Unlikely Praise (9 page)

As suspected, Shade’s decrepit truck was parked at the side of Kip’s Kwik Stop. Morning sun teased the lingering darkness and shed emerging light on Shade’s tall, slim frame has he leaned against the truck’s door.

She pulled alongside him and lowered her window. He wore his usual white tee and holey jeans, but today’s look was topped off with a classic charcoal gray Fedora and contrasting black band. She had to admit it was a pretty sharp look for him even if it defied all proper use of a Fedora. When he touched the brim and greeted her with a charming, but mysterious smile, her stomach took an unexpected dip.

She put the car in park and turned to reach for one of the cups.
Girl, you’re gonna have to lay off the late night black and white movies and nutty-fudge ice cream...

“I brought you coffee,” she said and shoved it out the window.

“Thanks, but...” He reached inside the truck and did the same. “I brought
you
coffee.”

A touch of warmth crept up her neck as she pulled the cup back inside. “Thanks. I’ll hold on to it for you. Can’t ever have enough coffee.” She rested her arm across the steering wheel. “Nice hat. My great-uncle had a couple of those, but I don’t think I ever saw him wear one fishing.”

“This was my grandfather’s. Can’t imagine fishing without it.”

“Whatever works,” she said and shrugged. “But doesn’t that get kind of hot?”

He grabbed the hat by the crown, lifted it off his head, and then repositioned it in one smooth move. He tapped it into place with a cocky smile. “Well, I don’t fish in the heat of the day, darlin’.”

The slow rising light of dawn made it hard to see just who was more horrified by his comment. They exchanged panicked glances and her stomach went from that tiny dip to an all-out elevator shaft drop. Clearly, he hadn’t meant for his ex-Dead Lizard charm to ooze out like lava all over Kip’s Kwik Stop parking lot and attempt to swallow her up. She was immune to it, but still, did he really just call her
darlin’
in that cavalier flirtatious remark?

Her logical left brain urged her to put the car in gear and drive away. Or was that the emotional side talking? Then her emotional right brain interfered with her plans to flee the scene. Or was that the logical side?

By the time she looked his way again, his panic had passed. He dropped his gaze to the ground, his crooked grin barely visible. It was annoying. Especially since he’d once again caught her over-analyzing and mega-processing their exchange. Why, why,
why
did she keep doing that? It was like putting up a scrolling marquee for him each time they met. He knew everything, she knew nothing.

With newfound composure, she hung her left arm out the window and narrowed her gaze. “You gonna fish, or cut bait?”

He pushed away from the truck. “Let’s fish.” He pointed to an empty space. “I know you don’t want to ride in my truck, but the pond is a mile or so off road. Your car will be safer here.”

She parked as he pulled his clunker around and got out to hold the door for her.

She popped open the trunk. “Do you have a chair?”

“Nope.”

“OK, I brought you one. Do you need insect repellent?”

“Nope.”

She hooked the chairs on her arm and went to get the coffee. “I have a couple bottles of water, too.” She flung her purse over her other shoulder, plucked her cell phone out of the console, and then paused to consider what she may have forgotten.

“Candi.”

“Yes?”

He stood there with his hand on the door and wiggled it back and forth as if to say, “move it.” “You know fishing is an early morning gig, right?”

“Yes.”

He pulled the door further open until it creaked. “Well, the sun’s coming up, so are you gonna fish, or cut bait?”

“Oh, I’m coming.” She pressed the lock button on her remote and rushed to the truck.

Once inside she was surprised at how neat and clean it was. From the shiny silver cross that hung from his rear view mirror to the familiar spiral notebook and Bible resting on the seat, the truck somehow painted a picture of him beyond the ponytail and tattoos that seemed to scream at her each time they met. There was a CD player he’d rigged in place of the old radio and attached to the dash. Her praise and worship CD from Jake’s sat just above it. A paper clip full of maps he’d printed from the Internet was on the floorboard, and a gold pocket watch lay at the edge of his seat, its glimmering gold chain dangling over the side.

She ran her hand across the ragged cloth upholstery. Someone had recently sewn a new seam along one of the biggest rips. The perfectly executed stitches in nylon thread crept across the width of the seat. Impressive. She could barely sew on a button.

Shade opened his door, scooped up the watch, and climbed inside.

“This isn’t so bad,” she said.

He leaned back and pushed the watch into his pocket. “We haven’t tried to go anywhere yet.”

“Is that your grandfather’s watch?”

He put the truck in gear. “Yeah.”

“I thought so, since it kind of goes with the hat.” The truck lurched forward. “Did you sew up this seat?”

He glanced at the seam before he pulled out of Kip’s parking lot. “I did.”

They traveled about a quarter mile and turned down a dirt road she’d never noticed before.

“Nice job. Where’d you learn to sew like that?”

“My mother was a seamstress before she had the embroidery business. It’s something she taught me.”

Candi swayed and bounced in the seat as the truck meandered down a road that wasn’t really a road at all, but more like a grassy path with tire tracks. She anchored the four coffee cups in a tray between them and nearly lost them all when one bump sent her straight up in the air. Her involuntary squeaky scream made them both laugh.

“Sorry,” he said. “Almost there.”

“Me and the coffee are fine. That one just surprised me.” She planted her feet on the floorboard. “By the way, why do you call this thing the Del Rio Destroyer?”

“You mean besides it being one bump away from a fiery explosion in which it takes out everything in its path?”

“Yes, besides that.”

He glanced her way and arched a brow. His expression went well with the film noir hat, even in the throes of him trying to control the truck. “The truth behind where this truck actually came from is shrouded in mystery. All we know for sure is that my dad went to the border for a job in
his
truck and came back with this one. My mom can’t even get the truth out of him. Could’ve been a bet, could’ve been a trade. Either way, he’s not talking.”

“How did you end up with it?”

“Didn’t have a car when I moved back. My dad offered. I had to have something.”

“Well, it is something,” she agreed.

The trail ended and the water came into view. Candi held in a gasp at the sight of the picture-book country pond complete with early morning mist and dazzling, dew-covered springtime grass. Stately cattails acted as sentry at the far side and breaking sunlight flickered through the tall trees and kissed a swarm of gnats that hovered above the water.

“This is awesome,” she managed to say as Shade helped her out of the truck.

He nodded and started to pull their things out of the bed.

She stepped to the edge of the pond. A turtle left its half sunken branch and disappeared with a quiet swish into the water. She sighed. A perfect place to relax and pray. She wanted to do those things.

But all she could think about was her father.

****

Shade hung the two lawn chairs on his forearm and grabbed the poles, tackle box, and the plastic bag with the container of bait inside. He balanced the tray of coffee against his chest with his other arm and noticed Candi’s gigantic purse where she left it on the seat. She didn’t seem to be missing it. As far as he could tell, she was more interested in something at the water’s edge. Whatever it was, it was currently being poked with a stick.

“Do you want your purse out of here?”

She let the stick drop into the mud. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” She jumped up and swiped her hands across the seat of her faded jean shorts and made her way back to the truck, choosing her steps carefully. “Lots of ant hills,” she observed.

“Stinging nettle, too, so be careful.”

“I will.” She smiled and retrieved her bag, then took the coffee from him.

“I’ll come back for that bucket if we need it.”

“I’ll get it,” she offered. “Shows we have faith we’ll catch something.” She snatched a pair of heavy duty work gloves out of the bed and tossed them inside. “Might need these, too.”

He pushed his hat up off of his forehead. “Where do you want to start?”

She paused to look upward as though conducting a thorough study of the sun’s trajectory. “Over there,” she declared and charged ahead. “Let’s keep the sun at our backs.”

Max and Rocky would never believe it.
He
hardly believed it.

The prim and proper worship leader who last Sunday everyone saluted because of her uncanny resemblance to a stern and uncompromising Naval officer now practically skipped around the country pond in shorts and a well-worn Casting Crowns t-shirt. She already had mud on her pink and white cross-trainers.

Shade put everything in the designated spot while she set up the two chairs and placed her purse in one of them.

“Here ya go,” he said and handed her a pole. “It’s nothing fancy, but it works.”

She shook a piece of hair away from her eyes. “Thanks,” she said and gently released the hook from the line guide. “
Nothing fancy
is good. Reminds me of my first Barbie fishing pole.”

He dropped to his knees and opened the tackle box. “Yep, classic spin cast reel. Mine was Snoopy.”

She crouched down beside him. “Snoopy’s cool. But Barbie has a better house.”

If that was some sort of goofy girl challenge, he didn’t want to play. He deflected instead. “Everything you need should be in here. Lures, line, bobbers, hooks...”

“I just need a worm and a weight.” She paused with her hand poised over the section in the tray that was full of shiny silver-gray sinkers. “Please tell me you brought worms.”

He met her vibrant green gaze. The effect was staggering and completely unexpected. “Of course I brought worms,” he stammered and scrambled for the plastic bag.

“First I need this...” She rummaged in the bottom of the tackle box for the small needle-nose pliers and clamped two weights onto her line. “Oh! Hang on a minute.” She leaped from the ground, raced to her purse, and returned with a package of antibacterial wipes. She tugged a couple loose from their wrapper and reached for the container of bait.

“You brought wipes to the fishin’ hole?”

“Oh, stop. I don’t want worm goo under my fingernails, and I don’t want worm slime on the side of my coffee cup. Call me crazy.”

“There’s difference between goo and slime?”

“Well, duh. Goo is from the inside of the worm. Slime is from the outside.”

She skewered the wiggly bait—at least three times—and wound it onto the hook to ensure a fish would be impaled long before the worm came loose.

Wow
.

She snagged a wipe as she stood up. “What’s the plan?”

He baited his own hook. “Plan?”

“Are we going to catch and release or are we looking for dinner?”

He had no high hopes for a fish fry. “Let’s just see if we catch anything.”

“Fine.” She picked up her coffee. “I’ll be over there catching things by those wooden pilings. Bet there’s catfish swimming around down there looking for food.”

Shade took a spot several feet away and made his first cast. “Where did you learn so much about fishing?”

Her confidence seemed to sway like the cattails in the early morning breeze. She didn’t even rush to fix it when a big chunk of hair blew loose and flopped across her face.

That would never happen at church.

She took two steps sideways and tugged on her line as if setting the hook exactly where she wanted it. “Fishing was something I did with my dad.”

He nodded. “Your parents live around here?”

She raked the stubborn hair back away from her face. “Uh, no. My mom died when I was in high school.”

“Aw, man, sorry. You mentioned before you went to Sam Houston State, so I thought they might live around here.”

“It’s OK. They never lived around here. My mom was from central Texas.”

He reeled in his line to cast again.

“I’m not trying to be vague, Shade. It’s just that my mother died from cancer and fishing was something my father and I used to do when she was sick. It was the only normal thing we had during that time.”

“I get it. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind.”

But she
was
trying to be vague, and she
did
seem to mind. His question about her parents was easy enough, but she didn’t answer. Not completely. He thought back to the night they met at the church. Her name had sounded familiar, but she’d evaded his comment. What was the big deal?

The blinding light of the obvious nearly knocked him backward.

Unless...

Unless her father was Don Canaberry.

How stupid could he be? He’d said her name sounded like someone he knew in Austin. But
Don Canaberry,
the biggest jerk in Austin music history, and the man responsible for many of his friends’ disastrous careers? How could he have not seen the connection from a mile away?

Because Candi Canaberry was nothing like her father.

He glanced her way and sailed his line into the depths with no thought of where it might land. A minute ago, she’d been so upbeat, so relaxed, and so
happy
. Now she stared blankly at the water as though hoping she could disappear.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to change the subject. If she didn’t want to discuss it, he sure didn’t want to, either.

The line danced at the end of her pole. “Uh...you got somethin’ goin’ on over there?”

As if by pure instinct, she jerked the line back to set the hook.

What a woman.

“I believe I do,” she said and laughed. “Let’s see what’s for dinner.”