Sylvie purposely didn’t allow her gaze to follow the father-daughter duo as they left the café. She already knew, from the way news traveled, that he was divorced—thanks to Ellie Pearson’s call—so she might as well brace herself for the works. The works meant tons of unsubtle pressure brought to bear by family and friends who couldn’t wait to marry her off.
Margery Franks, part-owner of the café, led the charge, mere moments after she’d shut Joel’s money into the cash register. The buxom woman rushed over to help Sylvie. “My, he’s polite and a really handsome man. And his little girl is as cute as can be. Don’t you think so, Sylvie?”
“Rianne is sweet. She’s in first grade, but Ellie probably mentioned that.”
“Kid’s gotta be lonely, stuck in that big old house so far from town. And she’s ’bout that age where she’d benefit from a woman’s guidance. Don’t you agree?”
Sylvie picked up the tray of dishes, saying nothing.
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?” Marge demanded of the room at large.
Jim Newsome, seated in the booth adjacent to the one Joel had vacated, spoke up. “Stop pushing her, Margie. She’s got a date to go fishing with Mercer and his kid this afternoon. What you need to do is let her off work early so she has time to get a makeover at the beauty parlor.”
Sylvie spun. “Stop it, all of you. Joel Mercer and I are neighbors—that’s it. And this is not a date. I have no intention of getting a makeover today or any other day. Kristi’s shift goes till three, and I’m here until then.”
Someone across the room, a woman, said, “Coming from the city and all, he probably owns a tuxedo. He’d make you a good escort for Kay’s wedding, Sylvie.”
“Riiii...ght,” her male companion jeered. “No better way to give a divorced guy the willies than to take him to a wedding first thing.”
“Enough!” Sylvie tore the slips for three customers off her order pad and walked around slapping them down on tables. “I have an escort for Kay’s wedding. And Mr. Mercer and I have absolutely nothing in common. Zero. Zilch. Nada.” That effectively stopped talk. That, and Sylvie’s slamming into the kitchen.
Before three o’clock rolled around, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut about having an escort to Kay’s wedding. That comment launched a too-frank appraisal of Jarvis “Buddy” Deaver the fourth, which left Sylvie with a throbbing headache.
So, she wasn’t in the best frame of mind even before she got home and changed into jeans to hike the half mile to Whitaker Lake, with Oscar in tow. When she arrived, Joel promptly berated her for bringing the dog. “Why would you haul that ox to the lake? He’ll lumber around barking and scare off our fish,” Joel complained.
Ignoring him, Sylvie set her pole on the weathered dock. She hugged Rianne, who’d left her dad putting a colorful fly on her hook. A moment later, the girl threw her arms around Oscar. “I don’t like fishing,” Rianne said loudly. “Daddy, can I stay over here and play with Oscar instead? Maybe then he won’t bark.”
“No, Rianne. Do that and you’ll never get the hang of tossing out a line. Come on, take your pole. All you need is a little practice.”
Afraid Rianne would appeal to her next, Sylvie found a shady clump of chinquapin trees, chose one and looped a sturdy rope she’d brought around its trunk. Testing the rope and finding it secure, she knotted it through the leash. Oscar flopped down on his belly in the cool grass surrounding the tree.
Rianne sulked, continuing to pet the dog after Sylvie had left.
“You won’t get her to like fishing by forcing her,” Sylvie said quietly, expertly attaching a feathery fly to her hook and casting into a deep pool a few yards out from the dock.
“You seem comfortable with a pole. How do you think she’ll learn?”
“I developed a liking for the sport over time. It’ll help when she catches her first bass. I see you’re up on us by—what, three nice-size fish?”
“Yeah. Rianne,” he called. “Leave the dog now.”
“If you want, I’ll take him and go home.” Sylvie reeled in her line and climbed to her feet.
“No. No,” Joel objected. “Rianne will have a fit if she thinks I sent you away. Rianne...I said now!” Joel extended the girl’s pole.
She moseyed back, reaching her father at the same time a large fish surfaced to nibble at a patch of algae off the end of the pier. “Wow, can I hook that fish, Daddy?”
“Maybe. Take the pole and do as I say.” Joel handed her the short rod, all the while giving a running list of instructions. Sylvie stepped aside to allow them room.
Wonder of wonders, she thought. The granddaddy fish actually took Rianne’s bait. The girl danced around excitedly, having no clue how to reel him in. Sylvie tried to tell her, but Joel rushed in to remove the rod from her hands. He said the fish was too strong.
“Let her do it,” Sylvie said. No one noticed, until too late, that Oscar had pulled loose from Sylvie’s knot. The big dog bounded across the rough boards, his chain clanking behind him until it tangled in the tackle attached to Joel’s pole.
Sylvie watched in horror as Joel stepped back. Oscar tried to stop, but must have gotten scared when his leash whipped up and smacked him in the head. He uttered a surprised yelp and barreled full tilt into Joel.
Man and dog hit the water simultaneously with a huge splat, drenching Sylvie and Rianne where they stood.
Sylvie would never know how she managed to save Rianne’s pole and rescue the fish. She’d reached over to catch Joel’s sleeve, but the material slipped through her fingers, and she was left grabbing Rianne’s pole instead.
Oscar paddled to shore and heaved his soaking body onto a bank as Sylvie unhooked and dumped the little girl’s catch into the bucket with those of her dad. The big dog shook himself vigorously, looking for all the world like a drowned rat.
“Sylvie, Sylvie! Oscar swimmed back, but where’s my daddy? I don’t see him anywhere.”
Sylvie froze at Rianne’s cry and spun around, scanning the glassy surface of the lake in disbelief.
CHAPTER FIVE
THINKING IT COULDN’T be true, yet with her heart pounding fast and furious, Sylvie dropped Rianne’s pole and raced to where the girl was hopping around at the end of the dock. It was true; there was no sign of Joel’s sun-streaked hair breaking the water.
Whitaker Lake wasn’t very deep. But Sylvie knew it originated from an icy stream that ran through her woods, and that the stream was fed by mountain snows. Not only that, the lake was murky. You couldn’t see anything below the surface.
Rianne had begun to sob, and that had Sylvie’s nerves jumping. “Hon, I need you to go sit with Oscar. Hang on to him, okay? We don’t want him taking another swim and maybe winding his leash around me or a pier pole.” Speaking as calmly as possible, Sylvie had already begun to strip out of her jeans, down to her underwear.
“Is my daddy drowned?” Rianne’s eyes were big, horrified, filled with tears.
“Don’t even think it. I’ll find him. I know this lake, honey.” Dropping her sweatshirt on top of her sneakers, Sylvie took the time for one quick touch of Rianne’s chilled face. “I need you to be brave. You’ll see me dive and come up, and dive again. Promise you won’t move an inch away from Oscar. There’s just you and me to help your dad. We don’t have time to call anyone else.”
Though tears ran silently down her face, Rianne signaled that she’d heard and understood. She sat with the dog, where he’d stretched out in the sun to dry his sopping coat.
Sylvie trusted Rianne to keep her word. Had to, because she’d already hit the water in a shallow dive before verifying that Rianne had followed all her instructions. The shock of the cold lake water drove the breath from Sylvie’s lungs as she tried to pinpoint exactly where Joel had gone down.
In the shadow of the pier the water below was inkier than she would have guessed. She’d fibbed to Rianne about knowing the lake. Kids used to sneak out here from town to swim, until a classmate a few years older than Ri
anne had drowned, and Iva posted No Trespassing signs. Except for a few rowdy boys, kids always obeyed the postings.
She shivered, coming up for air. Rianne’s thin voice, asking if she’d found her dad, rang in Sylvie’s ears. Saving her breath, she dived again, refusing to consider that Joel had gone in steeply enough to hit bottom and break his neck.
Her lungs near bursting, Sylvie thought she glimpsed a dark shadow off to her left. A bulky shadow that could be a man. But she had no choice other than to go up to refill her aching lungs. Taking care to dive over the shadow, she felt like sobbing in relief when her fingers grasped fabric that could only be Joel’s shirt.
Aware that he wasn’t safe yet, she kicked hard with all the strength she could muster, taking them both into sunlight and blessed air. The question remained—how much water did he have in his lungs? How many precious minutes had ticked past?
Rianne’s happy cry and Oscar’s approving bark gave Sylvie the impetus to swim to the dock hauling Joel’s deadweight even though her arms ached. She attempted to heave him up onto the planks, but the dock was too high and Joel was too heavy. He was unresponsive, which added to Sylvie’s panic. She refused to consider that he might already be dead. She’d witnessed his fall. Granted, it had happened fast, but he and Oscar had just sort of toppled off the pier. At the time she’d almost laughed. Right now, she felt that nothing would ever seem humorous again.
“Sylvie, can I come help pull Daddy up?”
“No! No,” she repeated, less harshly. “I’ll take him to where the lake’s shallower.” At that point, she was able to roll him onto the grassy slope. As she climbed up beside him, the sun warmed her icy bones. Every bit of exposed skin was covered with goose bumps.
Careful to move so that her body shielded him from Rianne, she turned Joel on his stomach and turned his head, then checked his airway. She didn’t think he’d been chewing gum, but he might have been. Flinging a leg over his hips, she desperately tried to recall remnants from a long-ago life-saving class. The instructor’s words flowed into her head. Place. Press. Release. Rest. Then repeat the process until the victim’s breathing. She went through the sequence several times, but nothing happened. Rising above him to provide greater pressure to his chest, she went through the actions again. For all Sylvie knew, the method was obsolete. What if she should be doing something else? A newer method? All at once, his abdomen convulsed. Joel’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. He gagged and spat out a stream of water. Then he coughed three or four times.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted, and tears fell.
Those words rained down on Joel. He couldn’t figure out why he felt wet, cold and weighed down. Shock, pure and simple, ran through him as his hazy gaze lit on his new neighbor. Something was very wrong here. Her hair appeared lank. Weeds, or he thought they were weeds, dangled above her left ear. His head might feel as big as a barn, but he was sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Bolting upright, he sent Sylvie sprawling.
At that moment, Joel heard Rianne shout, “Daddy, Daddy, you’re okay!” His wind was cut off as her little arms wrapped around his neck and her weight draped over his back. Before his addled brain could assess anything else, Oscar flattened him. The dog loomed above him, licking his face, and Joel gagged again.
“Yuck! Will somebody please remove this beast?”
Sylvie grabbed Oscar’s leash. Rianne tugged on the dog, as well. Eventually, they were able to muscle Oscar to within shackling distance of the tree.
Positive they’d resembled a slapstick comedy, Sylvie suddenly realized how few clothes she had on. Using two half hitches to tie the rope, she raced for the clothes she’d shed on the pier. Sylvie shimmied into her jeans and shirt with as much haste and dignity as possible. She lacked finesse, since her skin remained too wet for the fabric to slide well.
“I remember now,” Joel exclaimed. “Rianne caught a fish. I went to help reel the sucker in and...” His accusatory glare found Sylvie. “You didn’t tie that brute. He broke loose and knocked me off the dock.” Sounding indignant, Joel pulled at his dripping shirt and pants. His shoes were missing. Italian loafers. Rubbing his forehead, Joel discovered a lump the size of a large hen’s egg. “Ow!”
Because he’d scrambled closer to Sylvie, she also saw the bump she’d missed, probably because of her worry. “I guess that explains why you sank like a rock. You must’ve hit a railroad tie or the metal cleats where Iva tied the boats. Man, you’re lucky. You actually had a close call, Joel.” Sylvie had to sit down, her knees too weak to support her.
“None of this would’ve happened if you’d left that mutt home. At the very least, you need to learn how to tie a decent knot.”
Rianne burst into tears. “It’s all my fault,” she wailed. “I untied Oscar so he could come sit by me while I fished. I didn’t tell you ’cause you sounded mad. Then we saw the big fish and...I forgot Oscar wasn’t tied. I’m sorry, Daddy.”
The truth hit Joel almost as hard as whatever had knocked him in the head. “Sylvie, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I owe you an apology.” Joel actually felt himself pale at what might so easily have occurred. He recalled flying off the dock, but he didn’t know quite what happened after he struck the water. That was his last memory until he opened his eyes to a bizarre vision—well, he probably ought to forget some of it.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Sylvie said through chattering teeth.
“Are you okay?” Joel inquired, continuing to frown. He crawled to her side and sank down next to her, chafing her cold, trembling fingers. “To invoke a cliché, all’s well that ends well. Even at that, do you mind if we call a halt to this expedition?”
“Are you k-kidding? We’ve all had plenty. You need to go change out of those wet things, Joel. And you should have a doctor look at your head. What if you’ve got a concussion? Oh, and you take the fish home, okay?”
“Fish?” Joel’s gaze sought Rianne’s. “I’m sorry we lost your very first catch, snooks. That was a really big fish.”
“We didn’t lose him. Sylvie put him in with yours.”
Sylvie blanched. “I did, and I probably wasted time doing it. I swear I had no idea you hadn’t bobbed straight up again, Joel. Not until Rianne called out to me.”
“No matter, I owe you both.” Joel released Sylvie’s hand and clapped his own over his heart. “In exchange, I volunteer to clean and cook the fish tonight.”
Grateful for even a semblance of normalcy, Sylvie smiled. “Now I’m sure you have a concussion. Have you ever cooked bass?”
“Rianne, hear that? Sylvie’s casting aspersions on my cooking. Come vouch for your dad.”
The girl hugged him. “I don’t know what ’spersions are, Daddy. He microwaves fish sticks,” she told Sylvie in all seriousness.
“Well, then,” Sylvie drawled. “How can I refuse?”
Sensing she was moments from bursting into laughter, Joel wrinkled his nose. “At the risk of being tossed back in the lake, I have to ask if those weeds you’re wearing in your hair are this year’s fashion statement?”
A hand flew to her head. Sylvie combed through her straggling hair, and figured she must look a sight.
“Other side,” he said, clambering up to collect the bucket of fish and their poles, and then grasp his daughter’s hand.
It wasn’t until Sylvie heard his nonchalant whistle that she was able to see the humor in her disheveled appearance. “Hey, what time is dinner?” she hollered up the path.
Turning, Joel shrugged. “Since bass doesn’t come in a freezer package with microwave instructions, I’m not sure. How long does it take to cook these babies?”
Sylvie suddenly conjured up a vision of microwaved bass, heads and all, and tough as boot leather. “Tell you what, Mercer. How about if you clean the fish and I cook as we originally planned?”
“Say yes, Daddy! Maybe Sylvie will let me help.”
It was his daughter’s enthusiasm that clinched the deal for Joel. He’d already begun
having second thoughts about inviting Sylvie to his home. Partly because it wasn’t anything he ever did. But more so, he reluctantly admitted, because that unsettling image of her sweet, anxious face above him—well, plain floored him.
Still, he owed her more than one simple dinner. She’d saved him from drowning. Wasn’t there some old saying about saving someone’s life and then that person—he couldn’t quite remember—but weren’t they joined forever?
It wasn’t until after he’d showered, changed and felt halfway human again, that Joel went to clean the bass and realized the messy state of his kitchen. Unpacked boxes were piled everywhere. Whenever he or Rianne needed something, he’d ripped open boxes until the article came to light. Most women tended to like neat, tidy houses. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was for his well-meaning neighbor to decide he should have help getting his house in order.
“Rianne, we’re not ready to entertain. We don’t even have three plates unpacked. Nor have I unearthed our frying pan. Will you run next door and tell Sylvie I’ll have to clean and freeze the fish? Ask if she minds postponing?”
Rianne carried Fluffy into the kitchen and set her in front of her water dish. “I know which box the plates are in. And that big box is our pans.”
Joel knew she was right. “Snooks, imagine how this mess will look to Sylvie. I don’t want her telling the whole town we’re slobs.”
“She wouldn’t. Sylvie’s nice. And it’s not nice to un’vite her after you asked her to dinner. That’s what you told me the time I un’vited Corky Blake to our Easter egg hunt.”
Wincing, Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s different, Rianne. You’d sent Corky an invitation, and his mom had already RSVP’d that he could come.”
“It’s not different,” she said stubbornly. “Sylvie RSVP’d, too.”
The Hope Dress Page 8
