Part 45 (1/2)
”Penny for your thoughts.”
She looked up at the object of her thoughts. ”Not on your life, Tucker. I'm never telling.”
”Oh? Is that right? Well, I have my ways and...”
Fiona stopped midway across the bridge and looked down into the clear river. Several decent-sized frying fish teased her from their watery home. How long had it been since she'd gone fis.h.i.+ng? Too long.
”Fiona, are you listening to me?”
”Hmm? I'm sorry. What did you say? I was thinking about fis.h.i.+ng.”
Tucker gave her an incredulous look.
She held her hands up in a defensive pose. ”I'm sorry. I know it was rude. It's just that all my life I've been my father's fis.h.i.+ng buddy. Neither of my brothers cared for it, and Da said I was a quick study. As long as I can remember I've had a fis.h.i.+ng pole in my hand.” She paused. ”At least I did until I came here. I didn't realize until just now how very much I miss it.”
Silence.
”Tucker?” Fiona said. ”Do you realize you're staring at me?”
He nodded.
”Well, stop it.” She turned her back and headed toward the cabin, stopping only when she realized Tucker hadn't kept up. ”Tucker Smith, get off the bridge and go home. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you are acting silly.”
He caught up with her a moment later. ”You're serious, aren't you?”
”About what, Tucker?” Fiona stopped to peer up at him. ”Is something wrong with you? I don't think I've ever seen you acting so odd. Well, other than on the trip back from town.”
”I'm sorry.” He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands. ”Did you just say you like to fish?”
”Yes,” she said slowly. ”Is there something wrong with that?”
”Wrong?” Tucker's laugh echoed against the nearby hills. ”No,” he said as he grabbed her by the waist and began to swing her around. ”That's wonderful.” He set her down then had to steady her when she wobbled a bit.
”Tucker Smith, what's gotten into you?” She primped her hair until she'd smoothed it back into place.
He had to tame his smile to get a word out. ”Fiona, I've been living here for nigh on three years, and not once during that time did I ever have anyone to go fis.h.i.+ng with. Your brothers are good men, but neither of them has the patience it takes to wait out a decent-sized fish.”
She nodded. ”That's true.”
”Now, mind you, a man likes to fish alone most of the time, but on occasion, it's a fine thing to have someone else to compare your catch with. Outside of the good Lord and a hot cup of black coffee, that's about my favorite thing.” He paused to give her a sideways look. ”Now you're looking at me funny. Did I say something wrong?”
Fiona took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ”Nothing, really. It's just that, well, I feel the same way.”
Tucker eyed the redhead and waited for her to say the punch line. Surely someone as pretty and smart as this one had other things to do than fish.
Then came the absurd question of whether she wore that silly hat and those impractical shoes to fish in. Well, it couldn't be possible.
Maybe he ought to call her bluff. Yes, that idea definitely had appeal.
He affected a casual pose. ”So, Fiona,” he said as he studied the distance, ”what say you and I go fis.h.i.+ng after Sunday dinner?” Tucker paused for effect. ”Of course, if you're busy, I'll understand.”
”Too busy to fish?” She shook her head. ”Anyone too busy to fish is just plain too busy. You bring the bait, and I'll fix the coffee.”
On the appointed day, Tucker had the bait packed and ready in the bucket when he arrived at the Rafferty place for their weekly Sunday services. Fiona looked as pretty as ever. Evidently, she had more than one pair of those ridiculous shoes, because the ones she wore with her flowered dress looked just like the ones he'd sent downriver.
He felt a little bad about doing that, but only a little. Still, he shouldn't have tossed the shoes.
”I'll just be a minute,” she said as she headed for the kitchen once the services were over. ”Do you have a spot in mind?”
Ian looked up from his reading while Meredith watched Tucker from the corner where she held the sleeping baby. Neither spoke, but then they didn't need words to show their curiosity.
”Fis.h.i.+ng,” Tucker felt compelled to say. ”Fiona loves to fish. I just found this out.”
”I see,” Ian responded curtly, although Tucker thought he might have detected the slightest hint of a grin.
Never had Tucker felt so out of place in his sister's home. ”I'll just wait outside,” he said as he backed out, running into the door frame in the process.
Sitting on a tree stump and waiting for Fiona, Tucker frowned. ”What's wrong with me? It's just fis.h.i.+ng. Why, those two act like I've come courting.”
”What did you say?”
He looked up. Fiona headed his way with a basket. She wore a pretty flowered dress, a fairly sensible hat with a straw brim encircled by a black ribbon, and the sealskin boots he'd bought for her. To his surprise, she carried her own pole along with the basket.
”Did you bring worms, too?” He gestured to the basket. ”I thought I told you I would take care of that.”
Her laughter made him smile. ”No, it's not worms. Fis.h.i.+ng's not fis.h.i.+ng without coffee and snacks,” she said. ”I don't know if I mentioned it, but when I start fis.h.i.+ng, I generally stay all day.” She stopped short and gave him an appraising look.
”What?” he asked. ”Did I do something wrong?”
”Not yet,” she said, ”but I wonder if you're one of those fellows who likes to talk while he fishes. If you are, I should warn you that we won't be sitting near one another. I like to do my fis.h.i.+ng in silence. It's the best time to talk to the Lord, you know. And besides,” she said with a wink, ”talking scares the fish away.” Her expression turned serious. ”Unless you like to talk while you fish. I surely don't mean to suggest that-”
”No, it's quite all right. I believe I can abide by the no-talking rule. One question, though.”
She set the basket down to adjust her hat. ”What's that?”
”Does the no-talking rule apply to snack times? I mean, a fellow might find himself in trouble if he asks someone to pa.s.s the salt, so I feel we should spell out the rules beforehand.”
Fiona pretended to think hard. ”No, I believe talking is allowed during snack times.”
Tucker reached for the basket's handle. ”All right, then. Let's go fis.h.i.+ng.”
”Yes, let's. Where are the big ones biting?”
He answered by pointing south. As she walked ahead in that direction, Tucker suppressed a groan, and he turned to a prayer of his own to save him.
Over the course of the afternoon, his fears grew. Not only did Fiona Rafferty know her way around a fis.h.i.+ng pole, but she also caught more fish than he had and even offered to bait his hook. It was a side of the redhead that both intrigued and terrified him.
And Tucker Smith didn't scare easily.
For the first time since he had left Texas, he was enjoying himself with a woman who was not his relative. Tucker set his pole into the soft dirt and leaned back on his elbows. Some twenty yards downriver, Fiona was reeling in a good-sized Dolly Varden.