Summer Ruins

By Deb Watley and Tiffany Harris

Gwen's summer plans included swimming, shopping, and a party for her twelfth birthday.

Instead, Gwen's parents drag her to their archeology dig on the South Dakota prairie where she must endure dirt, biting critters, and two motherless little boys.

Gwen might be clothed in sweat and grime, but she determines to save the ruins

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deb Watley Books
• Release date: Sep 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732615519

Deb Watley

Deb Watley lives in South Dakota where she loves to ride horses and read and write about archeology, history, horses, treasure hunts, and friendships. Summer Ruins, the first novel in the Field Notes of Gwen Bell earned a 2019 Oregon Christian Writers Cascade Award. Sign up for Deb's email newsletter at www.DebWatleyBooks.com or connect with Deb on Instagram.com/DebWatleyBooks.

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Copyright © 2018 by Deborah Watley

Cover and interior illustrations copyright © 2018 by Tiffany Harris

Cover design by Tiffany Harris

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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. To request permission, write to Deb Watley Books, PO Box 414, Harrisburg, SD 57032, or send an email to [e-mail].

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ISBN: 978-1-7326155-1-9

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BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION/Family/Parents|JUVENILE FICTION/Social Themes/Friendship|JUVENILE FICTION/Business, Careers, Occupations|JUVENILE FICTION/Science & Technology

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To my Lord, my husband, and our boys

Contents

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

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

Read Gwen’s next adventure!

Blurb for B&B

About the Author and Illustrator

Chapter One

Mom, these dresses are perfect for my party. Gwen pulled her mom toward the display of sundresses in her favorite clothing store.

You’re turning twelve. Her mom shook her head. Not sixteen.

Gwen held up a dress with spaghetti straps.

Twelve is the new sixteen!

Her mom took the dress, put it back on the rack, and led Gwen down another aisle.

There are plenty of amazing, age-appropriate outfits in the tween section.

Gwen scanned the racks. She quickly grabbed a few sundresses she could work with before her mom could choose any that were too age-appropriate.

"You do know what amazing means, right?" Gwen grinned and pointed to her mom’s dig clothes. At least the plaid, button-down shirt and cargo pants were clean.

Hey, Miss Fashionista, her mom said, putting a hand on her hip in a model pose and flipping her head back. I’ve got my own style.

Gwen laughed and snorted. Her mom’s style meant comfortable and washable, not trendy or pretty. She didn’t bother with accessories, either, except for a grungy gardening-type hat.

But Gwen collected accessories, and some trendy ones would make a tween party dress look more sophisticated.

Could I get some new earrings? And some cute sandals?

Her mom smiled, slung her computer bag to her side, and held out her hands to take the stack of dresses Gwen handed her.

Sure. But don’t suggest getting manicures or pedicures tonight. We can do that when I get back.

I won’t need one then, Gwen said, piling a couple more dresses onto her mom’s arms. We’re doing that at my party before we go to the fashion show.

I wish I could help with your party.

Gwen headed toward the changing room. Grandma’s got it covered. Besides, manicures and a fashion show are way more grown-up than the party hats and musical chairs you wanted.

It’s not too late to change your mind. Come with us? Gwen’s mom gave her the stack of clothes.

No. Thanks. Gwen went into one of the changing stalls and shut the door. Digging’s not my thing.

As Gwen changed into the first dress, she tried to imagine herself at her parents’ archeology field school dig. She’d be hot, dirty, and lonely. She also knew how her parents were about work. They turned into The Doctors. At the dig they’d probably be worse.

Even the college students would be interested only in broken pottery and lost buttons.

She’d end up with no one to talk to. She’d much rather practice her flute, go to the pool with Olivia, and get ready for her birthday party.

Gwen opened the door and spun.

Well?

Mmm. Her mom sat on the floor with her laptop and a pile of paper. She looked up. Very cute.

Mom! Do you have to do that here?

I have to use every spare moment before we leave. Her mom went back to her computer. Let’s see the next outfit.

You can’t spend one hour just on me? Gwen slunk into the changing stall.

Gwenllian! Her mom pronounced Gwen’s Welsh name as Gwen-THEE-un. That’s not what I meant.

Gwen slammed the door, took off the dress her mom liked, put it on the reject hook, and put on a sleeveless pink dress. Then she sat on the bench and fingered her bracelets, which she’d beaded herself.

Her mom was always using every spare moment preparing for teaching classes, grading papers, reading about artifacts, digging up artifacts, cleaning artifacts, and cataloging artifacts.

Gwen jumped when her mom’s phone rang.

What’s up, Jerry? her mom said.

Gwen poked her head out the door.

There’s no one else? Her mom rubbed her forehead. There has to be a solution. Let me do some brainstorming, and I’ll call you back in a bit. She hung up and dropped the phone onto her lap.

What’s the matter?

The nanny that Jerry—Dr. Sanchez—had lined up for the summer quit today, but he’s supposed to leave Colorado tomorrow to come to our dig! Dr. Sanchez is our geophysics expert. If he doesn’t come, we don’t have a dig.

Oh.

Oh? Gwen’s mom said. This is bad! It’s too late for the students to find another field school for this summer. And I’ll have a terrible time getting funding for future digs if I mess this up.

Can’t Dr. Sanchez get another babysitter? Gwen said, leaving the stall to show off the dress.

Her mom shook her head. It would be tough to find and hire in-home childcare a day before you need it.

Have the kids come to the dig. Gwen checked her reflection in the three-way mirror and took a photo of herself to text to Olivia.

A dig could be dangerous for young children. If you had ever come with us, your dad and I could’ve taken turns watching you. But Dr. Sanchez is on his own.

So, bring a babysitter with you.

Hmmm.

Gwen looked at her mom’s reflection.

Her mom tapped her finger to her lips and nodded at Gwen. A summer job . . . that could work.

No way! Gwen said, realizing what her mom was suggesting. She hurried back to the stall.

You’re first-aid certified, and you have experience babysitting.

No good experiences. Gwen pulled off the sundress. Can’t your students take care of the little kids?

No. They pay to be at field school. They’ll be busy with the dig and the camping chores.

Gwen sat on the bench, grabbed her own clothes off the floor, and tried to smooth out the wrinkles with her fingers. She pulled a piece of paper out of her shorts pocket. It was her birthday party plans. She and the other girls were going to get makeovers, sip raspberry lemonade from goblets, and eat fancy cupcakes before the mall’s back-to-school fashion show.

My party is in six weeks. Gwen choked out the words. We’ve already sent the invitations!

We won’t cancel the party, just postpone it.

You can’t postpone the fashion show! Gwen pulled up her knees and hugged her legs to her chest. She had bragged about the party, and now her friends would think she couldn’t deliver. They’d drop her faster than a video of a wardrobe malfunction going viral on the Internet.

Gwen looked at her list, wadded it up, and shoved it into her pocket. She’d be trading sundresses for field school clothes, cupcakes for peanut butter sandwiches, and afternoons with Olivia at the pool for days of boredom with little kids in the dirt.

Her summer plans were ruined. Maybe her fall plans too.

Mom, the band audition’s right after you’d—we’d—get back to Yankton.

You can bring your flute to the dig.

Gwen twisted her bracelets. One broke and beads fell all over the dressing room floor.

It. Wasn’t. Fair.

Do I have a choice? Gwen forced her voice not to crack. She already knew the answer.

No. This is what family does. Olivia babysits her siblings.

She gets paid.

So would you.

A paying job? That did help—a tiny bit. Olivia bought a lot of her own clothes. Gwen would be able to buy some, too. Grown-up ones her mom would never buy for her.

How many kids does he have? Gwen sighed and scooped up the fallen beads.

Two boys. Around three- and five-years-old.

Gwen winced. They had to be boys. She changed into her own clothes and left the pile of dresses in the changing stall. She didn’t need a dress for the fashion show now.

I’ll help you plan a fun party. Her mom stuffed her papers and laptop into her bag. We’ll have it as soon as we get back.

Gwen avoided her mom’s eyes and headed out of the store. She’d buy her own school clothes, and they’d figure out something so awesome for her new party that her friends would forget about the missed fashion show.

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Chapter Two

Two days later, Gwen stared out the window of her parents’ motor home, which she called the Archeology-mobile, or the Ark. She only saw rolling South Dakota farmland, with miles of parallel lines of green shoots of corn or soybean plants, and an occasional