Finding Refuge (7 page)

“Why is that even a question? Lay it on me, Travis.”

“I like her. A lot. I want to see her again.” His heart
pounded, a sudden trickle of fear slithering down his spine at admitting how he
felt. “I don’t think she’ll let me.”

Rachel stopped working and faced him squarely. “Why would
you think that?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe the fact that she won’t answer my
calls or texts.”

“That’s bad for the ego. Didn’t know she was serious.”

“Serious about what?”

She waved a hand, pursing her lips. “Nothing. Listen, I like
you, most of the time, so I’ll throw you a bone. Of course, you have to know
what to do with said bone when it lands in your lap.”

“I’ll figure it out. What do you want me to do?”

Rachel, bossy thing that she was, gave him a perusing look.
“Get your hair cut, it’s way long. Then, I expect to see you at my house for
dinner. We’re eating a bit late, be there by seven.”

The fear flashed again, with hope hot on its heels. “Am I
bringing anything?”

“A cleaned-up version of what I see before me should be
sufficient.”

He had to be out of his mind. This could only end badly, for
both of them, but in this moment, he understood the meaning of hope springs
eternal. A spark of optimism deep inside him chanted
what
if?
Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, already seeing the likely
ending, the heartbreak, looming before him if he took this path, but that spark
pulsed bright and he had to chase it. “I’ll be there.”

****

Andri sat part of the way out of the back of her car, taking
off her sandals. She tossed the sandals over her shoulder, hearing them slap
against the opposite door as she slid her feet into the new waders she’d bought
yesterday. She slipped her boots on, then stood, sliding the waders up over her
shorts and t-shirt until she could pull the suspenders over her shoulders.

She looked down at herself and grinned. Sky-blue waders,
what an excellent find. She’d only found khaki and hunter camouflage before,
and, ugh. Really? If companies were going to bother making waders for women,
they could at least run with the concept and make them pretty. After all, the
fish didn’t care what color she wore.

She’d considered hip boots, but the one time she’d tried
fishing a river in hip boots, she’d stepped into a deep spot and ended up
drenched to her waist. Better to stay dry when the water was still runoff-cold.
She turned the dial on each boot to tighten the laces and popped the trunk to
get her gear. Well, Rachel’s gear. Hers sat in her mother’s closet in Phoenix.
She slid the pack from the rod tube and unrolled it, then drew the rod
components from their pockets one by one as she assembled it. Her own rod paled
in comparison to Rachel’s. Gorgeous deep blue carbon blanks with a silver band
edging the wrap at each section’s end, the rod was so much more sensitive and
responsive than her own. Someday, she’d allow herself to spend the money on a
custom fly rod. In the meantime, she didn’t mind borrowing one.

She attached the reel and threaded the line, then clipped a
small box of flies and a pair of forceps onto the rings on the wader belt. She
locked the car, secured her keys on a carabiner clip, then made her way down to
the riverbank.

She’d come to the Lower Provo River, a wide spot where the
river ran surprisingly smooth, given what Rachel had told her about the cold,
wet spring delaying the mountain runoff. The Upper Provo, her preferred fly
fishing river, was still running hard, turbulent and filled with debris from
the melting snow. But here, below the second of two reservoirs on the river,
the water flowed just right.

It didn’t matter if she caught anything today. It was the
experience of fishing she came for, not the victory of the catch. Besides,
between her long work hours and the time she devoted to being a good fiancée to
Peter, she hadn’t spent time on a river in a couple of years. It would probably
take a while before she smoothed out her casting rhythm.

She stepped into the water, carefully selecting a place to
plant her feet so she could work a good section of the river. She fumbled
several casts, her line failing to pay out properly, plopping into the water.
Sheesh, had she forgotten everything Dad taught her? This used to be a rhythm
she felt in her soul, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She tried again.
Finally, she drew a deep, steadying breath, pushed aside the frustration and
the lack of confidence, and smoothly drew the rod back, forward, back, forward
again. There. A proper four-beat cast, and all was right with the world. She’d
found her way back as if she’d never been lost.

As she danced the fly over the water, settling for a bit
before lifting off again, she let her thoughts drift. A delivery had come that
morning before she left the house. Roses, from Peter, and a note directing her
to check her email, where he explained what drove him to send her flowers. He’d
found a job in Boston and his boyfriend was moving with him. Her leaving gave
him the shove he needed to try to be honest with himself.

She was genuinely happy for him. Still, if she thought about
it too much, it left her feeling stupid, naïve, and more than a little used.
The brain understood. The emotions, the pride, the longing to not be alone,
didn’t.

A shimmer of color flashed through the water where her fly
bobbed on the water, and then the fly vanished, line flying out as the fish
zipped away. She lifted the rod against the tug of the fish, pulling the line
with her other hand. She worked the fish gently toward her. Gorgeous dark spots
covered the fish’s back and sides: a lovely brown trout. She let the line slack
a bit, working with the fish until it flipped itself off the barbless hook and
swam free. She always felt better when the fish left the hook on their own,
avoiding any potential damage she might do if she had to handle them to return
them to freedom.

Andri looked to the left as a fellow fisher approached along
the bank. He was an older man, brown hair shot with gray, tanned face lined
with age and likely a whole lot of time spent outdoors. His fishing vest hung
open over a pot belly and khaki waders. “That was a good lookin’ trout there.”

She smiled. “First bite of the day, can’t complain.”

“If you’re working upstream, there’s a real nice hole ’bout
a hundred yards up, on the far side. At least one big boy in there. He’s too
wily for my flies, though. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

She thanked him and he lifted a hand in farewell as he made
his way downstream. She fished along several hundred yards of the river through
the afternoon, having no better luck with the fat rainbow the older fisherman
had mentioned than he had. Still, it was always worth trying. She crossed paths
with a couple of other fishers, but on both occasions, they each merely nodded
at the other.

The solitude generated peace. The rich, living scent of the
river, the soft rustle of leaves and branches when the breeze kicked up, the
twitter of birds, the sun’s heat on her skin all worked to set her mind free.

She’d come to Utah with a lot to sort out, and as she sifted
through her options, she realized she was content here. She’d enjoyed living in
Salt Lake during college. She’d never been a fan of intense heat and she loved
having seasons. The only thing pulling her back to Phoenix was her mother. Just
because Ma lived there didn’t mean she had to.

She really didn’t want to go back. She knew some people but
she hadn’t really engaged with anyone locally. Peter had provided much of her
Phoenix social circle. Her true friends were spread all over the country,
staying in touch online. Except now that she was here, spending time with
Rachel, she realized how much she’d missed having girl time. Going out with
some of Rachel’s friends the other night was great fun, too.

It was time to start poking around for job leads, which
shouldn’t be too bad. The state was a tech magnet, perfect for someone with her
skill set. She had enough money in savings to get an apartment and start
creating some stability while looking for work. She toyed with the details of
such a move as she wrapped up fishing and drove back to Rachel’s. This would be
great. She could breathe here.

Her breath vanished when she pulled onto Rachel’s street and
found Travis Holt’s black pickup in the driveway next to the work van.

Chapter Five

Andri pulled into the driveway behind Rachel’s van. Maybe it
wasn’t his truck. There had to be dozens of black pickups in the Park City
area, right? Oh, who was she kidding. He was here, and she was in no condition
to face him. Mentally, she’d have time to square her thoughts away before she
walked in the house, but physically? A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed
what a toll the day took on her appearance.

Her ponytailed hair was windblown, strands waving and
curling all over after working their way free of the band. She wore no makeup
at all, and the shine on her skin screamed for powder. A faded, bleach-spotted
green T-shirt and denim shorts completed her casual day look, but at least she
wasn’t wearing her waders. She’d actually shaved her legs this morning, her
only saving grace.

She sighed. Well, if he wasn’t scared off already, this
would do it. That was a good thing. Major life changes and starting a
relationship should probably be mutually exclusive endeavors. Besides, he was
not a candidate, she reminded herself. Too much baggage wrapped up in an
irresistible package. Nothing but trouble. Ugh. Why was he here?

When she walked in the house, she heard voices in the family
room. She followed the sound and found Ian and Travis talking on the couch, a
half-empty pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table beside the bouquet of roses
she’d left there.

Ian grinned at her. “How was fishing, Andri?”

“Good.” She shifted her gaze, warmth spreading through her
when eyes the blue of a winter sky met hers. Heaven help her, Travis was
handsome, dressed in a creamy button-down shirt and navy trousers.

Surprise crossed his face. “What, you fish?”

Oh-ho, she’d caught his attention without even trying. That
kind of made up for the fact she looked a mess. A shiver of delight rippled
along her spine. “Fly fish, yeah. Had to go a ways to find good conditions, but
a bad day fishing is still better than a good day at work.”

“True.” He looked impressed. “I did not see that coming.”

“I’m full of surprises. Speaking of which, why are you
here?”

His lips curled into a sexy smile. “My presence was
requested for dinner.”

Rachel entered the room from the kitchen, red hair braided
in tails on either side of her neck. “Oh good, you’re home.”

The grin slowly spread across Rachel’s face as everything
clicked together in Andri’s head. Rachel was playing matchmaker.
Terrific.
She fixed Rachel with the most dagger-filled
glare she could manage, then glanced at Travis.

He looked back and forth between her and Rachel, his smile
dimming slightly, eyes shadowing. “Hey, Andri, I can take off if this is a
problem.”

She instantly switched to damage control mode, unwilling to
hurt his feelings no matter how much she’d like to strangle her friend. She
smiled at him. “No, it’s fine, but I would have loved five minutes to shower
before I ran into you. A girl has to preserve some illusions, like that she
always looks halfway decent.”

His appreciative gaze dragged over her. “Oh, I don’t know.
There’s something very attractive about a woman who’s all windblown from
fishing.”

She ignored the hot flash bursting over her skin, a little
mortified over how easily his soft tone made her pulse bounce. “Yeah? I smell
like the river, too, if that floats your boat. I’m going to hop in the shower.”

She beat a hasty retreat upstairs, grabbed her robe out of
her room, and locked herself in the bathroom. Okay, clearly Rachel was bent on
getting her together with Travis. She stripped and stepped into the shower
flow. She trusted Rachel’s judgment, and she’d known the man forever, so Andri
turned the idea over again for a fresh look.

If she was planning to stay here, assuming she could find a
job, then maybe she should continue seeing him. He didn’t want anything heavy,
right? That was a point in his favor. Plus, she’d have someone to do things
with until she got established and could meet new people. She’d probably see
him frequently anyway when hanging out with Rachel. Maybe they could at least
be friends. Yes, that’s it. Develop a friendship. Maybe with a few benefits on
the side. Dating buddies. Nothing serious.

Andri endured a cooler than normal shower, for the sake of
her sanity, and made her way to the kitchen fifteen minutes later. An ivory
headband held the damp hair off her face, and she smoothed the tail of her pink
cotton shirt over her clean black shorts as she came down the stairs. She
wondered if she imagined Travis’s double-take when he looked up from the
cutting board on the counter, where he stood chopping lettuce for a salad.

“I see Rachel put you to work,” she said, taking the plates
from Rachel as she passed her and placing them on the table.

He smiled. “Actually, Ian started dinner, and I’m not one
for letting another man suffer in the kitchen by himself.”

Rachel snorted. “Andri, don’t listen to him. He loves to
cook.”

“Guilty as charged.” Travis chuckled, turning his attention
back to his vegetables. The man liked her outdoorsy side
and
knew how to cook? Andri stifled a sigh. She’d given an inch on being willing to
maybe try dating, but she’d fall a freaking mile if she wasn’t careful.

The door leading in from the back deck opened and Ian leaned
in, the scent of sizzling beef from the gas grill wafting into the house with
him. “Andri, how do you want your steak?”