Читать книгу Hooked - Betina Krahn - Страница 12

She barely saw the water or sunshine or even the path itself as she hurried back to the Red Setter, where “wedding afterglow” practically pulsated from the windows. Steeling herself, she headed instead to the main lodge and drew up at the front desk to say, “There was a group of women up the trail, fishing….”

“Ahhh.” The barrel-chested fellow behind the desk nodded, clearly anticipating the rest of her question. “That’s the Casting for Recovery retreat. They come every year at this time.”

“Casting as in fly-fishing?” she said, and he nodded. At least that part made sense; Finn Hartley was an avid fisherman. “Recovery from what?” The answer struck her—women and recovery—even as he spoke.

“Breast cancer.” He picked up a cardboard-backed poster from one of the desks behind him, and there were the familiar pink ribbons. “These women are breast cancer survivors and the organization puts on these retreats to help them learn to cope while they’re learning to fish. It’s a great group.” He beamed. “This is the Arizona chapter, but there’re groups all over the country now. And those gals—” his smile mellowed “—they’re pretty danged special. It’s an honor to have ’em here.”

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…”

He halted. Muscles in his jaw tensed as he worked to master the feelings he’d dredged up. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, looking down. “Not used to going there.”

“It must have been awful for you.” She took refuge in a sip of coffee, fighting to swallow it past the lump in her throat.

“Awful and beautiful. Probably the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And the hardest.” When he looked up again, she glanced away, as if trying to spot their waitress. There was a brief silence in which she felt him studying her. “So, hey, what about you?” he asked, shaking off the somber mood. “How is the fashion business these days?”

“Fine. Lots of things in the works. We open a new store every six months or so. A lot of late nights and waaay too much caffeine. I should have invested in a Starbucks or two along the way.” Her smile felt forced and she hoped he couldn’t see what it cost her. There was something in his gaze, something intimate and probing, something that made her feel vulnerable and exposed. “And what about you? Still at Damon’s, I guess.”

“Absolutely. The best place in the world. Sporting man’s heaven.” He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning back. The tanned planes of his cheeks had a few new lines etched into them, but on him the wear of life looked right and appealing…even courageous. “I get enough time off to do some volunteer work, like CFR, and get in some fishing and some hugging.”

“Hugging?” She cocked her head, hoping the drape of her hair would hide the reddening of her cheeks.

“Yeah, I get to hug all the women on retreat Sundays. It’s the highlight of my year. Which may tell you something about the state of my life just now. I don’t get many…” He gave a pained smile, squared his shoulders and confessed, “My girls aren’t real keen on me just now.”

“Your gi—Katie and Chelsea?” Steph brightened, pleased at the memories the names resurrected. “How are they?”

“Katie’s a senior this year, Chelsea is a sophomore. Both too pretty, too grown-up and too damned independent. I’m just a walkin’ checkbook to them these days.” He dug out a wallet and flashed pictures of two teenage girls with fabulous smiles and brilliant hazel eyes. Their father’s eyes. Steph felt a warm spot in her middle, remembering them. She’d gone school shopping with them once, and it had turned out to be one of the highlights of—Don’t go there.

“You, um, have any…” He halted, letting a rolling hand motion say the rest.

“Kids? Plenty. Four nieces and three nephews, all under twelve.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your sisters are there.” He paused, a muscle in his jaw working. “So, the move to Atlanta worked out well for you.”

“It’s been good.” She nodded emphatically. “I don’t know how I’d get along without the family. Don’t know how I ever did.”

For a moment her words hung between them.

The food arrived just then and she was able to sink her attention into her omelet and fruit. Steph and Finn managed a little small talk, but twice while they were eating she looked up to find him staring at her with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and intensity. She had the oddest feeling that he could see inside her, that he could tell something about her was different. It was all she could do to keep from crossing her arms over her breasts.

She tried not to think of his sister, Janice, whom she had met and liked a great deal. She tried not to imagine him wiping Janice’s brow or holding her while she cried, or feeding her when she didn’t feel like eating. But every image Steph tried to dodge seemed to slide around the barriers she put up, and bring three others with it.

To combat the emotions crowding her lungs, she started to talk about her nieces and nephews and birthdays and family holidays. She inquired enough to realize that Finn was truly feeling estranged from his daughters, who lived with his ex, and didn’t know how to fix their relationship. And then it happened.

Somehow her forearm was on the tabletop and his big, callused hand closed over it and slid down to her hand, enfolding it, cradling it…making a connection between them that was devastatingly strong and familiar. That warmth, that solid, vital presence… She wanted to curl up in his arms and have him hug her back to health and hope and life itself. But that was too much to ask of anyone; that was a task she had to undertake herself. The task she’d been running from for almost nine months now.

Escape is not an option.

“Whoa! Look at the time,” she said, glancing at her watch and springing to her feet. “I have to get on the road if I’m going to catch my flight.” She reached for her purse, but Finn rose and insisted breakfast was on him. For a moment they stood two feet apart, looking at each other, not quite sure what to do.

His arms moved at his sides, ever so slightly. She wanted to feel them around her so badly….

Panicking, she took a big step backward, fearing that both her anxiety and the reasons for it were written all over her. “Well, it was wonderful catching up with you, Finn. If you’re ever in Atlanta…”

She turned on her heel and, through the rush of blood in her ears, caught something about “a couple of weeks.” Unable to stop herself from taking one last look, she turned by the hostess station to toss him a brisk wave and a tight smile. There he stood with his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs…his big, capable hands and sorrow-shaded eyes…

It was fifteen minutes later, as she floored the pedal of her rental car along the state highway, that she realized it was tears that kept making the road hard to see. Buckets of them. She was sobbing.