Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife

“A little of this and that, organizing tournaments or entering them.”

“Oh. So how does this work? This whole tournament thing, I mean.”

“We all have to stay within a certain area. This is a catch-and-release tournament, meaning we register the fish with the judge, and then he tags and sets them free. At the end, the totals are added and the trophies and prize monies are given out.”

“And Lure ’Em In sponsors the tournament.”

“Yep. So, of course, everyone uses their lures, and each contestant gets two with his or her entry. And a nifty T-shirt.” He nodded to a plastic bag on the bench.

Cassie pulled out the shirt featuring the Domino. “From what I could tell of Roger’s notes, their new one is the Big Bopper,” she said, folding the T-shirt and looking in the bag. “It’s not one of these.”

“They haven’t released it yet. Everyone’s pretty excited about it.”

“They are?”

He laughed at her disbelief that anyone could get excited over fishing lures. “This lure’s supposed to have some intriguing features, like a special kind of wiggle that’s sure to lure the fish in.” He winked at her. “Women aren’t the only intriguing things with wiggles, you know.”

“I’m ignoring you,” she said in a singsong voice. She turned the lure package around, studying it. The Domino, not surprisingly, was white with black polka dots sprinkled on top. “Sure to lure…do you use Lure ’Em’s lures?”

“The question is, who doesn’t?” He shrugged. “At least in this area. It’s a regional phenomenon. They say the guy who started the company knows more about the way a fish thinks than even a fish.”

“Oh, brother. Hey, wait a minute. Who uses the Big Bopper? The question is, who doesn’t? Sure to Lure. Hmm.”

“Do I get a cut if you use my words?”

“I’ll buy you a year’s supply of worms if I win the campaign.”

“Worms. How thoughtful.” But she was madly scribbling down notes. “Why’s it so important to you, Cass?”

She met his gaze. “I want to prove to myself that I can stick with something, not walk away without a fight.” Something bittersweet flashed in her eyes. “I’ve left too many things unfinished.”

He watched her sink into her thoughts. Was she thinking about their unfinished business? He hadn’t made any plans when they got married, enjoying living and loving by the seats of their pants. But he had planned on staying married to her for a long, long time. Before he knew it, they’d soared, plummeted, crashed and burned before he’d even learned to fly the damned plane.

Had he changed enough to make it work this time? Or had she changed too much to even try?

UNFINISHED BUSINESS. The words echoed in Cassie’s thoughts after she and Dan lapsed into silence. One minute they were crazy in love—and just plain crazy—and the next, they were married. Admit it. You were a flake. You ran away in a full-blown panic.

Her compatibility list would ensure that never happened again. She rubbed her notepad as though it were a magic amulet.

Sammy huddled in the tote bag. She had to admit the bows and bells were a little flaky, but she couldn’t seem to eradicate that last flake. She picked him up and leaned against the helm again. Thornton braced himself in the walkway between the two seats, his head up and lips flapping in the wind. He and Dan had similar poses—well, except for the flapping lips, thank goodness—and she found herself smiling at them. She’d looked into Dan’s eyes: he had the heart of a poet, too.

“Thornton likes being out on the boat,” she said.

“Thor,” he corrected in that deep voice. “Sammy did, too, until you sissified him.”

“Oh, pooh, I did not. Dogs aren’t trapped in the macho male syndrome like men are.”

Sammy barked, and his bell jingled.

“Oh, is that what we are? I was wondering what it was. Goodie, I can break out my pink bows.”

“You’re just jealous of Sammy’s ability to express his feminine side without compromising his male values. He has no qualms about his maleness, despite the lack of, er, certain male appendages. But you, on the other hand, feel that expressing your feminine side would expose your vulnerabilities and lessen your manhood, which is obviously in question.”

He just looked at her for a minute, his mouth slightly agape. He slapped his hand over that mouth. “You’re already making me crazy again.”

“I’ve got an extra bow if you’d like to try expressing yourself.”

“An extra…?” His laugh sounded strangled. “My hair’s too short.”

His hair was still thick, no longer than the base of his neck, and was now rakishly ruffled by the wind. He turned Bob Marley and the Wailers up a little louder. He always did like that tropical music, and she always thought of Dan when she heard it.

She grinned. “Maybe I wasn’t talking about your hair.”

He made a choking sound, but quickly regrouped. “I can arrange that.”

“I challenge you to take that first step in exploring your feminine side by yourself.”

He stared at her, slapped his forehead, and returned to his driving. She was making him crazy. And for one crazy moment, she wanted to be that impulsive woman she’d been with him. She tamped down the pitty-pat of her heart. Bad idea! Very bad idea!

A boat named The Bimini Twist whizzed past, sending a cacophony of catcalls with Dan’s name attached and something about a fishing goddess. He veered off to the right, taking Gordon Pass out to the Gulf. With a flush, she realized those men thought she was Dan’s bow ornament.

“What was that about a fishing goddess?” she asked.

The huge mansions of Port Royal slid by them on the right, and the lush mangroves filled the left with their green. White egrets prowled among the branches that grew all spindly just over the water’s surface, reminding her of her legs.

“I guess they figure since I’m the fishing god, you must be my fishing goddess.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I meant to ask you about that fishing god stuff.”

He lifted a shoulder. “What can I say? They recognize greatness.”

“The fish, you mean?”

That boyish laugh sounded again. “You could say that. I’ve won this tournament for the last four years. I have an innate sense about where the fish are. And you know what your role is as my goddess, don’t you?”

“To filet that fishy ego of yours.” After he laughed, she said, “But doesn’t being a fishing god give you an unfair advantage?”

“That’s why I’m not officially participating this year. I’m just here for the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the battle and the victory of the catch.”

“Oh, brother. Am I even worthy of standing in the glow of your greatness?” She remembered a line from Wayne’s World and started mock bowing with her arms outstretched. “We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy.”

He gave her a little hand wave, and used the mangled French accent and lines from their favorite Monty Python movie, The Holy Grail. “I fart in your general direction!”

She covered her mouth, but couldn’t keep back the snort of laughter. “Did we really sit up all night and have Monty Python film festivals? Or was that some warped dream?”

He grinned. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Then again, we were a bit warped, weren’t we?”

“A bit? How many times did we watch the dead parrot routine?”