Sharon Swan - Husband In Harmony

In that moment, Jane felt surprisingly close to her guests—mostly, she supposed, because viewing that sunrise with wonder was a feeling she could understand, and share. Then the spell was broken as a fish jumped in the water and landed with a soft splash.

“Was that a trout?” Sam asked, eyes still wide.

“Probably,” Jane replied. “There are some bass in the lake, but more trout, for sure. And right now most of them are looking for breakfast. Once we get out on the lake, we’ll see if we can tempt a keeper to sample one of our worms.”

“A keeper?” Again Sam’s expression was puzzled.

“A fish that’s big enough to keep. If they’re returned to the water quickly enough, they usually swim off, no worse for the experience.”

“They probably just get smarter about taking a hook the next time around,” Adam ventured with a shrewd glint in his gaze.

“I’d say you’re right,” Jane allowed. She looked at Sam. “There’s one fat trout living in Quail Lake—Clever Clyde, we call him—who’s been outsmarting fishermen for quite a while. That’s what makes catching bigger fish a challenge.”

Soon both her guests were casting with better results—especially Adam. Watching how with each attempt his long arm and strong wrist sent the line snapping forward to fly on a straighter and farther path before it met the lake, she couldn’t deny he was a fast learner.

“I think I’ve got the hang of it,” he said with undeniable satisfaction.

Jane didn’t disagree, but she knew there was more to landing a fish than casting a line. A lot more. “Since you seem to be confident enough—” not to mention just a bit smug, she thought, “—I’ll concentrate on helping Sam once we take the boat out.”

He met her gaze. His swiftly narrowed, as if he’d caught the trace of a dare to go it alone in her matter-of-fact statement. “That’s fine with me.”

Realizing her words had indeed been a dare, one she hadn’t been able to resist, she said, “Great.” She bent to pick up the cooler resting on the bank. “First lesson when we get out on the lake is how to bait a hook,” she told Sam.

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding at least a bit more enthusiastic. After retrieving the net he’d been carrying, he fell into step beside her as they walked down the old wooden dock. “Why do fish want to eat so early?” he asked with the barest hint of a grumble.

“Beats me,” she replied. “They just do.”

“Are we gonna take a boat with a motor?”

She mulled that over for a moment, weighing the merits of using one of the ancient outboard motors against putting a pair of oars to good use. “The motors are pretty noisy and we’re not going all the way across the lake, so I guess I’ll row us out.”

“I can row,” a low voice said from behind her.

Jane aimed a glance back at Adam. “It takes some practice. Otherwise, you can wind up going around in circles.”

“I was on a rowing team in college,” he said, looking pleased to relay that information. “I can row—and not in circles.”

“He knows how to do everything good,” Sam murmured, just loud enough for Jane to make out. There was no resentment in those words, only what might have been a young boy’s yearning to measure up to the successful man who had fathered him.

She thought about simply pretending she hadn’t heard, and found she couldn’t. “He doesn’t know everything he needs to when it comes to fishing,” she murmured back. “If you stick with it and don’t give up, I’ll teach you as much as I can today.”

Sam said nothing, but the set of his jaw was enough. He appeared determined to hang in there.

And now it was her turn, Jane realized, to make good on her word. Fortunately, past experience made her confident enough in her abilities to deem her promise achievable. Too bad she was nowhere near as confident about being able to deal with the fact that three in a small boat would put her and her consultant in close contact. Maybe too close for comfort.

In a matter of minutes Adam took up the oars with practiced ease and whistled softly as he launched the weathered rowboat toward the middle of the lake with firm, sure strokes.

Okay, he could row, Jane had to admit. But she also had to wonder whether he’d be whistling so merry a tune on the way back.

“JUST GET THE damn—danged—hook out of my collar, will you?” Adam groused when the sun was well on its way to its noonday position high overhead. “I could do without having a slimy worm wiggling like crazy at the back of my neck.”

Jane leaned in to inspect the problem, something she would have been glad to avoid since it put her in even closer proximity to the man she’d been doing her best to pay little attention to. It didn’t help, not one bit, that for a startled moment she found her chest plastered to his back as the breeze ruffling the water suddenly picked up and rocked the boat under them.

She quickly tugged herself away. “I’ll try to take care of it if you’ll wait a double-darn minute for me to get the pliers from the tackle box,” she huffed before dredging up a more patient tone. “I know it can’t be all that comfortable, but I doubt the worm is having any more fun than you are.”

That Adam had unwittingly stood up to stretch his legs just as she’d whipped Sam’s short pole around to demonstrate how to drop a line into a shady spot was no one’s fault. Reminding herself of that, she refused to feel guilty about catching the back of his collar with the sharp point of the hook.

“How come you said ‘double darn’?” Sam asked as he joined her to peer into the dented metal box. “I never heard anybody say that before.”

Jane reached in and retrieved the small pliers. “Sometimes one darn isn’t enough,” she explained. She didn’t add that despite both her father and great-aunt having been known to swear like sailors, sometimes at each other, neither had ever accepted such language from a growing girl, and by the time that girl had become a woman, the habit of choosing alternatives had set in.

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