by Leigh Duncan
He grinned at Maddy as, one by one, those who had eaten their fill darted quick glances at a cuckoo clock so time-worn the bird had disappeared long before Dan had downed his first mouthful at this trestle table. In all that time, the house rules hadn’t changed. At least ten minutes of conversation followed every meal, and his foster mom had been known to tack on an extra half hour if she decided people were in too big a hurry to leave.
“I’m right. You’ll see.” Chris, the latest addition to the household and a scrappy character, tossed an uneaten dinner roll at Sean. “It’s gonna be Orlando and L.A. in the play-offs for sure.”
Sean backhanded the food missile. “The Celtics and the Lakers, man. The Magic’ll go down in flames.”
As conversation veered toward the basketball game on TV that afternoon, Dan leaned in to speak with Glen. “Have you had a chance to think about the kinds of services we need to provide? I mean, besides the clinic we already talked about.”
Glen’s brow furrowed. “What’s the rush? Connections House is, what, five years down the road?”
“Maybe not,” Dan answered. “Assuming we break ground for The Aegean this spring, we should start seeing profits within a year. Eighteen months at the outside. If our projections are right, I’ll shave the time frame for the house down to two, maybe three, years.”
“If everything goes according to plan. You don’t even have a contract on the land yet, do you?”
“There’s no reason to expect a delay.” Unless Jess Cofer and POE threw a last-minute Hail Mary. According to the guys at the poker table, there wasn’t much chance of that happening.
“I still say it’s too early.”
Dan rubbed his forehead. Glen’s response was always the same. Too early to settle on how many kids they could manage. Too early to decide whether a class in personal checking or basic grocery shopping was more important. Too early for staffing commitments. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the man who ran an unofficial home for older foster kids opposed his plans for a larger, better one.
“Do you have a problem…” he began.
“Mr. Glen,” Sean interrupted. “Is it okay if I take Regina outside to shoot some hoops?”
Glen’s attention shifted to his wife at the opposite end of the table. “That all right with you, Maddy?”
With a sip of her tea and a shooing motion, the woman who shared the burden of caring for six graduates of the foster care system signaled her permission. “Okay, gentlemen. You know the drill. There’s work to be done before that TV goes on. Boys, you clear the dishes and clean the kitchen. Regina, honey, you can sweep the floor. Make sure you push back all the chairs and get under the table real good.”
Belligerent posturing had greeted the same request the last time Regina had joined them for a Sunday meal, but today she simply shot a questioning look at her brother. At Sean’s barely perceptible nod, the girl’s head bobbed.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said quietly.
The response brought amused smiles to the lips of the adults. Less than a week after moving in with Carol Shea, the child was blossoming. Dan didn’t know who was more pleased about that—Sean, Regina or himself.
Chairs scraped noisily against scarred hardwood as the young men, adults and the lone girl pushed away from the table. Dan stood with the rest of the “boys” and began clearing dishes. He might be a doctor, might live on his own in a condo ten miles and a lifetime away, but everyone who sat down to Sunday dinner at the Hollises’ helped with the cleanup afterward. Not that he minded the chance to find out who had a new girlfriend and who didn’t. Who struggled with math and who excelled at sports.
Seconds after the last dish was stored in the cabinet, people scattered. Pre-game coverage quickly blared from the television. Sean, who preferred playing basketball to watching the sport, headed outside with Regina. Dan glanced at the young men sprawled across every threadbare couch and chair in sight, and followed the pair out the door. On his way to his car for the fly rod Jess had lent him, he stopped at the front porch swing.
“Want to come along?” he asked Glen.
The older man only smiled and lifted Maddy’s hand in his, and Dan moved on.
Water babbled down a pile of gray coquina rocks just past the pond Glen and some of the boys had dug in one corner of the backyard. Listening to the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of the basketball coming from another home-improvement project, a half-court on the other side of the house, Dan took a few practice casts and kept at it until he could hit the pond from twenty paces.
“Good one, Dr. Dan,” he heard Regina’s soft voice exclaim later.
“Thanks.” He aimed a grin at the girl who sat cross-legged, well beyond the reach of his fly line. “Get tired of basketball?”
“A couple of the other guys—Jose and the one with the cross tattoo—they’re playing with Sean.”
An occasional grunt accompanied the faster-paced sound of the basketball bouncing against asphalt. “That’d be Chris.” He sent another cast toward the pond. The fly splashed softly into the water. “Neither of them is as good as your brother, but together, they’ll give him a workout.”
He reeled in and, aiming to improve his reach, backed up a step.
Regina tilted her head to one side. “I’ve never seen a fishing pole like that one. Why do you wave it around so much?”
He let the butt of the rod rest on the ground and explained a little of what he’d gleaned about the sport. “Want to try?” he finished.
Regina gave him a doubtful look. “Nah, that’s all right. I’d probably get it all knotted up.”
An old hand at insecurity, he recognized it when he heard it. “I’ve done that. More than once,” he answered. He held the rod out to her. “Here. Your turn.”
Regina rose to her feet with an easy grace, but shuffled forward like a timid old lady. She swung a look around the yard, probably making sure no one was around to make fun of her. Dan saved the lecture on self-confidence and showed her how to hold the rod before he stepped out of range to walk her through the lessons he’d learned at orientation. To his amazement—and hers—the girl’s first attempt sent the fly sailing in the pond’s general direction.
“You’re a natural,” he exclaimed.
Regina’s face glowed. “I was lucky. I bet I can’t do it again.”
But she was already retrieving the line and getting ready to do exactly that. This time, her technique was nearly flawless. The fly landed with a plop not two feet from the spot where it had taken him a dozen tries to place his own cast. He settled down to watch as the girl continued sending the fly where she wanted it to go.
After six or seven perfect throws, she reeled in and walked over to him.
“Is that all there is? It’s kinda boring.”
“Well.” He grinned. “Eventually, the object is to catch a fish. But I’m not using a hook ’cause Mr. Glen wouldn’t like it if we killed all his koi.” At the girl’s puzzled look, he clarified. “The big goldfish.”
Silver beads at the ends of her tight braids swayed as Regina handed him the fly rod. “Koi. I like that word.”
“I’m taking lessons.” He nodded to the rod. “If you and Sean are interested, we can try fishing on Sunday afternoons. I’ll show you what I’ve learned each week.”
“You’ll put the hooks on? We’ll catch fish?” When Dan laughingly agreed, she bit her lip.
“Maybe,” Regina said with a wistful glance toward the front of the house where her brother was playing. When a horn beeped, the rhythmic thud of the basketball quieted.
“Regina,” called a strong male voice.
“Coming!” she called back. “Thanks, Dr. Dan, but Mrs. Shea said she’d pick me up.”
“Hold on a sec.” He propped the rod against the rock fountain. “I’ll walk with you. Mrs. Shea treating you all right?”
Regina nearly beamed. “I have my own room. There are rules, but that’s okay. Sean said if they’re fair, you have to follow them.”
/> “Wise advice.” He nodded. “You let your brother or me know if there’s a problem, though. We’re both looking out for you.”
“Okay.” The girl shrugged. “See ya, Dr. Dan.”
He watched as Regina joined her brother who walked her to the car, one long arm draped about her shoulders.
When he returned, the boy said, “She sure seems excited about them fly fishing lessons. Maybe you better show me what it’s all about before we get together next weekend.”
“Glad to,” Dan agreed. Before long, he’d repeated what he knew a second time. An hour later, he paid his respects to Glen and Maddy and said his goodbyes to the rest of the boys. He shook his head as he disassembled the fly rod and stored it in his trunk. Two weeks ago, the idea of teaching someone else how to fish would have seemed ridiculous. Now, since it looked as if he had two students, he’d better learn as much as he could, and quickly—Sean and Regina were right on his heels.
Chapter Seven
The air burned frost into Dan’s lungs as he stepped from his car into the empty parking lot behind Long Doggers Grill. Icy cold bled through the rubber soles of his boots. After tugging a windbreaker over the shirt he’d purchased at On The Fly, he checked his watch and saw that he was only five minutes early for his first lesson.
He tried telling himself that he’d rolled out of bed before the alarm because he had a lot to learn before the trip to Belize. Truth be told, there was more behind his restless night than he cared to admit. He worried that hiring Jess, a woman fundamentally opposed to his goals, had been a mistake. He’d probably never convince her he had right on his side. And yet…he couldn’t resist the opportunity to try to change her mind any more than he could shake the sassy blonde from his thoughts. Before he could settle on an approach, her ancient Chevy truck pulled in beside him.
“Mornin’.” Jess’s breath and spicy citrus scent plumed through her lowered window.
He looked toward the eastern sky where the sun had yet to make an appearance.
“Barely,” he answered, handing across one of two cups of coffee he’d grabbed at a 7-Eleven. “Cold enough?” He stamped his feet to warm them.
“Best time to catch fish,” she countered. “The front pushing through’ll make them more active.” Turning down his offer of cream or sugar, she slid from the seat and began pulling gear out of the back.
“Seems like an odd place to fish.” He’d envisioned wide-open spaces with no one around and swung a questioning look at buildings that towered along the river’s edge. Lights already blazed in several of the apartments.
Jess pointed with her free hand. “This was one of my favorite spots when I was a kid.”
“Were the condos here then?” He was pretty sure South Beach architecture was new to Brevard County.
“No.” She paused for a sip of coffee. “Builders used to leave boggy areas like this one alone. Once land prices rose, someone thought of bringing in fill dirt and putting up high-density housing. No one cared that the runoff killed the sea grass and muddied the water.”
“So, why bring me here?” He didn’t try to mask his irritation. Jess might be the best fly fishing guide in the area, but a lecture before breakfast was more than he could stomach.
“Don’t worry.” She faced him, all business and stiff shoulders. “They left one little corner the way it was.”
He recognized forced civility when he saw it. Not that it mattered. He could deal with her attitude as long as Jess taught him how to handle a fly rod well enough to impress his new associates and share a few tips with Regina and Sean.
He started for his car and the equipment Jess had lent him. She was busy slipping fly line through the guides of a different rod, but stopped long enough to say, “Leave yours in the car and use this one. It’s better suited for this kind of fishing.”
Coffee finished, Jess wedged the empty cup into the truck bed and motioned him to do the same. “Ready to get started?”
“Yeah. Let’s.” He took the gear she handed him and followed her down a narrow path that led between thick brush and manicured grass.
Quiet hung heavily in the air. The lawn gave way to cattails and sea oats tall enough to block the condominiums from view. Jess swiped at spider webs as she went, her movements sure and muted. Dan followed suit.
A briny smell rose from the river where the path opened to a narrow, sandy beach. Mist curled in tendrils from the flat surface of black water before turning into a thick fog that hid the opposite shore. Standing there with the sun still beneath the horizon, the sky lighting to shades of gray, Jess’s choice of fishing spots made more sense. Even though hundreds of people slept within a quarter mile, he felt as if they were the only two beings on the planet.
At least, he did until a dog-size shape edged out of the fog toward them. He reached for Jess, ready to pull her to safety, but she stepped beyond his grasp.
“Raccoon,” she said with an unconcerned look at the sizeable specimen that ambled along the water’s edge.
“They’re nocturnal. He’s been out foraging all night and is headed home to sleep.”
“Awfully big, isn’t he?” He half expected his nature-loving guide to toss a handful of food pellets at the overgrown critter, but other than waiting until the beast ducked into the weeds, she ignored it.
“Yeah,” Jess said. “He’s probably feasted from garbage cans his whole life. If there weren’t so many houses nearby, he’d have to work harder for his food, and he wouldn’t be so fat and lazy.”
He cleared his throat. “Look,” he said. “You’ve made your point. I get that we’re on opposite sides of the development issue, but for now, how about we stick to fishing?”
Jess set the butt of her rod on the ground. “You may be the client, but I have to tell you—fishing and the environment go hand-in-hand.” After yanking several lengths of line from the reel, she changed the subject. “Fly rods come in different lengths and weights for different fishing conditions. This is a nine-foot.” The tip barely wavered when she shook the slim graphite. “It’s longer and less flexible than anything you’ve handled before.” Doubt and challenge filled her voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Dan let out a long breath. Though he wouldn’t complain if the instruction package came with a smile or two, his sharpened skills were sure to impress her. He spilled line for his first cast and was surprised when the loops collapsed behind him. They tangled in the grass. When he finally got enough string in the air to send the fly sailing, the little bugger plummeted to the ground at his feet. Struggling to remember everything he’d learned, he clenched his teeth and reeled in.
“There’s the problem. You’re trying too hard. Now, don’t move till I get in position,” Jess cautioned. “Neither of us wants to get hooked today.” Stuffing her hair under her hat, she slipped in from behind, cupping his forearms. She gave his arm a reproving shake. “Relax. Don’t be so stiff.”
But with the press of her soft curves against his back, her breath on his neck, he found it difficult to comply with her request. The slim arms that encircled his waist shoved aside all his carefully marshaled reasons for why being around Jess was a bad idea.
“Small movements here.” Her hand on top of his, she rocked the rod back and forth. “Create graceful loops. They fill the line with tension. A quick stroke with the wrist—” her touch had him considering the wisdom of ever getting it right “—releases the pressure and it adds distance. Fly fishing is a dance, not a race,” she whispered. “Follow my lead.”
The invitation conjured up a few places he was certain she didn’t mean for him to follow. It took three more tries before he managed to get the line wet without tangling it around their shoulders. When he finally did, she stepped away.
Cold air filled the space where her touch had warmed him. Apparently, her absence also numbed his brain. He turned, risking a quick look into her dark eyes and swallowed to keep from drowning in them. His attraction to the stubborn fly fisher was an unwanted comp
lication, but he had to know if she felt the same thing.
Jess retreated, putting another couple of feet between them. “You’re making good progress.” Her voice faltered. She cleared her throat. “It’s like any new skill—a little frustrating to start.” She twisted a loose tendril of hair around one finger, a motion he’d seen her make before when she was uncertain. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
A loud pop followed by watery thrashing kept him from making the move he was sure he’d regret.
“Fish,” Jess said. She pointed to the right. “Cast there.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He scanned the weeds for the source of the noise and waded into the water to get closer.
“Take your time,” she said softly while he worked the fly into the air. “He’s just starting to feed.”
For once, the cast went where he wanted, but a hard tug nearly jerked the rod straight out of his hands. He tightened his grip and reared back. The line went taut. He fumbled for the knob on the reel and spun it.
Beside him, Jess’s calm voice provided encouragement. “Set the hook. Set the hook. Keep the rod tip up.”
Though her directions made no sense, pride shot through him at another firm pull from the business end of the line. He reeled faster and had just enough time to wonder why everyone said fishing was so difficult when the fly sailed out of the water all by its lonesome.
Once it dropped back onto the surface, he jiggled the rod tip up and down. The line twitched. His breath fogged the air. Otherwise, nothing. He breathed deep and turned to face Jess. “I’m betting that’s not the outcome we wanted.”
Her face broke into a smile that swept his disappointment into the dustbin. “No, but it was a good start. You had a fish on the line there for a few seconds.”