The Dark Side of the Rainbow (23 page)

“What did you say?” she urged.

Holding her gaze, he told her the truth. “I’ve lost too much of myself, Brooke. Only pieces remain. I’ve always felt it would be selfish to ask someone to merely accept the fragments of who I am.”

She knew the result of his tragic mistake had left him broken. Brooke wanted to know everything about that devastating moment, but could not bring herself to ask. He would tell her in his time. Yet, if Landon felt that he was too shattered to share a life with someone else, how did that affect the promise he had made about a new beginning, and new memories for her lost past?

He knew the direction of her thoughts. “You’re special, Brooke. You help me to see myself differently and you give me hope—hope like I have never felt.”

When she gazed into his hazel eyes he saw a spark of acceptance. “When I’m with you, Landon, there is an air of expectancy that fills me. I can’t explain it; but it’s there, overflowing.”

Reaching across the table, he offered his upturned hand to her. Brooke placed her long slender fingers into his palm and watched as Landon’s stronger ones folded softly over them. He had been touching her all evening, enjoying the feel of her angora sweater at the small of her back and the soft delicate skin of her hand when he held it; but here in the café, after revealing a piece of himself and taking a step Landon had only dreamed of taking, the contact felt different. It was less about pleasure and more about promise.

“Is it possible to let this be enough for now?” There was hope in Landon’s voice.

“Yes. One step at a time,” she whispered the words.

O
n Saturday, Landon took Brooke to meet his employee, Carlos, and his new granddaughter. He re-told her the facts he had shared with her while onboard
The Absolution
and how the loyal employee had turned down the head waiter position. Brooke commented on the older man’s humble nature.

When the couple arrived at Carlos’s home, Brooke was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was more than a photo session. He and his family had prepared a true Argentinean feast in appreciation of Brooke, and of his employer, Landon.

The afternoon was lively and enjoyable as they engaged with the family—talking, dining, and simply being together. Brooke admired the beautiful baby, showcasing her with her terrific photography skills. Brooke already knew which of the photos she would have framed for Carlos as a thank you for his hospitality and for making her feel welcome. Standing on top of a chair, Brooke had aimed her camera downwards toward a tight circle of the family members’ extended arms. In the center of the human cradle lay baby Maria. An angelic look filled her countenance as she stared into the eye of the lens; the varying shades of her family’s’ forearms became the perfect backdrop to the picture.

Later that evening as they made their way back to the Grand Vue, Brooke commented on how wonderful the day had been. Landon took his eyes off the road for a moment to smile his agreement.

Brooke was thinking about the modest but attractive home Carlos owned. The horizontally laid limestone exterior was complemented by hardwood doors, window casings, and outer trusses, all finished in a deep cherry stain. The contrast was striking. Although most of their time was spent on the veranda, from the short time she spent inside the home Brooke could tell the finishes, while not luxurious, were more than the mid-price range. Anyone with a rudimentary grasp of economics knew that even a top paid waiter could not afford such accommodations. “Carlos has a wonderful home for a waiter whose wife does not work.”

Landon continued to stare at the road but did not comment.

“I can’t help but wonder if you helped make that possible?” The question wasn’t necessary, for she already knew the answer. The comment was Brooke’s way of affirming him and giving voice to the emotions his act of kindness stirred within her. “It was very considerate of you to think of him in such a way, Landon.”

He did not confirm her understanding of the situation with words, but with the touch of his hand as he reached to hold hers. It was evident by his actions that loyalty was something he truly valued in a person, giving Brooke another glimpse into the inner workings of his soul.

Lying in bed that night, her mind and heart were full of the many moments they had shared together the past three weeks. As her eyelids fluttered closed one final time, she knew that she was falling in love with Landon Gray. While the dreams of her past eluded her, new ones took shape, fashioned by the hands of this wonderful man.

* * *

T
he following day they worked for their dinner.

After the museum fundraiser on Wednesday, while they were at the café Landon had asked Brooke if she would like to try her hand at fly fishing on Sunday. Whatever they caught, Gaston would prepare for dinner that evening.

They were on their way to Nahuel Huapi National Park, which was only about an hour away from the resort. They arrived before dawn. By the time they finished unpacking all of the gear, the sun was starting to climb over the horizon.

Mesmerized by the unfolding scene, Landon led Brooke to the pair of folding chairs they had brought. Sitting side by side, they held hands while watching the sun as it grew brighter and brighter in the distance. Snowcapped mountains stood like sentries at attention, as if guarding the crown jewel of the universe. There were no words to speak, only a wonderful moment to share. It wasn’t until the sun had fully crested over the land that Landon began setting up the equipment.

While he worked, he explained what everything was and how to use each item. Handing her a pair of insulated waders, he asked how many layers Brooke had on underneath her sweat suit.

“I have on two—long johns and leggings.”

“Good girl,” he said with a wink. “These will keep you warm enough on their own, but having the extra layers is always a plus, especially when you step out of the waders.” Landon was also glad to see that she wore a hat to block the sun and to keep her warm.

He bent down to rummage through the bag of gear and reached for a pair of insulated waterproof gloves for her to wear. “Put these in the chest pocket; they’ll stay dry there. Once we get the flies on, you’ll want to wear them. I have a few extra pairs in case you accidentally drop them in the water.”

“Are we using real flies as bait?” she asked, with a slightly squeamish look on her face.

Landon chuckled. “Artificial.”

“Oh, good.” Her expression of genuine relief was endearing.

When the rods were ready, Landon held onto her pole as they made their way into the river.

“This is a good spot. Come, stand here and I’ll show you how to cast the line.”

Handing Brooke the pole, he stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her. The closeness of her body next to his brought to mind the tango performance at the museum. That night at the café he had avoided the subject, hoping she wouldn’t talk about it either.

Watching the dance had filled him with a deeper longing for her. He and Brooke were very much like the two lovers making their way toward the center of the floor, yearning for each other, but cautious. When they finally did meet in the middle, would their union be as explosive as the dancers’?

If she had brought up the performances while sipping on espresso, there was no doubt he would have taken her in his arms in the middle of the café, and kissed her soundly. But like the two lovers twirling around on the dance floor, they were pacing themselves.

“Hold the rod this way,” he directed, guiding her hands to clasp the pole, his cheek brushing her soft hair. “The key to fly casting is to allow the weight of the line to carry the fly to the fish. The fly rod and line will go in the direction you point the rod tip when you cast.

“I’m going to use my hands while holding yours to simulate how it feels. Relax for me. Good, now,” he said before moving her arm along with his.

“Did you feel that?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s do it one more time. The key is to get the rod to bend, then stop, allowing the proper energy to be released through the pole. Ready?”

She nodded, and again he moved her arm in the motion of fly casting.

“Now watch me.”

For the first half hour, Landon followed this method of teaching Brooke how to cast. Once he felt like she was getting the feel, he simply watched her. She looked adorable in her waders. The way she worried her bottom lip before she was about to release the line only increased his desire to kiss her, the same way he had their last night on
The Absolution
.

After an hour of practice, he gave her more of the basics while he began to cast his own rod.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I am. Do you think I’ll catch something?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Which translates into ‘no.’” Brooke’s voice was filled with laughter.

Landon caught her gaze and held it for a moment. Her laugh receded at the intensity of his look. “I love it when you laugh.”

The shy look she gave him was proof of her appreciation.

He honestly didn’t know what he would have done had the tugging on his line not distracted him. Landon was finding it more and more difficult to keep the pace of their dance to a slow and languid beat.

“I think I have something.” Calmly, he began to maneuver the rod.

“Really?”

Nodding, he focused on bringing the fish in as he slowly waded to the shore where the net lay.

With precise control and movement of the rod, he continued to draw the flailing fish closer and closer. He reached for the net as soon as the dangling trout was close enough, then swooped it into the webbing.

“You make it look so easy, Landon.”

He smiled, holding up the catch. “Gaston will be pleased—this is a big one. We need at least two more—one if they are this size.”

“I’m confident you’ll make it happen,” she exhorted while removing the straps of her waders. “I’m starting to get warm with the sun out, and all this casting is making me hungry.”

Landon had the hotel kitchen pack enough food and drinks for snacks and lunch.

“A break sounds good.” He placed the fish in a separate ice chest while Brooked opened the one containing their beverages.

“What would you like to drink?”

“I’ll take a Coke. There are also some snacks for us,” Landon offered.

“I noticed the hummus. I’m assuming there is pita bread somewhere?”

“In the bag next to the ice chest with the drinks,” he directed, nodding in the general direction.

Removing her thicker jacket, she sat down in the chair next to Landon’s, handing him the pita and his Coke while she held the hummus out to him. “Successful hunters eat first.”

He laughed as he dipped a piece of the homemade flat bread into the chick pea dip. Instead of eating the tasty morsel, he offered it to Brooke. “Ladies first trumps everything.”

“Ah, you’re not only a good fisherman, you’re a gentleman too.” She accepted the bite he offered.

They continued to banter with each other while they enjoyed their snacks and drinks. Eager to get back to fishing, they soon put away the food and pulled up their wader straps.

Before they took a second break around lunch time, Landon had almost caught another trout, but it managed to unhook itself. He took the loss in stride, determined to catch another after they ate their meal.

Brooke was tired, and her arm began to ache from all the casting. The lack of motion over lunch had caused the muscles to tighten. Deciding to call it quits, she alternated between resting in her folding chair and standing next to Landon as he continued to fish.

While she watched him, Brooke learned that he had become an avid fly fisher since moving to Patagonia. She understood the appeal. It was more than the prospect of fishing that drew a person to the sport. The views, as well as the sound and feel of the running water as it rushed by, were exhilarating. He mentioned that on occasion Tomas joined him, but he almost always fished alone.

“Ouch!”

The sound pulled Brooke out of her thoughts and back into the moment. Concerned, she turned toward Landon, who was holding his hand.

“Landon, are you all right? What happened?”

“The hook,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need you to go to the tackle box and find the wire cutters.”

Complying, she hastily made her way to shore. She hadn’t seen where the hook had impaled him, but she knew it was somewhere in his arm.

When she made it back to him, he quickly gave her directions. “Cut the line with the wire cutters. Take the rod back to shore and then come back.

She did as he asked, sure that she had never moved faster in her life.

“I need you to cut the hook slightly above where it’s caught in my skin. The other prong is stuck in my bracelet.”

Brooke gulped at the thought of cutting the razor sharp steel. She could see it imbedded right at the edge of the wide gold piece of jewelry and his wrist.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can do it. I need you to cut the hook.” He must have sensed her hesitation.

Taking a deep breath she placed the wire cutters as close to the hook as possible, leaving enough of a tail to pull out the piece she was leaving in his skin. Once the snip was made he asked her to unlatch the bracelet.

At the sight of the straight lined scar across his wrist, Brooke couldn’t help but jerk her head up in surprise. She peered into Landon’s eyes as he stared knowingly back at her.
Now isn’t the time
, she thought as she led him to shore.

“I have a first aid kit in the tackle box.” Landon exhaled slowly as he sat in one of the chairs.

Grabbing the medical supplies, Brooke moved her chair to face his. She sat as close to him as possible with the kit in her lap.

“Tell me what to do, Landon, or would you rather remove the hook?”

“You,” he said through gritted teeth. “First pour some of the iodine over the wound.”

She found the small vial of the dark, brownish orange liquid and poured a measure over the wound.

“The wire cutter is also a pair of pliers. Grasp the hook with the flat end and pull in the same curvature of the hook, less shredding of the skin,” he added in obvious pain.