Cort laughed out loud. He opened a small fridge in his garage and got out a small foam container. As they started downthe hill, a big fish splashed as if in welcome and two geese glided by, honking noisily.
The green water looked cold, disturbed by an undercurrent that kept it washing against the rocky shoreline in a melodic rhythm.
Brogan drew a deep breath and relaxed. It was his last easy breath for an hour. The second he cast out, he got a nibble, and it was a helluva lot more exciting than he’d expected. He had his hands full with the fish, listening to Cort, and keeping Andy from going headfirst into the lake.
After a time, Cort said, “It’s peaceful, right?”
More than Brogan had imagined was possible. “Yeah.”
“I used to fish here nearly every morning, at least until Marlow rented the cottage. Then she’d come down to the dock in cute shorts to watch the sunrise. She’d sit there drinking her coffee until I’d forget about the fish.”
It was an amusing image, a Marine getting sidelined by a pretty woman. Amusing, but not surprising. “Got to you, huh?”
“From day one.”
That’s how he felt about Pixie.
Andy laid aside his fishing pole and wanted to see the rubber worms. Cort had made sure the ones in Andy’s tackle box were without hooks. They still had to watch him so he didn’t try to eat the things, but mostly he just wanted to squish them in his hands, then stretch them out.
Brogan got curious enough that he squatted down beside Andy and tested the worms, too.
Cort said, “I should take you both to the bait shop. There’s a guy on the lake who makes custom lures. I could look at them for hours.”
Brogan’s curiosity was piqued. “They sell live bait, too?”
“Sure. Worms, minnows, crayfish, crickets … I get stuff there, but sometimes I just walk along the road and turn over rocks. Plenty of bait available.” He grinned. “Once, I ran outof bait and caught a spider. Marlow was not happy. She made me scrub my hands and arms up to my elbows before I could touch her.”
Brogan laughed. “I don’t know too many people who are fond of spiders.”
“A fisherman will use whatever he has to.” Cort spent a few minutes casting out before he continued. “With Marlow, I was surprised. Generally, she’s not afraid of anything.”
“Especially hard work?”
Cort snorted. “I haven’t known many people who’d take on what she does. Pixie doesn’t realize it, but she’s a blessing to Marlow.”
He didn’t doubt it; she was a huge blessing to him, too. “Do you mean in some specific way?”
“In all ways, but when Marlow first came here, she was looking for acceptance.” He flashed a look at Cort, then took a quick glance at Andy, too. The toddler had lain back and was now putting all the colorful lure worms on his stomach.
Brogan guessed there was no accounting for what entertained a toddler.
“Marlow had this idea of getting back to her roots, and that meant opening up her shop and running it with the same professionalism that she’d applied to the corporate world, but on a much smaller and more personal scale. First, though, she accepted a job at the Dry Frog Tavern.”
“Hell of a name.”
“Right? It catches your interest, though. Marlow was hooked. I think she took the job as something of a dare, to prove to Herman and me that she could do it.”
“And she could?”
“She makes it look easy, when I know it’s not.” When Cort got a bite, he grew quiet, concentrating on moving his rod this way and that, teasing the fish—until a few minutes later, he reeled in a big bass.
Brogan was fascinated. He observed how Cort unhooked the bass, careful of the sharp fins. “That’s a big one.”
“Big enough to be dinner.”
Andy cheered, “F’sh, f’sh!”
“You want to pet this one, Andy?”
