Private Scandals

lake already.”
    “It’s so quiet.” But she did hear, in the distance, the putt of another engine, the call of a bird and the faint lap of water against the hull.
    “That’s the best thing about fishing.” After dropping anchor, he handed her a rod. “You can’t rush it. You can’t crowd it. All you have to do is sit in one spot and let your mind rest.”
    “Let your mind rest,” she repeated.
    “What we’re doing here is float fishing,” he began. “It takes more finesse than bait fishing.”
    “Right.”
    “No sarcasm, please. It’s an art.”
    “Art? Really.”
    “The art,” Finn continued, “is to lay the float gently on the surface so that it entices the fish as you skillfully reel it back.”
    Deanna glanced up from her study of the pretty lures and looked out over the water. “I don’t see any fish.”
    “You will. Trust me. Now you’re going to cast the line out. It’s all in the wrist.”
    “That’s what my father always says about horseshoes.”
    “This is every bit as serious.” He moved surefootedly to her end of the boat.
    “Horseshoes are serious?”
    “Christ, Deanna, don’t you know anything? When a man needs to relax, to unwind, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want competition.”
    She grinned when he shifted her hands on the rod. “My father would like you.”
    “Sounds like a sensible man. Now keep your hands firm, wrists supple.” He steadied her, casting the line out so that it landed with a quiet plop in the still waters. Ripples ringed magically around the lure, spreading, delighting her.
    “I did it!” Beaming, she looked over her shoulder at Finn. “Okay, you did it, but I helped.”
    “Not bad. You have potential.” He took up his own rod, chose a lure. He cast off soundlessly, with barely a ripple on the lake. Through Deanna’s pleasure came the hot spirit of competition.
    “I want to do it again.”
    “You’re supposed to do it again. But you have to reel it in first.”
    Her brow arched. “I knew that.”
    “Slow,” he said, with a hint of a smile as he demonstrated. “Smooth. Patience is as much an art as casting.”
    “So we just sit here, and keep tossing the line out and bringing it back in?”
    “That’s the idea. I get to sit here and look at you. Which is a pretty good way to spend the morning. Now if you were a man, we’d liven things up by telling lies—about fish and women.”
    Her brow was knitted in concentration as she cast off again. Her lure did not land soundlessly, but she enjoyed its celebratory plop. “In that order, I imagine.”
    “Generally, you mix it up. Barlow James and I once spent six hours out here. I don’t think we told each other a single truth.”
    “I can lie.”
    “Nope. Not with those eyes. I’ll make it easy for you; tell me about your family.”
    “I’ve got three brothers.” She stared at the lure, looking for action. “Two older and one younger. The older two aremarried, and the youngest is still in college. Should I, like, move this around or anything?”
    “No, just relax. Are they all still in Kansas?”
    “Yeah. My father owns a hardware business, and my oldest brother went in with him. My mother keeps the books. What are you doing?”
    “Playing this one out,” he said calmly as he reeled in. “He’s hooked.”
    “You’ve got one.” She leaned forward in the boat, jerking her line. “Already?”
    “Did you grow up in the city or the suburbs?”
    “The ’burbs,” she said impatiently. “How come you’ve got one already? Oh, look!” She stared, fascinated, as he drew the fish out of the lake. It wriggled, the strengthening sun flashing off its fins. The fascination remained as he netted it and plopped it onto the bottom of the boat. “You must have used a better lure than mine,” she said as Finn removed it and laid the fish on ice.
    “Want to trade?”
    The stubborn line creased her brow. “No.” She studied him as he cast off again. Determined, she reeled in, shifted positions, then cast off the opposite side of the boat with more enthusiasm than style.
    When Finn only grinned at her, she put her nose in the air. “What about your family?”
    “I don’t have any to speak of. My parents divorced when I was fifteen. I was the only child. They’re both lawyers.” He braced his rod so that he could uncap the thermos of coffee and pour for both of them. “They buried each other under a very civilized mountain of papers, and agreed to split everything