Hooked

were a couple of other men present, but none as large and memorable as that one…especially when he threw back his head in a deep, finger-tingling laugh that rolled across the grassy space between them to make her heart skip.
    She knew that laugh, that voice, that man. It was Finn Hartley, the guy she’d dated in Phoenix before moving her headquarters to Atlanta.
    She braced herself against the tree and took a deep breath, stunned by the impact of seeing him again. How could he be here now, at Greer Lodge? And why was he hugging all those women?
    Hugging. Suddenly she recalled in a heart-stopping flashback the size and strength of his arms, the warmth of his big body, the comfort of being clasped in his embrace. He was hugging those women. All of them. As she watched, her eyes began to burn. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Her very skin felt hungry for touch. She wanted one of those hugs. She needed—oh, God, how she needed—somebody to wrap warm arms around her and just hold her.

Chapter Two
    She barely saw the water or sunshine or even the path itself as she hurried back to the Red Setter, where “wedding afterglow” practically pulsated from the windows. Steeling herself, she headed instead to the main lodge and drew up at the front desk to say, “There was a group of women up the trail, fishing….”
    “Ahhh.” The barrel-chested fellow behind the desk nodded, clearly anticipating the rest of her question. “That’s the Casting for Recovery retreat. They come every year at this time.”
    “Casting as in fly-fishing?” she said, and he nodded. At least that part made sense; Finn Hartley was an avid fisherman. “Recovery from what?” The answer struck her—women and recovery—even as he spoke.
    “Breast cancer.” He picked up a cardboard-backed poster from one of the desks behind him, and there were the familiar pink ribbons. “These women are breast cancer survivors and the organization puts on these retreats to help them learn to cope while they’re learning to fish. It’s a great group.” He beamed. “This is the Arizona chapter, but there’re groups all over the country now. And those gals—” his smile mellowed “—they’re pretty danged special. It’s an honor to have ’em here.”
    Stephanie’s smile felt as tight as the knot in her stomach.
    “Yes, I imagine they are,” she said. “Thanks. I was just curious.”
    The unshed tears in her eyes made it difficult to see the path, but she managed to make it back to the cabin where her room was located without running into Terrie or any of the rest of the wedding party. She sat on the bed and looked around the homey, Western-themed decor, hugging herself and wishing that tomorrow morning would hurry the hell up and come so she could get out of here.
    * * *
    Finn Hartley stepped out onto the porch of the cabin he had shared with half a dozen other CFR volunteers, stretched widely and yawned. Monday morning was cool and crisp; the fish would probably be biting. They sure were in top form yesterday for the retreat’s big fishing finale. Most of the time the volunteers did well to help participants land one fish each, but this year’s group had landed two or three apiece. It was so gratifying to see their smiles, feel their hugs and even dry a few tears.
    He glanced at the rod case and tackle box left by the steps, and for one brief moment considered getting in a little more river time before going back to Phoenix. But it was Monday already and he had a lot on his plate right now. Fishing clinics were starting soon, which meant traveling, so he had to head back to his store. And his girls.
    He blew out a heavy breath. The girls .
    Back to reality, Hartley.
    As he stalked down the road toward the main lodge, plagued by thoughts of sexy prom dresses and champagne-stuffed limos and hotel reservations, his good mood evaporated. He was the father of teenage girls. He’d done his best to stay involved in their lives, but these days they considered him ancient and irrelevant, an artifact from another age. All they seemed to want from him was money for clothes and spring break excursions and college hunting trips.
    They’d been his little girls once, two adorable imps who’d learned to tie killer flies before they were four. Now if he managed to drag them out into the wilderness with him, hecouldn’t get them out of the damned tent. Or away from their freakin’ smart phones, iPods and Facebook pages.
    “Owww—oh!