Backcast (34 page)

Quinn squinted her eyes to try and see what Montana was pointing at. But all she could make out was roiling, gray water.

She thought about Junior's advice. “When all else fails, try a worm.”

Well. All else had pretty much failed today. She decided to give it a try.

She reached into her tackle box and pulled out a long, pumpkinseed-colored worm. Junior said to attach these with a couple of glass beads on the line, just to give the thing some glitter. She set the hook the way he taught her, with the head and the tip hidden in the egg sac area along the bottom seam. He called this setup a Texas rig. She guessed that probably was because somebody in the Lone Star State first figured out this method for getting reluctant bass to come out of hiding.

Once she had her line set, she walked to the edge of the boat and prepared to cast.

Montana was yelling at her again. The only word Quinn could make out was “wind.”

She let her line fly just as a big gust blew in and pushed the boat sideways. Quinn's line twisted in the air and doubled back. She closed her eyes when she realized that the whole rig was hurtling right back toward her.

“With the wind!” That had to be what Montana had yelled.

She realized it now, but it was too late.

Quinn stood there wincing and waiting for it, but the line never hit her. She opened her eyes and scanned the area around the boat.

Shit.

There it was. Her rig and all of her line were tangled up in the bare branches of a dead tree. The worm dangled in mid-air, about eighteen inches from the water. The line was impossibly snagged. Quinn tugged the rod in every possible direction, but it was clear that she'd never be able to dislodge it. She'd have to see if Montana could maneuver the boat close enough for her to try and cut her line. She really wanted to save the worm—it was one of her favorites.

Marvin seemed to take pity on her. He got up from the recliner and walked over to stand beside her at the edge of the boat.

“Looks like you're up shit creek without a paddle.”

“Yeah.” Quinn waved a hand at her worm. The wind was causing it to spin around maniacally. Sunlight glinted off the glass beads. “I have to figure out a way to cut it down, too. It's one of my best worms.”

“I guess you'll have to wade out there to get it.”

Quinn shook her head. “We're not allowed to leave the boat. Remember?”

Marvin grunted. “Stupid-ass rules.”

Montana joined them. “I told you to cast
with
the wind.”

Quinn shrugged.

“Well there's no way I can get the boat in there. There are just too many rocks.”

“Can we at least try it? I don't want to lose my rig.”

Montana sighed. “If we get in too close and another one of these big waves takes us, I won't be able to keep the pontoons off the rocks.”

“What if I stayed starboard and used a couple of those awning poles to keep us pushed back from anything too high?”

Quinn looked at Montana in surprise.
Was that Marvin?

“Well?” he asked impatiently. “It could work. We did the same thing on the ferry when we had to dock in choppy seas.”

Quinn was still too stunned to speak.

Montana chuckled. “I'm game if you are.”

Marvin nodded and headed back to retrieve the aluminum poles.

Montana returned to the bridge and started the motors. If both of them worked, the boat was a lot more maneuverable—she could reverse their direction to turn and back the boat as needed. She joked that in calm water, she could damn near parallel park the thing. Quinn didn't doubt it.

When Marvin came back with two of the long support poles, Quinn took her place at the front edge of the boat. The rig was still swinging around wildly in the wind. She'd have a time trying to grab hold of it.

“Use that boat hook to grab the line.”

It was clear that Marvin was reading Quinn's mind.

Quinn walked back to retrieve the telescoping rod they sometimes used to pull the boat in closer to docks or to pick up things she'd dropped in the water—like cleat lines. She kept it clipped to the front of one of the bench seats.

It felt like maybe the wind was calming down a bit. That was
lucky. It would help them get in and out quickly, and maybe avoid doing any damage to the boat. The bottoms and sides of the pontoons were pretty scratched and dented up, and not all of the damage was her fault. The thing was already in pretty poor shape when she got it from Junior—like most of the stuff the Ladd brothers had for resale at their salvage yard.

When Quinn knelt down to unsnap the boat hook, she heard a loud splash. It startled her. She thought at first that maybe Marvin had fallen off the boat—or had finally tossed something overboard. He kept threatening to do that—to get rid of her non-fishing related stuff. For someone who didn't care about the tournament, he sure had strong opinions about how the boat should be set up.

Marvin called out. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

Quinn bolted to her feet and wheeled around to see Marvin, still rooted to his spot, pointing at the tree where her rig was caught. The line was still there, but it took her a moment to realize that a huge bass was now dangling from its end. The fish was flopping and twisting, trying to break free. But it was well and truly caught. That line was going no place.

Montana had seen it, too. She was screaming at Quinn. “Get over there! Get over there! Get a net under it—
quick!
”

Quinn stumbled toward the front of the boat and Montana started moving them in closer.

Marvin dropped one of his poles and grabbed the boat hook from Quinn.

“I'll snag the line and haul it closer. You get a net under it before you cut it.”

They had to work fast. The fish was furious. It was flailing like a dervish. Quinn was afraid it would break free before she could reach it.

But Marvin snagged the line on his first pass. “Almighty god! This thing must weigh ten pounds!”

Quinn was able to position the net beneath the monster fish and clip the line. It dropped into the net with the force of a falling cement block. Quinn was barely able to hang on to it. She used both hands to haul it to safety over the deck of the boat and set it down
on the threadbare carpet. Montana quickly reversed the engines and pushed the pontoon back out into deeper water.

Once the boat was out of harm's way, Montana rushed over to join them.

“Is it her? Is it Phoebe?”

Quinn reached into the net and took hold of the writhing bass. She lifted it up and quickly removed the hook from its gaping mouth.

“No. It's not her.”

Montana didn't seem persuaded. “How do you know?”

“I just do. This one isn't big enough” She held it up with both hands. “Or mad enough.”

Marvin snorted. “Well it's about the biggest damn bass I've ever seen. Ugliest, too.”

The fish jerked in Quinn's hands. A glob of slime hit Marvin in the face.

“Nice one, Mavis—Marvin.” Montana was laughing. “You asked for that.”

He grumbled and muttered something unintelligible.

“Let's get her into the tank.” Quinn carried their big catch over to the aquarium and carefully placed it inside. Montana started the aerator.

Marvin was already walking to the Kelvinator.

“I suppose this one's gonna take two of those damn frozen grape drinks?”

“Yep.” Quinn got to her feet. “We have to keep her nice and cool for the long ride to Plattsburgh.”

Montana looked perplexed.

“You don't want to fish any more today?”

Quinn shook her head. “Nope.”

“Why not? We still have most of another hour.”

“It's okay.”

She looked out over the lake. The water was really settling down. With less wind roaring, she could make out the dull purring noises of other boat motors. Things would really start hopping now. All the anglers would be tearing up the lake, trying to make up for lost
time. The fish wouldn't like that. The sun was high and it was past lunchtime. They'd all want to find quiet spots to snooze until late afternoon, when they got hungry again and started moving around.

She didn't blame them. Right now, a hot dog and a cold one sounded pretty damn good.

She smiled at Montana.

“We got what we came for.”

Kate liked the house. Shawn was sure about that. She could tell by the way she kept touching everything inside it. The painted wainscot on the walls. The woodwork. The heart pine floors. The enormous fieldstone fireplace that dominated the open living space that made up most of the first floor. The cabinets and the countertops in the big kitchen. Touch was important to Kate. Touch was her currency. And the more she touched, the more certain Shawn became that she'd managed to find the right place.

Kate especially liked the kitchen.

Shawn did, too. It was one of her favorite things about the house. The builder had paid attention to every detail. Soaring ceilings. Tastefully painted, prairie-style cabinetry. Quartz countertops. Viking gas range. Wine fridge. And windows. Windows
everyplace
. And outside the windows? An unobstructed, drop-dead gorgeous view of the lake.

It was breathtaking. Incredible. Perfect.

And it was hers.
Theirs
—if Kate chose to live there with her.

If not? Well. It could be theirs whenever Kate chose to visit.

When they finished touring the house, they walked out back to look at the spacious, fenced yard. Patrick and Allie were already out there, sniffing and zigzagging their way around the perimeter, stopping to investigate every scent and pee at the base of every tall maple tree. The lake was visible from here, too. In fact, the lake seemed to be within view from almost every vantage point.

They stood leaning against the deck railing. The winds had diminished, and now a light breeze was blowing in from the water.
It pushed Kate's soft hair around in crazy patterns. She finally gave up trying to straighten it and just let it go wherever it wanted. Shawn thought that was a good sign, too. Kate was normally pretty fastidious about her appearance.

There was something wonderful in the air—a scent that Shawn couldn't quite identify. It came and went as the wind currents shifted. It made her feel happy and at home.

“What is that smell?”

Kate lifted her nose. “That clove-like scent?”

“Yeah. Precisely. It's like—cookies.”

Kate smiled. “It's Dianthus. Sweet William.”

“It's great. I love it. It reminds me of Pennsylvania.”

“Did your mother garden?”

“
My
mother? Hell no. But my grandmother did. She had flowers all year round.”

Kate pointed to a spot along the fence. “See those bright purple and red flowers that look like small carnations? That's Sweet William.”

“Well, I always want to have them.”

“I think you will. They're pretty hearty up here.”

“Good.”

“If I'm not mistaken, they attract butterflies, too.”

“An added bonus.” Shawn grasped the deck railing with both hands and took in a big lungful of air. “What else might they attract?”

“That depends.” Kate demurred. “What else do you want them to attract?”

“Well now that I know they have these magnetic properties, maybe they can help me lure a certain TV personality up here on the weekends.”

“Hmmm.” Kate seemed to consider the possibility. “I don't know that their reach extends quite that far.”

“I could plant more of them. You know—like a strength in numbers thing?”

“True.” Kate turned around and leaned her back against the deck railing so she was facing the house. “I want to ask you something—and it's not something we've ever really discussed before.”

Shawn felt a slight prick of uneasiness. “What is it?”

“How on earth can you afford to do this? Even if you sell your house in Charlotte, it won't come close to covering the cost of this place.”

“Oh, that.” Shawn was relieved. “I also have my book royalties and the advance on the new one.”

Kate raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay. You're right. That's not enough, either.”

“Not by a long shot. And the taxes up here are outrageous.”

“How do you know that?”

“Viv.”

“Of
course
.” Shawn rolled her eyes. “God. That woman has a better news network than CNN.”

Kate nodded. “So?”

Shawn sighed. “Don't worry that I've made an insane financial decision, okay? I have the money for this.”

“You do?” Kate still sounded dubious.

“Yeah. I have . . . other money.”

“
Other
money?”

Shawn nodded.

“Who are you? Paris Hilton?”

“No. It's not
that
bad. But I have some inheritance money. My paternal grandmother was a Pew.”

“A pew?” Kate looked genuinely perplexed. “What kind of pew?”