The Way Home Read Free

wasn’t sure had ever been tensed before. When he finally shifted his weight and reached for the bag, she thought, Here it comes , and waited on an indrawn breath.
    “Maybe a pole?”
    That finally brought her head up. “Excuse me?”
    His blue eyes flashed with amusement as he glanced from her hair to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “A fishing pole? I’ve heard it’s mandatory.”
    Right. OK. A fishing pole was absolutely mandatory. If he’d actually come here to fish. Which, clearly, he hadn’t.
    Or maybe he had, and she’d read everything wrong. People traveled to Lake Kabetogama from all over the country. The scenery was stunning. The national park bordering the lake was pure and pristine. You wanted to get away from it all? You came to the North Country, where you could fish and camp and, yes, maybe even see a bear.
    So . . . what if he had come here with fishing in mind, and all this absurd schoolgirl hormonal activity was a result of a sad case of wishful thinking? Which was another surprise, because she’d had no idea she’d been wishing for anything. Her life was good. Maybe a little lonely. Especially today.
    And maybe she needed to get a grip, because she really didn’t want to travel that road.
    “Let’s get you set up with a pole, then,” she said, working hard to dismiss the notion that she suddenly felt more disappointment over the possibility that he’d actually come here to fish than apprehension over the notion that he hadn’t.
    All purpose and pretense and business, she headed for the back wall, paneled in age-yellowed knotty pine and lined with dozens of fishing rods and reels.
    “So, how’ve you been, Jess?” he asked softly from behind her.
    She stopped mid-reach, then slowly pulled a rod off the rack, turned around, and handed it to him. “Good. I’ve been good. You?”
    He studied the rod, tested its flex, then met her eyes on a long, slow blink. “Good. Yeah. I’ve been OK.”
    It was only a blink. But it did things to her. Things that created a silence that became a little too lengthy and compelled her to take a stab at filling it. “You and your brother and your friends . . . you’re quite the legend around the lake, you know.”
    He looked a little disappointed that she’d decided to keep up the dodge-and-weave game, but one corner of his mouth finally lifted in an ironic smile. “I thought you had to be dead to become a legend.”
    “Since the biggest news this far north generally involves fishing and the weather, stories don’t need as much time to marinate.”
    He got very quiet then. Thoughtful quiet. Troubled quiet. The kind of quiet that seemed personal and made her want to fill it. Again.
    “So what are you fishing for?”
    His grin came back slowly. “Um . . . isn’t that a redundant question?”
    How could she not smile at that? He made it very easy. “What kind of fish? Walleye? Northern pike? Bass?”
    “Ah. How ’bout we shoot for the walleye? Do they all come with saddles?”
    An involuntary laugh burst out before she could stop it.
    Across the road from her gas pumps stood a gigantic fiberglass walleye, complete with a dozen steps for the kiddies to climb up and sit in the saddle strapped to its back so Mom and Dad could snap their pictures. As a tourist gimmick, it was pretty corny, but since the lion’s share of the businesses around the lake depended on fishing for revenue, it was also highly effective in drawing travelers off the main highway.
    “Last I knew,” she said, “only the big guy has one.”
    “Good to know.”
    Darn, that smile did things to her. Things she felt woefully unprepared to deal with. Just like it was hard to deal with his presence. He’d been dressed in winter gear when she’d seen him before, but even the bulky quilted outerwear hadn’t beenable to hide the fact that he was fit and fine. Today he wore a pristine white T-shirt and worn jeans that proved she’d been right about his build. He was tan and