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Bear had trailered the boat, bought the live bait as well as a box of proven lucky lures, stashed Fox in the bow and puttered off for an ideal fishing spot. Jocassee was known for trophy trout—also for bass, but it was the brown and rainbow trout Bear wanted for dinner. At this time of day and year fishing wasn’t ideal, but that didn’t deter Bear, who’d already hooked enough to bring Mom two dinners, easy.
Now, though, Bear had unfortunately been distracted. “What are youdoing ?” he repeated.
“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m sitting here with you.”
Bear sighed and then leaned over to grab one of the books from Fox’s lap. He started reading the titles aloud.“Women and the Law of Property in Early America. The Politics of Social and Sexual Control in the Old South.” Bear scowled at him. “You call this kind of reading relaxing?”
“Well…yes, actually.”
“And you think you’re convincing anybody you’ll never be a history teacher again?” His brother’s voice dripped humor.
“This has nothing to do with teaching! This is pleasure reading!”
“Yeah, right. The point, anyway, is that you’re supposed to kick back andfish . Phoebe told you—”
“All Phoebe insisted on was that I get out of the house. So I’m in the incessant fresh air. What she wanted. That doesn’t mean I have to like fishing.”
“It isn’t human to hate fishing.”
“How long are you going to hold that against me? Give me a ball—foot, base, basket, soccer, whatever, and I’ll whip the pants off you in any of those sports. But sitting here torturing worms on hooks…” Fox shook his head.
“I’ll tell Phoebe on you if you don’t at least pick up a pole.”
“That,” Fox said darkly, “is an ugly, ugly threat. Did I tattle on you when you and Moose put the skunk in the school cafeteria? Did I tell Moose when you threw up on his favorite shirt in high school? Brothers never tell.”
“That was completely different. This is for your own good. Reading a bunch of history is notrelaxing.
Not the way Phoebe said we were supposed to make you. You’re supposed to havefun. ”
“Readingis fun,” Fox said firmly, and opened a book again. He didn’t know which book, because he’d given up trying to concentrate a good hour before. The sun poured on his head, his shoulders. The lake was so clear he could see several mesmerizing feet below. Normally the lake—or reading books he loved—really would have relaxed him. It was just that right now, the only thoughts in his head were about Phoebe.
So maybe they’d only made love once. And possibly it had been ten days, twelve hours and seven minutes since that once, but the entire encounter was still diamond clear in Fox’s mind—and not just the naked parts either.
One of the things that bugged him was how—twice now—she’d suddenly upped and claimed that she Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
didn’t have a sexual nature. Both times she’d been in the middle of kissing him senseless. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so…odd. Since she was obviously a natural sensualist to the core, Fox couldn’t fathom why she’d claim something so ridiculous—or want him to believe it.
Of course, all women were impossible to understand at a certain level, so Fox wasn’t dwelling on just that one thing. Other details about that night still tantalized and frustrated him, as well. Color was one.
She had all those colorful rooms in her house—blue, green, yellow and all—yet he still hadn’t seen her bedroom or what color she’d painted it. And then there was the critical issue of panties.
She’d been wearing yoga pants that night. It was typical of her to wear comfortable, easy-moving clothes, but underneath those figure-concealing pants he recalled—in total and exquisite detail—her panties. They’d been thongs. Satiny. They’d been white except for the heart-shaped spanking-red bitsy front patch—which, actually, a guy nearly needed magnifying glasses to see at all.
Still, Fox happened to have been that close up. Hehad seen. And they seemed like a fairly astounding choice of panties for a woman who tended to wear oversize sweaters and pants. Same issue with the house. She’d painted all those sensual, soft colors—yet she freaked if you mentioned that she had a sensual side.
Something was wrong, Fox thought. Well, hell. A lot was wrong, as far as his coming on to a woman when he couldn’t offer her a damn thing. But besides that…something was wrong with Phoebe. Wrong for Phoebe. She was a life lover, a giver, a hedonist, a dare anything kind of woman who stood up. She understood his heart and his feelings better than he had.
She’d helped him so much with her generous, giving ways that it bugged him all the more that there was this problem. Thissomething in her that was off. It was as if she were afraid, or wary. But of what?
“And the other thing that bothered me was her saying she didn’t care if there was a future,” he said irritably.
“Huh?”
“For Pete’s sake, what kind of attitude is that? I mean, it’s one thing if people can’t work out a relationship—not that I like ther word. It’s a stupid word. But when it comes down to it, you meet someone, you work at it, and then it either works out or it doesn’t, right?”
“I think you’re getting dehydrated. There’s more ice water in the thermos,” Bear said patiently.
“I’m just saying, when things go wrong, it doesn’t have to be aboutblame. Usually both people try.
Nobody goes into a deal thinking they’re going to deliberately hurt the other person. I mean, unless they’re complete dolts.”
“Okay. Beats me who you’re talking to, but I’m for the conversation. If we’re going to talk about women, though, I think we should talk about Phoebe.”
Fox suddenly jerked his head around and focused on his brother. “What? I wasn’t talking about Phoebe.”
“I didn’t say you were,” his handsome older brother said cheerfully, but then
