Page 27 of The Last Love Song
“But?” He traced a finger along the edge of her skirt where it lay on the grass.
“But if you can’t catch a fish on a twenty-five-dollar pole, all the tricked-out gear in the world isn’t going to make you a good fisherman.”
“I bet I’ll find a way.” He sighed as he stretched out on his back on the warm grass beside her, pillowing his head with his hands. The music from the tournament registration desk filled the air and Heather swayed ever so slightly to the tune. “How do you know so much about fishing?”
“Besides being a born-and-bred Tennessee girl?”
“Besides that.” From his new vantage point, he admired the red curls draped along her back. He wanted to lift one up to feel the silken weight of it.
“My father taught me when I was small. I have good memories of choosing the right lures for him and playing silly games while we waited for the fish to bite.” She smiled for a long moment—lost in thought. “But as I got older and Dad became busy with the mayor’s job, I went with my siblings. We spent the summers playing in the woods and along the creek behind our farm.” She glanced back at him over one shoulder and then leaned forward again, wrapping her arms around her knees to hug them to her chest. “Some days, we’d fish for hours. The best nights were when Scott—he’s the oldest—when he’d build a fire and we’d cook whatever we caught right there along the water’s edge.”
“Your mother didn’t mind?” He liked the image of her family hanging out together—it’s how he’d always pictured the Finleys. Unlike his train wreck of a household.
“The times we fished from sunup to sundown were usually the days my mother struggled the most from a medical standpoint.” Heather tipped her forehead to lay a temple on her knees, her face turned toward him, though he couldn’t see her expression. “So, no. She didn’t mind. We stayed out as late as we could, hoping she’d be calmer by the time we came home.”
“How’d that work out?” A red curl hung within reach and he twined it around his finger.
Silky as he’d imagined.
“Depended. She could be more spun up than when we left. So in that way maybe it didn’t work so well. But the creek gave us a place to be. Fishing gave us something to do.” One side of her slender back shifted. A shrug, he realized.
“And at least you weren’t hungry when you got home.” He took the lighter approach, not wanting to chase her off the topic just yet.
“Assuming Erin and Amy pulled their weight,” she muttered darkly, giving him a sidelong glance. “Not all the Finley girls bring the same skill to the table as me when it comes to fishing.”
“Is that so?” He liked touching her hair. Liked her smiling at him. He wished he could capture the day and hold on to it longer.
Life seemed simpler sitting next to Heather. As though he could almost forget the vow he’d made to hunt down his sister’s stalker. To give her that peace and sense of justice. He needed to follow up with Sam about that, too.
“Absolutely it’s so. Check out what your line is doing, Mayor.” Straightening, she nodded at the fishing pole he’d jammed into the soft earth.
“Whoa.” The thing bent like a willow in the wind. Or like a squirrel had hopped on one end, the tip practically skimming the water’s surface. He scrambled to a sitting position. “What do I do?”
“You grab it.” She already had it in hand, jumping to her feet as she tugged against whatever pulled on the other end. “Feels like a bass. They’re fighters.”
A few people fishing along the river’s edge turned to watch her. Zach stood back to give them a clear view. She was something to see in her pretty skirt and girlie shoes, calmly shadowing the movements of whatever the hell battled her on the end of the line.
The line jerked hard, tugging her forward. He reached for her, just to be sure she didn’t fall, and his hand cupped her waist automatically.
“I’ve got it,” she whispered, more to herself than him, as if she was talking herself through it as she turned the crank and reeled in the line, all the while walking closer to the river’s edge. “Look out.”
With a quick tug, she yanked up and hauled a green-brown flopping fish out of the water. A couple of old-timers nodded and smiled their approval.
“Have I been completely emasculated by not helping in some way?” He wasn’t about to steal her glory, especially when watching Heather do just about anything was a pleasure.
“Not as long as you do the cooking.” She grasped the end of the line and dangled the fish between them. “Guess I saved you from taking me out for dinner tonight.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on my limited culinary skills.” His temperature spiked at the idea of having her alone at his place. “I’ll just bring this to the fish-cleaning stand.” He peered around the tournament hopefully.
Her laughter reminded him how short-lived her happiness with him would be. Damn it. As much as he wanted her to stay in Heartache, he hadn’t wanted her to feel trapped the way she would be once she learned about the upcoming investigation of her father’s time in the mayor’s office.
“I think you’re on your own for cleaning the catch.” She tugged the hook from the fish’s mouth. “We’d better grab a bag and some ice. I’ll go ask Tiffany.”
“I will.” He slid in front of her, not wanting her anywhere near Tiffany in case the town board member asked questions about the missing funds. “That is, I need to tell Tiffany I’m taking the rod and reel, too, then I can bring you home.” He took the pole and reel from her. “I know you’ve got your lesson with Megan soon.”
“Okay.” Her gaze darted toward the throng of board members in heated discussion near a pickup truck. “Thank you.”
“Be right back.” He made fast work of his errand while Heather spoke to a woman who owned the hair salon in town.
