by Eve Gaddy
She leaned forward, her eyes intent on his. “What happens then?”
“They light up so bright that their colors are incandescent. All shades of blue, sometimes green, yellow. Neon rainbow colors. And they dance. They fly out of that water and tail walk on the waves. They leap like you’ve never seen anything do. They’re so amazing, sometimes you don’t even mind when they throw the hook.”
“It sounds incredible.”
He laughed. “It can be. Of course, I haven’t told you about all the times you go out and hook nothing but dry eyes and sunburn.”
“No, but I thought fishermen always talk about the ones that got away.”
She was smiling. Man, she had some beautiful eyes. “Your eyes,” he said.
“What about my eyes?”
“They’re blue-water eyes. Fathoms deep, just like that blue water.”
“Now that’s a line I’ve never heard before.” She laughed, but looked pleased. “I had no idea you were a poet.”
“Just call me Will.” For a minute he’d almost felt normal again. Flirting with a pretty woman, talking about fishing. Other than sex, what more could a man ask for?
Then he remembered. He wouldn’t be fishing again. Not for years, if ever again. He picked up his drink and chugged some.
“So what are you going to do?”
Lana was no dummy. She’d seen the minute his mood had changed. “I don’t know.” He drained his glass and signaled the waitress. “Fishing’s all I’ve ever done. If I can’t fish…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know how I’m going to make a living.”
“There must be something else you’re interested in. Something else you can do. At least until you recover and can think about fishing again.”
“Besides flipping burgers, I don’t know what.” He shrugged. “Who’d want to hire a thirty-eight-year-old man with a bad leg who’s never done anything but fish?” Oh, he’d held other jobs, of course, quite a few. But nothing he’d want to make a career of.
“What about your brother? Maybe he could use some help with the restaurant.”
“I’m not taking charity from my brother. Or any of the rest of my family, either.”
She took another sip of wine and considered him. “Do you remember anything about the accident?”
“Not much. I remember you talking to me afterward.” And he remembered the pain. The misery of those first weeks made what he endured now seem like a picnic.
“You were in bad shape. You almost bled out. Some people would say you’re lucky to be alive.”
He took the refill from the waitress and knocked some back. “Some people aren’t thirty-eight years old with no visible means of support.”
“Why don’t you try to do something positive, like figure out what else you’d like to do for a living?”
“Because I can’t think of anything, that’s why. I’m a fisherman. That’s it.”
“I understand you’re upset. Anyone would be. God knows, you have reason. But sooner or later, you have to accept what life deals you. Sooner is better.”
They’d been getting along fine until she had to remind him of reality. “You’re just full of good advice, aren’t you, Dr. Do-Good?”
“You don’t have a corner on pain and suffering.”
The quiet statement set his anger off like a torch. “What do you know about pain? You sit in that clinic and hand out lollipops to kids and tell your adult patients to take two aspirin and go to the emergency room.”
She paled. “You’re wrong. I know a lot about pain.” She leaned forward and captured his gaze. When she spoke, her voice was low, but he heard every word. “I know what it’s like to want to slap the next well-meaning person who gives you a pitying look and then looks away because he or she doesn’t know what to say. I know what it’s like to drink yourself into oblivion, hoping, praying, you’ll forget. But you can’t. There’s not enough liquor in the world to drown that pain.”
He started to speak but she held up a hand and continued, her eyes fierce, holding a deep sorrow. “I know what it’s like to look at a bottle of pills and think about how damn easy it would be to take them all and escape that way.” She looked away, picked up her glass and drank another sip. “Trust me, I know. Better than you do.”
Well, hell. He was an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “When I screw up, I don’t do it halfway. What happened?”
Expressionless, she looked at him for a long moment. “None of your business.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M SORRY,” he said again.
Horrified, she stared at him. “No, I’m sorry. I had no right to go off on you that way.” She could have kicked herself. She never did that, never lost control so easily. The poor guy had just been dealt a major blow, and here she was ripping his face off because of an unthinking comment he’d made. He didn’t deserve that. No one did.
“Sure you did. And you were right. I’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for myself and it’s not doing anyone a damn bit of good. Least of all me.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m not usually that insensitive. But you…you pushed a button.”
“I might be stupid, but I’m bright enough to figure that out.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” He was a lot more perceptive than she’d imagined when she’d first met him. “Gabe.” She touched his hand, then covered it with hers. “You had an accident that altered your life. It takes time to come to terms with that. It’s natural to want things back the way they were before…that life-changing event.”
“How long did it take you?”
She opted for honesty. “I still deal with it every day. I’m not sure I’ll ever come to terms with it completely.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Would you rather I lied?”
His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Absolutely.” He looked down at the table, where her hand still covered his. Turned his hand over so they were palm-to-palm and looked into her eyes. “And I’d a hell of a lot rather you had a different reason for holding my hand.”
His eyes were brown. A warm, dark chocolate, rich and tempting. If only she were young again. Carefree. Whole. Maybe…if she pretended hard enough she could believe that life could be simple again. That she was a normal woman, doing all the normal things women did. Things like dating. Things like… No, even she couldn’t pretend that much.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
She wanted to help him. Wanted him to be able to enjoy life fully again. Maybe she could get him started. It meant taking a risk, but if she spelled out the terms, then it would work. “I’m thinking of taking you up on that offer.”
He blinked. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she slipped her hand out of his. She took a deep breath and a sip of wine.
“What offer?”
“The night we met. You offered to take me fishing.”
His expression turned sour. “That isn’t going to happen. I can’t handle my boat. Which you ought to know since I’ve been crying in my beer about having to sell it.” He picked up his drink and downed some.
“Why do we have to use your boat?” He looked at her and she could see that idea had never occurred to him. “I see people fishing from the piers all the time.” She didn’t pause to consider how reckless she was being. She wasn’t thinking of herself and her rules. She was thinking of him and the sorrow and pain that lurked in his eyes, except when he talked about fishing.
Or flirted with her. And that was a very heady feeling. Heady…and terrifying at the same time.
“Gabe?”
He smiled, a slow, sexy curve of his lips. “I thought you didn’t date. That definitely sounds like a date.”
“It’s not a date,” she said quickly. She’d tried dating after her divorce. But it had been a disaster. Dating led to expectations she couldn’t fulfill. Not after what had happened to her. So she had to tell Gabe up front she wa
sn’t interested in him that way. Except, if she were honest with herself, she knew she could be.
He didn’t comment, just raised his eyebrows and looked at her.
“I’m talking about two friends going fishing and having fun. Not a date at all. Are you up for that?”
He smiled again and she wasn’t sure he believed her, but he only said, “You’re on.”
GABE CALLED Lana a couple of days later. “Hey, it’s Gabe. Change of plans about Saturday,” he said. He shifted, trying to get comfortable on his couch.
“You can’t go,” she said.
She sounded relieved, which annoyed him. “You think I’m calling to cancel?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Nope. I have a truck now, so I can pick you up.” The insurance had finally paid and he’d bought a used truck. It was ugly, but it ran and it had automatic transmission. Most important, it had been cheap.
Silence. Then, “Gabe, maybe we shouldn’t—”
Not wanting to hear some lame excuse, he interrupted. “Yeah, forget it. I get the picture,” he said, and hung up.
The phone rang a minute later. He thought about not answering, but shrugged and picked up. “What?”
“Do you always jump to conclusions like that?” Lana asked.
“Why waste time? You changed your mind. Big deal.” But it was to him, which made him pretty damn pathetic.
“I did not change my mind. Exactly. But I…I started thinking afterward and I wondered if it was a mistake for us to go fishing.”
“Why would it be a mistake?” Then it dawned on him. “Oh, like rubbing salt in my wounds.”
“Yes.”
Plausible, but he wasn’t sure that was all of her reason. Or even if it was the truth. One way to find out, though. “Do you want to go fishing or not?”
“Well…yes.”
“Then we’ll go. I’ll pick you up around two and we’ll grab a bite to eat afterward. Be sure to bring a hat and cover up your legs and arms, or else you’ll fry.”
“As long as you’re sure. I don’t want to push you into doing something you’re not ready for.”
Or was it something she wasn’t ready for? He wondered if her ban on dating was connected to the tragedy in her past. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to do it. I’ll pick you up Saturday at two.”
“All right. Saturday, then.”
The doorbell rang as he was hanging up. “It’s open,” he called.
His sister came in, carrying a bunch of papers. Business stuff, probably, since Cat was his accountant. His mood went downhill fast. She didn’t look happy.
“Hi.” She put the papers on his coffee table and started straightening things, stacking newspaper, moving objects around. She did that a lot, but especially when she was nervous. Or upset, and today she looked to be both. “Do you have some time to go over your accounts?”
He’d wanted to put off telling his family, but it looked as though he was out of luck there, too. “Let me guess, things look grim.”
She sat beside him. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”
He shrugged. “Know anybody who wants to buy a fishing boat?”
“It’s not that bad. You should be able to get by until you can go back to work.”
Yeah, if it wasn’t going to be two years or more. “I’m selling El Jugador.” She started to argue, but he held up a hand. “I’m selling the boat. That’s my final decision. And I don’t want to discuss it.”
Because he knew if he told her the whole story, she’d try to talk him out of it. She’d offer to lend him money until he got back on his feet. She already had. All of his family had. And by God, he was not going to live on his family’s charity.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t do that,” he said. “You know I hate that.”
“I can’t help it. It’s so unfair. You were doing great until—” She halted and sniffed, unwilling to finish the sentence, but Gabe finished it for her, silently.
Until the accident that ruined his leg…and his life. “Do me a favor and tell the rest of the family. Tell them I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Gabe, we want to help.”
“You can’t. Not anymore. I have a truck now, so I can get around. Just… You need to back off, Cat. All of you need to back off.”
“We can’t back off. We’re your family. We love you and want to help.”
He couldn’t deal with them anymore. They were smothering him with love and concern. “Leave me alone, Cat. I’m fine. Go home.”
He’d have told her not to come back but short of moving across country, he didn’t see any way of enforcing that order. None of his family would accept it. The Randolphs stuck together.
He finally got her to leave, then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at the number he’d jotted down earlier. The sooner he made the call, the sooner he could quit thinking—no, obsessing—about having to do it. A clean knife straight to the heart.
He punched in the number. “Yeah, I want to take out a classified ad. For sale, 1991 Chris-Craft, 34-foot sport fisher…”
LANA CHANGED four times before she decided on what to wear. Khaki slacks and a pink T-shirt shouldn’t have taken that long to pick, but she knew her indecision was a defense tactic to prevent her from calling off the date.
Not a date, she corrected herself. Just fishing, with a friend. Nothing to worry about, right? Gabe had been cool with that. At least, he’d seemed to accept what she’d said.
And she wanted to help him. Wanted him to have fun. She wanted to have fun herself for a change.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Gabe evoked feelings in her that she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Feelings she didn’t quite trust.
She picked up a lightweight, long-sleeved shirt to throw over the T-shirt, knowing there wasn’t enough sunscreen in the world to keep her from burning. The doorbell rang and she went to the door and looked out the peephole.As she’d expected, it was Gabe. She un-fastened the locks and opened the door. “Hi. I meant to be ready so you wouldn’t have to get out of the car.”
He wore faded jeans and a white, short-sleeved T-shirt with a picture of a fish on it that was just tight enough to hint at some serious muscles. Not surprising, considering the physical nature of his job. Obviously the effect of years of physical labor didn’t disappear in a few months.
He leaned on his crutches and flashed her a smile. “I’m Southern. My mother would kill me if I sat in the car and waited for a woman to come out to me. Are you ready to go?”
“As soon as I set the alarm.” She did that, then shut the door and locked up.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have a burglar alarm? In Aransas City?”
“I’m the cautious sort,” she said as they reached the truck. “Where are we going to eat?”
He opened her door, then went around to his side, tossed his crutches in the truck bed and got in. “I thought we’d go over to Corpus Christi. There’s a good Mexican restaurant over there. How does that sound?”
“We’re going all the way to Corpus? What’s wrong with here?”
“It’s not that far, not even half an hour away. I know everyone we’re likely to see here and I don’t want to talk to anybody.”
“Not even your family?”
“Especially not my family.”
He didn’t sound angry, but he sounded definite. “Why are you upset with them?”
“I’m not. I’m just sick of them fussing over me. And now that they know I’m selling the boat, they’re going to be even worse.”
She wanted to tell him she was sorry about his boat, but given his comment, she didn’t think he’d appreciate her sympathy. Instead she said, “I’ve met your brother Cameron and he doesn’t seem the sort to fuss.”
“He doesn’t. Not really. The women fuss. Especially my mother. If I hadn’t convinced her to go on a trip with her new husband, she’d still be at my house fussing over me. But Cam just…” He shrugged. “He wants
to help and he can’t. They all want to help and they can’t and…” Again, he trailed off, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“It’s driving you crazy.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah.”
“You want them to treat you like they did before the accident and nobody does.”
“Yeah,” he said again. “How did you know?”
“Been there, done that,” she said. And moved fifteen hundred miles across country to avoid it.
He was quiet a moment, digesting her comment. “Is that why you won’t talk about what happened to you?”
“It’s one of the reasons.” But she had talked about it. To other survivors. And to her counselor, though that hadn’t lasted long. Now she was done with talking. “So, have you had any ideas about what you’re going to do?”
“Very subtle,” he said as they pulled into the parking lot by the end of the pier.
It took them a while to get situated since Lana had to carry most of the gear. She could tell that bothered Gabe, but there was no way he could carry much when he was on crutches.
After they set up the folding chairs and arranged the rest of their stuff, he spoke again. “I haven’t had any brilliant ideas about a job. It’s going to have to be something flexible, since I’ll probably be having more surgery.”
“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” she said.
“Might as well. Like I said, I’ve never thought about doing anything else but fishing. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I don’t have a choice.” He reached in the bucket beside him and pulled out a shrimp. “You’ve fished before, right?”
“No, never.”
His eyebrows raised. “You’ve really never been fishing at all? Never? How could you live on the California coast and never fish?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, feeling a little inadequate. “I grew up in the city, and my parents weren’t big on the outdoors. After that, no one ever suggested it, so I never learned.”
