Thanksgiving Groom

She didn’t pout, but the laughter in her eyes dissolved and she just stared at him. “But I thought we needed something for dinner.”

He looked at her, at the pole, and he shook his head. Clark should teach her to fish. That would be better. And then there was the ankle situation.

“It’s a little bit of a walk to the stream.”

She shook the crutch at him. “Did you forget what Wilma found in the upstairs closet.”

“Wilma’s very handy to have around.” There had to be other reasons he could think of for not taking her. “It’s rough going.”

“I can handle it.”

He was losing. “Why are you so determined to do this?”

“Because.” She shrugged slightly. “Because I have to do something. Because I’m not helpless.”

“You’re not running from someone or something?” He tried to make it sound like a teasing question, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let her put the Johnsons in danger if she was hiding something.

“No, I’m not running from anything.” But she looked away, as if maybe she was.

“Really? I don’t know if I’m going to believe that.”

She glared at him, her nose flaring a little. “I’m not running. I’m—”

“What?” He smiled. “Did you come to Treasure Creek looking for a husband? Let me guess—you read the article in Now Woman, and since you’re a little bored with your life, you came to Treasure Creek to find an adventure and one of those single, hunky tour guides.” No way was he going to feel jealous over that. No way.

“I came because of people like you.”

“What does that mean? I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here looking for someone like me.”

“I came to get away from people like you. You think you know me so well, and you don’t. You think I’m nothing more than Herman Lear’s daughter. You think I shop, get my nails done and party.”

“And I’m wrong?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. I came to Treasure Creek because I wanted to know what it was like to be somewhere—” she looked away “—somewhere like Treasure Creek. And really, since you’re not willing to tell me everything about you, why should I have to tell you everything about me?”

“I just asked what you were running from.” He spoke in a softer voice, because the softness in her tone pushed him back a notch. Not only that, but he wasn’t getting any answers by pushing.

“I’m not running from anything.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Come on, then. But I’m warning you, be quiet. If you jabber nonstop, I’m using you for bait.”

She hobbled closer to him, smiling again. “Thank you.” Right. He took the pole from her hand.

As they headed out, he glanced around them, making sure they weren’t being followed. He tried to tell him self that the footprint in the damp ground had been his imagination. Maybe it had been his boots or Clark’s that had made the imprints in the muddy ground. It didn’t have to mean that someone was watching them.

But if someone was, it wasn’t about him, or the Johnsons. They hadn’t seen a sign of anyone in months. He glanced sideways at the woman next to him. She was tall, her expression was serious but animated. She was definitely determined. And if they were being watched, it had something to do with her.

Penelope walked next to Tucker. Tiptoeing on her left foot to keep the weight off her ankle. He walked slower than she knew he would have liked—for her. She smiled a little.

He wasn’t what she’d come to Treasure Creek looking for. He was too much like what she’d left behind. She could see it in his eyes, that he was driven, that he was all about his career. She had spent her life with men like Tucker. Her father was one. Her brother was another.

And the women in their lives were forgotten trophies. Their wives, girlfriends and daughters were paraded when needed. They were dressed in designer gowns, draped in jewels and taken out on the town when an event required their presence. And then they sat at home, or entertained themselves when the men lives were busy with their careers.

She was positive that not everyone in their circle of friends lived that way. She had friends from college who had gone on to pursue careers. Her mother had friends in business. It was just the life of a Lear. Or a Lear woman.

But not today, with Tucker Lawson walking next to her. They were going fishing. She smiled again, because this was her adventure. This was Penelope Lear reinvented.

She glanced at Tucker in his faded jeans, hiking boots and the heavy jacket over his flannel shirt. She could imagine him in a suit, standing in a courtroom or sitting behind a massive desk. She wasn’t the only one reinventing herself.

They continued on in silence, walking on a trail that was rocky and sloped downhill. Trees were sparse here, leading down to the stream. Back at the cabin they were heavy and towered toward the sky.

The rushing water of the stream could be heard before the stream came into view. But when she saw it, she had to stop, had to stare. Clear water rushed, pounding over rocks and boulders. Downstream, just a short distance, the swift moving water slowed and pooled.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Tucker held her elbow and guided her over the rough terrain. “You’re stubborn.”

“So I’ve been told. And people always manage to make it seem like a bad thing. But it could be good, if you think about it.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Sure. Of course.”

“Wilma sent lunch with me.”

“Did she really?” He led her to a place at the edge of the stream where animals had stopped to drink. Hoof and paw prints were still visible in the soft earth. Something had dug near the edge of the water.

Penelope studied the paw prints. “What made these?”

He shrugged. “Everything. Elk, bear, fox. Up here, so far from any kind of settlement or town, there is just about anything you could imagine.”

“Do you think we’ll catch fish for dinner?”

He handed her the pole. “We can try.”

“What do I do?”

He laughed. “Cast your line into the water.”

“You say ‘cast’ like I should know what that is.”

He moved behind her, his arms wrapping around her. He took the fishing pole in his hands and guided hers. “Cast it easy. Don’t throw it out there. Just a nice, easy swing, and then you have to remember to set the hook if you feel a fish bite it.”

“Okay, I can do that.” She breathed in deep, trying to ignore the way he leaned in close, the way his chin brushed her cheek as he held her, showing her the way to cast out.

She tried, but couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were strong and he smelled like soap and the outdoors. His hands were rough but gentle.

“Of course you can do it.” He whispered close to her ear as he helped her cast. “But careful or you’ll tangle your line. Don’t cast too far or you’ll end up with your hook in a tree.”

“I can do this,” she repeated and swung the rod, watching as the line and the bait flew through the air, and then landed with a soft plunk in the calmer pool of water.