.

  “Let's go. Bye, Mom.” I hand Lane the cooler on my way out.

  We throw the floats in the back of my dad's ATV and put my bag and cooler on top so they don't fly away. Lane gets in, wearing his turquoise swim trunks, a ratty white T-shirt, sunglasses, and his ball cap with a country-boy rolled bill. I start the ATV and look over at him.

  “What?” His sandy hair has grown out over the summer. It's not fair guys can throw on ratty shirts and have messy hair and look so good. Of course, having such a bright smile with those dimples doesn't hurt. There's something about him, I'm not sure what it is yet, that's changed since he graduated. I snort and shake my head as I back out of the shed and take off.

  It's only about a mile from my house to the cliffs. The ATV motor is too loud for carrying on a conversation, but we don't mind. We take in nature around us. Rogue weeds and indigenous bluestem and cord grass line both sides of the ditches. Sprinkled within are yellow-and-black wild black-eyed Susans and delicate white Queen Anne's lace. One spot on our way is brilliant with patches of orange lilies growing where a homestead must have stood once. The only fragrances, though, are humidity and dirt.

  The rock quarry contains three hundred acres of open holes, pits, and deep craters. The expanse of these holes, filled by springs and rainwater, are equivalent to large ponds. They're nestled between two decent-sized hills, for such a flat plain of geography. The area was once a bustling and quite literally explosive rock quarry. Remnants of the 1930s oil boom are sprinkled throughout. A few pump jacks, moving at a slow and steady pace, are still drawing black gold from the earth.

  Now, it's a ghost-town, home only to dust devils and frequented by visitors who fish and swim these holes of water. It's also a hot spot for spontaneous summer night parties where teenagers and young adults gratify their senses. I usually stay away from the crowds.

  Up ahead, in the quarry, a trail of dust flies in the air from the other entrance. Cameron. We climb the small hill and peer down and see that the pond is cle
ar. I scan the area, relieved there are no cars at the cliffs. On the other side is a lower plateau, about a foot above the water. Between the water and the rock road, among the saplings and tall weeds, is a hidden spot where I like to park because no one can tell when I'm there. Gossiping is a sport in this town. Those who play don't seem to have anything better to do than to know everybody's business. And if you get on their bad side, they won't quit until they get their way. Those sharp-toothed weasels didn't hesitate to destroy my cousin's reputation. Their lies crushed her, and there's no way I'm going to let them do the same thing to me. I try to stay out of sight and out of mind to protect my privacy.

  The dust cloud is getting closer, so I hurry to the dirt path leading to the pond. Cameron pulls in right behind us, accelerating as he passes, drowning us in dust. I stop and jerk up the neckline of my shirt to cover my eyes, nose, and mouth and wait for the dust to settle. He skids to a stop and jumps out of the truck hee-hawing like he did something really funny.

  “Regan?” Lane reaches over to put his hand on my shoulder. It feels cool against the heat burning under the surface of my skin. My fingernails dig into my palms through the fabric of my T-shirt. “He's just playing around.”

  “Stupid idiot!”

  “We came to swim; let's go swim.” He tries to calm me with a soothing voice.

  When I pull my face up out of my shirt, the smell of dust is overwhelming. Lane is covered from head to toe, the ATV is covered, and so, presumably, am I.

  “Let's,” escapes through my clenched teeth. Without another word, I ease forward into the hidden parking spot.

  Tobi walks over with an apologetic smile on her face. She mouths, “Sorry,” and I shrug in an attempt to shake off Cameron's insolence. Lane takes the floats to the edge of the water.

  Haylee saunters over tossing a football in her hands. She looks up at me with her big brown doe eyes. “It's only dust, Regan. It's nothing the water won't wash off. Come on, let's get in.”

  “Where have you two been?” Cameron says accusingly. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you did a little mud-wrestling last night and fell asleep before you washed off.” He’s already stripped to his shorts—standing at the water’s edge. His arms open as wide as his mischievous grin and taunting eyes.

  Haylee intercedes with, “Catch, Cameron!”—throwing him the football.

  Lane tears off his T-shirt, cap, and sunglasses, tossing them on the tailgate of Cameron's truck. “Throw it!” he calls, running toward the water. Cameron steps back and launches it. Lane catches the football in mid-air and plunges into the water inverted on his shoulder blades a good fifteen feet from the bank.

  I stealthily run barefoot behind Cameron, lunge at him, and lock my arms around his torso, forcing him into the water. The look on his face when he comes up to meet me is priceless. A bit of payback at least. Haylee and Tobi join us for a splash-fest. We settle down to catch our breath, lying on our floats between the low bank and the cliffs in a circle joined by hands and feet.

  Lying there in the stillness of the water and the warmth of the sun, all tension melts away. Our minds wander freely. Haylee and Cameron babble about a movie. Tobi adds her two cents. Lane chimes in occasionally, keeping eyes on me, as if he's sharing a secret with me. Tiny beads of moisture are scattered across his skin, sparkling in the sunlight. Though it's nearly ninety degrees already, I shiver.

  “That pump jack resembles a mechanical bull, maybe a buckin' bronc,” Tobi ponders aloud to me. There are two oil pump jacks in sight from where we’re floating on opposite sides of the pond.

  “Agreed. I've thought about climbing up and riding one a few times,” I quietly admit.

  Lane adjusts his feet on my raft, keeping us connected. The movement draws my eyes back to him. He's still in good shape from his spring baseball workouts. He's not bulky, he's ... perfect. When I graduate college, and get a job in marine science, I'll finally be ready to find a guy like Lane. Someone I can share everything with, and I do mean everything.

  My eyes scroll up to Lane's face, and I see the crooked grin he’s trying to hide. I flush with total embarrassment. He can't hear my thoughts, chill.

  “Hey.” Tobi pulls my hair. Her head's close to mine.

  “Yeah?” My voice is scratchy, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat as I furiously blink away the trance I was in.

  “I was talking to you.”

  “Sorry. What did you say?” I chance a glance at Lane, and he's biting his lip trying, not to laugh out loud at me. I can't be daydreaming about my future guy like that.

  Tobi repeats her comments to me. “I ran into your cousin, Susanna, at Glamour Farms yesterday.”

  “Glamour Farms?”

  “Sometimes it slips my mind, Regan, that you’re a style-challenged slob.”

  “Hey!” I reach my hand back and splash water on her.

  “You are,” she giggles. “Anyway, it's my hidden gem with super cute clothes.”

  “KA-BOOM!” Cameron booms and smacks his hands on the surface of the water nearby, causing me to nearly fall off my raft. I can only assume he’s giving scene-by-scene descriptions of the latest action movie he’s seen. Lane and Haylee laugh as Cameron continues with his animation.

  Tobi picks up where she left off. “She was with her mom. Susanna looks fantastic. You can't even tell she was ever pregnant. You two look a lot alike.”

  Tobi continues talking, but my mind tunes out as soon as the weight on my chest makes an appearance. Susanna had so much going for her. She had her life all planned out. A full ride to play volleyball at the University of Illinois. All it takes is one boy, one stupid boy, to screw up your whole freakin’ life. Not to mention he’s the brother of the biggest witch in high school now, Stacey Faniger.

  “Abby is so cute toddling around.”

  I get angry every time I think about it. This stupid town made her out to be a lying slut.

  “She said for you to call her sometime. She'd like to see you.”

  “Okay.” I lie there and desperately try to hide my feelings. Truthfully, I'm not sure what I feel. I know it's more than anger, but it’s causing tears to fill my eyes. I dump myself off the raft and under the water to hide any hint of crying. The cool water knocks some sense into me, and I climb back up on my raft on my belly. Avoiding any eye contact, I listen to Cameron prattle and work to get my brain to focus on something else.

  A few more minutes of slothfulness and Tobi bolts up, straddling her raft, announcing, “To the Cliffs!” Energy replenished, it's a free-for-all race to climb up the cliff. At some point in the cliff's existence, a thick rope was secured around a tree. It appeared as an anonymous gift, allowing swimmers to scale the side of the cliff. Another ambitious benefactor dug steps into the earth, zigzagging up the face of the cliff not far from the rope. Of course, when a heavy rain comes, they have to be re-chiseled.

  The race continues to the top. Haylee stays in the water. She’s appointed judge of the dives, jumps, belly flops, face plants, and races. The first to reach the top chooses who jumps first.

  Cameron scrambled to the top just in front of me. “I pick Regan, of course.” Cameron can be an arrogant jerk sometimes. Today it's on full display.

  “Don’t think me shoving you in makes us even for the dusting you gave us,” I chide as I walk to the edge to gauge the depth of the cliff. It looks to be about thirty feet. My heart always speeds up when I consider jumping off. Every time.

  It doesn't take long for Tobi to grow tired of jumping. She decides to float on her raft alongside Haylee. Lane joins them after his beautiful swan dive. The three of them are tucked into the side of the wall out of sight of passersby. Cameron and I are at the top of the cliff. He wants me to get on his back so we can jump off together. I refuse. He proceeds to be pushy and pick me up. I finally get him to put me down.

  “Come on, Regan. Loosen up,” he gripes. I purse my lips and give him the evil eye. He clamps his hand over mine and takes off running. I gasp and run with
him so I don't fall on my face and get dragged off the edge. I hear the rumble of a truck as we jump off in unison. Success! No body parts collide. He's still a jerk.

  We are resting again when Haylee asks Lane if he’s ready to head off to college.

  “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I don't really want to see this summer end,” he says, looking my way.

  Tobi asks, “Are you going to get a teaching degree?” My heart drops.

  “I guess. That's what my dad thinks I should do.”

  I hold my tongue, but my blood starts to simmer.

  He asks Tobi, “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “I'll probably stay on the farm.”

  I grind my teeth and try so very hard to keep my mouth shut. This is more than a simmer, I'm boilin' now.

  Cameron confesses, “Yeah, me, too.”

  I can't take it anymore! “Why are you all resigned to follow a path you don't want to go down? It's your life, your decision.”

  Tobi reacts, “It's easier for you, Regan. Your parents haven't forced you to choose a different career.”

  I draw in a slow breath and try to steady myself. “Tobi, if medical research is your passion, you need to go for it. You're such a computer geek, Cameron.” He looks away from me. “Your dad wants you to take over the farm, but you love computers. Lane,” I openly plead. He won't look at me either. “Conservation officer has been your passion for as long as I can remember.”

  “My parents will not support any path that doesn't keep me on the farm. And I do like the work.” Cameron sounds angry, but his face is tortured with a mix of emotions.