The rooster dropped to the ground, shook out his feathers and then ran toward his hens.
Holly hung the net back on the post and grinned as she strode down to the dock without being attacked by Napoleon, the killer rooster.
She dropped onto the back bench and fired up the outboard while Simon untied the line from the cleat.
Simon sat in silence, scanning the reeds, trees and brush flanking the channels as they wove through the bayou and emerged into the open, close to the marina.
Holly expertly guided the skiff up to the dock, cutting the engine in time to drift up to the boardwalk.
Simon tied the line to the piling just the way he’d found it and climbed onto the wooden decking. He reached back to help Holly up, but didn’t let go until she was in his arms. He held her there for a moment, loving the feel of her body pressed to his, her grandmother’s words echoing in his mind.
Live every day like it’s your last...
Grab for the joy...
Holly looked up into his eyes. “Simon?”
He sighed, brushed his lips across her forehead and stepped back. “I like your grandmother.”
Then he turned and led the way back to the marina building.
The marina owner and the high school principal stood at the edge of the dock. Joyce held a fishing pole in her hands. Mitchell was behind her, his arm around her, his hands over hers on the pole. Together, they leaned the pole back and then flicked it forward, unleashing the line with a hook and a bobber on the end.
The bobber plopped into the water several yards out.
Joyce laughed and smiled.
“See? You’re a natural,” Mitchell said. He caught sight of Simon and Holly and lowered his arms to his sides. “Look who’s back,” he said.
Joyce turned, her face radiant with a smile. “Did you see that, Holly? I’m learning how to cast.”
“I saw.” Holly grinned at her friend’s excitement. “You did great.”
“We just wanted you to know we’re back and the skiff is also back where it belongs,” Simon said.
“All is well with Madam Gautier?” Mitchell asked.
Holly nodded. “She’s doing well. Feisty as ever.”
Mitchell chuckled. “The woman tells it like it is.”
“Tell me about it,” Simon said, running a hand through his hair.
Mitchell laughed. “I swear she’s a mind-reader. But she gives good advice and cures for what ails you.” His gaze went to Joyce as she reeled in the bobber a little at a time.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where we can find a Lady LaChance, would you?” Simon asked. “Madam Gautier said she’s over in Bayou Miste.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Can’t say as I’ve run into her. If you want to know anything about Bayou Miste, talk to your teammate, Beau Boyette. Half the people in that parish are Boyettes.”
Simon nodded. “That’s right. He might know where to find Lady LaChance.”
“If he doesn’t,” Mitchell said, “I guarantee he has a family member over there that does.”
“Thanks for the loan of your skiff,” Holly said. “We might need it again soon.”
“You’re welcome to it anytime.” Mitchell returned his attention to his student, the school principal, and threaded another worm on her hook.
Simon took Holly’s hand and walked with her to the truck.
