“You know you won’t catch anything nearly that big up here,” Boone warned as he pulled the Land Rover onto the shoulder of the road in his usual spot.
“But a rainbow will be prettier than a catfish, right?”
“Guaranteed. Catfish taste pretty, but they’re ugly as sin to look at, don’t you think?”
“They’re super ugly!”
They exited the vehicle just as the first rays of sunshine speared above the mountaintop into the eastern sky. They spent the next few minutes getting Haley into her child-sized waders and gathering up the rest of their gear. As he led her toward the bubbling stream, he spoke to her about flies.
“Why do you make fake flies instead of catching real ones like we do worms?”
“That’s an excellent question, Sweet Pea. I reckon a fisherman—”
“Or fishergirl!”
He grinned. “—or fishergirl could use a real insect, but for a lot of folks, a big part of the sport is tying the flies. It’s rewarding when something you’ve created all on your own proves to be successful.”
She went silent then. He didn’t think much about it until she turned to him with a stricken gaze and heartbreak in her voice. “Like ‘Wishes for My Angel.’”
Boone turned his head to hide his grimace. “Wishes for My Angel” was the song about Haley’s nanny that Jackson and his ex had written and recorded shortly after the plane crash. A haunting, beautiful tune, the recording had gone platinum and won a Grammy.
Following the mention of her parents’ song, Haley’s mood deteriorated. She went from bubbly and enthusiastic to moody and sullen. Catching her first rainbow brightened her up a bit, but the effects of that proved temporary, and she soon sank back into grumpiness. Over the next forty minutes, Boone tried all the tricks he knew, from teasing and telling jokes to ignoring Haley’s grouchy attitude completely. Nothing worked, so he turned to gently probing questions. “You want to talk about what’s making you sad, Little Bit?”
She shrugged.
“I know what it’s like to lose somebody you love. Sometimes it helps if you talk about what you are feeling. It helps me.”
Again, she shrugged.
“I have big ears and wide shoulders.”
She glanced up at him with her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Your ears are not big. They’re regular-sized ears.”
“You think?” Boone cupped his ear and turned it toward her. “All I know is that I can listen pretty good if you want to talk about what has made you sad.”
Again, she shrugged her little shoulders. Her bottom lip quivered a tiny bit. Emotion squeezed Boone’s heart. He wished he had a better handle on how to deal with children. Guess he’d better develop one fast since he was about to become a dad.
But right this moment, Haley was the one who was hurting. He circled back to a distraction attempt with some bad jokes. “Knock knock.”
“What?”
“Knock knock. You’re supposed to say, Who’s there?”
“I know that, but aren’t we supposed to be quiet when we’re fishing?”
Boone made an exaggerated purse of his lips, then he nodded and whispered loudly, “Knock knock.”
She giggled and whispered back. “Who’s there?”
“Canoe.”
“Canoe who?”
“Canoe 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.”