hurry up and catch a fish, please? I’m bored.”
Haley’s grin was Boone’s reward. A moment later, she whispered, “Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Anita.”
“Anita who?”
“Anita you to catch a fish first. It’s your turn!”
“Good one.” Boone winked at her and added, “Think it’s time to switch out a fly. The fish don’t seem to be hungry for what I got.”
“Me too!”
Boone supported Haley’s arm as they stepped toward the creek bank. “I want to try the one that Daddy says is called a Woolly Bugger. I think that’s so funny. Don’t you think that’s so funny, Uncle B?”
“That’s pretty funny. I’m kinda partial to the Squirmy Worm myself. I think I’ll try that.”
Once on the riverbank, they made their way back to the spot where they’d left their tackle boxes. “Will you help me with my Woolly Bugger, Uncle B?”
“As long as it comes out of your tackle box rather than your nose.”
“Gross! I don’t pick my nose. I’m a girly girl.”
He winked at her. “But you do like to get grubby.”
“I do with Uncle Tucker, but getting grubby is digging for worms and hiking and gathering firewood. It’s not picking your nose!”
“Ah.” He winked at her, and she giggled again. He sensed that the tension had eased. Spying the bubblegum-pink tackle box a few step ahead, he said, “Let’s see what we can do with your Woolly Bugger.”
Haley darted around him and went to pick up her tackle box. Unfortunately, she’d left it unlatched. As she lifted it, the bottom dropped, and the contents of the box spilled. Boone saw in a glance that the little girl had much more than fishing tackle in her box. She had a hairbrush and a comb, a Barbie, a roll of Life Savers, and—
“Oh, no!” Haley cried, alarm in her voice. “I had them all organized!”
Boone’s gaze zeroed in on the plastic tube whose cap had come off. “Lipstick, Haley? Does your daddy know you have red lipstick?”
“Mama gave it to me.”
She’s only eight. Poor Jackson. “Something tells me I’m going to be real glad that Trace is a boy.”
“Who’s Trace?” she asked as she knelt and began returning items to the box.
Unwilling to lie or to answer the question truthfully to this precious little blabber box, Boone deflected. “Careful there. Lots of hidden barbs in your flies. We don’t want you getting stuck.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle B. I’ve stuck myself four times when I’ve been fishing with Daddy or Uncle T.”
“Four times, hmm?”
“It’s just a pinprick, and a little blood doesn’t hurt. You’re gonna get a few bumps, scratches, and pokes when you’re out gettin’ grubby.”
“That’s my girl.” Boone bent over, plucked one of Haley’s Woolly Buggers from the clutter, and then picked up her fly rod from where she dropped it. He’d just finished switching out the fly when Haley cried out.
“Ouch!” She shoved to her feet, shaking her hand vigorously. Sure enough, a fishhook speared between the knuckles of her left hand. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! That hurts!”
Boone moved swiftly to the rescue. “Hold still, sweetie. Let me help you.” Catching hold of her flailing hand, he stilled her and assessed the situation. “It took some talent to catch yourself there.” It was a barbed hook too, unfortunately, which surprised him. McBrides were strictly barbless for freshwater fishing. “Did Tucker give this to you?”
Haley bravely looked at her hand. “I think this is one of the ones Mama gave me. It’s called Princess.”
Boone made a mental note to talk to Jackson about the contents of his daughter’s tackle box. “I see. Well, hold what you got there. I’m going to clip the end before we pull it out.”
Boone released her hand long enough to open his tackle box and remove his pliers and his first-aid pack. Seconds later, Haley calmly watched bright-red blood pearl on the back of her hand as he opened an antiseptic wipe.
“Now I’ve poked myself five times while I’ve been fishing,” the eight-year-old said. “I need to be more careful.”
“I’ll second that. However, I’ll take you fishing anytime. You’ve stayed calm, cool, and collected. I’ll admit I was a little afraid that a self-professed girly girl might get upset at the sight of blood.”
“No. I’m a tough girly girl.”
She was that. Therefore, Boone was caught off guard ten minutes later when a beautiful red cardinal lifted from his perch in the upper branches of an aspen tree, swooped over the creek, and in a flash of unfortunate timing dropped a payload right on top of Haley’s head.
All hell broke loose.
*