“I’m gonna name him Shiny.”
Hudson and Amanda exchanged a look. “You didn’t tell her what we do with the fish we catch?” Amanda asked.
Chapter Three
“I figured we’d throw all the fish back,” Hudson said.
“No, Daddy, you can’t let Shiny go,” Bethany said in a near panic. “He’s my fish.”
“Well, he’s too small to eat,” Amanda said with a laugh.
“Eat!” Bethany’s face reflected horror.
Hudson looked to Amanda for some way out of this dilemma. She smiled and shrugged helplessly. “Do you have a bucket to put the fish in?” she asked mildly.
“No.” Some help she was! “We’re throwing it back in the lake.”
“It’s my fish!” Bethany repeated, her eyes filling with tears.
Amanda’s eyes danced with amusement, tempered with concern. “If I were you, I’d let her keep the fish.”
Hudson gritted his teeth. He gave Amanda a look that said he wasn’t particularly grateful for her suggestion, then turned to his daughter. “Okay, Bethany, here’s the deal. You can keep this one fish. But if we catch any more, we have to throw them back. You know, let them swim free, like Free Willy?”
“Okay,” she said without a fight, nodding eagerly.
“And we can’t take Shiny back to Boston with us. Fish don’t travel well.”
“Unless they’re frozen,” Amanda murmured just loud enough that Hudson could hear.
“Okay,” Bethany said again.
“Then run up to the house and find a big bowl or a pitcher or a bucket to put the fish in.”
She ran off, leaving Hudson holding the fish.
“Maybe you better dip the line in the water,” Amanda suggested. “Shiny’s looking a little peaked.”
Hudson did as instructed. The last thing he needed was for Bethany to return and find that her fish had died under his care.
“And I don’t want to be an alarmist,” Amanda added, “but I think you might have a fish on your line, too.”
Hudson had laid his pole on the dock when he was helping Bethany pull in her fish. He scanned the surface of the lake for the red-and-white bobber and didn’t see it anywhere, but his line was taut. He caught the pole just before it would have been pulled into the water.
“Well, don’t just stand there, help!”
Amanda took his pole and started reeling in the fish. She could tell by the pull that it was a considerably larger catch than Bethany’s. When it finally cleared the water, it turned out to be a huge channel catfish, at least a foot long.
“Wow, beginner’s luck,” Amanda said, admiring the fish. “Got any pliers?”
“What for?”
“You can’t take a catfish off a hook with your bare hands. They sting you with those pointy whiskers.”
Hudson had had no idea fishing could be so hazardous. Maybe he should have read a book on the subject first. “I don’t have any pliers.”
She shook her head as if to say he was hopeless, handed him the pole, then headed up the dock toward her house.
“You’re coming back, right?” he asked, feeling slightly panicky himself.
“I’ve got some pliers in my garage.”
Hudson was much relieved by the return of both his daughter and his neighbor. “Shiny” had a new home in a big soup pot, which he set under a tree in the shade for the time being. And Amanda took off her short-sleeved jacket and showed him how to remove a not-too-friendly catfish from a hook.
Hudson and Bethany caught several more fish in all shapes and sizes as Amanda cheered them on and offered pointers. Apparently, Town Lake fish really liked hot dogs—especially Shiny. Bethany kept feeding him bits of wiener.
“That fish is going to get heart disease if we keep feeding him those fatty hot dogs,” Hudson grumbled. But he was actually enjoying himself. He liked watching his daughter’s eyes light up each time she felt a tug on her line.
And he liked watching Amanda. She’d gotten a snag in her hose and a small spot on her tan linen skirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. She appeared to be having fun coaching Hudson and Bethany in the fine art of bobber fishing, as she called it.
“I’m hungry,” Bethany announced. “Is it time for lunch yet?”
Hudson looked at his watch. “It’s only ten-fifteen.”
Amanda jumped like a spooked rabbit. “It’s what?” She consulted her own watch. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God! How did it get so late?”
“Late?”
“I’ve missed my appointment with Clea Marsden.” She spied her purse, which she’d set down on the dock, and dived into it, producing a cell phone. “Oh, great, I didn’t even have my cell phone on!” She punched in a couple of numbers and waited impatiently for the connection, tapping her foot against the dock.
Bethany watched, fascinated. Hudson confessed to a certain amount of interest himself. His easygoing fishing coach had suddenly turned into a no-nonsense businesswoman.
“Margie? Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just forgot to—no, nothing happened. I lost track of the time. I was…working at home and got involved.” Her eyes flickered toward Hudson, perhaps to see if he would call her on the lie, then skittered away. “I must not have heard the phone. I’m sorry I worried you. I hope Clea Marsden wasn’t too distressed that I—oh. I see.” Her jaw clenched, and a tiny muscle near her eye twitched. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She snapped the phone closed. All the color had drained from her face. In fact, she reminded him of how his mother-in-law had looked when Hudson had told her of her daughter’s death.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
She looked at him as if she was surprised to see him. “No, I’m not all right. I missed an appointment.”
“Is that such a tragedy?” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yes! When I didn’t show, Clea Marsden got a little antsy, and Mary Jo pounced. I lost the listing.” She spoke the words as if it were the worst tragedy to befall Western civilization since the black plague.
“Well, cheer up. Tomorrow’s the first day of a new month. You’ve got all of June to beat Mary Jo.”
She seemed not to hear him. “How could I have been so irresponsible, so downright stupid? Fishing, for God’s sake! I’ve frittered away almost three hours! That’s time I’ll never get back.” She looked at him earnestly. “When you waste time, you never get it back, you know.”
He did know that—all too well. Often he felt there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish all he wanted to do. There were always more patients than he had time to operate on. Once, a patient at the hospital—not his, thank God—had died while waiting for a free operating room.
“I’m very aware of how I spend my time,” he said, his good mood deflated. He shouldn’t be here. He should be back in Boston, doing what he was meant to do.
Amanda pulled a towelette from her purse and began rubbing at the small spot on her skirt. “I’ve torn my stockings, I’ve stained my skirt, I probably have a sunburn and I know I smell like fish. What on earth was I thinking? I must be out of my mind.”
“Hey,