Betina Krahn - Hooked

Stephanie’s smile felt as tight as the knot in her stomach.

“Yes, I imagine they are,” she said. “Thanks. I was just curious.”

The unshed tears in her eyes made it difficult to see the path, but she managed to make it back to the cabin where her room was located without running into Terrie or any of the rest of the wedding party. She sat on the bed and looked around the homey, Western-themed decor, hugging herself and wishing that tomorrow morning would hurry the hell up and come so she could get out of here.

* * *

Finn Hartley stepped out onto the porch of the cabin he had shared with half a dozen other CFR volunteers, stretched widely and yawned. Monday morning was cool and crisp; the fish would probably be biting. They sure were in top form yesterday for the retreat’s big fishing finale. Most of the time the volunteers did well to help participants land one fish each, but this year’s group had landed two or three apiece. It was so gratifying to see their smiles, feel their hugs and even dry a few tears.

He glanced at the rod case and tackle box left by the steps, and for one brief moment considered getting in a little more river time before going back to Phoenix. But it was Monday already and he had a lot on his plate right now. Fishing clinics were starting soon, which meant traveling, so he had to head back to his store. And his girls.

He blew out a heavy breath. The girls.

Back to reality, Hartley.

As he stalked down the road toward the main lodge, plagued by thoughts of sexy prom dresses and champagne-stuffed limos and hotel reservations, his good mood evaporated. He was the father of teenage girls. He’d done his best to stay involved in their lives, but these days they considered him ancient and irrelevant, an artifact from another age. All they seemed to want from him was money for clothes and spring break excursions and college hunting trips.

They’d been his little girls once, two adorable imps who’d learned to tie killer flies before they were four. Now if he managed to drag them out into the wilderness with him, he couldn’t get them out of the damned tent. Or away from their freakin’ smart phones, iPods and Facebook pages.

“Owww—oh! Hey…” As he’d rounded the corner into the dining room of the main lodge, he’d nearly bowled over a woman waiting at the hostess’s desk. “I’m so sorr—” He grabbed her arm to steady her and found himself staring down into a face from one of his well-fermented dreams. “I—I…you…Steph?” He released her as if she’d scorched his hands. Actually, it was more like tingling than burning, and the sensation rushed upward to heat his face. “Stephanie Steele?”

“Finn??” She pulled free and backed away a step, struggling visibly to collect herself. Struggling. Stephanie Steele caught off guard and scrambling for composure—there was a World’s First. “Well.” She seemed to have difficulty swallowing. “Imagine seeing you here.”

“Not so odd, really.” His gaze slid to hers and the blue of her shocked eyes struck him as softer, deeper than he’d remembered. “Greer has some of the best fishing in the state. I come here every year. Sometimes two or three times a year. To fish.” He was babbling. “So what are you doing here? New York run out of bright lights?” He winced at his attempt at wit.

She smiled ruefully and edged away another step.

“I’m just—” she started to motion toward the dining room, but changed midway and waved toward the lodge’s front doors “—leaving, actually. I came for Cassie Gardner’s wedding. Terrie Gardner’s daughter. She was married Saturday night out at the Red Setter.”

“Terrie—sure, I remember. Worked for you. Little blonde with a million-watt smile.” He felt a pull in the middle of his chest as that thread of memory, now tugged, threatened to unravel a whole fabric of potent recollections. Memories of the silky side of Stephanie Steele. “It’s good to see you, Steph. I wondered, uh, about…”

His throat was going dry. Coffee, he thought, as the hostess arrived with a steaming pot and a couple mugs hanging from her fingers. He needed to jump-start his brain.

“Your table’s ready,” she said to Stephanie, who looked about to bolt.

“I’m driving to the airport this morning,” she said, “a-and—”

“And you could really use something under your belt before you go.” He waved a hand to direct her into the restaurant ahead of him. “Me, too.”

She hesitated a moment, and he wondered if she was that reluctant to be around him. Then she gave in and entered the dining room.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world, following Stephanie to a restaurant table; he’d done it dozens of times. Had he appreciated the view this much before? Her neat, well-toned shoulders, her well-rounded hips in a pair of perfectly worn jeans. The way she filled out that crisp white shirt with the rolled-up sleeves, and the easy grace of her walk in a pair of boots. As she slid into the chair at their assigned table, he caught the sway of her shoulder-length auburn hair and turquoise necklace, and suffered a moment of vertigo.

His mouth went dry.

* * *

It was a good thing the table wasn’t far from the dining room door. Another two feet and Steph’s knees would have given out. She was in no shape to confront the embodiment of the memories that had had her tossing and turning most of the night.

“So did you catch anything?” She managed a somewhat chipper tone.

“Not really.” He grinned and her pulse skipped erratically. Finn Hartley had the most nibble-worthy lips, and when they drew back over those straight white teeth… “I mean, I wasn’t here fishing for myself. I was volunteering as a guide for Casting for Recovery. It’s a charity that puts on retreats for breast cancer survivors. Damon’s Sporting Goods donates a lot of the equipment.” He must have taken the dismay in her expression for disbelief, because he hurried to explain. “Really. I do it every year. It’s an all-woman retreat. Men are only allowed on Sundays, so that each woman can have her own fishing guide that day. It’s kind of a special group.” He paused to look up at the waitress who was filling their mugs. “Thanks.”

Then he ordered enough breakfast to feed an army: eggs, biscuits and gravy, hash browns, sausages and blueberry pancakes. He’d always been a big breakfast man. Steph chose an egg-white omelet and a fruit cup.

“The fishing I get,” she said casually, as the waitress left. “But breast cancer? How on earth did you get hooked up with that?” She put creamer in her coffee, stirred, and when she looked up at him, her breath caught. His angular face was sober and his hazel eyes had darkened. It wasn’t corporate philanthropy or even a desire to do some good in the world, she realized; it was personal. The long breath he took and the bittersweet smile that softened his intensity confirmed her thinking.

“You remember my older sister, Janice?”

“The librarian?” Stephanie felt herself bracing, praying it wasn’t that.

“Three years ago she was diagnosed with a stage 4 breast cancer.” He paused and took another sip of coffee. “She fought for over a year, but the combination of chemo and the disease… She died two weeks before her forty-fifth birthday.”

Steph waited a moment, wrestling with her own raw emotions, trying to get them under control before speaking.

“I’m so sorry, Finn.” Every word required effort. “I know you were close to her.”

“She practically raised me.” He smiled with what could only have been called pained pleasure. “She was divorced and didn’t have any kids. So when she needed help, I moved her in with me. It was something, being with her 24/7. We played cards and planted flowers and watched a bunch of sappy movies. I took her out into the desert to gaze at stars and I even took her fishing. She made me bait her hooks and then she was the one who caught all the fish.” He gave a low, pained sigh, as if seeing it all again in memory. “And when things got bad, I rubbed her shoulders and held her head…saw to it that she took her meds….” His voice softened. “I’ve never seen anybody so brave in my life. With all she went through…she still could laugh and clown around and worry about other people. And when it was done and she was gone, it was the biggest…emptiest…”