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Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!
Duets Vol. #53
Popular Ruth Jean Dale takes the spotlight with a special Double Duets book on the theme of “animal passion.” This writer has a “talent for combining comedy with romance…and creating memorable characters,” says Romance Communications. Ruth also writes for Temptation and Superromance.
Duets Vol. #54
Quirky Tina Wainscott is back with another delightful Duets novel about a gorgeous hero determined to land his ex—hook, line and sinker! Ms. Wainscott tells “a charming story full of love and laughter,” notes Rendezvous. Completing the month is Golden Heart winner Barbara Dunlop, who makes her debut with a funny tale in the spirit of Due South. Enjoy!
Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!
Dan All Over Again
Tina Wainscott
The Mountie Steals a Wife
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Dan All Over Again
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
The Mountie Steals a Wife
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Dan All Over Again
“If I’m wrong, prove it”
Dan continued, “What’s the big deal about spending the night on the boat with me, your own ex-husband?”
“There is no big deal,” Cassie replied.
Ha! She wasn’t going to admit she couldn’t handle spending the night with him, because it wasn’t true. Okay, there was a spark, a…something. But not some irresistible force.
“Pam’s coming to meet me at the dock. I need to let her know I won’t be back tonight.”
Dan tossed a cellular phone to her. “Be my guest. I’m going to catch me some fish.”
Cassie left a message for Pam and then found Dan casting from the back of the boat. His muscles flexed beneath his tanned skin, and his cute little derriere wiggled as he reeled in his lure. Cocky son of a gun. She’d show him. If he had any notion of a fling to, ah, refresh her memory of them together, he had something else coming. No, scratch that, he had nothing coming!
No way, uh-uh.
Dear Reader,
Fishing probably wouldn’t come to mind when you think of romantic situations. Probably it would come under watching wrestling. But picture being out on the Gulf of Mexico under a cloudless sky, alone on a boat, and not doing a whole lot of fishing. Sounding better, isn’t it? Add the gorgeous guy you thought you were over, but really aren’t, and it gets even better.
Naples, Florida, is my hometown, and I hope I’ve captured even a bit of the beauty of our waterways and wildlife. I had a lot of fun writing about the places where I’ve spent my whole life. I’ve done my share of fishing, though I’ve never caught a Snook. I have caught the occasional catfish, a rare seaweed-covered rock and, once, the derriere of an unlucky fellow fisherman. Lucky for me, he still married me!
Enjoy!
Tina Wainscott
Books by Tina Wainscott
HARLEQUIN DUETS
34—THE WRONG MR. RIGHT
Special thanks to Jackie Bielowicz, who has given me much guidance over these past few years and who has been an invaluable help.
Stacy Mullendore, who taught me about fishing and tournaments, and who generously took me out on his fishing charter boat, The Bimini Twist, so I could see it all firsthand. And I can’t acknowledge Stacy without acknowledging his adorable wife, Nettie, who let me borrow her husband before she even knew me. For research purposes only, of course.
My best friend, Pam Kraft, who let me honor her by putting her in my book and who gave me the very special gift of making me a godmother to her beautiful daughter, Alyssa. And I can’t acknowledge Pam without acknowledging Andy, who’s also a great friend and a funny guy to boot.
1
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE that little weenie is trying to steal one of my accounts. And I have to find out after five on a Friday.” Cassie Chamberlain stopped at the chart hanging in the hallway of Nicholson’s Advertising Specialists. She looked at her best friend, Pam Kraft. “Roger just moved ahead of me into the Market Buster Contest’s number-one spot. I still have a chance to win the five-thousand-dollar bonus, money that’s going to get me one step closer to—” she dropped her voice “—opening my own marketing firm. At least Chamberlain Marketing will appreciate my talent and hard work. And maybe winning this contest will gain me some respect at Nicholson’s in the meantime.” And maybe it would make her feel complete, or at least satisfied. “I feel like they’ve cast me in the dumb blonde role.”
Pam smoothed down her blue sheath dress with orchids spilling down the side. “Maybe it was from sending a cascade of water down the hallway when you tried to replace the water bottle.”
“Oh, sure, but nobody remembers that I was trying to be independent and not bug one of the guys to do it.”
“And I’m sure it wouldn’t be because the mail cart bounced down two flights of stairs and showered Mr. Shavely with envelopes.”
“That was three and a half years ago! Do they still talk about it?”
“Only in the same conversations as other natural disasters.”
Cassie wrinkled her nose at Pam. “Gee, thanks.” She hadn’t goofed up in three years, since she’d taken The Supreme Seminar on Being Orderly, but she still hadn’t lived it down. She needed a game plan to (a) confront Roger-the-weenie Pinkle (b) make—Her ears perked at the sound: Squeak, squeak, squeak.
“Roger! Wait’ll I get my hands on him.”
“Get him, girl, in the name of womanhood and co-workerhood! Smear him! Trample him!” Most people thought they were sisters, with their blond, shoulder-length curls and close friendship. “’Course, don’t create too much of an uproar or Roger might retaliate and that could get ugly—ugly indeed. He could burn down the building. Or do something worse.”
Cassie waved away her friend’s overactive imagination. “No, he wouldn’t.” She turned down the hallway in time to see him duck into the bathroom. She pounded on the door. “Roger, I heard your lifts squeaking. Come out before I come in there to get you.”
The door slowly opened and he appeared. He tried to look surprised to see her, and even forced a smile. “Did you, er, need to use the facilities?”
Even with those thick lifts he’d had installed on his shoes, he still stood at about her 5’7” height with heels. “No, I need to talk to you about stealing my fishing lure account.”
He lifted his hands in supplication. “Now, now, I didn’t steal the account. I can’t help it if my talents lie within the fishing realm, and you weren’t there to take the call, after all. Mr. Nicholson thought I should handle the account, or at least the initial contact.” He sounded so logical, even in his whiny voice.
“I’m not going down without a fight. I need this account to have a chance at the contest.”
“Well, Cassie, I need it, too. I’ve got important things to buy with that money.”
“Like what?”
“I think that’s my own personal business.” He rubbed his flat nose. “All right, if you must know, I’m going to have my sinuses worked on. And a nose job while they’re at it. It’s the only way I’m going to get a pretty girl like you to go out with me.”
“Your nose has nothing to do with your overall appeal, Roger.”
“Then you’ll go out with me?”
She nearly choked. “I mean, it’s…more than your nose.”
He bounced up and down on his lifts, squeaking each time. “I’ve got one of those stretching machines that’s going to make me taller. I’ve already gained a fraction of an inch.”
“And lost a pound of common sense. It’s not your height, either.” It was probably one of his curls that had gained him the fraction. “It’s…” She glanced down over his plaid shirt, his Looney Tunes plaid tie, and bright green pants. In addition to bouncing up and down, he was jingling his keys in his pocket. “I’m not here to assess you, Roger. I’m here to ask for the account back.”
He raised his eyebrows. “We could discuss it over dinner. I discovered that the electrical device I purchased to stop my receding hairline roasts a great hot dog.”
“Weenie.”
“I don’t think we need to argue over the term for a hot dog. So, are we on?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Er, no, thank you.” Interesting, though, that the weenie liked weenies. “Just hand over the account and I won’t have to hurt you.”
He shrank back at those words and inched around her. “Don’t hurt me! I bruise easily!” And with a squeak, squeak, squeak, he was gone.
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to chase him down. Not in these heels, anyway. Maybe the old Cassie would have done that, whipped off her heels and gone after him in full-tilt mode. But that’s not what the (a) dignified (b) sensible and (c) responsible Cassie was going to do. Even if her body was leaning toward that attack. Her narrowed eyes focused on her boss’s door. She pushed up her jacket sleeves and knocked.
“Cassie.” Mr. Nicholson’s smile quickly faded. “Uh-oh, you’re upset. You know how I am about confrontation.”
She had plastered her most calm expression on her face. “How could you tell I was upset?”
“You’re crunching those Lifesaver things, same way you did when you had to swap offices with the new guy. In fact, throughout the whole move. But you were real good about it, giving up your corner office with the great view and without a fight, and I appreciate that. You’re a team player, Cassie, and that’s going to get you places. So I know you’ll understand about the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company.”
Loud crunching echoed in her ears, and she swallowed the sharp pieces with a grimace. “You’re letting Roger steal my account.”
Mr. Nicholson lifted his fat hands before running them through what was left of his hair. “Now, now, he didn’t steal it. He was standing by the receptionist’s desk when the call came in. You weren’t available, so he talked to them. Turns out he’s quite the little fisherman.”
“The client asked for me!”
“They’re looking for someone to design an ad campaign for their lures. Fishing lures.” As though she couldn’t have possibly made the connection. “Now, what do you know about fishing?”
It used to capture her ex-husband Dan’s attention more than she could. Where had that come from? “I could learn. That’s what I always do, make my lists and research every aspect of the company and its products. How hard could fishing lures be to understand?”
His deep chuckle rubbed on her nerves. “Now, I’m not saying a woman can’t know about fishing. It’s got nothing to do with gender and everything to do with having the product here.” He fisted his hand to his chest. “Like me and Cheesecake Galore. You’re not a fishing type of girl. You’re banks and florists. Roger said he knows fishing inside and out, so he’s the likely candidate. The next new account that’s suitable for you, it’s yours. If you’ll look past your pride, you’ll see that we’re all here to service our customers the best we can. We’re a team. Be a gentleman, Cassie, and step aside so Roger can win this new client over to Nicholson.”
Her shoulders bunched up as she realized how often she’d stepped aside gracefully. “It’s kind of hard to step aside when you’ve just been stepped on.”
“HE’S GOING TO LET that loser keep the account?” Pam asked when Cassie relayed the conversation.
“Yep. Because, hey, what do I know about fishing?”
“What do you know about fishing?”
“You throw something in the water, the fish grabs it and you wrestle it in and try not to get so excited that you rear back and knock your husband right out of the boat in front of all his buddies.” Cassie’s face flushed. “Never mind that.” She tapped her jaw with her forefinger, her mind searching. “I’ve been a pushover for too long. He doesn’t know how much of a quitter I’m not. I’m mean, how much I’m not a quitter. I mean—you know what I mean.”
“Scarily enough, I do. Between your lists and charts and goals, you’re the most determined person I know.”
“Yeah, (a) determined not to be like my mother, and (b) I’m certainly no gentleman.” To prove it, she rifled through the receptionist’s desk and snagged a key. “And (c) I’m tired of being a rung on the ladder that everyone else uses on their way up.”
“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Pam said with a grin. “Even when you’re pulverizing butter rums. So what are you going to do, insist that Mr. Nicholson let you present a campaign, too?”
“Hah! And let him pat my head and tell me how ungentlemanly that would be?” Cassie gave her a slow smile. “I’m simply going to walk into the presentation and show them my stuff.”
“What if he fires you on the spot?”
“He won’t.”
“Uh-oh. This is starting to sound—dare I say it?—impulsive.”
Cassie stopped. “This isn’t impulsive. No, not at all. It’s going to be a well-planned attack in the name of all that’s fair and good in the world. And I’m going to be honest about it. You know I can’t stand dishonest people.” She slid the key into Roger’s doorknob.
Pam whispered, “Wouldn’t breaking into Roger’s office fall slightly under that category?”
“Of course not. I have a key. No breaking anything.”
“Cassie, what if someone catches you and you’re arrested? We’re arrested? We’ll be in the Police Beat section of the paper. We could be shot by a trigger-happy cop who’s out to prove himself!”
“We won’t.” Cassie opened the door. The office smelled like Roger’s last splash of cheap aftershave. “When I chose a career in marketing, I decided this was something I was going to stick with, follow through on.” She flicked on the light.
Pam took up a lookout position near the door. “You’re thinking about your ex-marriage, aren’t you?”
“Of course not. I’m thinking of that cross-stitch thingee I started five years ago. It sits in my wicker basket and reminds me of all the puzzles, paintings and hook rug kits I didn’t finish. Every Sunday, I put three stitches in the thing. At least I’m making progress. Oh, stop looking at me with that I-know-you-better-than-you-do smirk of yours. Okay, yes, I am thinking about my ex-marriage. You don’t know how scary it was for me to realize I’d become my mother. She’s hopped into and out of so many marriages, I’m surprised she isn’t perpetually dizzy. As a matter of fact, she is, God love her.”
“You’re nothing like your mother.”
“Not now, but I was then. I was suddenly married to a gorgeous stranger. The first blush of excitement turned into the reality of bills, routines and the mention of babies, and I panicked. Probably the same way Mom did in her seven marriages. I wasn’t ready, I ran away and…I hurt Dan.” She was sure the thickness in her throat was the result of eating too many butter rums. “I swore I would never start something I cared about and not finish it.” She consulted the small, leather-bound notepad she wore on a chain around her neck. “I have $12,420 to save before I can escape this place and start my own company. In 1.4 years, I should be able to bring you aboard. This is what being sensible does to a person: (a) concrete goals and (b) no broken hearts.”
“Sensible. Yeah, well, I know you’ll never have a broken heart again.”
Cassie smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”
“Because you’ll never find anyone who’ll fit that compatibility list you have.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to support me.”
“I’m not your bra, I’m your friend. I’m telling you, you’re going to be a lonely old woman before you find a man who matches the criteria on that list, watching The Rockford Files reruns and conversing with your nine cats. You’ll be one of those people who never throws anything away and you’ll be dead a week before anyone knows it. They’ll have to wade through thirty years of trash to find you. Or something worse.”
“No, I won’t. At least I won’t be a seven-times-divorced lonely old woman without goals or a career.” Like her mom, dragging her daughter all over as she skipped from place to place, living wherever an acquaintance or boyfriend would permit until she got bored or wore out their welcome. No roots, no traditions, and no sense of being able to depend on her mom when she needed her. Not even a father to provide a speck of stability, since three years after her mother had divorced him, he’d died in a sailing accident. She blinked back the thought and opened one of Roger’s drawers. She pulled out a wrinkled tube of Preparation H. “Would I be totally evil if I put Ben-Gay in here?”
Pam screeched in laughter, then quickly sobered. “Yes. Totally.”
Cassie tossed it back in with the other junk in the drawer: wart remover, corn pads and an assortment of nasal sprays. After rooting around in the papers on his desk, she held up a brochure for the Naples Snook Rodeo, a fishing tournament starting the next morning. “Ugh, at seven o’clock. The weirdest thing in the world is for someone to get up before dawn all excited to go fishing. It was a phenomenon I never could figure out.” She flipped open the brochure, pushing away the memory of Dan tiptoeing around their bedroom in all his naked glory as he got ready. “Whew, is it warm in here?” She fanned herself, forcing her attention back to the brochure and not Dan’s bare butt in the early morning light. “Hey, it’s sponsored by the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company. Isn’t that handy-dandy?”
“Perfect! So you’ll go talk to some of the fishermen, maybe even the company officials?”
“Talk?” She wrote down details on a receipt for Dramamine. The box was still sitting on the desk. “I’m going to learn everything I can about fishing lures, fishing and fish by hanging out with one of the contestants.”
“What if the guy gets fresh, and you’re out there by yourself? Dangerous, dangerous indeed.”
“He won’t. Besides, all I’d have to do is show him my egret legs, and all thoughts of seduction would go flying out of his mind.” She lifted a leg sheathed in dress pants.
“I think you’re a little hard on yourself and those legs of yours.”
Cassie knew Pam was also picturing the white bird with spindly legs and an S-shaped neck.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to approach just anyone. I’ll ask one of the officials to hook me up with someone reputable. Hook—get it?” Cassie giggled. “I am going to be so good at this. If you’re worried, come with me.”
“No can do. I promised Andy I’d help him do yard work this weekend. But I’ll go to the docks with you.”
“That’d be nice,” Cassie said as she closed up Roger’s office. Besides Marion, a neighbor in her apartment building, Pam was her closest friend. Cassie didn’t mind that they both tended to mother her a bit. She stopped in front of the chart. “Roger, you little weenie, you don’t know it yet, but I’ve just declared war.”
DAN MCDERMOTT double-checked his fishing poles, making sure each one was snug in its holder. Then he checked the cooler—enough beer to last him the weekend. Checked the rods again. Something was missing. He poked his head down into the cabin where his little dog, Thor, was studiously chewing his pig’s ear—a gruesome gift from Granny.
So it wasn’t Thor or the beer, or his poles, sunblock, shades or anything else he could think of.
Maybe he needed a bigger boat. Women were always saying size didn’t matter, but a guy could never have one that was too big. A boat, that was.
“Hey, Dan, gonna be weird you not competing this year,” Jessie said, stopping on the way to his boat.
The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, but the city dock was crowded with men who definitely had a say about bigger being better. Fish, that was.
“Yeah, it’s killing me.” But it wasn’t. And it should be. He should at least be excited about spending a whole weekend fishing. But he wasn’t. He should be pleased as punch with his life as a successful, freewheeling bachelor. The damned of it was, he wasn’t.
Jessie laughed, his brown hair blowing over his face in the breeze. “Well, gotta let some of the other guys have a chance.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Good luck, Jess.”
Dan had a feeling the Rodeo committee would have made him retire even if he hadn’t voluntarily backed out of the official competition; he’d won the last four years in a row.
Champion. Yeah, that’s what he was. The Snook Rodeo champion. The fishing god.
“Dan, you look like an ant,” his father Hal said as he paused by the boat. Not many people remembered that Hal was Dan’s dad. Not even Hal and Dan. Hal had only been seventeen when his girlfriend took off for Las Vegas—and left their baby with him. Even when Dan was just a kid, they were more like friends than father and son. So much so that Hal preferred to be called by his name than “Dad.” “I just don’t feel like a dad,” he’d said when Dan was six. Dan had agreed. Even Hal’s mom, Granny, hadn’t been the typical grandma.
As usual, Hal looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. “You’ve checked that cooler five times. Are you brewing your own beer in there, or what? I haven’t seen you this edgy in a long time, and you ain’t even competing.”
“I’ll still catch more fish than you, even if they don’t count.” Better to divert the conversation than admit he was restless.
Hal wagged his finger and laughed that deep laugh of his. “Put your fish where your mouth is, buddy. See you on the water.”
He gave Hal a halfhearted wave, and then caught himself checking the poles again. He didn’t like this restlessness. It had started a few weeks ago, when he’d seen Cassie’s picture in the paper. His ex-wife, the woman he’d woken up next to for seven whole months, and there was her picture, as though she were a virtual stranger.
He didn’t know she’d gotten into marketing, but she’d won some kind of award for one of her campaigns. He’d started thinking about her, wondering what else she’d been doing in the last five years, like getting married, and whether she still had Sammy.
Whether she thought about him.
Her beautiful face smiled at him from the refrigerator door every morning when he fixed his egg sandwich, and every evening when he checked to see what leftovers were waiting within.
Those seven months had been crazy, full of stormy seas and lightning. Now his life was on an even keel, no waves, nice and calm just the way he liked it. Or the way he should like it. They’d had little more to their name than a marriage license, yet he’d been happy. In love for the first time. For the only time. He hadn’t realized it until he’d seen her picture. The damned of it was, he was still in love with her. And so he’d put his plan into motion….
IT WASN’T A DECENT HOUR for any human being to be up and about, and already the Southwest Florida summer heat and mugginess drenched the air. Cassie and Pam stepped out of the one status symbol in Cassie’s life, if you didn’t count its ancient age: her buttercup-yellow Mercedes-Benz. A banner over the Naples City Dock’s entrance rippled in the breeze as pink light seeped across the eastern sky like a wine stain.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Pam said, taking in the men carting fishing gear and cases of beer.
“It’s the only idea I have. Besides—”
“I know, I know, you’re no quitter. I’ll bet that’s your bedtime mantra.”
“So what if it is?” Cassie lifted her chin. “It’s better than living your life on the wind.”
“Have you heard from Andromeda lately, speaking of?”
Cassie laughed. “Last I heard, she was living on a boat with some young scuba diving instructor down in the Dry Tortugas.” Her mother had legally changed her name from Bernadette to Andromeda, after the wife of Perseus. Oddly enough, she’d named her daughter after Cassiopeia, Andromeda’s mother.
Cassie tucked her curls over her ears and leaned in the car. “Come on, Sammy. Hope you’re up for a day on the boat.” She scooped her Yorkshire Terrier into her large bag. His little bell jingled pleasantly as he settled in. “I wonder if he remembers when Dan and I used to take him out on the boat.” She nudged away the annoying softness in her voice. “You liked that, didn’t you, boy?” She touched her nose to Sammy’s little wet one, then tapped him down into the bag. “Stay hidden. Don’t want to turn off any potential boaters.”
“And speaking of that, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing shorts.”
“I decided to take my chances.” She glanced down at her skinny legs. “Men, be afraid. Be very afraid,” she intoned, making Pam giggle. “All right, let’s go fishing for a fisherman.”
Once they walked through the entrance, they found the tournament sign-in area. So had fifty other men who were standing in line, not to mention many others milling around. Voices and laughter rivaled footsteps echoing on the wood planks of the pier. Everyone was trading jokes and patting backs, all that manly kind of thing. She tried to dredge up all that fury she’d felt yesterday to stave off the nervousness.
“Having second thoughts?”
Cassie lifted her chin. “No way, uh-uh.” They both knew she was lying and left it at that. She popped a butter rum in her mouth and slipped her hand in the bag to scratch Sammy’s head.
“You are nervous, aren’t you?” Pam said a few minutes later.
“Why?” She peered over the rim of her sunglasses. “I’m making noises, aren’t I?”
“Sucking furiously on those things is a dead giveaway.”
Cassie anchored the candy ring against the roof of her mouth and scanned the boats, the crowds and the fishing poles spearing the air.
Pam leaned closer. “It occurs to me that despite your claims of sensibility, this whole thing is extremely impulsive. Might I remind you of the last time you did something really impulsive and what trouble that got you into. And I’m not talking about the limbo contest that sent you to the chiropractor. Or dyeing your hair black. Or…”
Cassie’s gaze skipped to the next boat, and that’s when she saw him. “Dan,” she said on a breath.
“Exactly. Look at these men. You don’t even know them. Once they have you alone on their boat, they could take you out to the horizon and ravage you and…good heavens, why are you smiling?”
Dan McDermott, with his brown hair lit reddish by the sun, white T-shirt moving in the breeze and muscular, tan legs. Her canvas tote dropped to the wooden planks, and she leaned to the side when Pam darted in front of her so as not to let Dan out of her view for a second. She even heard bells! A couple of men stopped to talk to him, and Dan ran his fingers through his hair and laughed. Lordy, when had he gotten so gorgeous?
She blindly reached for Pam’s arm, unable to utter anything other than a sound vaguely resembling a whimper. She tried again to reach Pam, and then had to wrench her gaze away to find that Pam wasn’t even standing there. Then she remembered Pam darting in front of her, and as her gaze sought Dan again she felt annoyed that her friend wasn’t there when Cassie really, really needed to verify that she wasn’t imagining Dan, that he was really there, that—
“Good grief, woman, didn’t you notice that you dropped your tote bag and your little fuzzball led me on a merry chase between twenty pairs of hairy legs?”
Cassie blinked, taking in a breathless Pam holding a panting Sammy. So that’s where the bells came from! She opened her mouth, but her voice still wasn’t cooperating. Dan was waving goodbye to the men and resuming whatever it was he was doing that required him to bend over and show off that cute little butt of his.
“Hello-o-o?” Pam waved her hand in front of Cassie’s face. “What are you grinning like a she-devil for?”
Was she grinning? She couldn’t even feel her face, just her heart pounding louder than a rock and roll drummer. It’s only Dan, she tried to tell herself, that guy you were married to, but some other part of her was making her feel the way she had the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him. “I wasn’t grinning, I was looking…pleasantly surprised, yeah, that’s all, because Dan’s here, you remember Dan, don’t you, the guy I was married to, who fished and would stumble around in the dark naked so he wouldn’t wake me up, which was so sweet, but he always whispered that he loved me right before he left, and of course he had clothes on then—”
Pam grabbed Cassie’s arm and gave it a good shake. “Get a grip, girl! Listen to yourself.”
Her mouth was watering around the candy. “I wasn’t sucking.”
“No, you were talking nonstop. You’ve worked hard to squash that impulsive, vivacious Cassie, and here she is trying to take over again!”
“I wasn’t rambling. I just had a lot to say. And I was surprised.” She’d worked so hard on getting rid of that going-on-and-on thing. “I never thought about him being here. I haven’t seen him since our divorce. Oh, I have a great idea!”
“You’re going to ask Dan if you can ride with him.”
“I’m going to ask Dan if I can ride with him. It’ll be perfect!”
“Now that would be impulsive, and a bad idea. A bad idea, indeed.”
“Not at all, since (a) I know him (b) I trust him (c) he was my favorite mistake, after all. Therefore, (d) it’s perfectly sensible.”
“Honey, there isn’t anything sensible about the way you’re looking at that man.”
There wasn’t anything sensible about the way she felt, either, all giddy and silly. “I’m just glad to see him, that’s all,” she said in her most sensible voice.
“Mmm.” She suspected Pam was assessing her with her arms crossed in front of her, but Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off Dan to see for sure.
“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” Pam asked.
“We’re going to be friends, nothing more.”
“You are so not going to be friends with that look on your face.”
“Stay here until I give you the sign. That means everything’s okay, and I’ll see you back here tonight. I’ll call when we return, and you can come get me.” Cassie took the cooler from her and started over. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Pam lifted up Sammy. “Er, Cassie? Forget something?”
“Of course not,” she said, placing Sammy back in the bag. “Just making sure you were paying attention.”
“Mmm.”
She caught herself sucking loudly on her butter rum again and crunched it up before she reached Dan’s boat. It was a nice boat, medium-size with a roof over the helm, and open in the back. Ooh, he still had a nice behind, though he’d always thought it was too small. In those tight shorts of his, she still couldn’t find anything lacking about that derriere.
That’s when he chose to turn around, catching her with goodness-knows-what look on her face. She laughed when he looked as shocked as she had earlier, even doing that open mouth thing.
He removed his sunglasses and blinked. “Cassie?”
“The one and only.”
2
IT FELT STRANGE TO CASSIE, seeing Dan like this, both familiar and exciting, and way too nice. His smile of surprise made her feel the same way she had all those years ago when they’d met, one of those wham-right-in-the-gut things. She’d been out on a boat with some friends, and they’d stopped at an outdoor bar on the water. Dan had been there with his fishing buddies, doing karaoke and laughing it up.
She’d passed him on the way from the rest room, and they’d been frozen right there. She’d never felt anything like it before. They didn’t know what to say, each fumbling over their words like two teenagers fresh into puberty. Finally they’d broken away and returned to their respective tables.
Then for the next hour, they’d caught each other’s gazes. He sang “The Captain of Her Heart,” watching her the whole time. It had given her chills. Afterward, she’d walked alone to the railing, and a moment later, he’d joined her. The rest was history.
History, she reminded herself. It was different now. This was only business and she was way over Dan.
“Don’t tell me you’re a contestant.” He walked to the closest edge of the boat and propped one foot on the side. “Or are you the prize for first place?”
She sputtered, but quickly contained herself. At least he hadn’t said the booby prize. “Hardly. Dan, I need your help. Hear me out before you say no.” She moved closer, catching the scent of the aftershave he used to wear, the scent she ended up wearing herself the rest of the day after they fell back into bed when their goodbye kiss turned into a you’re-not-going-anywhere kiss.
Back on track, woman!
“Okay, I work for an advertising agency, see, and this guy at work—he’s a real weenie—is trying to steal my account, well, it’s not my account yet, but they called me first, and now the weenie and my boss are saying I can’t handle this account because it’s a fishing tackle company, and what do I know about fishing tackle, which isn’t a lot actually, but I can learn, and I can’t let them get away with this, so please, Dan, will you let me tag along with you during the tournament, I promise I won’t bother you or scare away the fish or do anything to distract you, just observe and take notes, and possibly ask a few questions—”
He held up his hand. “You still do that.”
“Do what?”
“That—” he waved his hand in circles “—skimble-scamble thing that makes me crazy and leaves me with no argument because by the time you’re done, I can’t remember what you were even asking.”
“No, I don’t do that anymore. I just had a lot to say.” She felt herself grin sheepishly. “Did you say crazy?”
He regarded her for a moment, his mouth quirking. “Yeah, crazy.”
With a deep breath, she pulled another butter rum from her bag and petted Sammy who wanted to pop out. “I just wanted you to understand where I was coming from before you said no, and I hate to impose on you, but I don’t know any of these people, and I know you, so it would be really nice…” Her words drifted to a stop when he held up his hand. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? What’d you call it?”
He nodded, but he was smiling, which was a good sign, she supposed. “Skimble-scamble. One of Granny’s words. For one thing, I have a rule: No women allowed on my boat during tournaments.”
She waved away that concern. “But I’m not a woman; I’m your ex-wife.”
He chuckled, a low sexy sound that shivered right through her. “You’re definitely a woman. And the ex part’s the second thing.”
She tilted her head, remembering how that little gesture worked on getting her way before. “But we probably had one of the nicest divorces ever.”
“Heck, Cassie, we were only married for seven months.”
“And two days.”
“And,” he continued, shifting to sit on the transom, “You took my dog.”
Sammy yipped at that and popped out of the bag. He loved the word dog. She bit her lower lip. “This dog?”
He gave her a wry grin. “Yeah, that dog. The one you’re still putting ribbons on. And a bell? You’re going to give him a cross-dressing complex.”
Sammy’s tail wagged like a maniac as he struggled to get to Dan.
“(A) The bell helps me keep track of where he is so he doesn’t get stepped on. And (b) he’s secure enough in his masculinity to overcome the ribbons.”
His laugh was a sputter. “The only reason you got him in the divorce was because you convinced me he was too feminine a dog for a guy. You did that skimble-scamble thing and had me completely befuddled.”
She grinned. “Did anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you’re befuddled?”
He propped his chin on his upturned palm. “Since you’re the only one who’s ever befuddled me, I guess you’d know.”
Only her? Better not press. She scratched Sammy’s tiny head. “I got attached.”
His expression softened as his eyes took her in. So did I, they seemed to say, though she was sure she was imagining it. “I see you haven’t changed much,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“The ribbons and bells, coming out here…” The sounds of a boat engine punctuated his point.
She stiffened. “Don’t say that. I’ve changed a lot, Dan. For instance, (a) I’ve been in the same job for three years now (b) I’ve lived in the same place for four years and (c) I’m good at what I do. Coming to the docks was necessary for my career goals, and the ribbons…” She stroked the pink ribbon on Sammy’s head. Why did she still put ribbons on him? It started out as a joke. Maybe it was that latent femininity that liked to emerge once in a while, like the frilly underthings she bought. “He likes the ribbons. Really. He looks happier when I put a new one on him.” She tilted her head again. “What do you say, Dan? It’ll be just like old times for a little while.”
Like old times. Those words curled through her as he tilted his head the same way she was doing and contemplated. He glanced behind her at the dissipating chaos, then back at her. He still had the nicest eyes she’d ever seen, light brown with thick lashes, and that thin, two-inch scar that snaked horizontally along his right cheek. He still made her feel all gushy inside.
“You think it’s a good idea, you and me on this boat together, alone?” he asked.
“What, you think I’m going to jump your bones? Come on, I’m not falling for that again. It takes more than a look to get me into bed nowadays. You should have taken advantage of that when you had it.”
The teasing grin on his face grew wider. “As I recall, I did.”
She turned away, not wanting him to see the flush creep up her cheeks. The sex had been great. Not sex…lovemaking. She’d loved Dan, and there were odd moments when she thought a trace of that love still existed.
Okay, maybe this was impulsive. Maybe she was regressing. Follow-through, she reminded herself. She met Pam’s knowing look across the crowd. She could read Cassie like a tarot card, darn her. If Dan could get her flushed with a few feet of water between them, what would it be like to spend several hours alone with him? Still, she waved away Pam’s concern. Handling it just fine; no problem, she implied. They both knew she was lying and left it at that.
“All right,” he said at last, coming to his feet—feet clad in faded boat shoes, she noticed. “But if I’m going to help you, I want to know what’s in it for me.”
“For you?” She narrowed her eyes. Well, that was fair, she supposed. “What did you have in mind?”
He shrugged, making her realize how much his shoulders and chest had filled out, and very nicely indeed. He appraised her, running his gaze from head to toe. Just when she thought he might make a similar complimentary assessment, he said, “I don’t suppose you can filet fish very well.”
“No way, uh-uh. I am not touching fish guts.”
“Yeah, you’re not a fish-guts-kind-of gal.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear.”
He chuckled. “I’ve got a way about me, don’t I?”
Yes, he did. “Just don’t tell me I’m a bank and florist type,” she said.
“I was going to say you’re more of a deck-swabbing type. But I don’t have enough deck for you to swab.” She didn’t like the sparkle that lit his eyes. “Still know how to give those awesome massages?”
Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. “I haven’t given anyone a massage in years. Those classes were from my career-searching days. Before the singing telegrams and after the bartending job.”
He grinned. “Your singing made dogs howl, and your drinks knocked everyone on their butts, but you were a natural at massage. And you know what? It’s been years since anyone’s given me one, so we’re even.”
A massage. Oh, great.
“You have to keep your shorts on.” She remembered too well those massages. His naked body beneath her hands, running her hands down his back where it dipped down at his waist, across his tan line, and then up over those firm buns… “Definitely keep your shorts on.”
“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand. “Come on aboard, matey.”
She stared at his hand for a moment. “Just like that?”
“Hey, I’m easy.” A naughty grin lit his face. “Or don’t you recall?”
She blinked, trying to keep her mouth from falling open. “Easy? No, it must have slipped my memory.” Unfortunately, parts of her body did recall, and way too vividly. She crunched down on the remaining ring of candy and handed him her cooler and then her bag. Sammy jumped out to freedom, and Dan crouched down to pet him. “Samuel Kent, she’s turned you but good.” He scowled at the pink ribbon that held Sammy’s hair in a ponytail on his head. “Maybe I can liberate you.” Then he reached out his hand to her, and she clasped it. He pulled her easily over the two feet of water and the transom, but she landed off-balance as a boat’s wake lifted them.
“Oops!” she yelled as she pitched forward.
His arms went around her, anchoring her to his chest. Warmth rushed over her as he held her tight, their faces inches apart, her body plastered against his. He just held her there, looking at her without giving a clue as to what he was thinking. His body, however, was giving definite signals. And the heck of it was, she liked it. In fact, she wanted to burrow against him and make him even harder, like she had hundreds of times before. In those impulsive days when she’d simply jumped on him, no matter what he was doing, or what time of day it was…ahem, before she got responsible.
“You okay?” he asked.
She could only nod as she shooed away those pesky memories. “And you?” If only she could breathe, she’d be fine. She forced air in, then out.
“Oh, yeah. Still eating butter rums, I see,” he said.
“Still wearing Bracer aftershave, I see,” she said.
Another moment passed. Her breasts tingled where they pressed against him. Tingled? She shouldn’t be tingling around Dan! She abruptly moved back and dusted herself off, though there wasn’t any dust on her. He was casually pulling his shirt down over his shorts. When she turned to give Pam the signal, her friend was making the evil cross sign, drawing her finger across her throat, and rolling her eyes. Mouthing or something worse. Pooh, what did she know?
A bark brought their attention to a knee-high dog coming up from the cabin. His tail formed a curly-cue, and it wagged as he took in Sammy.
“You got another dog,” Cassie said, watching the dogs do their territorial sniffing ritual and feeling grateful for the diversion. “What is he?”
“One hundred percent pure, certified, pedigreed mutt.”
The dog was cloud white, with short hair and big brown eyes. A mutt. Perfect for Dan. “Did you name him after a fishing icon?” Samuel Kent was one of the greatest fishermen in history, according to Dan. But inside he was a Sammy, and he’d communicated that to her, just as he’d told her he liked his ribbons and bells.
“No.” He puffed his shoulders the slightest bit. “His name is Thor,” he said in a deep, throaty voice.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she scratched Thor’s soft fur. “Did it really bother you that much that I thought Sammy was too cute a dog for a guy?”
“Maybe I just like the name Thor.”
She held Thor’s chin in her hand, tilting her head as she looked into the dog’s eyes. “I hate to tell you this, Dan, but this dog has the heart of a poet.”
“Oh, no you don’t! He’s Thor, man’s best friend.”
She stroked the dog’s chin, nodding with conviction. “Thornton.”
“Thor.” Each time he said the dog’s name, his voice got deeper. His gaze had taken her in for a moment, but he shifted it to the dispersing crowd. “Okay, I’ll teach you about fishing, but there are a few rules you gotta follow.”
She rose, eyeing him warily. “No, I’m not going to be your anchor.”
He laughed. Laughed! She’d almost forgotten that laugh, robust and sudden, like a boy’s. It filled her with a swirling heat.
“Nothing as treacherous as that. First, none of that skimble-scamble. And none of that head-tilting thing either. In other words, no using your feminine willies.”
“Willies? I thought they were wiles.”
His mouth tilted up in a smile. “With you, they’re willies.” Before she could clarify that, he went on. “And no calling my dog Thornton.”
“Anything else, Captain McDermott?”
He lifted his chin. “Yeah, I like the sound of that. Call me that.”
“Oh, brother. Aye, aye, that.”
He leaned closer. “That’s Captain to you, matey.” She backed away. Someone yelled out Dan’s name, and he waved back. “We’re about to kick this thing off, and I get to fire the starting gun.”
“Why you?”
He leaned close again, as though he were going to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose but stopped himself just short of contact. “Because I’m the fishing god.”
3
MY, BUT THIS WAS an interesting turn of events, Dan thought as he listened to Cassie’s take-down of the weenie she worked with, including her evil thoughts about switching Ben-Gay for his Preparation H. She sat in the tall chair next to him, Sammy burrowed in her lap. Dan debated telling her the one tidbit that would spin things even more, and then decided against it. She kept talking about how she hated dishonesty, and unless he fessed up now, he was going to fall right into that category. Too late, he decided. She was bound to find out sooner or later that he owned Lure ’Em In Tackle Company. He’d instructed his sales and marketing manager to call her. He’d figured on showing up when Cassie was presenting her ideas and surprise her. Then he’d see if there were any sparks between them.
This was even better. Having her all to himself was a gift from God. The best part was he could already tell the sparks were there. He just hoped she realized it before she learned the truth. Otherwise, he was going to have a heck of a time convincing her they needed a second chance.
“And then my boss has the nerve to tell me I should be a gentleman after the sexist remark about florists and banks!” She threw her arms in the air, making a sound of exasperation that had Dan trying to hide a grin.
All the engines made it sound like a full-fledged invasion. He steered through the mass of boats wending their way to the open water of the Gulf. That’s when things really started, when lures would be cast and lines would glisten in the sun like spun silver, waiting for just the right fish to tug the line and take him to the limit. Who said fishing wasn’t romantic?
“The guy sounds like a jerk. In fact, they both do. Why even stay there?”
She fussed with the silly bow on Sammy’s head. “That’s my plan, putting in my time and learning my craft so I can eventually go out on my own.”
“You’re going to start your own business?”
“Yes. You know, the American dream and all. I have each stage mapped out, along with a timetable.” She pulled out a small notepad on a chain.
He shook his head. “You’re making lists? Miss Spur-of-the-moment.”
“Told you I was different. No more impulsiveness, no jumping into things without studying all the angles, and no more of that skimble-scamble thing. Well, not usually.” She pushed some of her hair away from her face, but the wind just washed it right back again. He remembered how soft her hair was, how it felt sliding through his fingers when they made love, or the way it tickled his skin as she laid kisses all over his body.
“Hair is fine—I mean, lists are fine, if you’re a list kind of person, I suppose.” He hated lists, duties, timetables. Hated Freudian slips, too. “I say jump in now and swim with the tide.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I see you haven’t changed.”
He caught a whiff of that butter rum candy she liked. He could never go past the candy aisle without thinking of Cassie. Or about kissing her and stealing her candy. The woman was like the candy, spicy and sweet at the same time. She’d swept in and out of his life like a damned hurricane, leaving behind several unfinished redecorating projects and an aftermath of memories and longings. He’d restored his apartment and picked up the memories, but the longings, they didn’t go away so easily. And, he noted, the wind was picking up. If he didn’t play this right, he’d end up a victim of Hurricane Cassie again.
What he wanted to know was, how different was she? Someplace deep inside him didn’t think she’d changed that much. Passion still blazed in those sea-green eyes, and he recalled that passion oh so well. And she still put bows on Sammy. And bells! Sheesh.
She held Sammy against her chest, presumably so he could see ahead. “I am in total control of my life now. Mistress of my destiny. Completely sensible. I can’t believe how flaky I was back when…well, when we were married.”
He decided not to mention the bows, bells or the way she held Sammy. “That’s what I liked about you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I thought life was one big adventure.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Do you realize how close I was to becoming my mother?” She shuddered. “You’d think after growing up living with whoever would have us, spending every holiday with a different man, getting the names of all her husbands mixed up, I’d have seen that I was headed in the same direction.” She raised her eyebrows. “Flaky as pie crust.”
He had met her mom on their wedding day. Andromeda had been living in New Orleans with a jazz musician, and she’d flown in for the wedding sporting her own diamond ring: husband number five.
“How many husbands have you had since…?” He couldn’t say the words our divorce.
“None! I’ve been sensible, levelheaded and analytical since…” Apparently, she couldn’t say it either; she referred to it with a wave. “Besides, I have everything I want, like (a) a good job, weenies notwithstanding; beneath that (a-1) goals for my future (b) nice apartment (c) good friends and (c-1) Sammy.”
“This a-b-c stuff—”
“Don’t forget (a-1) and (c-1).”
He blinked. “Right. This lettering thing…”
She smiled. “The new me.” Her gaze went to the ring finger on his left hand, real casual-like. “How about you? Any wives?”
“Not a one.” His fingers flexed involuntarily
“Anyone…serious?”
“Nope. Three months is as long as I could stay interested.” For some reason that seemed to bum her out. “How is your mom, by the way?”
“The same,” she said on a sigh. “Working on husband number eight, no doubt. And your granny?”
“The same, cantankerous old broad you knew.”
Cassie smiled. “The only woman I’ve ever known who called herself a broad.”
“You could say she hasn’t gotten you out of her mind,” he said, wondering if he weren’t possibly talking about himself, too. “She named her cat after you.”
Her mouth quirked. “Well, I guess that’s better than naming, say, a pet pig after me.”
“She named the pig Hal.”
“How appropriate,” she muttered.
“Says she’s too old to remember names, so she names all her pets after people she knows. She named her prairie pup after me.” The sun was beginning to glisten on the wavelets. A seagull bobbing in the water took flight as they approached, squawking its protest. “That tabby’s got your feminine willies. She rubs against my legs and curls up in my lap, and makes that same little meowing noise you made when you—”
“Coughed up hair balls!” she interrupted. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I, uh, don’t quite recall you coughing up hair balls, Cass.”
She turned away and murmured, “I tried to keep it to myself.”
Interesting that she didn’t want to discuss anything relating to sexual bliss. “I see.”
“Well, good for you. Now stop seeing and look where you’re going, will you?” A few minutes later, she nodded at Dave’s boat nearby, dotted with beauties already trying to grab sun in their colored strips some might call bathing suits. “So, you really have a rule about no women on the boat during a tournament?”
“One of my few rules in life.” He glanced at her. “Too distracting.” Though he’d hesitated on letting her aboard strictly for show.
“I’m not distracting.” The women gave Dan cute little finger-wagging waves. He returned the wave, wondering if they realized he was mocking their cutesiness. He glanced at Cassie, in her cotton shirt and shorts that came down to her knees.
She followed his gaze. “See, nothing distracting here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You forget I know what you look like naked.”
“Dan, puh-leez!” She fiddled with the notepad.
She thought he was kidding. He shook his head, focusing again on the parade of boats all around him. The problem was, he remembered way too well. She used to have a hang-up about her legs being too skinny, but he couldn’t find one fault, not a single one. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way she went nuts when he kissed the spot behind her ears. Shoot. The wind was definitely picking up.
“Did you bring a bikini?”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “Dan, I didn’t come along to be your bow ornament. I came to learn about fishing lures.”
He laughed, which strangely enough made her grin. “Bow ornament, huh? Yeah, that about sums them up.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one or two yourself.”
“They’re for the boys who come out here to play. Thor’s my only ornament. He’s a lot easier to maintain.”
“You sound like Hal. I always wondered if you’d end up like him.”
At first he focused on the fact that she’d wondered about him. Then the disappointment in her face forced the rest of the sentence into his mind. “I’m not like Hal.” Except for the beer drinking, the fishing every spare moment, the perpetual bachelorhood. Well, at least he had been married once.
Why was it when he looked at her mouth, he thought of all the times he’d kissed it? When he looked at her body, he remembered the way she’d fling herself into his arms or hop on his back and wrap her legs around his waist, just for the heck of it. He’d loved that, loved her spontaneity. And he could hardly wait for that massage, even if, when she learned he owned the tackle company, she was likely to be pretty ticked.
“So, besides tournaments, what do you do with yourself?” she asked.
“A little of this and that, organizing tournaments or entering them.”
“Oh. So how does this work? This whole tournament thing, I mean.”
“We all have to stay within a certain area. This is a catch-and-release tournament, meaning we register the fish with the judge, and then he tags and sets them free. At the end, the totals are added and the trophies and prize monies are given out.”
“And Lure ’Em In sponsors the tournament.”
“Yep. So, of course, everyone uses their lures, and each contestant gets two with his or her entry. And a nifty T-shirt.” He nodded to a plastic bag on the bench.
Cassie pulled out the shirt featuring the Domino. “From what I could tell of Roger’s notes, their new one is the Big Bopper,” she said, folding the T-shirt and looking in the bag. “It’s not one of these.”
“They haven’t released it yet. Everyone’s pretty excited about it.”
“They are?”
He laughed at her disbelief that anyone could get excited over fishing lures. “This lure’s supposed to have some intriguing features, like a special kind of wiggle that’s sure to lure the fish in.” He winked at her. “Women aren’t the only intriguing things with wiggles, you know.”
“I’m ignoring you,” she said in a singsong voice. She turned the lure package around, studying it. The Domino, not surprisingly, was white with black polka dots sprinkled on top. “Sure to lure…do you use Lure ’Em’s lures?”
“The question is, who doesn’t?” He shrugged. “At least in this area. It’s a regional phenomenon. They say the guy who started the company knows more about the way a fish thinks than even a fish.”
“Oh, brother. Hey, wait a minute. Who uses the Big Bopper? The question is, who doesn’t? Sure to Lure. Hmm.”
“Do I get a cut if you use my words?”
“I’ll buy you a year’s supply of worms if I win the campaign.”
“Worms. How thoughtful.” But she was madly scribbling down notes. “Why’s it so important to you, Cass?”
She met his gaze. “I want to prove to myself that I can stick with something, not walk away without a fight.” Something bittersweet flashed in her eyes. “I’ve left too many things unfinished.”
He watched her sink into her thoughts. Was she thinking about their unfinished business? He hadn’t made any plans when they got married, enjoying living and loving by the seats of their pants. But he had planned on staying married to her for a long, long time. Before he knew it, they’d soared, plummeted, crashed and burned before he’d even learned to fly the damned plane.
Had he changed enough to make it work this time? Or had she changed too much to even try?
UNFINISHED BUSINESS. The words echoed in Cassie’s thoughts after she and Dan lapsed into silence. One minute they were crazy in love—and just plain crazy—and the next, they were married. Admit it. You were a flake. You ran away in a full-blown panic.
Her compatibility list would ensure that never happened again. She rubbed her notepad as though it were a magic amulet.
Sammy huddled in the tote bag. She had to admit the bows and bells were a little flaky, but she couldn’t seem to eradicate that last flake. She picked him up and leaned against the helm again. Thornton braced himself in the walkway between the two seats, his head up and lips flapping in the wind. He and Dan had similar poses—well, except for the flapping lips, thank goodness—and she found herself smiling at them. She’d looked into Dan’s eyes: he had the heart of a poet, too.
“Thornton likes being out on the boat,” she said.
“Thor,” he corrected in that deep voice. “Sammy did, too, until you sissified him.”
“Oh, pooh, I did not. Dogs aren’t trapped in the macho male syndrome like men are.”
Sammy barked, and his bell jingled.
“Oh, is that what we are? I was wondering what it was. Goodie, I can break out my pink bows.”
“You’re just jealous of Sammy’s ability to express his feminine side without compromising his male values. He has no qualms about his maleness, despite the lack of, er, certain male appendages. But you, on the other hand, feel that expressing your feminine side would expose your vulnerabilities and lessen your manhood, which is obviously in question.”
He just looked at her for a minute, his mouth slightly agape. He slapped his hand over that mouth. “You’re already making me crazy again.”
“I’ve got an extra bow if you’d like to try expressing yourself.”
“An extra…?” His laugh sounded strangled. “My hair’s too short.”
His hair was still thick, no longer than the base of his neck, and was now rakishly ruffled by the wind. He turned Bob Marley and the Wailers up a little louder. He always did like that tropical music, and she always thought of Dan when she heard it.
She grinned. “Maybe I wasn’t talking about your hair.”
He made a choking sound, but quickly regrouped. “I can arrange that.”
“I challenge you to take that first step in exploring your feminine side by yourself.”
He stared at her, slapped his forehead, and returned to his driving. She was making him crazy. And for one crazy moment, she wanted to be that impulsive woman she’d been with him. She tamped down the pitty-pat of her heart. Bad idea! Very bad idea!
A boat named The Bimini Twist whizzed past, sending a cacophony of catcalls with Dan’s name attached and something about a fishing goddess. He veered off to the right, taking Gordon Pass out to the Gulf. With a flush, she realized those men thought she was Dan’s bow ornament.
“What was that about a fishing goddess?” she asked.
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