Her Best Bet Page 7

  “No,” Izzy said. “Never.”

  “Never?” Gib straightened. “I’m going out tomorrow. Want to come along?”

  “Oh, no, I—”

  “You’ve never been fishing and you’re going to say no? Don’t you want to do any extracurricular activities while you’re here?”

  “Actually, extracurricular activities were high on our list,” Shelly said.

  Izzy cast a sideways glance at her friend. They were?

  Gib lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

  Worms? On hooks? “Shelly and I have some extensive filming we want to do tomorrow.”

  “Not anymore,” Shelly said. “High pressure is moving in from Canada.”

  “Which means?” Izzy asked.

  “Continued clear skies, lots of sunshine and a nice north-to-northeast wind. Highs around eighty degrees, dry and comfortable air. I could use a little sun time.”

  “But our documentary—”

  “Can wait a couple of hours. If you’ve never been fishing, you need to try it.” Shelly looked at Gib. “Just tell her where and when and she’ll be there.”

  “But—”

  “We won’t stay out long,” Gib said.

  “Go,” Shelly said. “With my blessing. I really would like some time alone to lie in the sun.”

  “Come on, Iz,” Gib said.

  Iz? She huffed. “Fine. What time?”

  “Six.”

  “Six? That’s perfect. We’ll have all day to shoot the footage we need.”

  “That would be six a.m.,” he said.

  Shelly began to chortle.

  “In the morning?”

  “No use fishing when the fish aren’t biting. And they’re biting early.”

  “They know the value of eating a good breakfast.” Shelly shone her light into the bucket again and made a face.

  “It’s amazing that time of the day,” Gib said. “The sun is rising. The air is cool. The birds are stirring, but the rest of the world is quiet. You haven’t lived until you’ve been on a lake in the early morning hours.”

  Izzy found herself captivated by his enthusiasm. Though she’d have to get up at five-thirty, she suddenly realized that she wanted to experience what he was describing. And she wanted to experience it with him.

  “It’ll be beautiful, boy, you’ll love it, I know,” Shelly said.

  “So, are you in?” he asked.

  Before she could answer, blindingly bright lights lit up the woods around them and a man shouted, “Everybody, hands in the air. What the hell’s going on out here?”

  Izzy threw her arms up to shield her eyes. “Oh, shit.”

  “What the hell’s going on out there?” Gib muttered. “Butch?” he yelled. “It’s me, Gib. Drop the light down.”

  As the beam lowered toward the ground, Izzy counted three uniformed police officers and a big German shepherd coming toward them through the woods.

  “Gib? I’ll be damned. We got a call that one of your resort guests was being attacked.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Izzy threw an apologetic wince at Gib, then raised a hand and weakly wiggled her fingers. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Gib grinned as though this was the best thing that ever could have happened. “6:00 a.m.” He sounded like he’d just won the lottery. “And wear a sweatshirt, it’ll be cold for a while.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  AT TEN MINUTES TO SIX the next morning, stomach jumping in nervous anticipation, Izzy let herself out of the cottage and headed for the beach. The sun was up over the horizon, its shimmering light signaling the start of another day. It had been a major effort to get out of bed this morning; by the time they’d finished with the police last night it had been past one o’clock.

  She inhaled the crisp, pine-scented air. Gib was right—being out early like this made her feel more alive than she had in a long time. Everything was so fresh and still, as though hushed in expectation of another glorious summer day.

  Though Shelly had predicted the temperature would reach eighty today, right now it was probably twenty degrees cooler. Izzy zipped up the front of her hooded sweatshirt and swung her beach bag back and forth like a kid. Hopefully they wouldn’t be out on the lake so long she’d need anything besides the towel, sunscreen and book she’d brought along.

  She paused at the edge of the woods and gasped at the sight of the lake, smooth as glass and bathed in low-lying fog, the pier, the beach, everything, softened as though pale gray watercolor had been brushed over the scene. It was a vision of halves—overhead, the sky brightening with the rising sun, while below was a mystical, silvery world. She watched Gib, barefoot and wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and khaki shorts, toss flotation cushions into a small boat tied to the dock. He bent to secure something in the bottom and his well-defined calf muscles flexed with the movement. She caught her breath for the second time in half a minute. He is so gorgeous. Suddenly, Gib looked back and she jerked her eyes higher and waved.

  “You’re right on time,” he called, smiling, eyes warm and welcoming. His dark hair was mussed as though he’d jumped out of bed and headed for the beach without a glance in the mirror. And his clothes were the same ones he’d had on last night, rumpled as though he’d slept in them. Why had she thought him so dangerous that first day? Everything about him was unstructured, appealing in its freeness. So different from Andrew, who not only liked his ducks in a row, but wanted to pick the row they were in and even dictate their every move.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  As she drew near where Gib waited on the dock, she considered the boat more closely, fifteen feet of dented, blue-painted metal, little more than a rowboat with a motor on the back end, bench seats at the front and rear, and a big flat space in the middle where the center seat had been removed. She hoped it didn’t leak. “This is it, huh?”

  AT IZZY’S DUBIOUS expression, Gib was torn between putting a reassuring arm around her shoulder and teasing her, but decided against either. She looked adorable this morning, her hair pulled into a ponytail, a pair of sunglasses propped on top of her head. For some reason, he couldn’t wait to take her out on the water, show her how much fun fishing could be. “This is it. The blue canoe.”

  “Canoe?”

  “Don’t worry, she’s plenty seaworthy. That’s just what Matt and I used to call it as kids.” He gave her a playful pat on the back. “You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

  “I feel really safe now.”

  He pointed at a cooler in the bottom of the boat. “I brought us some doughnuts, orange juice and soda.”

  “And the infamous worms,” Izzy said when she noticed the pail next to the cooler.

  “That goes without saying.”

  “But no beer? I thought beer was a staple for fishermen.”

  “Okay, there’s a couple of beers in there, too,” he said. “When the fog burns off it can get plenty hot on the lake. Makes you thirsty, all that fresh air and sunshine.”

  “All that energy expended reeling in those whoppers, I bet.”

  “That, too. Why don’t you climb down onto that front seat. Watch out for the fishing poles on the left.” He loosened the lines on the dock.

  Izzy stepped into the boat awkwardly and its sudden rocking motion made her lose her balance. She dropped down onto the seat with a thud and let out a nervous giggle.

  “Careful.” Gib followed her aboard and started the motor. It sputtered a moment, then flared to life. As they pulled away from the dock, Izzy grabbed tight to the gunwale and peeked over her shoulder to ask, “How far are we going?”

  He gestured at a string of small islands farther out on the lake. “Great place for catching crappies and bluegills. Small panfish. Hang on.” He gunned the engine and the boat shot forward.

  Several minutes later, they were slowly cruising along the shore of the largest island. Gib brought the boat to a stop in the shade beside a big tree that had fallen into the lake, its branches like a labyrinth u
nder the water. “This is a crappie playground.” He lowered the anchor into the lake without making a splash and cleated the line. “They love to hang out in brush piles and fallen trees.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Let me show you how to bait a hook.”

  Izzy scrunched up her face. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass on setting the bait today.”

  He lifted a fat, wiggling night crawler from the bucket and baited her hook, then his. “Next time, then.”

  “Yeah, next time,” she said.

  Suddenly it became vitally important to him that she have fun today. He showed her how to cast off. “Keep an eye on your bobber. You’ll see it bounce when a fish is nibbling. If you get a bite, it’ll pull right down into the water.”

  After a couple of minutes staring intently at her red-and-white bobber, Izzy shifted in her seat and glanced down at the tackle box. She unzipped her sweatshirt a couple of inches. “How soon, usually, until a fish nibbles?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows and held back a smile. “Could be a minute. Could be hours. It all depends on how hungry the fish are.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting bored already,” he teased.

  “No. But I’m glad I brought a book. Any of those doughnuts custard-filled?”

  “Yeah. And they’re chocolate-frosted, too.”

  “Seriously? I’m salivating already.”

  He felt an irrational delight at having made her happy. Opening the cooler, he dug out two doughnuts—chocolate-frosted for her and powdered sugar for him.

  She took a bite and licked custard off her top lip. “You were right about how peaceful it is out here. The lake is so still.” She wiggled her fishing pole and watched the movement make her bobber dance, sending tiny ripples over the surface of the water. “It’s beautiful.”

  “But…boring?”

  “I’m sure it’s an acquired taste.” She took another bite of doughnut. “How deep is this lake?”

  “In the middle it’s probably fifty feet.” Gib arranged several cushions against the side and bottom of the boat, then slid down on them, legs outstretched in front of him. “I brought enough cushions so you can get comfortable, too. Makes the waiting easier.”

  Izzy set up a cushioned corner for herself and leaned back like Gib. “Have you always liked to fish?”

  “As a kid, the boredom got to me. Couldn’t stand waiting for something to happen. Too young to appreciate the downtime. But I’ve come out fishing every morning since I got back.”

  “Back from where?”

  He exhaled. He hadn’t intended to get on this subject this morning. “Iraq. I was on assignment there.”

  “That explains your changed opinion about boredom.”

  “Yeah. There’s something to be said for knowing nothing is going to happen.”

  She tilted her head. “I guess it’s all relative. Sometimes I wish something would happen in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I know order is important to the universe, but—”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “It seems to me the universe thrives on disorder.”

  She blinked, as though he’d presented an idea she’d never considered before.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I’m too cynical.”

  She opened her mouth as if she were about to reply, then stopped herself. After a moment, she said, “Do you catch a lot of fish?”

  “Some days. Sometimes all I catch is a nap.”

  “Seems like it would be a good place to get away and think. No interruptions, no noise.”

  “Mostly I try not to think. I had this dream once when I was in Iraq…that I was sitting out here, taking life easy, not caring whether I caught anything or not. It was incredible to be back and I was wondering why I’d never noticed it before.” He rested his head against the boat cushions. Why the hell was he telling her this? “I popped open a beer and then, suddenly, a huge sturgeon jumped out of the water into the boat. It thrashed around, creating chaos, and I tried to catch it, but the boat swamped and I ended up in the water, flailing, fighting with the fish and trying not to drown, all the while knowing I was going to lose. And then I woke up. It took me a couple of seconds to realize where I was—about as far away from Menkesoq Lake as I could get.”

  “You were missing home.” She reached across the space between them, rested a hand on his arm for a moment, and he was tempted to pull her beside him just to feel the warmth of another body next to his. He shook his head.

  “It was a reaction to the environment I was in. I was missing the safety of home, not home.”

  “Splitting hairs, aren’t you? Missing home. Missing the safety of home.”

  “No—” He considered the point she was trying to make. “Well, maybe.”

  Izzy sat up straighter to eye her bobber. “Hey, is that a bite?” She scrambled onto a bench seat and Gib followed her up.

  “I think I have a fish!” She bounced on her seat.

  “Easy, now. Something’s definitely interested. Give him a second to make sure he’s hooked.”

  The bobber pulled beneath the surface, then popped up and was yanked under again.

  “Okay, you’ve got one.” He told Izzy what to do, and a few minutes later she’d landed a small bluegill. Holding up the line proudly, the blue-and-yellow fish dangling off the hook, she tossed her head, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement.

  “How could I have come out here without my camera?” he asked.

  She laughed out loud, the sound light and airy and joy-filled. It was then Gib realized he wanted to put his arms around her not simply to feel the warmth of another person beside him, but to feel the warmth of her beside him. “It’s a beauty,” he said. “But we can’t keep it.” For a moment he wondered whether he wasn’t talking to himself about Izzy. “Too small to keep,” he added. He slipped the fish off the hook and tossed it back in the lake, watching as it wriggled on the surface a moment before disappearing beneath the water.

  “Going home,” Izzy said quietly. “The best place in the world to be when you’re hurting.”

  Gib rebaited the hook, then leaned back into the cushions, wincing a little in pain as he repositioned his left leg. He looked up to see Izzy’s eyes on him.

  “Can I ask what happened? With your knee, I mean?”

  He hesitated only a second before replying. “An explosion. Shrapnel.”

  “Suicide bomber?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah.” Don’t ask me more, he thought. I can’t go there right now.

  “You came home to recuperate.”

  “In a sense.” Or to escape. He didn’t know which, didn’t really care. “Somehow, though, I’ve been sucked into trying to turn the resort around. Matt and I are about to update Hickory Hollow—the cottage down the road from yours. Stop by if you see us working.”

  “Are you doing every cottage?” There was a level of concern in her eyes that he didn’t understand.

  “Maybe.” He sighed. “Remember my grandpa talking about how we lease the land the resort sits on? Well, the owner wants to sell it. According to the lease, the buildings go with the property. If we aren’t the buyer, we lose everything.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Are you going to buy?”

  “Working on it. We need to get a loan, and the bank…well, let’s just say they’ve got a number of hoops we need to jump through to get approved.”

  “Like fix up the cottages?”

  “That’s part of it. Get a Web site…promotional things. Even then, it’s pretty iffy.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “This place has been in the family so long, none of us can imagine not having Murphys at White Bear Lodge. My grandparents love it here. My brother wants to take over when they retire.”

  “And you? What about you?”

  He dropped his head back and pondered her question as he gazed up at the pale blue sky. “When I was younger, I always wanted out.
See the world. Staying put was never my goal. I figured I’d break out in hives if I stayed here too long.”

  “Wanderlust.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even with your injury you still feel the same?”

  He mulled over her question. Did he feel the same? Yeah, he did…didn’t he? “I’m only here for the short term, to give them a hand for a while. After a little R and R, it’s back to covering the news for me. I like life on the edge. I like not knowing exactly what the next day will bring,” he said, though at this moment the words felt hollow.

  “Except when you’re home.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He smiled at her and when she smiled back, he almost leaned forward and put his mouth on hers. Hell, what was the matter with him this morning?

  The silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm like a beach towel left in the sun.

  “So, then, um, as far as fishing, this is it? You sit out here and…wait?” Izzy yawned and took a peek at her watch. “Jeez, already past seven.”

  “That about describes it.”

  After a minute, she pulled a yellow highlighter and a how-to book on screenwriting out of her beach bag. Gib’s bobber began to bounce on the water and he shoved himself up to reel in his line, then lifted the end of the pole to reveal an eight-inch bluegill. “Is this a beauty or what?” He slid the hook from its lip and tossed the fish back in the lake.

  “Wasn’t it big enough to keep, either?”

  Gib baited his hook and cast off again. “If you keep ’em, you have to clean them. I’m big on catch and release.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’ve come out here every morning since you got back to not catch anything?”

  “I catch something,” he said defensively.

  Her lips slanted up teasingly, and he was struck again by the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Indeed? What do you catch?”

  “Forty winks. It’s some of the best sleep I’ve gotten in months.” He slouched into the boat cushions and closed his eyes, thinking that, all in all, it would be a pretty nice day if the only dreams he had were of Izzy in bed beside him.