Dan Page 2

  “That’s one-fifty to you, Dan,” Bryce said.

  He wrenched his attention to the present and slid a couple of chips into a growing pot. Over the next week he would visit the property, put his financial guy to work on the money issues and hire an instructor to teach him one end of a fishing rod from the other. But for now, he would focus on the cards he’d been dealt. For the next few hours, he made sure not to win too much and, thinking of the money he needed to raise, made real sure he didn’t lose too much.

  Chapter Two

  The school of redfish was late making its daily foray into the cove.

  “Come on, fish,” Jess whispered. She eyed a patch of disturbed water that churned toward the spot where her feet were planted in the sandy river bottom. Were those reds? Or worthless bait? Her five-year-old deserved something special. The memory of a spectacular catch. A memory he could pull out whenever the other kids talked about camping or flying model airplanes with their dads.

  Jess blinked hard, snugged her sunglasses against her nose and scanned the cove until she caught a flash of coppery fins. The sight loosed a thrill of anticipation, and she took a thick gulp of warm, winter air.

  “Hey, Adam,” she called quietly. When her only answer was the soft splash of tiny waves dancing beneath a light breeze, Jess ripped her gaze from the fish. Had the boy stumbled into a hole? She’d only taken her eyes off him for a second, but a second was long enough to…

  She stifled a laugh as she spotted her son, exactly where she’d last seen him, not six feet from her side.

  From his cap with its On The Fly logo to a miniature pair of waders, Adam looked as if he’d stepped from the pages of the fly fisherman’s Dress For Success manual. He even toted a custom-made rod, one she had shortened especially for him. Now, if she could only get him to focus long enough to catch a fish, they’d be all set. But the boy was intent on a nearly translucent jellyfish drifting just beyond his boots. He’d pulled a small net from his pocket and dragged it through the water.

  “Mom, is a jellyfish made of jelly? How does he breathe? Where’s his nose? Does he have gills like a fish? His legs are all wiggly. Can he walk? How does he get where he wants to go?”

  Jess shook her head. And here she thought she’d gotten that degree in marine biology because she wanted to protect the planet’s sea life. Who knew it would come in so handy when raising a child?

  “Jellyfish can’t go wherever they want. The tides and the current push them along. And you’re right about noses and gills—they don’t have them. They filter oxygen from the water as it passes over them.”

  “You mean they breathe water? That’s gross.”

  “Not a nice word, Adam.” The frown she aimed at her son was wasted while he ran the net through stubby sea grass. “Hey, kiddo. Think you could try to catch a fish or two?”

  “Sure, Mom,” he answered. He tucked the net into a pocket and tugged enough line from his reel to make a short cast.

  When his fly landed with a soft plop not far from where he stood, Jess’s teeth worried her lower lip. The boy was a marvel. While most kindergartners could barely tie their own shoes, Adam had been tying flies since he was three. She’d taken him fishing as soon as he could walk across a room without falling. His dad would be proud, she thought, hoping the fish Adam caught today would deepen his ties to the man he’d never known.

  She braced herself against a surge of emotions that no longer swamped her the way they had in the weeks and months immediately after Tom’s death. She supposed it was true—time did have a way of easing the pain. And five years was a lot of time. She no longer spent hours dwelling on the fight they’d had before he’d headed out that day. Or the clients who’d pressured him to race through a stretch of water known for shifting sand bars.

  Not often, anyway.

  For Adam’s sake, she couldn’t be sad—or angry—all the time. A fact she had realized the moment the nurse slipped her newborn son into her arms. Wet and squirming, he had gazed up at her and, when their eyes locked, she’d known. Known that, for his sake, she couldn’t wallow in her grief. That it was her job to make the world a better place.

  She scanned the cove, satisfied her work along those lines was all but complete. Once the state declared the land a protected habitat, she could rest easy, knowing she’d had a part in saving a little piece of the planet for future generations.

  And if creating a lasting tribute to her husband and their friend Henry added to the land’s allure, no one could fault her for it. Or think badly of her for hoping Adam caught his first redfish here.

  If, that was, the boy caught a fish at all.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Redfish were elusive. Combine their poor eyesight with a child’s limited reach, and the approaching school would need to be right in front of them before Adam had a prayer of twitching his fly beneath a snubbed nose.

  “Hey, Adam.” She spoke louder this time, wanting to capture his attention for more than a nanosecond. Once she was certain she had it, she dipped her own rod toward the nearby wave and mouthed a silent, “Reds.”

  When Adam followed her aim, Jess saw two dark eyebrows rise above a tiny pair of polarized sunglasses. She grinned in earnest as his jaw dropped. She’d known grown men to react the same way when they saw their first school of mature reds tearing up the water, the thick golden bodies surging through the shallows, black-spotted tails wiggling in the air as the fish nosed the riverbed for crabs. The sight made her own heart race, and she’d been on the water for most of her life.

  “Wow!” Adam’s hand blurred as he reeled in the rest of his line.

  “Shh.” Jess summoned her most patient smile and brought one finger to her lips. “Save the noise till you land one.”

  The last thing they wanted to do now was to spook the fish. Experience told her it wouldn’t take much—a shout, the harsh kee-uck of an osprey on the hunt, even a quick movement in shallow water—and every red tail within a hundred yards would disappear. She edged to Adam’s side and mimed instructions.

  “Slow and easy,” she whispered. “Small movements. If you make a noisy cast, they’ll get scared.”

  “I won’t, Mom. I can do it.” He grinned up at her.

  “I’m gonna catch me a red.”

  “I’m going to catch a red,” she corrected with an acquiescent shrug. Grammar lessons could wait. The school swam closer.

  “Not yet,” she coached when Adam’s fingers twitched his line. She understood how badly he wanted to do it. Her own fingers itched to send a fly arcing into the pack. She held back with a stern reminder that the day was all about the boy. One who needed to learn patience.

  “Now, Mom? Now?”

  “Okay.” She signaled when the fish moved within reach. “Pick up your line.”

  His thin, tanned arms sent a short length into the clear blue. Whipping his rod back and forth, Adam fed a series of loops that would do the trick, even if his form wasn’t perfect.

  “That’s the way,” she coached.

  From somewhere on the nearby shore, a car door slammed. The noise startled two cormorants from the mangrove trees. They wheeled and turned against the sky, black wings flapping a silent protest. Below them, the school of fish jittered, then stilled.

  “Mo-om.” Adam’s excitement took a nosedive. His fly slapped the water behind him. “What was that?”

  Jess could only shrug. “Don’t know,” she said. “Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

  Hardly daring to breathe, she studied water that had grown so calm it looked oily. She held her breath until the birds returned to their nests. She held it until a half-dozen fins tentatively broke the surface. A few seconds later, a black-spotted tail appeared. When the wary school relaxed enough to continue feeding along the bottom, she exhaled.

  “It’s okay,” she said with more reassurance than she felt. For all their milling about, she counted six or seven tails where before there had been dozens. “The noise rattled them, but give them a minute. They’ll
calm down. Meantime, get your fly in the air again, and we’ll catch you a fish.”

  On the hill above them, something crashed through the underbrush and a man’s voice cut through the air. “What? Say that again. Reception’s lousy out here.” If he shouted any louder, they would hear him from the space station. “I’m on north Merritt Island and I need a… What did you say?” More bushes rattled and a branch snapped. “Hello? Hello? Son of a gun.”

  “Hey, mister. Be quiet up there.” Adam raised a booted foot.

  “Adam, don’t move,” Jess protested.

  Her warning came too late. The boy had already stomped the riverbed. Before circles spread out from his legs, fish shot out of the cove in a volley of torpedo-like ridges.

  “Look!” Adam cried. “They’re getting away.”

  He loosed line over the flat, empty water they left behind. His fly sank into a clump of river grass. He gave a sharp tug or two. The water barely rippled. Nothing bit. He turned a stormy face toward Jess.

  “Where’d they go? Why’d they leave like that?”

  Behind the safety of her sunglasses, Jess blinked tears of disappointment. She wanted Adam to catch his first red in the cove even more than he did. But there were lessons to be learned, and her son might as well learn them now. She cleared her throat and hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the shore.

  “Noise,” she explained. She pointed to Adam’s foot. “And movement. They got scared and they bolted. Reds do that sometimes.”

  Adam’s mouth trembled. “Those were my fish. I was gonna catch a big one. We hafta go after them.” He started toward the deeper water.

  Jess lunged for the hem of his shirt and held on.

  “Tell you what,” she offered. “I have to work the next couple of days, but we’ll come again. Soon. And next time, we’ll bring the boat. That way, if the school spooks, we can go after them.”

  Adam’s face darkened. His voice rose. “Let me go. Those are my fish. I want to catch a fish.”

  “We can’t, Adam. It’s too deep. Plus, there are dredge holes. Remember me telling you about them?” Back in the twenties, dredging efforts had deepened the river channels. Birds now nested on the spoil islands created by piles of sediment, and fish hid wherever equipment had left pockets in the river bottom. The thought of her only child falling into one was the stuff nightmares were made of.

  Adam dropped his rod and reel into the river and crossed his arms. “I don’t wanna fish anymore. I wanna go home.”

  Jess sighed. Her son might be a fly fisher, but he was still just five years old.

  “Adam,” she said. “That’s not the way you treat your equipment. Pick up your rod.”

  “Make him do it. He’s the one who scared the fish.” Adam aimed an accusatory finger toward the bluff that ran along the shoreline.

  From a thicket of pepper trees and palmettos came the sound of crackling branches. Jess caught a glimpse of white through the final layer of brush before a tall man emerged onto the narrow shore. She scrutinized the stranger, who wore clothes more suited to the office than wandering around the wilderness. He pulled leaves and twigs from his thick, dark hair.

  “Hey,” he called with a wave and an innocent-looking grin. “How’s the fishing?”

  Jess flexed the fingers of her free hand. It hadn’t taken the vultures long to hear of Henry’s death and swoop in, looking for easy pickings. This one had “land developer” written all over him. Well, she had news for him. He might as well keep right on walking.

  “Fine.” She gave him her best dirty look. “Until you showed up.”

  While Adam drummed a steady, “I want to go home. Come on, let’s go. Can’t we just go home?” The newcomer moved to the river’s edge.

  “Everything all right?” he called.

  “Not really,” Jess mumbled. Some days the fish bit. This time, the day did.

  Twenty yards of water drowned their voices. The stranger cupped a hand to one ear and shouted, “What’d you say?”

  For the moment, Jess ignored him in favor of her son.

  “Adam,” she said. “Listen to me. We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  Her promise didn’t slow her son’s litany of complaints any more than it wiped the signs of an impending meltdown from his face. She took a deep breath. Bribery was not her favorite trick in the motherhood bag, but if Adam didn’t stop carrying on, she’d never be able to convince the stranger he had come to the wrong place.

  She bent down until she and her son were nose-to-nose.

  “If you’ll let me talk to this man for two minutes we’ll stop for nuggets ’n’ fries on the way home.” Nuggets were his favorite, and the way business had tanked at On The Fly lately, fast food had become a luxury.

  “I wa— Really, Mom?”

  “Yes, but you have to stand right here beside me until I say we can go.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

  Jess gave her son the I-mean-business-mister look and bit back a grin when he turned into a statue. Her voice rose. “All that noise you made cost my son the red he was going to catch,” she said pointedly.

  “The red?” The man on the shore didn’t seem to understand.

  “The fish my son was about to catch,” she explained.

  “Hey, sorry,” he called. He had the good grace to look abashed. “Anything I can do?”

  “I think you’ve done enough, thank you.” Jess tucked a few errant strands of hair beneath her hat. “If you’ll just go back the way you came, we’ll call it even.”

  Okay, he probably deserved that. He hadn’t tried to be quiet while slipping and sliding down the hill or working his way through the brush along the shore. But how was he supposed to know fish were so sensitive?

  Dan eyed the fifty or sixty feet of lapping river between the fly fisher and himself. No matter how he pitched his voice, he’d either have to shout to make himself heard or move closer. He glanced down. Going barefoot wasn’t an option, not with horseshoe crabs and who-knew-what-else hugging the bottom of the river. The Ferragamos he’d worn on early-morning rounds were now, thanks to an unplanned trek through the jungle, scuffed and gouged beyond repair. Sandspurs had snagged his pants. Beggar-lice clung to the fine wool. A little water couldn’t make the damage any worse.

  “Sorry,” he repeated. He waded into the rippling current until it reached mid-calf. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

  Not that he wouldn’t have taken a closer look at the intriguing pair he’d spotted from the bluff. The kid made fly fishing look easy while the woman’s gestures were so fluid she reminded him of a dancer. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt them, but they were the only other people around, and he needed help.

  Now that he was closer, he could see it had been worth the trouble.

  Though sunglasses and a floppy hat hid the woman’s face, he followed the trail of her slender neck down to a tan shirt and a fishing vest that hinted at plenty of curves. Below a narrow waist, khaki brushed against her smooth thighs. Thankful he had his own sunglasses to hide behind, he looked on in admiration as she tugged her hat from her head and shook heavy blond curls onto her shoulders.

  Dan started and sucked in a breath. When had she turned to face him?

  “This,” she pointed to the land behind him, “is private property. What gives you the right to be here?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck where the sun warmed it. The woman couldn’t have any idea how temper made her face glow. If she did, she’d keep that look under wraps. As it was, he had trouble taking his eyes off her, much less coming up with an answer that kept plans for The Aegean a secret without leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere.

  “I could ask you the same question,” he said, hoping to turn the tables.

  “I was invited,” she answered. She cocked a slim hip and propped one hand on it. “I run a guide service, and the owner lets—let me bring clients fishing out here.”

  The woman’s attitude practically demanded he goad her a little. �
��And he’s your client?” Dan nodded to the kid.

  “A little mother-son bonding time,” she answered quickly.

  An unfamiliar feeling tightened Dan’s throat when her free hand dropped protectively onto the child’s shoulder. He rubbed his chest, pushing aside faded memories.

  “Too bad the big one got away. Thanks to you.” She squared her shoulders. “And you never answered my question. Why are you here?”

  He didn’t see any point in telling an outright lie. “I heard this property might be for sale. You say you know the owner. Think it’s true?”

  “Sh—” With a look at her son, the woman cut off whatever she’d intended to say. She kicked her foot against the riverbed, sending up a spray of water. “I don’t know where you got your information, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The state wants the land for a protected habitat.”

  According to talk around the poker table Saturday night, The Aegean group was mere weeks away from changing the lock on the gate. But now wasn’t the time to share that bit of news.

  “Looks like I wasted a trip, then,” he said.

  “Looks like. Maybe you’d better head back now. Before the sun gets to you.”

  “I would, but my car is mired in a sandpit up there.” Dan pointed toward the bluff.

  The minute he’d stepped out of the sturdy BMW and seen only the top half of his rims peeking over the dirt, he’d known he was in serious trouble. As impossible as it had looked, he’d tried to free the vehicle. He pushed. He rocked. He kicked the tires. The car hadn’t budged. At that point, any sane person would have asked for a little help.

  Any normal person would give it.

  Since the fly fisher continued to stare at him without offering assistance, she had to be something else. He searched for a compromise while she stole some of the sunshine from the day by stuffing her hair back under her soft-sided hat.