Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) Read Free Page B

turned in and found a parking place between the scattered buildings. The older ones looked like converted barns and sheds, the newer ones like a cheap motel. He got out and headed for the end of the main building that had a sign over the door announcing Office.
         Greg stopped on the steps and gazed down the hill where a four-wheeler, piled high with fishing gear, oars, and life jackets, chugged its way down the steep path to the lakefront. The ATV was so old and dirty Greg couldn’t even recognize the model even though Yamahas, Hondas, John Deeres, and every other brand were on exhibit at the sport shows he organized. He watched the driver, who was wearing a “Jack and Lydia’s Resort” T-shirt, roll the ATV out on the dock that extended into the lake and come to a stop beside the rowboats tied up along the leeward side. A man and boy, who’d been walking along behind, began unloading their gear and putting it in an aluminum boat.
         Back on the grassy shore under towering cottonwoods, Greg noticed folks gathered around picnic tables or tending their smoking grills. A real family place. Maybe he’d bring Nicole and the kids over for a picnic in the next day or so.
         He stepped into the office. Empty. “Hello, anybody here?” No answer, and no bell button on the counter to call for help. A refrigerator and a Coke machine lined the left wall while racks of life jackets and oars hung on the other. The wall behind the counter was covered with snapshots of bass and northern pike that guests had caught from the lake. In the middle of the display hung a mounted largemouth bass with a kaput clock embedded in its side. At least it told the correct time twice a day.
         “Hello!”
         The door in the corner opened and a short, stout woman with a haggard face entered the office. “Thought I heard someone out here.” She spoke with a faintly European accent, perhaps Polish? “How can I help ya?”
         “How’s the fishing?” Greg had worked in outdoor sports long enough to know this wasn’t like a drugstore where the clerk didn’t know or care what you wanted so long as your money was green. He’d shoot the bull with her for a few minutes first, then get around to buying his bait.
         “Crappie been bitin’ pretty good, and the bluegills are workin’ their beds. But we haven’t seen much bass action this spring. Not sure why.”
         “Hmm. And the northern? This lake got any?”
         “Oh yeah. There’s a few. Fellow pulled in a twenty-eight-incher the other day. Fat as can be. Full of roe, I ’spect.” She raised her eyebrows. “You want a boat?”
         “No. Just some crawlers and wax worms if you got ’em.”
         “Right there in the fridge. Help yourself.” She turned aside as though talking had wasted her time. Maybe this was more like a drugstore than he realized.
     
    * * * *
       
    Nicole recognized the sound of the Cherokee’s engine stopping outside the cottage. Greg was back. She sighed, expecting him to come in and ask her again to go out in the boat, like he hadn’t heard her answer the first time. But she didn’t want to bob around out there for the next three hours. In fact, she hadn’t asked to come on this “vacation” where she had to continue making meals and doing housework but without the conveniences of home. It’d taken the whole time Greg was off getting bait for her to feed the kids and clean up the kitchen. Only now had she been able to sit down and gaze out the window on the lake.
         The view was mesmerizing—a few clouds scuttling across the blue sky, the lake even bluer, birds flitting from lush bushes into the overarching trees—but she was going to enjoy it from the comfort of the leather couch where she could curl up to read her romance novel. Otherwise, she’d end up putting worms on hooks.
         She watched him climb out of the Jeep. She didn’t really know what was going on with