Hooked

Road, she pulled into the parking lot of Damon’sSporting Goods and sat there for a minute, looking from the brochure to the front of the store and back again.
    Shortly after, she was striding through the late spring sun and into the shade of the cavernous retailer. There was a hum in the air, voices and equipment and the sound of falling water blending to create a sense of anticipation. She paused by the natural rock waterfall at the center of the store to read the signs pointing out the various departments, and then struck off for the fishing section, which turned out to be big and busy.
    The rows of fishing rods propped upright looked like a bizarre forest of überskinny trees. Along the far walls were cases filled with reels, specialized knives, pliers, wooden stands and pretied flies of all kinds. Behind those were shelves of boxes, tackle, nets and spools of line. At one end were roundels of waders and sun-protection shirts. Capping it off were hats, boots, storage gear, and a nice looking young man dressed in khaki camping casual.
    “Can I help you find something?” He raised an eyebrow as he took in her four-inch Kate Spade heels. Strangely, not one other customer in the department was wearing them. “Looking for…a present for someone?”
    “Not really. I—I’d like to learn a bit more about fly-fishing. A friend of mine offered to teach me, but I don’t want to look like an idiot the first time out. I mean, exactly what is fly-fishing, anyway?”
    The guy smiled and extended a hand to steer her toward the posters of fish hanging not far away. “You’ve come to the right place. This Friday is the start of our annual fishing clinic. Fly-fishing uses lures that imitate the look and action of flies. Literally. There are certain kinds of fish that go for low flying insects and water-top larvae.” He pointed to several species pictured there. “Cold water fish like trout, salmon and steelheads go for flies, and down here in the warm waters of the southland it’s mostly bass .”
    He showed her the basics of casting, and then rods and reels and lures and waders, trying to match her interest level to her pocketbook in a way that set her at ease. The guy could probably have sold her swampland in the Everglades, but by the time they were done, she’d made a surprisingly modest contribution to Damon’s Sporting Goods’ bottom line. And as she walked out with her arms full of equipment, she had the wickedly delicious feeling that she’d just stolen a glimpse of Finn Hartley’s world.

Chapter Four
    Finn stared at the security monitor as Stephanie Steele walked out the door with an armload of fishing gear. He massaged his chest, wishing he could make his heart quit doing those spastic jerks and thuds.
    What the hell was she doing here, buying fishing gear? She hated fishing. It was boring, unproductive and a complete waste of time. Direct quote. It was not something a successful businessman indulged in, unless public relations were somehow involved. Even then, something more civilized, like golf, was preferable to “thrashing around out in the boonies in a cold river, trying to hook some scaly old fish.”
    Four years had passed, and he still remembered every word of their last argument and breakup as if it had happened yesterday. Her dismissal of the things he held sacred had pierced him to the core. She was driven to succeed and her definition of success had no room in it for the things he believed in. He and Steph belonged to entirely different worlds.
    He’d gotten on with his life; slogged through that pain and the ensuing loneliness and then through fresh, unexpected sorrows. He’d managed to remain standing. He’d done okay, he thought, until that day a couple weeks ago when he looked up and found her in front of him at Greer Lodge. Throughout their breakfast together, he had read her body language, absorbing her, rememorizing every detail of the face he’d tried so hard to forget. Her big blue eyes, the luster of her auburn hair, the curve of her lips, the way her face lighted when she smiled…and that ringless finger on her left hand. Stephanie Steele was not the kind of woman you could marry without having to put a ring on that finger. So she was still single.
    But every time she’d met his eyes and glanced away, he’d sensed there was something she wasn’t telling him, something that had caused a change in her. There was a tentativeness about her now, a vulnerability he had never