Page 83 of Boston
“Seven is great,” Cash confirmed.
Boston turned back to the couch. “Okay, here are my clues. I need bug spray to go there. I don’t need a fishing pole. It’s brown. You only want to visit at a certain time of year.”
That had been Cora’s fourth clue, and he’d gotten it when he’d arrived at the mountain cabin midweek last week. She’d given him another clue when he’d gotten home on Saturday night. “And we’ll eat like kings after we go.”
He looked over to Cash and then tipped his head back as he took another long drag of grape soda. “It’s got to be a fishing spot,” he said. “Somewhere with water. It’s not Silver Lake. I already guessed that.”
“Brown,” Cash said. “That’s really throwing me. No fishing pole…. Why do you think it’s water?”
“Why would I need bug spray if it’s not by water?” he asked.
“Fair point.”
“Eat like kings, only visit a certain time of year. I thought of things you might harvest,” he said. “Like blueberries or huckleberries.”
“There could be bugs out in those,” Cash said.
“No fishing pole, eat like kings.” Boston said, “Does she really think kings eat berries?”
They both chuckled, and then Cash said again, “It’s thebrownthat’s throwing me.”
“Eat like kings,” Boston mused. “Maybe good fish.”
“What’s the best fish up here?” Cash asked.
Their eyes met, and Boston said, “The salmon run.” Understanding flowed over him. “It only happens at a certain time of year.”
You don’t need a pole,” Cash said. “They jump right up out of the water.”
“You do need bug spray.”
“We’re back to brown,” Cash said. “It’s a weird clue.”
“She said it because my truck’s brown,” Boston said. “But maybe….” He picked up his phone and tapped on his maps app. “Maybe thebrownis in the name of the place.”
Cash let him search, and a few minutes later, Boston scrolled on his phone, moving along the waterway north of Rusk.
“I think I got it,” he said. Quiet excitement built inside him. “Right there, right in the middle.” He passed the phone to Cash, who peered at it.
“Little Brown Bear Falls. Brother, that’d be the perfect place to see the salmon run. You could reach a net right out there, grab some fish. No fishing pole. After you spray yourself down with a bunch of bug spray.”
Boston reached for his phone and said, “I’m texting her right now.” He did, and Cash chuckled.
“What?” Boston said. The text on its way to Cora, he stuck his phone under his leg, determined not to lose himself in texts with his girlfriend while his cousin was here and needed him.
“You should justseeyour face, Boston,” he said. “You really like this woman.”
Boston took another drink of his soda, hoping it would cool him down. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly seeing no reason to deny it. “Ireallylike this woman.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Cora caught Boston’s text as it got sucked back up into the top of her phone.
Little Brown Bear Stream / River / Waterfall.
A smile bloomed on her face, and she tuned out of the monthly meeting with the events coordinator, the small group advisor, and the website mistress. She didn’t really have to be here, but everyone wanted her to sign off on the schedule and pricing, and Jana—the woman who maintained and updated their website—had two pieces of copy she wanted Cora to approve.
