Hook, Line, and Sinker by Susan May Warren

Author:Susan May Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Christian / Romance, FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
ISBN: 9781414367026
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2011-09-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Day two. First Annual Fun and Fund-raising Bethel Fishing Contest. And Ross already felt like a loser. He loaded his tackle into his fishing boat, acutely aware of the cold mist rising over the lake and the chill that rattled his bones. The sun hid behind the eastern clouds, preferring to dent the morning with pale light instead of a full invasion. The weather matched his mood. Dismal. He’d slept about three hours, flogged by accusations and regret.

He’d accomplished his goals. He’d apologized to Abby and had been granted forgiveness. He should feel free.

Instead, he felt bludgeoned by the unflinching truth. Abby didn’t want him. Never had. Still saw him as the kid who tried to impress her by lettering in his high school sports or trouncing her in Monopoly. The one sweet kiss they’d shared felt suddenly, cruelly like pity.

“You’re up early.”

Ross turned and nearly jumped out of his rain poncho when an elderly man, looking like a wilderness accessory, emerged from the drizzle.

“Trying to catch the big ones,” Ross mumbled as he recognized his grizzled educator from the day before.

The man edged over to the boat and eyed Ross’s tackle. “Catch ’em walleye?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks. You gave good advice.” Ross loaded in his tackle box.

“What’cha huntin’ today?”

“Bass, maybe.” Ross shrugged, uncaring. Being out on the water would keep him from hopping in his car and fleeing from the woman he could never have.

The man chuckled. It sounded like the low rumble of distant thunder. Or maybe it was thunder. Ross eyed the sky.

“Bass like grub worms unless the sun comes out. Then switch to plastic jerk bait. Most of all, look for the change in landscape, cuts in the bank, cover of any type.”

Ross nodded.

“If it gets to raining good, check out the streams heading into Bear Lake. Bass like to hide around the boulders. Most importantly, don’t give up.”

“Thanks.”

The man tipped his head and trudged up the road toward the parking lot. Ross watched him go.

Bucko emerged from the trail, lugging supplies. “Who was that?”

“A local. Gave me some fishing pointers.”

Bucko moved toward the boat and climbed in, loading his tackle. “We’d better get going. I saw Abigail and her troops behind us.”

“She’s up early.”

Bucko raised one dark eyebrow. “Yeah, well, according to Melinda, who I talked to while grabbing breakfast, Abigail spent the night crying. You know anything about that?”

Ross closed his eyes, feeling sick. “I guess I opened a few wounds last night at the baseball game.”

“Speaking of, how’s your knee?”

“Painful, but I’ll live.” He’d managed to strain his knee diving over Abby’s body.

“You were in stellar form. I have to admit, I’ve never seen you so dedicated.”

Ross pushed his boat out, climbed in, and used the oar to push it to deeper water. Through the mist, he saw Abby and her team emerge onto the landing. She stood there like some ethereal being, thin and regal, watching him float away.

Ross swallowed the regrets lining his throat as he pull-started the motor.

* * *

Abigail had a wet, wretched day.

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