Free She's the One by Kay Stockham Page A

in this lake?”
    A low chuckle emerged from him at her sardonic tone. She was drawn to the sight of his smile, and startled by the flutter of warmth it gave her.
    Dylan wore his smile—and his waders—well. That was saying something, too, because no one wore waders well. But dressed as he was in a green-and-brown flannel shirt and a thick coat, Dylan looked ready to takeon the elements—not to mention quite warm—while she felt like a duck with ice stuck to its tail.
    Forgetting to keep her teeth gritted, she inhaled and thought she heard Dylan swear softly but couldn’t tell over her clacking teeth. He moved closer, his voice lowering as if he was about to share a secret.
    “Cast toward the left and you might get lucky.”
    Her mind went all kinds of crazy at that. Brooding, moody or not, she stared into his very handsome face and knew exactly how she’d like to get lucky.
    Bad girl! Bad, bad, bad!
    She didn’t mean it. Not really. But she couldn’t hold his boorish behavior against him when he’d apologized and she really should have asked for permission, so…they were back to square one, right? Even footing?
    “A little more that way. Yeah. I’ve seen some doozies come from there. Just cast it low, and be patient. You’ll get it.”
    She’d always liked guys who built a woman up rather than those who persisted in tearing her down. Despite his anger and earlier upset, Dylan was a big enough man to say sorry and acknowledge his faults, and it added to her belief that he was a nice guy stressed to the gills about a lot of things. His son, his father, the lodge and expansion and having to work at the success of something he didn’t support.
    She understood family stress and pressure and the games it played with the mind, the impact it had. “Thanks.”
    Dylan stood by while she cast again, and again, commenting on her “natural skill.” The lure arched low and long over the top of the lake before dropping beneath the surface. She felt a sharp tug. “Oh!”
    It did it again.
    “Don’t just stand there, start reeling. You’ve got it hooked.” Dylan walked deeper into the water. As she reeled her line in, he gave her a smile over his shoulder that positively made her excitement-jittery knees weak. The man might wear flannel and rubber waders and a scruffy beard that was so Don Johnson circa the ’80s, but in that second the fish wasn’t the only thing dangling by a hook.
    “What’s she got, Dylan?” Ansel gave her a thumbs-up from his position thirty feet away.
    One hand on the line, Dylan dipped into the water. Seconds later he lifted her fish.
    Alex couldn’t contain her shriek. “It’s huge ! What is that?”
    “Looks to be about a twenty-pound arctic char,” Dylan said, grinning and shaking his head at her excitement. “And if you’re not interested in processing it to ship home, I say it’s dinner.”
     
    A FTER GIVING A LEXANDRA a promise that he wouldn’t drop her camera into the lake, Dylan took a picture of her holding her prize. She should have looked ridiculous in her waders, her hair plastered to her head beneath an ugly cap and her nose red and running from the cold. Instead he found himself admiring her irrepressible spirit. It showed through her eyes and her expression was reminiscent of a kid who’d scored a five-scoop ice-cream cone. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
    “Absolutely,” she said.
    “That mean you’re ready to get back in there?”
    Alexandra looked at the lake where Ansel and Walter remained then turned to stare at the mountainsbehind them. “Is there a way to climb up to that boulder over there?”
    He looked in the direction she pointed and nodded. “Along the back.”
    “I’m going to go get some shots from there.”
    “Want some company?”
    She seemed as surprised by his question as he was. But he didn’t take the words back. If nothing else, he told himself, going with her ensured she didn’t zoom in on him.
    “Sure. But I left my