Thanksgiving Groom. Brenda Minton
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She had spent her life with men like Tucker. Her father was one. Her brother was another.
And the women in their lives were forgotten trophies. Their wives, girlfriends and daughters were paraded when needed. They were dressed in designer gowns, draped in jewels and taken out on the town when an event required their presence. And then they sat at home, or entertained themselves when the men lives were busy with their careers.
She was positive that not everyone in their circle of friends lived that way. She had friends from college who had gone on to pursue careers. Her mother had friends in business. It was just the life of a Lear. Or a Lear woman.
But not today, with Tucker Lawson walking next to her. They were going fishing. She smiled again, because this was her adventure. This was Penelope Lear reinvented.
She glanced at Tucker in his faded jeans, hiking boots and the heavy jacket over his flannel shirt. She could imagine him in a suit, standing in a courtroom or sitting behind a massive desk. She wasn’t the only one reinventing herself.
They continued on in silence, walking on a trail that was rocky and sloped downhill. Trees were sparse here, leading down to the stream. Back at the cabin they were heavy and towered toward the sky.
The rushing water of the stream could be heard before the stream came into view. But when she saw it, she had to stop, had to stare. Clear water rushed, pounding over rocks and boulders. Downstream, just a short distance, the swift moving water slowed and pooled.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Tucker held her elbow and guided her over the rough terrain. “You’re stubborn.”
“So I’ve been told. And people always manage to make it seem like a bad thing. But it could be good, if you think about it.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Sure. Of course.”
“Wilma sent lunch with me.”
“Did she really?” He led her to a place at the edge of the stream where animals had stopped to drink. Hoof and paw prints were still visible in the soft earth. Something had dug near the edge of the water.
Penelope studied the paw prints. “What made these?”
He shrugged. “Everything. Elk, bear, fox. Up here, so far from any kind of settlement or town, there is just about anything you could imagine.”
“Do you think we’ll catch fish for dinner?”
He handed her the pole. “We can try.”
“What do I do?”
He laughed. “Cast your line into the water.”
“You say ‘cast’ like I should know what that is.”
He moved behind her, his arms wrapping around her. He took the fishing pole in his hands and guided hers. “Cast it easy. Don’t throw it out there. Just a nice, easy swing, and then you have to remember to set the hook if you feel a fish bite it.”
“Okay, I can do that.” She breathed in deep, trying to ignore the way he leaned in close, the way his chin brushed her cheek as he held her, showing her the way to cast out.
She tried, but couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were strong and he smelled like soap and the outdoors. His hands were rough but gentle.
“Of course you can do it.” He whispered close to her ear as he helped her cast. “But careful or you’ll tangle your line. Don’t cast too far or you’ll end up with your hook in a tree.”
“I can do this,” she repeated and swung the rod, watching as the line and the bait flew through the air, and then landed with a soft plunk in the calmer pool of water.
“Good job.” He chuckled a little. “You know what you’re doing, right?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then hang in there. You’re doing great.” He stood back a short distance, arms crossed, and watched her. She glanced back, making quick eye contact before settling her attention on the fishing line.
“Don’t stand there like that.” She didn’t look at him again.
“Why?”
“You look stern and disapproving. Build a fire. Do something.”
He laughed, but she caught movement from the corner of her eye and knew that he was doing what she’d asked. And she relaxed, taking in a deep breath. Another glance over her shoulder and she saw that he was gathering wood. Penelope turned back to the water and to fishing. And she smiled, because it was easy to smile out here. Even lost, it was easy to smile.
And then the sudden jerk on the rod. She pulled up on the pole. She could see the gray of the fish. She could feel it tugging, trying to get away. She cranked on the handle of the reel, trying to draw in the fishing line and thus, the fish.
“Tucker!” She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t there.
She cranked the reel again. The fish pulled, trying to swim away from the hook that had caught it. She took a step backward.
“Tucker. I can’t do this.”
She glanced over her other shoulder and didn’t see him in that direction. She couldn’t reel in the fish. She couldn’t find Tucker. She yelled his name again and heard crashing in the woods behind her. When she turned, he was there. He took the fishing pole from her hands and pulled it back and then reeled in, pulled it back again and reeled.
“Where were you?” She watched as the fish she had caught came closer to the bank. Fear was replaced by awe. “I caught a fish.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, you caught a fish.”
“What?”
“I think I helped.”
She could give him that. “Okay, you helped. We caught a fish.”
She was responsible for providing food for them to eat. She wanted to dwell on that, but then she remembered that he’d disappeared.
“Where did you go?”
“To look for wood for the fire, remember?”
But there was something in his eyes, something in the way he said it that made her doubt. Firewood didn’t crease a man’s brow in worry.
And firewood shouldn’t cause her own stomach to curl just a little, wondering what he was keeping from her.
But she had caught a fish. She had provided for herself.
Now what?
She shivered a little, not certain if she wanted the answer to that question. What caused the shimmer of fear or danger to crawl up her spine? Tucker? Or whatever it was he wasn’t telling her?
Chapter Four
Tucker had never seen anything like it. Standing there in her fuzzy boots and a Shearling coat, Penelope caught three fish. As she pulled in the last one she turned and smiled at him. There was more than a little pride in that smile. And he wasn’t about to deflate her.
“That should be enough for tonight, right?” She turned the pole over to him to remove the fish. That, she said, was something she just couldn’t do. She had shuddered with her announcement.
“It’ll be plenty.” He unhooked the fish and attached it to the stringer with the others, then gave her back the pole. “Are you done, then?”
“I’m done. It’s getting cold.” She looked up at the sky and he did the same.
“Looks like it might snow.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded a little. She was a sight, with the pole in one hand and a crutch under her other arm. The wind had turned her cheeks a rosy pink and her nose was red.
“How will we get back to Treasure Creek?”