by Glynna Kaye
Of course the man had no intention of kissing her. She had to get hold of herself. Stop indulging in daydreams. She didn’t need a man in her life right now. And certainly not Bryce Harding. In fact, in the years since Keith’s death, not once had she become romantically involved.
Hadn’t dated. Not one single time.
Always begged off, had other plans. Friends cajoled and plotted to set her up with their male friends, but she managed to—gracefully for the most part—decline. But she couldn’t tell anyone the truth—that she didn’t deserve another chance at a happily ever after. Or why. She was too ashamed to confess her despicably immature behavior to anyone but God. Confess how Keith had carried to the grave her parting words as his last memory of her.
She had no business ruining another man’s life, potentially hurting him as she had Keith. Not even the life of a man like Bryce who’d done his best to ruin hers.
But oh, those twinkling brown eyes…
“Hey, you! Big ugly dude!”
Bryce jerked his head up from where he bent over his fishing boat, securing it to the trailer after an afternoon of fishing at Casey Lake.
Bumping back his Western hat with a wrist, he scanned the immediate area and beyond, trying to pinpoint the voice. Quite a few people out on a holiday weekend. None seemed to be paying attention to him.
“Yeah, you!” the voice came again. “Get yourself over here and join us for burgers.”
Then Bryce spotted Joe Diaz manning a grill back in the shadows of a stand of ponderosa pines. Meg was busy arranging picnic items on the open tailgate of their pickup. He grinned and returned a wave.
He didn’t want to horn in on a family outing but, as hungry as he was and with Grandma Mae dining with one of her friends tonight, Joe wouldn’t have to ask him twice.
He finished securing the boat, then got in his SUV and pulled both into a space reserved for boat trailers. He’d no more than set foot out of the pickup when seemingly out of nowhere a pigtailed little girl launched herself at him. “Uncle Bryce!”
Instinctively, his eyes sought out her mother.
And there she was. Strolling from the far side of the parking lot with a wicker picnic basket over her arm, a breeze ruffling her hair.
His heartbeat quickened as he picked up Gina and headed toward the picnic area. Would Sandi approach him first? Wait for him to approach her? What would she be thinking, expecting, after he’d grabbed hold of her hand last night? Did she even realize how close she’d come to getting kissed?
How he hated leaving her alone at that trailer last night. But the way the sparks were flying between them, New Bryce knew he didn’t dare set foot through the door to carry Gina to her room.
He’d run all the way back to Gran’s. Hard. If anyone had seen him, they’d have suspected bloodhounds on his heels. But even after that exertion, he’d hardly slept, the reality of his misconceptions about Sandi’s motivations slamming home again and again.
She’d been scared.
God, please forgive me for being so callous. And for the way I’m starting to feel about Keith’s wife.
He had no business feeling anything for his buddy’s bride beyond brotherly concern. But by the time they’d reached her place last night, her hand tucked in his, he’d wanted to take her in his arms. Hold her close. Protect her.
Gina toyed with his T-shirt collar, bringing him back to the present, her eyes gazing confidently into his. “Mommy says you carried me all the way home.”
“I did at that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember. I was sleeping.”
“Yeah, you were.”
When they reached the picnic table she gave him a hug, then wiggled until he set her back on the ground. Meg and Joe smiled at him. Actually, Joe smirked. Had he heard the Uncle Bryce thing? But Sandi, pretty in a pink top and figure-skimming jeans, focused on unpacking the picnic basket at the far end of the table.
“Hey, Sandi.”
She looked up. Smiled. Mouthed a “hi” and returned to her work.
He stood awkwardly for a moment, then sat down at the opposite end of the table with Davy, who animatedly related all the things he’d done that day. Gina joined them and put in her two cents’ worth. But although he listened and responded, with his fine-tuned internal radar and the corner of his eye, he kept track of Sandi’s every move.
Playing it cool, was she?
But it was no wonder she thought it better to pretend he didn’t exist. He shouldn’t have taken her hand last night. A simple “be careful there” when she stumbled would have sufficed. But no, he liked the feeling of her soft fingers clasped in his. Made him feel strong and protective. So he’d kept her hand there, even when she’d been in no danger.
But like it or not, at the first opportunity he’d tell her about his plans for the museum. Wouldn’t put it off any longer. He’d probably get kicked in the shin, but at least he’d get it over with and Grandma would stop her nagging.
Relieved when Joe’s “come and get it” drew everyone to the tailgate sideboard, he held back, waiting for the kids and gals to serve themselves first. Then when they’d been seated under the trees, he moseyed on over to fill his own plate.
“Sooo, what’s up with you and Sandi?” Joe joined him at the pickup’s tailgate, his voice low.
“What do you mean? Because Gina calls me Uncle Bryce? No big deal. I told her I was like a brother to her dad. That means an uncle in six-year-old logic.”
“No, there’s more to it than that. I mean you’re looking at Sandi when she’s not looking and she’s looking at you when you’re not looking. Gotta be something going on.”
Was she checking him out when he wasn’t looking? “Eyes gotta go someplace, don’t they?”
“Right.” Joe unfolded the aluminum foil-wrapped burgers and speared several with a fork. “She’s a nice gal. Pretty lady.”
“Suppose so.”
Joe snorted, then arranged tomato and lettuce on low-fat-mayo-slathered buns. “Listen to you. Like you think I believe you haven’t noticed she’s a looker? Not buyin’ that one. Stop hanging out here like a hog at a trough and get yourself on over there. Strike up a conversation.”
Hog at a trough? Joe should talk. He’d already loaded up three burgers to Bryce’s two.
“Come on, Joe. Knock it off. She was my best friend’s wife. Tomorrow it will be five years since he was killed in action.”
“So? She’s nobody’s wife now, is she?” Joe turned to ensure his back was to the others, his voice still low. “Look, I’m going to tell you the same thing Dad told me last year when I was dragging my feet about Meg.”
“You dragged your feet with a woman like Meg?” He glanced over at the sassy brunette chatting with Sandi, then shot Joe a disbelieving look. “You’re that dense, and you have the gall to think you can coach me about my love life?”
Joe grimaced. “Look, it’s a long story. But it came down to my dad flat out telling me I was as dumb as a rock if I didn’t move in before some other guy did. And I’m telling you the same thing. God gave you a brain, use it.”
“Nice theory, but there’s a slight problem.”
“I know. I’m looking at him.”
“Funny.” He took a deep breath and helped himself to the macaroni salad. “It’s just this—I didn’t want Keith to marry her.”
“Ohhh,” Joe groaned softly. “Now I get it. A love triangle. You both liked her and she picked him.”
“No, I mean I didn’t like her. At all. And I tried to talk him out of marrying her for that same reason.”
“Does she know that?”
“That’s part of the problem.”
Joe gave a low whistle. “Now that is a problem.”
“Told you.”
Joe pulled a handful of chips from an open bag and deposited them on his plate, his brow crinkling. “So why didn’t you like her? Explain that to me.”
He was beginning to wonder the same thing himself, so how could he expl
ain it?
“Don’t have all night, hog.” Bryce elbowed his way past Joe and headed toward the picnic table.
Chapter Fifteen
“Here he comes, here he comes,” Meg said, her voice low and lips barely moving. “I’m outta here.”
“Wait, don’t—”
But her friend snatched up her plate and joined the kids who were digging through one of the coolers at the other end of the table as if mining for gold. “Hey, hey,” she teased, “what are you two looking for?”
Had Meg planned this? Or was Bryce’s fishing outing at Casey Lake mere coincidence?
She glanced up as he rounded the table, loaded plate in hand. How handsome he looked, the black No Regrets T-shirt emphasizing the span of his shoulders, the rock-solid biceps.
“Mind if I join you?” With a tip of his hat, dark eyes focused on her uncertainly.
“Not at all. Have a seat.” She lifted the lid to her hamburger bun and self-consciously rearranged the lettuce. The tomato. Felt the table shift as he seated himself. Got comfortable. “I didn’t see you at church this morning.”
He studied her as if trying to figure out whether not seeing him was a good thing—or bad.
“Took Grandma out to Bill Diaz’s RV park for the Fourth of July service.” He spread the paper napkin on his lap. “Then we stuck around to help him and Sharon Dixon serve breakfast.”
“I didn’t know Joe’s dad held church services out there.”
“Not every weekend. But Bill’s ex-navy, as was his son and father, so he invites his campground residents to take part in outdoor worship the Sunday closest to Independence Day.”
“Your grandpa was in the military, too, wasn’t he?” She speared an evasive macaroni noodle, relieved he’d allowed the conversation to focus on the mundane, not on the supercharged evening before. “I seem to remember Mae telling me that.”
“Yeah, U.S. Army like me. The military seems to run in families around here.” He glanced to where Joe and Meg were picking up their filled plates and moving away from the table. Where were they going? “After the worship service Bill treats his guests to a home-cooked breakfast—pancakes and sausage, fresh fruit. Nothing fancy, but Grandma’s helped out for years.”
“Sounds nice. I’m surprised Meg and Joe didn’t go. I talked to them at church this morning.”
“They went, just didn’t hang around for breakfast.”
She nodded.
They ate in fairly solid silence, between bites both gazing around self-consciously at the lakeside setting. Occasional two-or three-word comments. Good burgers. Nice weather. Monsoons coming soon.
Joe had spread a tarp under one of the trees some distance from them to ensure the long, pokey pine needles littering the ground wouldn’t cause discomfort, then threw an old blanket over the top of it. Now he and Meg were cozied up as she teasingly fed him one potato chip at a time. The kids, spread out on the blanket, giggled as he wiggled his eyebrows at them.
“So, Sandi.” Bryce, having downed his second burger, pushed back his plate and broke the silence. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
She paused, the last bite of her hamburger halfway to her mouth. She’d heard the phrase “felt the blood drain from her face,” and now she knew the reality of it. Was he going to apologize for last night? Tell her—what? That there was no way he’d get involved with a woman like her and he didn’t want that hand-holding business to create any misunderstandings?
She placed the hamburger on her plate. Said a prayer. Forced a smile as she met his solemn-eyed gaze. “And what might that be?”
“Uncle Bryce! Uncle Bryce!”
A giggling Davy and Gina pounced on him from behind, looping their arms around him as far as they could reach.
His gaze flashed briefly to hers, apologetic. Then he laughed, eyes now twinkling as he turned to embrace both of them, one in each arm. “What’s all this?”
“Take us out in your boat. Please?” Gina’s words came breathlessly. “We want to fish.”
“Now, Gina—” She frowned her disapproval at the interruption. What had Bryce intended to say?
Bryce gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle pat. “I’d be happy to take you out, but your mom has to come along, too.” He craned his neck to look pointedly at Sandi. “Like I told you before, no kids without another grown-up.”
No way was she going. “Maybe Joe will go.”
Gina had set her heart on fishing, but when she discovered it wasn’t what she imagined, she’d stop harping about it. Kids didn’t understand it involved sitting still, being quiet and waiting for something that may or may not happen. Patience wasn’t Gina’s most notable characteristic.
Bryce nodded to where Meg’s husband had sacked out on the blanket, his head in his wife’s lap. “Joe? Not likely.”
Gina pulled away from Bryce and ran to her mother’s side. Eyes dancing. Hopeful. Looking so much like her daddy. “Please, Mommy? Davy’s mom said he could go.”
Then shouldn’t Meg be the one to climb into a rocking boat and set out for deep water? Her stomach did an uneasy somersault. She didn’t want to go out in a boat.
“I have life jackets for everybody now.” Bryce raised a brow, eyes twinkling and his tone challenging. “Even kid-size ones.”
“I suppose—”
“Thank you, Mommy.” Gina threw her arms around her for a hug. “Come on Davy, let’s go!”
“Wait, wait.” Sandi caught Gina’s arm before she took off for the water. “Settle down. I’m sure Uncle Bryce has some rules we need to follow.”
She turned to him expectantly—and caught his unabashed grin. He’d heard her call him Uncle Bryce. Shaking her head in defeat, she shot him a wait-until-I-get-my-hands-on-your-throat look.
Thirty minutes later he had the fishing boat in the water, life jackets secured and the electric motor silently propelling them across the wet, glassy surface.
In the bow she gripped the bench seat, anxiously keeping an eye on Gina and Davy as the boat skimmed across the lake. Bryce gave her a reassuring nod, but why couldn’t they stick closer to shore? Why’d they have to go so far out?
He’d already warned them that sound magnifies, carries across on the water, so they needed to keep their voices down. They didn’t want to disturb the other fishermen.
The children had nodded solemnly, Davy chiming in with “Grandpa says you can scare the fishes away, too.”
This late in the day, even with sunset ninety minutes away, the sun had dipped behind the pine tree tops, stretching shade across the lake. Bryce cut the motor, and the water around them calmed as the boat gently rocked. No speedboats were allowed on the lake, no gas-powered motors to disturb the stillness.
He nodded to Gina as he pulled out a fishing rod from the floor of the boat and rummaged in an old metal tackle box. “Your dad and I used to come out to this lake and fish all day.”
“You did?” she whispered. “You and Daddy had a boat?”
“Borrowed one.”
“How old were you? My age?”
“A bit older.” He winked at Sandi as he patiently explained to the kids the purpose of the bobber, then baited a hook with a ripe-smelling, lime-green goop that he assured would make a trout’s mouth water.
Sandi wrinkled her nose. To each his own.
With expertise born of years of fishing, off to the side of the boat Bryce whipped the rod and set the clear line sailing above the water with a soft whirring sound. When the weight hit the surface with a pleasant, hollow thunk, generating ever-expanding circular ripples, he handed the rod to Davy. The boy took it with the seriousness of a pro.
He reached for another rod. “You ready to try, Gina?”
Her daughter’s jerky nod proved her excitement.
Sandi closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, listening as Bryce answered Gina’s never-ending battery of questions. Letting the coolish breeze touch her cheek. Drinking in the slightly fishy lake-water scent. Although other
s fished along the shore and on boats scattered across the lake, it was as if she, Bryce and the kids were cocooned in a blanket of peace. So still out here. So tranquil. Her fingers relaxed—somewhat—on the bench seat.
How many times had she watched Keith practice casting with his rod and reel? Too many times to count. That man lived to fish. Was his gear still in the shed in back of the trailer? Maybe Bryce would like to have it.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to understand why he and Keith had become fast friends. Both outdoorsmen. Subtle sense of humor. Good with kids. Possessing an underlying sensitivity that belied their rough-and-tough exteriors. Knowing both the good and the bad in the other, they remained unconditionally loyal. Lifetime friends.
Had she ever had a friend—been a friend—quite like that?
She opened her eyes when she heard the whir of the reel, watched as Bryce carefully showed Gina how to hold the rod. Again explained the process. He caught Sandi’s eye. Smiled.
Her heart unaccountably skittering, she smiled back.
“I never understood the appeal of catching some smelly little critter with fins. But this is so relaxing. Your mind can just drift. And look at that sky.”
He looked upward, as well, studying the towering cumulus clouds with their billowing dimensions. Pristine white. Slate blue. An array of deep violet, mauve, lavender. Hot pink. All trimmed in a glowing gold where the sun pierced through.
“God paints portraits of his love on the sky, that’s for sure.”
Surprised, she turned to look at him. “That’s a beautiful way of putting it.”
“Hey, even a crusty old fisherman can harbor the soul of a poet under a sky like that.”
Their gazes held as if secured by an invisible magnet. The seconds ticking, communicating silently a mutual curiosity, uncertainty. Unconcealed interest.
Every fiber of her nervous system all but sizzling, she refocused her attention on her daughter, a desperate attempt to smother what she refused to acknowledge. “You’re a born fisherman, just like your daddy.”
Gina turned to her, eyes bright. “I am?”
She nodded. Who’d have thought Gina could sit so still for this long? Whisper and not shout? And who’d have thought she’d ever find herself looking at Bryce Harding like that? She tightened her grip on the bench seat, not allowing her gaze to drift to the big, bearded man at the far end of the boat.