by Leigh Duncan
“I need inexpensive fly rods for some kids I’ve been working with. Does On The Fly carry anything affordable?”
Confusion registered on Jess’s face. “You’re teaching?”
The way she asked, he couldn’t tell whether she liked the idea or thought he was insane. Hoping for the former, he brushed a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I’ve been showing some of the foster kids what I’ve learned after dinner on Sundays.”
“The cheapest rod we carry at On The Fly is still pricey. At— How many in your class?”
“I started out with Sean and Regina. Chris and Jose joined us this week. So, four.”
“Four rods and reels. Fly line and backing,” she whistled. “The bare necessities would run an easy two grand.”
He shook his head. “That’s a bit rich,” he admitted. He’d hoped to get away with a couple hundred dollars, not a couple thousand.
“Now, hold on,” Jess said when he mumbled his apologies and turned to leave. “I might have some equipment you can borrow. Let me sort through a few things and I’ll bring whatever I have to your lesson on Wednesday.”
As much as he wanted to take her up on the offer, she’d said first rods always broke, and he could prove it. Jess brushed his concerns aside.
“It’s old gear, believe me. No need for anyone to have a heart attack if something gets busted. Besides, it’s just a loan until we figure out a permanent solution.”
Liking the way she included him in the “we” equation more than he wanted to admit, he searched the room for a way to show his thanks—maybe there was something she needed. A glance at the rumpled blanket on the couch stirred an image of them both curled up beneath it, but he squelched the thought. Even if he wanted to steer their relationship in that direction, the pitter-patter of feet in the hallway reminded him that they weren’t alone.
“Mom?” Adam said from the doorway. “I’m hungry.”
Jess checked her watch. “Of course you are. Let’s say goodbye to Dr. Hamilton and I’ll fix some dinner.”
Adam launched himself across the room and slammed into Jess’s knees. His little arms wrapped around her thighs and he tipped his head up. “I want nuggets ’n’ fries,” the boy pleaded.
When Jess gave her head a rueful shake, Dan ruffled Adam’s hair. He intended to commiserate with the child. Maybe say something about how all that salt and fat wasn’t good for him anyway. He meant to say he’d see them around. Somehow, in the instant between telling himself he should go and actually saying goodbye, his words changed to, “Let me take you out to dinner.”
“To McDonald’s?” The boy was positively awestruck.
Adam’s excitement made it impossible to suggest anyplace else. Not that it mattered. Jess had the final say, and if he was reading her right, her dinner plans didn’t include an unexpected visitor.
“Hold on there, buddy,” he said, despite a sudden craving for fast food. “Let’s wait to hear what your mom says.”
Wishing he didn’t care about the outcome, he held his breath and scoured Jess’s face. Her gaze lifted from Adam to meet his, and a hesitant smile spread across her lips.
“Why not,” she said.
With the last of the stars sparkling in a cloudless sky, Jess slipped behind the wheel of On The Fly’s pickup truck. Light spilled from her living room window, and she waved at the woman silhouetted there. Sam’s wife Evy had arrived twenty minutes earlier. She’d see Adam off to school.
Jess threw the truck in gear. While she drove, she blew a warm breath over her fingers and breathed a prayer of thanks for good friends who kept her from having to drag her child through the cold to day care. Now, if only the other facets of her life would stabilize, she and Adam would be okay. But so far, they hadn’t. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d let her guard down with Dan and would pay the consequences.
It had happened before with Tom.
She’d noted his rugged good looks the day they’d met, the same way she’d noticed his daredevil attitude, but he certainly hadn’t hooked her at first glance. It was only after he’d sworn off driving too fast and diving too deep that she agreed to one date, and then another. They were married before she caught on to the fact that he’d simply redirected his risky behavior, investing all their savings in a business she never wanted. Once she discovered they were pregnant, he’d promised to settle down. And as far as she could tell, he had. Which made his death when she was eight months along with Adam an even bigger shock. One that sent her into early labor. After that, she’d tried to minimize the number of unexpected changes in her life.
Lately, though, she’d begun to feel as if she’d lost her grip again. Things were spinning out of control. On The Fly’s bottom line continued to sink. Henry’s death meant new challenges for Phelps Cove. As if that weren’t enough, each day’s newspaper carried another objection to the protected habitat. She hadn’t foreseen any of it.
No more than she’d anticipated a growing attraction for the man who pulled to a stop beneath a billboard advertising one of the area’s premier development projects. The man who’d treated her son to his favorite kid’s meal and thus earned a place in the boy’s heart.
As Dan rounded his car and approached her truck, her heart thudded unevenly. She hadn’t thought there was a man alive who could make flannel look sexy, but Dan, with his broad chest and narrow waist, did just that. And his lithe form filled his jeans better than it had a right to do. Determined not to succumb to his charms, she took a deep breath and stepped from her vehicle.
“Glad you made it.” Jess hated the way the cold—not Dan—made her voice tremble. “Brrr,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Ready to get your line wet?”
“Say what?” Dan’s mouth hitched.
She grinned. “If you’re going to be a fly fisher, you need to learn the lingo. Are you ready?”
His gaze swept beyond the edge of a small field to a housing development that spread in every direction. The edges of his smile drooped. “Where?”
“Right there.” She pointed to a man-made pond within walking distance.
As if on cue, Dan lifted an eyebrow. The reaction was exactly what she’d expected, and she stifled a smile.
“Around here, wherever there’s water, there are fish.” She headed for the back of her truck and their equipment, stopping when he didn’t follow.
Dan kicked a clod of dirt. “I don’t know, Jess. I hear this area has some of the best fishing in the world. Your little pond doesn’t look like it’ll live up to that reputation.”
“It’s not one of my favorite fishing haunts.” She crossed her arms and turned to face him. “But since you’re paying me to teach you how to fly fish, I wanted a wide-open space where we could work on your technique.” With nary a bush nor a tree in sight, the small lake offered plenty of room for Dan to practice his casts without having to worry about snagging a line or breaking a rod.
He squinted at the nearby houses. Row upon row of them were packed so closely together, one person could holler, “Pass the sugar,” and have the neighbors on either side hand it in through an open window.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Have you taken a good look around here lately?”
Her chin firmed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. And I’m just sick about it.”
She hadn’t planned on teaching another class on the environment this morning, but Dan’s education had some serious holes, and she was just the person to fill them. She pulled herself erect.
“For more than a hundred years, cattle grazed this entire area.” She spread her arms wide. “But with land prices on the rise, developers are building new homes wherever they can, and people are snapping them up. What they fail to realize is that this land is basically a low-lying marsh.”
Dan lifted one foot and examined his boot. Mud clung to the sole and climbed several inches up the sides. “The ground feels spongy,” he admitted. “And it’s wet.”
“Yeah, and this
is winter. The dry season. Wait till next summer when a hurricane dumps thirty or forty inches of rain in the area. People won’t be so happy to live here, then.”
He glanced up the road. “A few more retention ponds and better drainage ought to resolve any problems.”
“You think? Do you know where that water goes?” She didn’t pause long enough to let him answer. “It pours into ditches and drain pipes that lead straight into rivers. Which would be fine except for one thing. With so many people insisting on green, weed-free lawns, the runoff is loaded with nitrates and fertilizers. That stuff is lethal,” she said heatedly. “We used to give nature a chance by letting the ground filter out some of the toxins. Not anymore. Now, instead of maintaining natural barriers—like the land around Phelps Cove—we build right up to the waterline.”
She’d said too much and almost felt sorry for Dan when he threw up his hands in a gesture that was as much a plea for her to stop as it was his signal that he’d had enough.
“Okay, Jess. You’ve made your point. Development is bad for the environment. I get it.”
While he stomped his feet to shake the mud from his boots, she forced herself to take a cleansing breath. Somehow, it didn’t feel nearly as good as she thought it should to be on the right side of an argument when he was her opponent.
Dan aimed a thumb toward the residential streets.
“You might want to think about where these people are going to live if we don’t build houses for them. Last time we talked, you said things were slow at On The Fly, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t something she was proud of, but she couldn’t very well lie about it. Not when she insisted on the truth from everyone else.
“Believe me, Jess, the sagging economy affects everyone. Growth is one of the answers. And growth means bringing in more new businesses, and the people to run them. And that means building houses.” He paused before adding, “And medical facilities.”
“Yeah, like everyone needs a face-lift,” she muttered. But she couldn’t ignore the kernel of truth in his words. Eyes narrowing, she stared at him while she pondered his point, thinking of the counterarguments she could use. He must have been one step ahead of her, though, and sent the conversation in a different direction.
“I think we’ve spent enough time on this for one morning. For now, why don’t we just agree to disagree?” Reaching around to his back, he pulled a folded newspaper from his waistband. “Besides, I have something else I wanted to show you.”
Jess eyed the paper warily. The morning edition had carried another letter complaining about the state’s plans for Phelps Cove. She wasn’t in the mood to hear Dan gloat over it any more than she wanted to continue arguing about his misguided plans for property she considered a sacred trust.
“You going to catch up on your reading while you’re out here?” she asked hopefully.
“Cute.” His smile widened. “I found an ad for fly rods I thought you should see. Cheap ones. The two you lent me are great, but I want the kids to have their own equipment. You think these would be all right?”
Bright red ink drew her attention to the Sporting Goods column. She studied the ad he’d circled. It touted an unbelievably low price, and recognizing the phone number of a competitor, she knew why.
“This ad isn’t for fly rods. He’s selling rod-building kits. Tons of assembly required,” she noted. “I’m guessing that’s not what you had in mind.”
“Not hardly. Glad I ran it by you before I gave him a call.”
Jess saw Dan’s shoulders sag a little and knew he was more disappointed than he wanted to let on. “Don’t worry,” she said, feeling more at ease now that they’d put their disagreement aside. “I’m pretty sure I know where we can get what you need. Are you up for a road trip on Saturday?”
Dan’s head lifted and a smile lit his face. “I’m tied up till midmorning, but anytime after that is fine. Where are we headed?”
She put a finger to her lips. “Can’t tell,” she grinned. Turning to lower the truck’s tailgate, she added, “We should probably get started before noon. You can pick us up at the shop. Adam and me. You don’t mind if I bring him, do you?”
“Great idea. It’ll be good to see him again.”
The speed at which Dan welcomed a trip with her—and her son—nearly took her breath away. More than that, the warm glow it ignited in the pit of her stomach rocked her back on her heels. Jess hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to approve her plans. She grabbed a pair of lightweight fly rods from the back of the truck and thrust one into his outstretched hand. “We use a different weight rod for freshwater,” she explained before gesturing for him to lead the way to the pond.
While she trailed behind him, Jess mulled over all the things she’d learned about the successful doctor. He’d seen the results of risky behavior and chosen a different path for himself. He spent his spare time helping kids and young adults. And he was certainly easy on the eyes. In short, he met all the criteria she’d listed for Sam the day he’d broached the subject of her nonexistent love life. As she tried to ignore the woodsy scent that drifted in Dan’s wake, she had to admit that the guy was darn near perfect.
If, that was, she overlooked his stance on Phelps Cove. A horrifying thought that, she reminded herself, was a deal breaker.
Joining Dan at the water’s edge, she was careful to keep her distance from the novice fly fisher. Moments later, he shot a cast into the middle of the pond.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Jess complained. She added a smile just to let him know she was teasing. “You’ve been practicing.”
“Maybe a little bit.” Dan nodded. He retrieved enough line to make another cast.
“When?” Knowing his tight schedule, she was amazed that he’d found the time.
“Lunch hours,” he said as the business end of his line landed dead-center in the water. “My office building overlooks the river.”
“You keep that up and I’ll be able to take you out in the boat sooner than I planned.” If he was headed to Belize, he’d need to master the art of casting from a deck that rocked on ocean swells.
Her own rod nestled in the crook of one arm, she congratulated herself on taking only the occasional peek at the way Dan’s neck muscles bunched when he drew the rod back, or the way they eased when he whipped it forward. His technique had improved more than she’d anticipated and, satisfied that he had the basic cast down pat, she moved on to the next lesson.
“Okay, let’s see you strip.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when Dan tugged at his shirt collar.
“If you insist,” he said with an impudent grin.
“Lingo, Hamilton, lingo,” she reminded, though her overheated cheeks probably ruined the stern look. She cast into the water. With gentle tugs, she “stripped,” making the lure swim in short, fish-attracting spurts while excess fly line spiraled into a neat pile at her feet.
“You got it?” She glanced at Dan to make sure he’d followed and caught him watching her with a bemused expression she knew had nothing to do with fly fishing.
Suddenly anxious to change the topic, she pointed to a young alligator lazing in the winter sun on the opposite side of the man-made lake. “That fella keeps the population down, so anything you catch will have a small mouth. A gentle tug is all it takes to set the hook when you get a bite.”
Five minutes later, he did. While she offered encouragement, Dan smoothly followed her instructions until a six-inch bream splashed in the shallow water at his feet. His face broke into a huge smile.
“Congratulations,” Jess called. “Your first catch on a fly line.”
“My first catch, period,” Dan reminded her.
She whipped a digital camera from her vest pocket.
“We need to snap this big guy’s picture and get him back in the water.”
Everything about Jess went soft as she peered through the viewfinder at the tall man who wore a goofy grin while he held up the tiny f
ish. In the second before she snapped his picture, she wondered how a boy who’d been denied so much had overcome such awful circumstances. He’d not only stayed in school, he’d excelled. And now he was giving back, working to help other kids create better lives for themselves.
“So…” Her throat had grown tight and she didn’t trust her voice. Silently, she demonstrated how to slide the hook from the fish’s mouth while pretending she didn’t see the questioning glances from the man at her elbow. She released his catch into the water before she turned to face him. “So,” she tried again. “Tell me the story. Why didn’t you fish as a kid?”
“It’s not all that special.” He shrugged. “I almost went…once.”
When he didn’t volunteer more, she ordered, “Out with it, Hamilton.”
“Okay, but only because you asked so nicely.” Dan smiled and tugged his sunglasses off his face. “I’d been with this one family a couple of months when they started making plans for summer vacation. We were all going to Tennessee, they said, to do a little fishing. We spent weekends scrounging around yard sales for rods and reels. Even visited a bait shop where I spent my chore money on the shiniest lure I could find.” He shook his head, reminiscing. “I’d nearly forgotten that lure. It was bright red with black slashes painted on the sides to resemble fins. It rattled when I shook it.”
“A crank bait,” she offered.
Dan’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that’s what the man at the bait shop called it. The crazy thing had enough hooks hanging off it, I knew I’d catch a monster of a fish.”
“Maybe,” she nodded, though snagging one of the sharp treble hooks on a log was more likely. She kept the observation to herself. “So what happened?”
“The day before we were supposed to leave, a social worker showed up saying she’d found an even better placement. She had me packed up and moved out of the house so fast, I left the lure behind.” Dan stared at the horizon. “I always wondered if anybody caught a fish with it.” He shrugged. “Years later, I found out there was a rule against taking foster kids out of state.”