“Nope. Vet can’t find a chip, but she’s researching the rabies tag for me. Clinic it’s from had some sort of computer glitch this morning and can’t access their records.”
Rowdy delicately licked Ryder on the cheek, requesting more goodies, no doubt. Kinley secretly hoped the owner didn’t claim the dog and Ryder was forced to adopt her himself. The two seemed to make a good pair.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed with this patio set. It matches and everything. Who would’ve thought you had taste?”
“I can’t take any of the credit. Mom picked it out. I just handed over my credit card. She’d flip if she saw Rowdy getting hair all over the cushions.”
Dropping her purse beside her chair, Kinley leaned back and let the morning sun kiss her cheeks. “How is your mom?”
“Busy as always. Heading committees, starting organizations, you name it. Retirement hasn’t slowed her down a bit. I think it’s made her more social, if that’s possible.”
Kinley hoped to see Tillie Grant before she left town, even if only to say a quick hello. Tillie had always been kind to her and her family, even when others weren’t. “And your dad? What’s he up to these days?”
Ryder’s rare smile faded as he wadded up the empty chip bag. Rowdy hopped down once she seemed to realize the treats were no more and sauntered over to Kinley for behind-the-ear scratches. “We lost him a few years ago, right before Denver joined the Army. Brain aneurysm.”
Kinley’s heart clenched in sympathy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Avoiding her hometown at all costs had caused her to miss out on so many things. She made a promise to herself that she’d do better about not just keeping in touch, but visiting more.
Ryder popped out of his seat, grabbing Rowdy’s full attention. The dog leapt up and trotted back to him. “You ready to get this license and get to fishing? My freezer is in halibut deficit.”
“What are you going to do with Rowdy?”
“Take her with us, of course.”
“You’re going to take a dog fishing?”
Ryder gave an indifferent shrug that made Kinley’s stomach flutter. Aunt Fiona was right. They were all grown up now. “Why not? Plenty of room in the boat.”
Chapter Eight
Ryder
Inviting Kinley to go halibut fishing might’ve been Ryder’s gravest mistake in weeks. For starters, he couldn’t fault her functional wardrobe. Dark jeans tucked into rubber boots, an ARMY-emblazoned hoodie and a down vest to block the chilly ocean air, and her ponytail pulled through the back of a purple baseball cap. Ryder had to look away the minute he cast them off. She looked right at home in the passenger seat of his boat.
Don’t get used to this,he warned himself.
“I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” Kinley said, eyes on the open waters, Rowdy pressed against her leg.
“Ava’s right. You should come back more than once every nine years.” Ryder suppressing what he really wanted to say behind an easy smile.You should come home to stay.He tore his gaze from Kinley as he slowed the boat.
Though he’d fished with Chase and a few others on occasion, he never brought anyone tothisspot. This fishing spot was where he chucked a twelve-thousand-dollar engagement ring before he had the good sense to pawn it. It was the place he returned to when he needed an escape, and until now, he hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone. Why he was willing to share it with Kinley was a riddle he didn’t care to ponder.
“I think I might have to work on that whole visiting thing,” Kinley admitted, popping up from her seat when the boat rocked in place. “Are we stopping?”
“Yep.” Chum bag attached to the anchor, he dropped it overboard. “It might take a while to get bites, but I promise it’ll be worth it. You’re not in a hurry?”
“Not at all.”
“Good answer.”
“Tell me if you feel the sameafteryou’ve had to teach me how to do all this”—she waved her hand at the rigs and bait buckets—“stuff. First timer here.”
Kinley was an attentive student, not afraid to ask questions or touch the bait. She listened with interest as he explained, as if she wanted to understand the significance of the swivel, union knots, and circle hook. Ryder didn’t like to compare, but he couldn’t keep the memory of Mercedes at bay. The blank stares she gave him through these same explanations. And when she realized he used salmon heads as bait, she lost her lunch overboard.
“Got it?” he asked, shifting back a bit to see what Kinley did.
Kinley gave a nod of understanding and stuck her hand in the bucket. “I thought everybody used herring,” she said, eyeing the head for a moment before he talked her through attaching the rig to the pole.
“A lot of people do. It’s the most popular. But I’ve had the best luck with salmon. I catch enough reds and silvers every year. No point in letting any of that go to waste.” He reached around her to double check the rod was secured in the holder bolted to the boat, the sway of the current bouncing him against her arm.
