AMANDA GULPED DOWN the last bit of her coffee, then strode through the living room and beat on the bedroom door. “Mick? Are you up yet?”
No reply.
She cracked the door open. Mick was sprawled on top of the covers, still fully clothed. It was all Amanda could do not to yank him by the ankles and toss him to the floor.
She’d heard him come home last night—at two in the morning. She’d hoped he was at the university library in Tyler, studying. But seeing him now, she knew she’d been naive. Mick had been out drinking—she’d stake her life on it. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t recognize the signs. She was very afraid that Mick was his father’s son.
Resisting the urge to fit her hands around his neck, she instead shook his shoulder. “Mick. Wake up.”
He opened one bleary eye. “Huh?”
“Get your hungover butt out of bed. You have a class this morning.”
“Not till nine.”
“Get up now, or you’ll fall back to sleep.”
“Get off my case.”
“You think this is on your case? Just wait and see what happens if I ever catch you drinking and driving again.”
She left him with that thought. Back in the kitchen, she grabbed her keys and was about to head out the door when she spotted something interesting out the living room window. Hudson and Bethany were sitting on the end of their dock, fishing.
She watched them for a few self-indulgent moments. Her father used to take her fishing when she was a little girl. It was one of her nicest memories of him, nearly obliterated by other, more recent and far less pleasant ones. But now the images came flooding back—baiting hooks with wiggling earthworms, breathlessly watching the float bob up and down as a fish toyed with the bait, feeling the sun beating down on her bare arms.
And listening to her father tell stories. Sometimes he told real stories from his youth. Sometimes he made up fairy tales. And sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference. But she didn’t care. She just loved to hear him talk. He could weave an interesting tale around the most mundane of events and keep her endlessly entertained.
She wondered what Hudson and Bethany were talking about.
As she watched them a bit longer, she realized they weren’t catching anything, not even little perch or sunfish. The longer she watched, the more she realized they hadn’t a clue about what they were doing. They didn’t even know how to cast!
It’s none of your business, she reminded herself. Fishing was very personal. Maybe this was the technique that worked for Hudson.
She had to get to work, anyway. She had an appointment in a couple of hours with Clea Marsden about selling her rental property. But she could go over and thank Hudson for leaving her the cash. And she could give him a few pointers on fishing. It had been years since she’d dipped a hook in the water, but she hadn’t forgotten how.
Yes, that was the polite thing to do. She would have to live next to Hudson for a month. Might as well try to be on good terms with him. Besides, what if he really needed the fish to supplement his groceries?
Her mind made up, she marched next door, then tiptoed down the dock. If there were any fish around, she didn’t want to scare them.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
Hudson jumped a good six inches, and Bethany peered over her shoulder. “Why are you whispering?” she asked.
“So I don’t scare the fish,” she explained.
“The fish are underwater,” Bethany said patiently. “They can’t hear us.”
“Oh, but they can,” Amanda assured her. Then she looked at Hudson, who appeared touchably rumpled and unshaven. Normally she didn’t care for that un-shaven look, but on Hudson it worked. He wore a pair of jeans even more faded than the ones he’d had on yesterday, and a Harvard T-shirt.
Harvard? “Your alma mater?” she asked, pointing to the shirt.
He looked down at it. “This? Someone gave it to me.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, I wanted to thank you for making good on the check.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know, but I’ve learned not to trust people when they say things like that. So many don’t live up to their word. I appreciate that you did, and I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday.”
He smiled. “It’s forgotten.”
“So, you’re fishing, huh?”
“Yup.”
“What are you using for bait?” She didn’t see a bait bucket anywhere.
“Right now? Some little wooden fish we found in the tackle box.”
Ye gods! No wonder they hadn’t caught anything. You couldn’t use plastic worms or plugs or other artificial lures for bobber fishing. And now that she was closer, and Hudson had his hook out of the water, she could see they weren’t using floats or sinkers, either. This was the most pathetic fishing effort she’d ever seen.
“What are you trying to catch?”
Hudson shrugged. “Anything.”
“Would you mind a few pointers? I mean, you aren’t familiar with this lake.” She didn’t want to point out his complete ignorance in front of his daughter.
“I would be grateful for some pointers.”
“Okay. First of all, if you’re just going to hang your hook in the water, you need live bait. Minnows, or at least earthworms.”
“We don’t have any of those things. These fake fish look pretty realistic to me.”
Amanda shook her head. “Yes, but you have to wiggle and move them to make them attractive. They won’t work if they’re just hanging still in the water. Also, most of the fish will already be in deeper water this time of the morning. They come close to shore only at dawn and dusk.”
“I don’t have any worms or minnows.”
“Well…if you’re not too particular about what you catch, raw bacon might work in a pinch. At least it smells good to the fish.”
Hudson shook his head. “I have hot dogs.”
“That might do.”
Hudson sent Bethany back to the house for hot dogs, an errand she gladly performed. “She was getting tired of just sitting here, anyway,” Hudson admitted.
“Well, she won’t be bored when you start catching fish.” Bethany dusted off a spot on the dock and sat down, careful to protect her stockings and her modesty in her short skirt. In a couple of minutes flat she had both poles properly outfitted with sinkers, floats and hooks. Bethany returned shortly with a package of franks. Amanda took a small bit of wiener and worked it onto one of the hooks in a way that would disguise it.
“Now. You need to cast your line out a little ways from the dock, and let the current move it along.” She and Hudson stood, and she demonstrated the correct procedure. As she stretched her arm back preparing for the cast, she got the distinct impression that Hudson wasn’t watching her form—not her fishing form, anyway.
After a few practice casts, Hudson had the technique down pat. He cast Bethany’s line for her, showed her how to slowly crank the reel to take up slack in the line, then threw out his own line.
In less than thirty seconds Bethany’s bobber wiggled, then plummeted below the surface.
“You’ve got a fish!” Amanda exclaimed.
Bethany got so excited she