At Home in His Heart (14 page)

“Told you.”

Joe pulled a handful of chips from an open bag and deposited them on his plate, his brow crinkling. “So why didn’t you like her? Explain that to me.”

He was beginning to wonder the same thing himself, so how could he explain it?

“Don’t have all night,
hog.
” Bryce elbowed his way past Joe and headed toward the picnic table.

“H
ere he comes, here he comes,” Meg said, her voice low and lips barely moving. “I’m outta here.”

“Wait, don’t—”

But her friend snatched up her plate and joined the kids who were digging through one of the coolers at the other end of the table as if mining for gold. “Hey, hey,” she teased, “what are you two looking for?”

Had Meg planned this? Or was Bryce’s fishing outing at Casey Lake mere coincidence?

She glanced up as he rounded the table, loaded plate in hand. How handsome he looked, the black No Regrets T-shirt emphasizing the span of his shoulders, the rock-solid biceps.

“Mind if I join you?” With a tip of his hat, dark eyes focused on her uncertainly.

“Not at all. Have a seat.” She lifted the lid to her hamburger bun and self-consciously rearranged the lettuce. The tomato. Felt the table shift as he seated himself. Got comfortable. “I didn’t see you at church this morning.”

He studied her as if trying to figure out whether not seeing him was a good thing—or bad.

“Took Grandma out to Bill Diaz’s RV park for the Fourth of July service.” He spread the paper napkin on his lap. “Then
we stuck around to help him and Sharon Dixon serve breakfast.”

“I didn’t know Joe’s dad held church services out there.”

“Not every weekend. But Bill’s ex-navy, as was his son and father, so he invites his campground residents to take part in outdoor worship the Sunday closest to Independence Day.”

“Your grandpa was in the military, too, wasn’t he?” She speared an evasive macaroni noodle, relieved he’d allowed the conversation to focus on the mundane, not on the supercharged evening before. “I seem to remember Mae telling me that.”

“Yeah, U.S. Army like me. The military seems to run in families around here.” He glanced to where Joe and Meg were picking up their filled plates and moving away from the table. Where were they going? “After the worship service Bill treats his guests to a home-cooked breakfast—pancakes and sausage, fresh fruit. Nothing fancy, but Grandma’s helped out for years.”

“Sounds nice. I’m surprised Meg and Joe didn’t go. I talked to them at church this morning.”

“They went, just didn’t hang around for breakfast.”

She nodded.

They ate in fairly solid silence, between bites both gazing around self-consciously at the lakeside setting. Occasional two-or three-word comments. Good burgers. Nice weather. Monsoons coming soon.

Joe had spread a tarp under one of the trees some distance from them to ensure the long, pokey pine needles littering the ground wouldn’t cause discomfort, then threw an old blanket over the top of it. Now he and Meg were cozied up as she teasingly fed him one potato chip at a time. The kids, spread out on the blanket, giggled as he wiggled his eyebrows at them.

“So, Sandi.” Bryce, having downed his second burger, pushed back his plate and broke the silence. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

She paused, the last bite of her hamburger halfway to her mouth. She’d heard the phrase “felt the blood drain from her face,” and now she knew the reality of it. Was he going to apologize for last night? Tell her—what? That there was no way he’d get involved with a woman like her and he didn’t want that hand-holding business to create any misunderstandings?

She placed the hamburger on her plate. Said a prayer. Forced a smile as she met his solemn-eyed gaze. “And what might that be?”

“Uncle Bryce! Uncle Bryce!”

A giggling Davy and Gina pounced on him from behind, looping their arms around him as far as they could reach.

His gaze flashed briefly to hers, apologetic. Then he laughed, eyes now twinkling as he turned to embrace both of them, one in each arm. “What’s all this?”

“Take us out in your boat. Please?” Gina’s words came breathlessly. “We want to fish.”

“Now, Gina—” She frowned her disapproval at the interruption. What had Bryce intended to say?

Bryce gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle pat. “I’d be happy to take you out, but your mom has to come along, too.” He craned his neck to look pointedly at Sandi. “Like I told you before, no kids without another grown-up.”

No way was
she
going. “Maybe Joe will go.”

Gina had set her heart on fishing, but when she discovered it wasn’t what she imagined, she’d stop harping about it. Kids didn’t understand it involved sitting still, being quiet and waiting for something that may or may not happen. Patience wasn’t Gina’s most notable characteristic.

Bryce nodded to where Meg’s husband had sacked out on the blanket, his head in his wife’s lap. “Joe? Not likely.”

Gina pulled away from Bryce and ran to her mother’s side. Eyes dancing. Hopeful. Looking so much like her daddy. “Please, Mommy? Davy’s mom said he could go.”

Then shouldn’t Meg be the one to climb into a rocking boat and set out for deep water? Her stomach did an uneasy somersault. She didn’t want to go out in a boat.

“I have life jackets for everybody now.” Bryce raised a brow, eyes twinkling and his tone challenging. “Even kid-size ones.”

“I suppose—”

“Thank you, Mommy.” Gina threw her arms around her for a hug. “Come on Davy, let’s go!”

“Wait, wait.” Sandi caught Gina’s arm before she took off for the water. “Settle down. I’m sure Uncle Bryce has some rules we need to follow.”

She turned to him expectantly—and caught his unabashed grin. He’d heard her call him Uncle Bryce. Shaking her head in defeat, she shot him a wait-until-I-get-my-hands-on-your-throat look.

Thirty minutes later he had the fishing boat in the water, life jackets secured and the electric motor silently propelling them across the wet, glassy surface.

In the bow she gripped the bench seat, anxiously keeping an eye on Gina and Davy as the boat skimmed across the lake. Bryce gave her a reassuring nod, but why couldn’t they stick closer to shore? Why’d they have to go so far out?

He’d already warned them that sound magnifies, carries across on the water, so they needed to keep their voices down. They didn’t want to disturb the other fishermen.

The children had nodded solemnly, Davy chiming in with “Grandpa says you can scare the fishes away, too.”

This late in the day, even with sunset ninety minutes away, the sun had dipped behind the pine tree tops, stretching shade across the lake. Bryce cut the motor, and the water around them calmed as the boat gently rocked. No speedboats were allowed on the lake, no gas-powered motors to disturb the stillness.

He nodded to Gina as he pulled out a fishing rod from the
floor of the boat and rummaged in an old metal tackle box. “Your dad and I used to come out to this lake and fish all day.”

“You did?” she whispered. “You and Daddy had a boat?”

“Borrowed one.”

“How old were you? My age?”

“A bit older.” He winked at Sandi as he patiently explained to the kids the purpose of the bobber, then baited a hook with a ripe-smelling, lime-green goop that he assured would make a trout’s mouth water.

Sandi wrinkled her nose. To each his own.

With expertise born of years of fishing, off to the side of the boat Bryce whipped the rod and set the clear line sailing above the water with a soft whirring sound. When the weight hit the surface with a pleasant, hollow
thunk,
generating ever-expanding circular ripples, he handed the rod to Davy. The boy took it with the seriousness of a pro.

He reached for another rod. “You ready to try, Gina?”

Her daughter’s jerky nod proved her excitement.

Sandi closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, listening as Bryce answered Gina’s never-ending battery of questions. Letting the coolish breeze touch her cheek. Drinking in the slightly fishy lake-water scent. Although others fished along the shore and on boats scattered across the lake, it was as if she, Bryce and the kids were cocooned in a blanket of peace. So still out here. So tranquil. Her fingers relaxed—somewhat—on the bench seat.

How many times had she watched Keith practice casting with his rod and reel? Too many times to count. That man lived to fish. Was his gear still in the shed in back of the trailer? Maybe Bryce would like to have it.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to understand why he and Keith had become fast friends. Both outdoorsmen. Subtle sense of humor. Good with kids. Possessing an underlying sensitivity that belied their rough-and-tough
exteriors. Knowing both the good and the bad in the other, they remained unconditionally loyal. Lifetime friends.

Had she ever had a friend—
been
a friend—quite like that?

She opened her eyes when she heard the whir of the reel, watched as Bryce carefully showed Gina how to hold the rod. Again explained the process. He caught Sandi’s eye. Smiled.

Her heart unaccountably skittering, she smiled back.

“I never understood the appeal of catching some smelly little critter with fins. But this is so relaxing. Your mind can just drift. And look at that sky.”

He looked upward, as well, studying the towering cumulus clouds with their billowing dimensions. Pristine white. Slate blue. An array of deep violet, mauve, lavender. Hot pink. All trimmed in a glowing gold where the sun pierced through.

“God paints portraits of his love on the sky, that’s for sure.”

Surprised, she turned to look at him. “That’s a beautiful way of putting it.”

“Hey, even a crusty old fisherman can harbor the soul of a poet under a sky like that.”

Their gazes held as if secured by an invisible magnet. The seconds ticking, communicating silently a mutual curiosity, uncertainty. Unconcealed interest.

Every fiber of her nervous system all but sizzling, she refocused her attention on her daughter, a desperate attempt to smother what she refused to acknowledge. “You’re a born fisherman, just like your daddy.”

Gina turned to her, eyes bright. “I am?”

She nodded. Who’d have thought Gina could sit so still for this long? Whisper and not shout? And who’d have thought she’d ever find herself looking at Bryce Harding like
that?
She tightened her grip on the bench seat, not allowing her gaze to drift to the big, bearded man at the far end of the boat.

“Your daddy always wanted me to go fishing with him.”

“Did you?”

“No. I’m not a good swimmer. Makes me nervous when I know I can’t touch the bottom and still keep my head above water.”

“You should have said something.” Concern clouded Bryce’s dark eyes. “Do you want me to move closer to shore?”

She shook her head. Gave him a carefully controlled smile. “No, that’s okay. The water’s still. And I have the life jacket. If I go overboard, though, you’ll have to fish me out.”

He nodded, his eyes still troubled. “You can count on it.”

“Mommy says I swim better than a fish,” Gina piped up in her big outside voice—and Davy shushed her. She cringed. Nodded. Went silent.

“That so?” Bryce took off his hat, wiped his forehead with his hand, then settled the hat back on his head.

“I made sure she started lessons when she was a toddler. I didn’t want her to be wary of water like her mother.”

“Shhhh,” Gina reminded, putting a finger to her lips. “You’re scaring my fish.”

Sandi made an “excuse
me
” face at Bryce. He grinned and an absurd sense of contentment filled her.

“Do you want to fish, too?” he whispered from the far side of the boat. “I’ve got an extra rod tucked back in here. Might make a fisherwoman of you yet.”

“Don’t count on it.” But it did have an appeal—as long as she didn’t catch anything.

To her relief, though, he didn’t push. Didn’t insist she give it a try. Didn’t make fun of her. Didn’t get disgruntled the way most men would have at her refusal. Even Keith had gotten put out a time or two about it, which wasn’t his nature.

He’d put up with a lot.

Maybe, in some small way, the museum dedication would make it up to him.

It wasn’t his imagination. Bryce was sure of it.

He’d seen it in her eyes at the lake a few days ago. Didn’t
think she could have missed it in his, either. But she’d shut it down fast. Refusing to recognize it. Refusing to admit it. Determined not to let it lead to anything more.

Which was probably the direction he should take, too. That is, if he still had a lick of sense left in him after her big beautiful eyes clearly spelled out her interest in him.

What was a man supposed to do when a woman looked at him like that? Well, he knew what Old Bryce would do, but that was beside the point.

He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and let out a gust of pent-up breath, his mind’s eye—every fiber of his body—reliving that unanticipated connection with the pretty gal sitting in the bow of his boat. Bundled up in her bright orange life jacket. Hands gripping the seat. Her gaze locked on his as they’d all but stared into each other’s soul.

Shaking his head, he focused again on the spreadsheets illuminated on the computer screen in front of him. Not looking good. But the fire chief was pushing the city hard to release funds for the empty firefighter opening. He’d used two simultaneous fires last week to press his point. They needed that extra man.

He pushed back in his chair. For weeks he’d been intending to talk to Sandi about his plans for the museum. How he needed to get Grandma Mae down to the lower level. It would break Sandi’s heart, what with her determination to set up some kind of memorial for Keith. But what other choice did he have? Grandma could sell the house and get a single-level one, but with the market as it was right now she wouldn’t get anywhere near what it would have garnered just a few years ago, before the economy staggered. A newer place would cost more, too, so that meant debt.

Besides, who would buy this place and retain the museum anyway? The historical society sure couldn’t swing it.

So his best bet was to give the society ample warning. Then
get to work on a downstairs living quarters. Remodel it for handicapped accessibility as time and money allowed—and hope it would be ready before Grandma had a real need for it. Although with those steep stairs she’d already become a prisoner in her own home when no one was around to assist her. Had already lost her independence. No easy thing to accept for a spunky, on-the-go woman who’d never let her age slow her down until now.