Rose

by Chris Keniston

  “I bought you a fishing pole. It’s pink.”

  “General,” she bit back a laugh, “that hasn’t been my favorite color since I was seven.”

  “Hm. Purple?”

  “That’s Poppy.” Or maybe it was Callie. “Regardless, it doesn’t matter if it’s fourteen karat gold. I can run a successful art world fundraiser without learning to paint. I’m sure an auction at a fishing tournament will work the same way.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Two words that made her cringe. When voiced by a retired US Marine Corps general, the words held a completely different meaning than when uttered by young parents. Already she was considering what outfit had she brought that would match a pink fishing pole.

  Chapter Two

  This was not the first time Logan had been north of the Mason Dixon line, but he’d forgotten how peacefully green the northern scenery could be. Since leaving the freeway over an hour ago, the canopy of leafy trees that hung across the roads gave a startling contrast to his Texas ranch country. He loved the deep blue sky that covered the Texas landscape like a warm blanket, but he had to give credit where credit was due, the cool breeze blowing under nature’s shady roadside arbor was considerably more pleasant than baking in hundred degree heat. Not that Texas didn’t have summer breezes, they did—sometimes. Except, rather than refreshing, it was mostly a matter of moving hot air around.

  According to the GPS, he would be arriving at the lake a lot sooner than expected. For the first time in ages, his flight actually arrived in Boston a half hour early. Next, his bag was surprisingly the first one out on the carousel. Then the shuttle bus to the rental agency had been parked outside the terminal as if waiting for only him, and not a single person stood on line in front of him at the counter. Even more surprisingly, he didn’t hit any traffic at all leaving the city. If this was a sign of things to come he was about to break world records for fishing.

  Since his grandfather’s flight out of Houston was scheduled to depart shortly after Logan’s arrival in Boston, they’d agreed for Logan to head on up to the lake and the General would send a car for his grandfather. Gramps’ name on his cell phone surprised him. “Flight running late?”

  His grandfather cleared his throat. “About that.”

  There was nothing about those two words that could precede anything good.

  “Somehow your grandmother and I got our wires crossed.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that for a multitude of reasons.

  “She’s doing her stress test day after tomorrow. You know how nervous she gets with anything doctor related. Even if it’s only routine.”

  Logan nodded. No one was sure what had happened to his grandmother during her childhood that had left her so skittish about doctors, but for as long as he could remember, she’d done her best to avoid them.

  “Your Aunt Margaret could take her but, well…”

  “Yeah, I know.” Logan held back a sigh. He couldn’t fault the guy. Not only didn’t the lady like doctors, but for too many years his grandmother had had to do things on her own while her husband was stationed on a ship or some other place unfriendly for wives and families. Gramps had been doing his best to make up for it ever since he retired.

  “So you understand?”

  “Of course. But it’s a multi-day event. If you catch a flight afterward I’d be more than happy to stay on a couple of extra days.” And he would. Quality time with his grandfather happened less and less, and at his age, who knew how much longer he’d be around.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll keep you posted. I’m counting on you to show the General and all the others how to reel ‘em in.”

  Logan smothered a laugh. He doubted there was anything he could show his grandfather’s longtime friend that he didn’t already know. “I’d like it better if we could show him and everyone else together.”

  “I know, but you’ll catch a real prize on your own. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Logan didn’t know why, but he’d swear his grandfather wasn’t talking about fish anymore. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Of course you will.”

  As much as he loved fishing, it was time with his grandfather that he’d truly been looking forward to. By the time he’d pulled into the narrow drive toward the large white Victorian home on Hart Land, Logan had made up his mind that if his grandfather didn’t join him for the tournament, then his next stop would not be home but to visit his grandparents. If he actually flew home, one thing or another would stop him from making the four hour drive. It always did.

  A cool breeze brushed his face as he stepped out of the car. Maybe, even without his grandfather, this trip wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  “Welcome,” a soft voice called from over his shoulder. A lovely blonde in a pink t-shirt with her hair knotted in a loose bun bounced down the stairs. “Checking in or looking for someone?”

  “Checking in.” Most of the tournament fisherman would be staying at the larger nearby inns that dotted the lakeside landscape, but his grandfather had insisted they stay close to his friend. “The name is Buchanan. Logan.”

  “Nice to meet you. Callie Nelson.” Smiling, she extended her arm. “My grandmother is inside. Do you need help with your bags?”

  He shook his head, about to speak, when a slightly younger brunette in a flowing dress skipped down the steps and handed the blonde a whistle. “You forgot this.”

  “Thanks. Remind me again why I agreed to coach basketball camp?”

  The brunette chuckled. “Because you love kids and you love sports and you’re a sucker for anything that involves both.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right.” The blonde, Callie, beamed then briskly walked toward a parked car, waving her finger over her shoulder at Logan. “He’s checking in.”

  “Great. Follow me.” The brunette started up the stairs, twisting to talk as she walked. “Nice to have you. I’m Poppy. My grandmother is inside. She’ll be happy to take care of you.”

  “Thank you.” He couldn’t help but shake his head, wondering if his grandfather had known about the plethora of attractive young granddaughters at Hart Land. What was Logan thinking—of course the old man did.

  The minute he crossed the threshold, a graceful, attractive older woman with silver hair cut sharp above her shoulders glanced up and smiled. A sense of being home took over and any lingering resentment at not having his grandfather here slid away.

  “You must be Mr. Buchanan.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t know if they had so few guests or if the woman was a mind reader or perhaps they simply kept that good track of what time each guest was scheduled to arrive.

  “I understand your grandfather won’t be joining us after all.” She pulled a key from the drawer of a wonderfully preserved antique desk. “My husband will be sorry to hear that. He was looking forward to visiting.”

  “I’m hopeful he’ll still join me, though a few days later than planned.”

  “Oh,” her smile grew impossibly brighter, “that would be lovely.”

  For most people her pat responses would be considered polite platitudes, yet he was absolutely sure the woman was completely sincere. “Yes. It would.”

  She handed him the key. “Your cabin is across the way. You’ve been well stocked, and if you want to take advantage of your early arrival, I’d be happy to share some of my husband’s favorite fishing spots for you to check out.” She leaned forward, glancing left than right, and whispered, “Just don’t tell him where you got the tip.” She leaned back, chuckled softly and Logan decided this trip could prove to be the most fun he’d ever had at a tournament. For now, all he wanted was to sit back, relax, and enjoy the take-out dinner he’d picked up on the road. Tomorrow would be soon enough for a little reconnaissance.

  * * * *

  “What are you doing up so early?” Tying the apron behind her back, Lucy strolled into the kitchen in a direct path to the pantry.

  “Thinking.” Rose lifted her mug in Lucy�
��s direction. “There’s a full pot.”

  The family’s lifelong housekeeper, well at least as much of Rose’s life as she could remember, glanced at the coffee machine in the corner. “I know you can brew a decent cup, so I won’t fuss much at you over that, but whatever you’re working on over there must be pretty important to have you up and thinking this early after playing cards with Ralph and the crowd until past my bedtime.”

  “Not really.” She’d thought for sure staying up late combined with real fresh air would have had her sleeping like a teenager until at least mid-morning. Instead she’d risen with the proverbial chickens. Apparently her mind hadn’t gotten the memo that she was on a sort of vacation. She also knew darn well that Sarah could handle the museum’s to-do list with her eyes closed. Especially since this new temporary show was one of their smaller exhibitions, but that didn’t mean Rose couldn’t go over the details in her binder one more time, just in case.

  “Well, isn’t this providence?” With a tail wagging Golden retriever at either side of him, the General came through the doorway. Sarge and Lady immediately pranced up and plopping their wagging tails down on either side of her, each set their head on her lap.

  Without a thought, she lifted a hand to pet each canine. Like a healing hand, she felt the tension bleed away.

  The General made his way to the coffee pot. “The air smells just right for fishing.”

  “Since the tournament starts in a few days, that’s probably a good thing.” Lucy cracked some eggs into a mixing bowl.

  The General took a sip of his coffee and turned to Rose. “Your grandmother suggested I give you the blue fishing pole to try instead of the pink one. I left it by the door if you want to look at it on your way to change.”

  “Grams, huh?” Rose mumbled, glancing down at the two dogs still resting their heads on her lap. Only lifting their gazes, the two looked up at her with huge brown eyes. She would almost be willing to swear an oath that she could hear them thinking, You might as well give in. Now all she had to do was find something to wear that didn’t clash with a blue fishing pole.

  The General clicked his heels and the two dogs hurried to his side. “Lucy, can you pack us a nice breakfast in a box?”

  Lifting her brows in surprise, Lucy glanced at Rose and tipping her head slightly to one side, seemed to be waiting for a cartoon bubble to pop up overhead alerting her how to respond. Finally, she nodded. “How about some breakfast burritos? Easiest thing to eat on a bass boat. I’ll send you off with a fresh thermos of regular coffee too.” Her gaze shifted to Rose. “I think someone is going to need it today.”

  “Excellent. And throw in some of those almond cookies Lily dropped off.” The General scratched the top of his dogs’ heads. “I’ll get the boat ready and meet you by the Point in fifteen.”

  Shaking her head, Lucy walked away mumbling something about a balanced meal.

  Rose nodded and stood. Experience told her that fifteen minutes meant exactly that. Not fourteen and fifty seconds nor fifteen and ten seconds. With her mom updating the family cabin again, Rose was glad she’d decided to stay at the big house. At least she’d save five minutes walking down the hill and five more walking back.

  The museum binder under one arm, she took the grand staircase two steps at a time and bolted down the hall and into her room. She’d had the good sense to unpack before dinner. Flinging the closet doors open, now all she had to decide was how to layer for a country morning with, heaven help her, fish. Clock ticking, she grabbed a pair of pressed jeans, a pastel blue button-down shirt and a lightweight jacket to match. Years of running late for school had taught her to braid her hair on the move. By the time she hit the ground floor running, she was dressed, her hair was out of her face, and the museum world safely tucked away in a dresser drawer.

  “Thought you might need this.” Lucy stood at the bottom step, extending an arm with a travel mug in hand.

  God Bless that woman. A second cup of coffee was exactly what she needed.

  “And remind your grandfather that a real lunch is precisely at noon today.”

  If fate was on her side, she wouldn’t be gone anywhere near that late. “Will do.”

  Twenty minutes later they’d stopped at the General’s favorite fishing spot at Morton’s Cove. Except the last thing she wanted was to catch fish. At least not if she was expected to handle them. And there was no doubt that she would be, especially now that she wasn’t six years old any more. She’d survived baiting the hook with live worms, but she wasn’t capable of dealing with dying fish. Time with the General or not, she was done with the fishing and ready to go home.

  “Let’s try it again,” the General said, standing behind her. “Control the distance by slowing the line with your thumb.”

  What she wanted to control had nothing to do with distance, unless it meant how far to reach for one of those almond cookies tucked away in the cooler. “Yes, sir.”

  Once again, for the umpteenth time this morning, she’d repeated casting the line. According to her grandfather, the process was a little bit science, a little bit art, and a lot of patience. Apparently she had none of the above. All she knew is that casting overhead looked a heckuva lot easier on TV. Giving it all she had, she managed to span the distance to the shore and snagged an inflatable raft from the nearby dock.

  On a heavy sigh, her grandfather helped her reel the line back in. “I’ll stop by Earl’s place later today and bring a new float.”

  “Thanks.” She should probably be the one making the peace offering since she was the one who’d hooked the water toy, but anything to distract her grandfather from dragging her back out onto the lake.

  “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong. Perhaps we should try a sidearm cast.”

  Just how many different ways were there to a cast a line? Not that she was going to ask, the answer might take longer than her allotted time off from the museum. “We should probably get back to the house. There’s so much still to coordinate. I promised NAME I’d help confirm all the accommodations and the arrival of our welcome gifts.”

  “One last try,” the General cajoled.

  Rose knew there was no resisting that impish grin. She just hoped one last try didn’t turn into two or seven. Bringing her rod back to her side and holding the button, she made her best effort at a circular swooping motion the way the General had shown her. Snapping her wrist forward and releasing the button, the line flew out. Who knew the thing could extend as far out as when she’d tried overhead. Flying toward the shore, the tiny worm lure and the flick of her wrist propelled the line past the dock, and up to the shore by a thicket of brush. The slight bit of resistance told her she’d snagged something else. And whatever she’d hit weighed more than the inflatable raft. “I seem to have caught something.”

  “Probably a tree limb. Happens all the time.”

  She made another effort to reel whatever she’d caught in.

  “Careful. Pull too hard and you’ll only break the line.”

  The line was the least of her problems. If her grandfather insisted on bringing her out until she mastered the art of casting, she might wind up at the lake until she was old enough to collect social security. Another tug and whatever she had seemed to break free. The reverse force knocked her back onto her butt.

  “Are you all right?” Concern took over the General’s expression.

  “You know what they say, the only thing hurt is my pride.”

  “Fortunately,” the General relieved her of the pole and spun to reel it in, “pride has a very brief recovery time.”

  She’d be more likely to agree over a hot cup of coffee and a few cookies. Or maybe a homemade donut.

  “Oh, dear.”

  Rose glanced up. Something bright and yellow cut a wake across the water. Focusing really hard, not until the General had the item within arm’s length did Rose realize her prize catch came in the form of one neon yellow vest. Squinting at the distance, she heaved in a deep breath. What the
heck had she done?

  Chapter Three

  By the time Logan realized the tug on his shoulder wasn’t a wayward bird or steroidal insect, but a fishing hook pulling him toward the water, he’d already lost his balance. Scrambling to un-zip his vest, his feet pedaled like a duck underwater, all the time battling the determination of the person at the other end of the lure. One hard yank, and he slid into the water and out of his vest. Not the way he had planned his morning to go.

  Heaven knew, he’d been caught, scratched, pinched, and hooked by neophyte fishermen on some of the best lakes in the country, but this was the first time anyone had actually succeeded in reeling him in. Well, at least reeling him off the shore and into the water. Sitting up to his waist in the chilled lake, he watched his favorite vest glide across the calm water before being snatched up by two people in a small boat.

  Cold and unhappy, he pushed upright, keeping his eyes on the fishermen. Unable to make out their faces, he could see the two figures scanning the distance for the source of their latest catch. It was obvious the moment they connected the dots of the lone man standing in almost icy water and their latest catch. The heavier set of the two threw the garment to one side and waved for the redheaded silhouette to take a seat. By the time Logan had taken his shoes off and poured the water back into the lake, the boat was close enough for him to make out at least one of the faces. The General. This morning’s conversation had consisted of a polite greeting and suggestions for the old man’s favorite fishing spots. When they’d agreed to chat more later, he was pretty sure this had not been what either had in mind.

  “Ahoy,” the General called to him.

  “General.” What more could he say? He was wet, smelly, barefoot, and not at all prepared for a visit. He’d seen enough photos of his grandfather and his longtime friend to easily recognize the man when they’d met on Logan’s way to his car, but he had no idea who the redhead was with the retired Marine. Though now that they were closer, he could see she was about the same age as the two granddaughters he’d met earlier. All of them natural beauties. Holding a bright blue fishing pole that matched the blue in her jacket, this granddaughter—if that’s what she was—was no exception. For whatever reason, standing in icy water rather than attempting to get his footing on dry land, he stood frozen, unable to drag his gaze away from the deepest green eyes he’d ever seen.