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“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.
The huge mansions of Port Royal slid by them on the right, and the lush mangroves filled the left with their green. White egrets prowled among the branches that grew all spindly just over the water’s surface, reminding her of her legs.
“I guess they figure since I’m the fishing god, you must be my fishing goddess.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I meant to ask you about that fishing god stuff.”
He lifted a shoulder. “What can I say? They recognize greatness.”
“The fish, you mean?”
That boyish laugh sounded again. “You could say that. I’ve won this tournament for the last four years. I have an innate sense about where the fish are. And you know what your role is as my goddess, don’t you?”
“To filet that fishy ego of yours.” After he laughed, she said, “But doesn’t being a fishing god give you an unfair advantage?”
“That’s why I’m not officially participating this year. I’m just here for the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the battle and the victory of the catch.”
“Oh, brother. Am I even worthy of standing in the glow of your greatness?” She remembered a line from Wayne’s World and started mock bowing with her arms outstretched. “We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy.”
He gave her a little hand wave, and used the mangled French accent and lines from their favorite Monty Python movie, The Holy Grail. “I fart in your general direction!”
She covered her mouth, but couldn’t keep back the snort of laughter. “Did we really sit up all night and have Monty Python film festivals? Or was that some warped dream?”
He grinned. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Then again, we were a bit warped, weren’t we?”
“A bit? How many times did we watch the dead parrot routine?”
