“I am so very sorry.” The redhead leaned so far over the boat as the General approached that for a split second Logan’s heart lurched thinking she might fall in.
“I too must apologize, and accept full responsibility. My coaching skills on casting might be a bit rusty.” Close enough to hand Logan his vest, the General extended his arm. “We need to get you back to the house to dry off. Why don’t you climb in and we will come back for the car later.”
Logan shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I can drive myself back.”
“Won’t you please reconsider?” The pained expression on the redhead’s face took him by surprise. “If nothing else the car will end up sopping wet and you won’t be able to go anywhere for at least a day, and most of that will be spent trying to get the smell of wet lake out of the car.”
She had a point. On top of that, the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, and at this moment, the straightest line was across the water, not the winding country roads.
The General must’ve noticed his hesitation. “My granddaughter is right. Besides, my Fiona would be very unhappy with me if I left you to your own devices when it’s our fault your morning plans are spoiled.”
About to open his mouth and protest one last time, Logan recognized the glint in the old man’s eyes and the tone of his voice. His words were not a suggestion, but an order. “Yes, sir. If you’ll give me a moment to gather my things and lock the car we can be on our way.”
“Of course.” The General smiled, and motor low, steered the boat closer to shore.
In order for Logan to climb in without tipping the boat, the General and his granddaughter shifted to the opposite side until he was seated across from them.
“If it makes you feel any better,” the redhead started, “I can assure you this will not happen again. I have put away my fishing gear,” her gaze drifted momentarily to the General, “permanently.”
Anybody else and he most likely would have come back with something along the lines of not soon enough, but the contrition in her voice and concern in her gaze wouldn’t let him. “Please don’t do that on my account. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten wet fishing.” He shot her his best effort at a reassuring smile. “And I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I still have no business on the casting end of the rod.”
That might certainly be true, but there was no way he was going to say that.
“Now, Rose,” the General said softly.
Rose. The name suited her. What was that line about by any other name?
“Face it, General, the tournament simply cannot afford to have me out here learning to cast and alienating heaven knows how many more fishermen and guests. Trust me,” her tone shifted to one of authority, very similar to moments ago when her grandfather had insisted he return to the house with them, “I do not need to know how to fish to do my job.”
Her job?
“Of course not, it’s just that—”
“General,” she cut him off. “Trust me.”
Logan had no idea why the General needed to trust her, but at this point, having known her only a few minutes and drenched from head to toe because of it, he was willing to trust her with anything she wanted.
When it appeared the debate was settled, Logan looked up and saw the old man had been right. The ride back across the lake had been considerably faster than driving. And despite the warming morning sun, the chill of wet clothes had his teeth beginning to chatter. As far as he was concerned, they couldn’t tie the boat to the stone dock fast enough.
“While you go change into warm clothes,” the General pointed toward a cluster of cabins, “we’ll have Lucy put on a fresh pot of hot coffee and make you a good warm breakfast.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he started, but the General raised his hand in a silencing gesture.
“Go,” the older man ordered.
Rose smiled weakly at him. “You are beginning to take on a tinge of blue.”
That he didn’t doubt. “I guess I’d better go change. Thank you.”
His two hosts turned and Rose sprinted up the hill past her grandfather. He wasn’t sure what the next few days would hold, but if this morning was any indication, interesting might prove to be an understatement.
* * * *
Rose bolted up the porch steps two at a time. Stupid stupid stupid. Only on TV and in dumb movies did the apprentice fisherman literally hook a man. “Lucy!”
The porch door slammed shut behind her, reverberating through the entryway.
Carrying a basket of fabric strips, her grandmother’s steps slowed. “Where’s the fire?”
“More like who almost drowned.”
“Oh heavens.” Grams’ eyes rounded wide. “Do I need to call 911?”
“No.” Rose closed her eyes and slowly let out a deep breath. “Sorry Grams. I don’t mean literally drowned. I mean I just dumped one of your guests into the lake.”
This time her grandmother’s brows shot up high, creasing her forehead like a shar-pei puppy. “Do I want to know how you managed that?”
Shaking her head, Rose continued toward the kitchen. “Let’s just say it involved a stubborn general, a fishing pole, and seriously bad aim.”
Keeping pace beside her, her grandmother’s hand rose to her mouth in an effort to hide her amusement.
“It’s not funny, Grams.”
“No dear, I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“What isn’t funny?” Lucy set the kettle on the stove and turned the flame up high.
“It seems our Rose has gone out of her way to make one of our guests feel welcome.” Grams took a seat at the island, spreading the remnant strips from her unsuccessful attempt at quilting out beside her.
Lucy’s gaze darted from one woman to the other and back. “I’m not sure I like the way you said that. Which guest?”
“Good question.” Grams turned, facing Rose.
It occurred to her, with the embarrassing moment and limited conversation that followed, there had been no exchange of names on the boat. “I have no idea. Tall, dark hair, and an accent from the South, maybe Midwest, possibly Texas.”
“Sounds like Mr. Buchanan. I think he’s from Dallas. Checked in last night,” Grams offered.
“If we were talking about Lily I might be worried.” Lucy set an empty tea cup in front of Grams and reached for the whistling kettle. “Exactly what happened?”
“When you think about it,” accompanied by his four-footed friends, the General entered the kitchen, “one might say it took quite a bit of skill to accomplish what you did.”
“What did she do?” Lucy repeated
Between the chuckles, the snickers, and occasional guffaws, it took Rose a few minutes longer than it should have to relay the morning’s events.
“All I can say,” Lucy grinned unrepentantly, “is that you can’t blame this one on me.”
Now that she thought about it, if Rose didn’t know better, this crazy man-catching escapade actually did have Lucy’s fingerprints all over it. “Anyway, the General wants us to bring the man a good hot breakfast.”
“Makes sense to me.” Lucy nodded. “One breakfast tray coming up.”
“Better add an extra thermos of hot coffee,” the General said. “I suspect he’s going to need it.”
“And while you guys take care of our guest, I’m going to go change my clothes too.”
“What’s wrong with your clothes, dear?” Grams asked.
“Let’s just say they’re feeling a bit fishy.” What the rest of the day called for was shorts and a t-shirt—not a reminder of the morning splash—and a good book. Whatever business she was responsible for could wait one more day.
“I’ll let you know when Mr. Buchanan’s breakfast is ready.”
“Not me,” she called over her shoulder. It would be perfectly fine if she never saw that man, or anything to remind her of her mortifying experience, again.
“Young lady,” the General bellowed and Rose’s shoulders sank.
“Hey.” She walked past her grandfather, pausing to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve already dumped the guy in the lake. Don’t you think that’s enough for one day?”
The General merely shook his head and mumbled, “You make it sound like you single handedly sank a battleship.”
Perhaps she was overreacting just a tad. The man was a fisherman after all. Fishermen stood in water all the time. Didn’t they? The sooner she got upstairs, into fresh clothes and a good long book, the better she’d feel.
“Why do you look so pensive?” Poppy came through the front door with a little less vigor than Rose had recently done and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs.
“Nothing really, just thinking I should have stayed in bed this morning.”
“Oh, my. One of those days? Do I want to know what happened?”
Rose shook her head and waved her thumb over her shoulder at the kitchen. “Go on inside. I’m sure Lucy will be glad to tell you all about it.”
Poppy tipped her head up at her cousin and scrunched her face. “Maybe we should just both play hooky today.”
“You too?”
“The church’s board of directors are meeting later this morning. Whenever there’s a new project on the agenda things never go well.”
Rose laughed. “Don’t we make quite the pair. Sounds like we might need a night to swap reports over s’mores and a bottle of red wine.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that!” Her cousin’s mood immediately brightened. “I’m not sure if I can make it tonight, but definitely tomorrow!”
“Works for me.” It had been ages since she’d sat at the lake with her cousins and made s’mores.
“Deal.” Grinning, Poppy flashed a thumbs up and hurried off to the kitchen.
Already today was looking up. All she had to do was steer clear of Mr. Buchanan for the next few days and all would be well. With a few hundred fishermen descending on Lake Lawford for the tournament, how hard could it be to avoid one long tall Texan?
Chapter Four
For all the rustic appearance of the cabins, the place was not short on creature comforts. At this moment the cabin’s tankless hot water heater was top on his appreciation list. The feather-soft bed followed, but the to-die-for breakfast was quickly edging the hot water out of first place.
When the General had insisted he have a hot meal after fishing him out of the lake, he’d expected a couple of eggs, bacon and toast or muffins. The young brunette he’d crossed paths with last night had delivered a meal suitable for a five-star hotel. The omelet was light enough to float off the plate, the pan-fried potatoes were golden brown, the bacon cooked to perfection, and if the biscuits and jams weren’t homemade he’d eat his favorite hat. It was going to take an extra-long workout to burn off the calories he’d consumed. Since the archaic internet system, about as effective as two twin cans and a string, prohibited him killing time on his laptop or his games, and Hart Land didn’t come equipped with a gym a , now was a good time for a walk. A long walk. He’d take in the scenery, then check in at the main house to see if anyone could take him to pick up his rental car. Good plan for the rest of the morning.
According to the brochures on the counter, the property had several paths that led up the mountain as well as lakefront beaches suitable for strolling. Phone in hand, he glanced around the cabin debating if he should bring his laptop and find a comfortable spot to tinker with his latest project, only to remind himself he was supposed to be unplugging. Even though the idea had been to relax with his grandfather, he still held out hope that he wouldn’t be here alone the entire trip. Closing the door behind him, he turned left and headed for the shore.
Right about now, if he’d been home in Texas instead of enjoying cool morning breezes, he’d be baking in the hot sun or enjoying the cool morning air conditioning. The fresh air certainly had refrigerated air beat hands down. Taking in deep breaths and keeping his eyes toward the shore, he resisted the urge to reach for his phone. This whole unplugging thing might prove to be harder than he thought without his grandfather’s conversation to help pass the time.
Halfway to the water, he noticed several people gathering on the grassy dock area where the General had tied the boat this morning. It looked like he wasn’t the only one appreciating the pleasant summer weather. Kids already were slapping at the tetherball, and adults laughed and pitched horseshoes. Maybe later he’d wander over and see if strangers were welcome, but right now, the quiet, pristine flow and lack of activity on the water called to him.
Not till he’d stood on the low brick wall by the sand did he realize he wasn’t the only one appreciating the morning solitude. “Hello again.”
From under a large brimmed floppy hat, big green eyes blinked wide at him. “Hello.”
Not the warmest greeting he’d ever heard. “Any good?”
A deep crease formed between the pretty redhead’s brows.
He lifted his chin, pointing to the massive hardback in her hands.
“Oh! Actually, yes. It’s been eons since I’ve had the time to read anything that didn’t have instructions or require editing.”
Quickly his mind ran through possibilities of a career that involved both instructions and editing. “Spec writer?”
Those brows buckled again. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I forget there is a world outside IT. What is it that you do that requires both instructions and editing?”
She shifted a long paper bookmark toward the front pages and closed the cover. “I’m a curator at the Central Boston Museum for the Arts.”
Wow. “I’m not sure which is more impressive, the job or that massive book you’re reading. I mean, besides the fact that I figured everyone on vacation carried a library of reading on a digital device, I didn’t think anyone wrote books that big anymore.”
“First,” she smiled up at him, “I like the feel of paper between my fingers. It makes the story seem more real. And as for the size,” her eyes twinkled, “that could be because Tolstoy wrote Anna Karenina over a hundred years ago.”
“Okay. Now I am truly impressed.” He waved at the empty space beside her. “May I?”
The way her eyes closed for a fraction longer than a blink and her chest heaved with the intake of a deep breath, he thought she was searching for a polite way to say get lost buddy.
Prepared to let her off the hook, he barely opened his mouth to speak when she pointed to a distant spot behind him. “Feel free to pull up a chair.”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw a stack of lounge chairs piled near the stone dock. Not sure if accepting would be an imposition, he took a moment to study her eyes. The downside of working with programming and computers most of his days meant reading people was not his strong suit. On the other hand, he still had enough old-fashioned Texas training to feel confident in a quick assessment that her offer was sincere. “Thank you.”
While he retrieved and dragged one of the chairs over to her side, she slowly scanned the lake, her gaze finally settling on the activity behind them. “You probably have another hour at best before the remaining chairs will be scooped up by guests and scattered across the Point and the beach.”
“Point?” Angling the chair slightly, he straddled it and faced her.
She gestured to the stone dock behind her. “The Point is what we call that strip of land. A few great-grandfathers ago, the family built that area extending our property.”
The area she referred to was long enough and wide enough to build a good size house on if someone wanted. “That’s quite a bit of extension.”
“Yes. And we love it. Property owners aren’t allowed to build out into the lake anymore so we’re one of the few that have a stone dock like that. It’s great for playing games, for sunbathing, or tying a boat to. As you already know from this morning.” A hint of blush pinkened her cheeks. “Which, by the way, I really am s
orry about.”
“No further apologies needed. Getting a little wet is all part of lake life and fishing.”
Her face brightened in what he suspected was the first true smile he’d seen from her. “I think today qualified as more than a little wet.”
“Perhaps.” He truly had been drenched. “But I’m not being polite when I say that’s not the first time I’ve taken a fall in a body of water.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll buy that.”
“Good, because some of those times make me very grateful that everybody and their godmother wasn’t running around back then with cell phones taking pictures and videos of our most embarrassing moments.”
“Really?” She set the book she’d been cradling down on the sand beside her. “Sounds like you have a few stories to tell.”
“Oh no.” Pinching his thumb and forefinger together, he slid them from one side of his mouth to the other. “My lips are sealed.”
“Too bad,” she chuckled. “It might have been more entertaining than Tolstoy.”
“Rest assured, most of my life story would put you to sleep.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in another heartfelt grin. “Maybe, but what about the least?”
Touché. Beautiful and smart. Maybe being hooked and soaked wasn’t such a bad way to start his day after all.
* * * *
Now that Rose had a good looking guy at her side who didn’t appear to have any early warning signs of blatant jerk, she wasn’t sure she knew what to do with him. That thought gave her pause. She could schmooze a donor out of a year’s salary, but presented with a friendly, possibly flirting, single adult male…her gaze shot to his left hand…probably single male, she was at a loss for words. “Tell me, Mr. Buchanan, what is it you do with IT?”
Rose Page 3
