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Mercy tugged her baseball cap and scowled at the receding dock behind Walter’s store. Gertie continued waving until she and Spencer were out of sight. Her one consolation was recalling the sour expression on Ida Belle’s face when Gertie had clapped sharply and told her to hustle her buns on over to Huey’s.
“Is something amusing?” Spencer asked from his seat in the back of the boat. He throttled the engine down and they moved slowly through the water.
“Not especially,” she replied, determined to be civil. After all, maybe he was reluctant to be wasting his day too. She could only imagine what kind of arm-twisting Gertie had used to pull this off at the last minute.
“Oh.” He found a spot and killed the motor. “This isn’t really the best time for fishing, but this spot is as good as any.”
Mercy smiled without humor. “Wonderful.”
“Do you bait your own hook?”
“Of course,” she lied. He tossed her a plastic container and she removed the lid, making a face at the wax worms inside. She jammed the lid on and threw it back to him. “What else do you have?”
“Crickets, grubs, minnows. Which do you want?”
“Corn,” she said flatly, ignoring his grin.
“Check Gertie’s picnic basket,” he suggested.
Smartass. Mercy sniffed and set her fishing rod aside, deciding she might as well make the best of the situation—which was the picnic basket.
She pulled out a snack-size bag of chips and a can of pop before pushing the basket back toward Spencer. He wore a ball cap and sunglasses, so she couldn’t gauge his expression as he ignored the food and speared a grub with his hook. After he cast, she crunched on her chips and waited to see if he’d catch anything.
“Have you ever been fishing?” he asked.
“My Grampa Wiley used to take us grandkids,” she replied. “But we usually fished from a dock. My cousin Temperance hated it and if we went out in a boat, we always had to quit early.”
“So it’s been a few years.”
Mercy nodded and rolled up her empty chip bag, stuffing it under the seat. She was about to drain her soda when she remembered there wasn’t a bathroom handy, so she took a sip and poured the remainder into the water and checked her watch.
“Are you in a hurry?”
She lowered her head and gazed at him over the rim of her sunglasses. “Aren’t you?”
“Not particularly. I find being out on the water relaxing.”
“I’m sure,” she muttered, wondering if he was planning to blame the ocean for his lapse of judgment in Florida.
“You know, all you have to do is ask,” he stated, watching his line.
Mercy frowned. “And I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it that nothing happened.”
“I meant your fishing rod.” He peered sideways at her.
“Huh?” She glanced at the abandoned pole and flushed at her mistake. Maybe it would be better if she focused on something other than the frustrating man sitting a few feet away, so she nodded and handed him her rod.
He took it and passed his to her while he baited her hook. “Do you want me to cast for you?”
She grinned. It had been a long time since she’d done so and she wasn’t sure she could hit the water if she tried.
He cleared his throat nervously. “I think I’d better go ahead and do that.” After a beautiful cast, he held out her rod and she was about to return his when the line grew taut.
“Take it,” she said, thrusting it at him.
“I can’t! I’ve got a hit.”
Mercy looked to see the pole he held bending at the tip and the one she held was pulling with the weight of her catch.
“Start reeling,” he told her.
She cranked on the reel and the tip of the rod bent farther.
“Not too fast,” Spencer cautioned her. “Play the line. Like this.”
He demonstrated how to give the catch some leeway before reeling it closer to the boat and then repeating the process. Mercy tried to imitate him, but soon got tired and started winding the reel with all her might.
“You’re going to lose it,” he warned.
“Good!” she snapped, wiping her sweaty cheek with her tired arm. But she didn’t lose it.
Spencer worked his own line while he watched her catch get closer to the boat. “You’ll have to bring it in by yourself. I can’t help you with the net.”
Mercy thought her arms would fall off and the fish fought her all the way to the boat. Even as she was ready to lift her pole from the water, the fish thrashed and she couldn’t see it. With one mighty jerk, she pulled back and swung her line over the boat, dropping it to the bottom, expecting to see a giant fish flopping around.
Spencer, battling his own catch, asked, “What did you get?”
Her fishing rod went flying through the air and she stood, causing the boat to rock as a scream erupted from her toes. She didn’t know what kind of monster she brought in, but it wasn’t a fish and she’d never seen anything like it in her life.
“What’s wrong?” he shouted, abandoning his own pole to grab the one she had hurled at him. Then he looked down at her catch and started laughing. His motions caused the already unsteady Mercy to topple sideways into the water.
She surfaced, coughing and sputtering with her sunglasses at the end of her nose. Spencer’s pole went over the other side when he reached out to grab her hands. Her brown eyes were enormous and he got a good view of her throat as he helped her back into the boat.
“Get rid of it!” she bellowed, refusing to move past the creature to her seat in the front of the boat.
“Will you quit rocking the boat? You already made me lose a fishing rod!”
She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. “Are you laughing at me? It’s not funny! What is it?” she cried with a shudder of disgust.
“It’s your catch. Which means you have to release it,” he joked.
“I what?”
“Oh, hell,” he muttered.
Mercy had lost her balance and fell into the water again. Her head popped out and she said, “I’m not getting into the boat with that thing!”
“If I release it, then it will be in the water with you. Don’t pull me over!”
“Are there more of them?” She hooked one leg onto the side of the boat to raise herself out of the water and the boat heaved violently, dumping Spencer into the water.
Mercy lost her grip on the side and went under, swallowing a mouthful of water. When she emerged, choking and gasping for air, she didn’t see him and panicked. As soon as she got her breath, she knew she’d have to dive into the terrifying unknown. Then she felt a warm hand on her neck.
“Calm down, Mercy. I’ll steady the boat while you climb in. The small alligator snapping turtle won’t hurt you, so once you’re in, don’t stand up! Ready?”
She nodded and hauled herself into the boat and provided balance for Spencer to do the same. He set the turtle free while she huddled in the bow.
“I don’t suppose you want to keep fishing.”
Mercy gave him a dark look and wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them tight. An alligator snapping turtle? And tiny? She shuddered and vowed to light a firecracker under Loyal’s ass if that’s what it took to get him to settle his beef with the FBI. The sooner she could leave this godforsaken place, the better off she’d be!
The ride back was quiet and when they neared the dock Mercy didn’t wait for the boat to be secured before jumping out. She sped by an astonished Walter and ran back to her room at the motel.
She expected Eugene to be difficult but after one look at her bedraggled appearance, he handed her an extra room key and she had to blink back tears of gratitude. She sniffled as she walked to her room and blubbered through her shower. When she emerged, Spencer was sitting on a chair waiting for her in her room. She squeaked and pulled her towel tighter.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to say I’m sorry.”
“Humph. Don’t bother,” she retorted, yanking open a drawer for clean clothes. “You can go have a laugh with all your friends at my expense. I don’t care! Stupid snipping alligurtles, anyway. I should have known Sinful would produce a mutant reptile. Like there aren’t enough disgusting creatures roaming around this town.”
She stomped to the bathroom and changed into dry clothes, feeling better when that was done. Now, if only Spencer would leave, she could walk to Gertie’s and convince herself not to strangle her well-meaning, but disastrously misguided friend.
“What now?” she demanded when she opened the bathroom door. He was still sitting in the same spot and watched as she stuffed her wet clothes into a trash bag.
“I’m sorry.”
“Bully for you. Now get out!”
“Mercy, are you in there?” Gertie pounded on the door and Mercy bit her tongue before opening it. Gertie overwhelmed her with a hug, and Mercy’s anger faded. Then, just as fast as Gertie had smothered her, she released Mercy and sailed across the room to grab Spencer’s ear.
“Just what were you thinking?” she demanded, twisting his appendage in a way that made Mercy wince. “Do you enjoy terrifying women? Do you think it’s funny making them swim with alligators?”
Mercy gulped air. How could she have forgotten the alligators?
Spencer tried to maneuver into a less painful position, but Gertie was upset and refused to let go.
“I’m wet too,” he reminded Gertie.
And he had held the boat steady for her to climb in first. Mercy’s anger at Spencer dwindled to a little flicker and she tried not to chuckle at the offended expression he wore as Gertie dressed him down.
“—and you’re going to force her back to Denver if you don’t get your act together!” Gertie announced with one final ear twist.
“You’re leaving Sinful?” Spencer’s blue eyes were hard to read, but his voice registered dismay at Gertie’s statement and he absently rubbed his red ear.
Over his head, Gertie put her finger to her lips and smiled at Mercy, so she shrugged in response to his question.
“Let this be a lesson, young man! Mercy, are you ready to leave?” Gertie asked.
Spencer stood. “So soon?”
Mercy tossed him the room key and headed to the door with Gertie. “Don’t forget to give the key to Eugene after you lock up,” she said. “And, Spencer?”
“Yes?”
“You have a weed stuck to your forehead.” Mercy smirked and whirled around, only to bump into Carter.
“I thought I told you to clear out of here,” Carter said with a curious glance at Spencer, who had moved and stood in the doorway behind Mercy.
Gertie’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped toward Carter.
“Cover your ears!” Spencer warned.
Gertie turned to him with a sniff. “He didn’t throw his date into the water.”
A corner of Carter’s mouth rose, and he looked at his friend. “Is that true?” he asked. “You dumped her?”
Mercy scowled at his choice of words and poked his arm. “Why are you bothering me?” she demanded.
“I take it the fishing trip didn’t go as planned.” Carter ignored Mercy’s question to make what she considered a typically stupid male observation.
“Gee, what gave it away, Sherlock?” she asked in a snotty tone.
“He probably heard you screaming,” Spencer muttered. “Hell, I bet the Southern Hemisphere heard you!”
Carter wisely took a pace back before Mercy elbowed him out of the way to grab the front of Spencer’s T-shirt.
“You skirt-chasing floor mop!”
“Floor mop?” Spencer grinned at her choice of insults.
“Yes. You’re just waiting for dirty scum to spread so you can move in and roll around in the filth.”
“Uh, oh,” Carter mumbled to Gertie, who placed a hand over her mouth.
Spencer’s face turned red. “You think I pick up tramps?”
“I didn’t say that.” Mercy’s brow furrowed, and she glared at Carter’s scoffing snort. “I called him a lowlife. Why is everyone staring like I streaked through church?”
“Don’t blame her,” Gertie warned the men. “She doesn’t know Spencer’s uncle was known for his wandering eye and—more.”
Mercy’s mouth formed an O and she blushed when she realized how her comment was interpreted. “Yikes! I’m so sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to imply you, uh...” Her voice faltered, and she looked at Gertie. “We’d better go.”
“Not so fast,” Carter said.
“I’ll wait for you in my car,” Gertie said when Mercy crossed her arms and faced him.
“Eugene knows I’m here. He gave me a key to get in because my purse is still at Gertie’s.” Mercy blew out a puff of air in frustration.
“I’m not here about the rooming violation.”
“Then go away. I’m busy,” Mercy told him.
Carter leaned against the doorjamb and grinned. “Word has it that you didn’t catch any fish on your first bayou fishing outing.”
“Blabbermouth,” Mercy accused Spencer.
Carter pulled out his ticket book. “Oh, don’t blame him. I heard it from Deputy Breaux, who heard it from his mother, who heard it from Celia Arceneaux, who heard it from Grace Peters, who heard it from—well, you get the picture.”
“I suppose falling out of the boat is against the law,” Mercy griped when he handed her a citation.
“No. But fishing without a license is. So is being in possession of an endangered species. But I’ll let the last one slide since you’re new to the area. Just don’t let it happen again.” He left with that warning, and Mercy stood with a slack jaw and crumpled the document in her fist.
“Fishing without a license?” She waved the paper under Spencer’s nose. “That was your fishing rod, not mine. So that makes this yours!”
He pushed it away. “I have a license to fish.”
“Then why didn’t you speak up and tell him it was your pole?” she asked.
“Technically, it doesn’t matter whose rod it was. You reeled it in. Besides, the fine for possession of an endangered species is a lot bigger than not having a license and he wouldn’t have let me off with only a warning.”
“So what you’re saying is that you owe me.” Mercy flashed him a smile and tucked the ticket into his wet shirt pocket. Then, unable to resist, she reached up for the small green weed near his hairline. She showed him and then turned to leave.
“Hey.” He grabbed her hand and when she looked back, he squeezed her fingers lightly. “The last two weeks have gone every which way but right and I’d like to fix that. Can I take you out?”
Her dimples appeared. “You mean like the trash?”
“I mean like a date,” he replied, pulling her hand close to his chest. Mercy stared and felt the heat of his skin through his shirt. Then Gertie honked and she giggled when he muttered under his breath, “Whose side is she on?”
“I have to go.” She tugged her hand but he didn’t release it.
“What about that date?”
A line appeared between her brows. “Not if you’re conflicted.”
“I’ve never been attracted to men.”
“I meant women, dummy.” She rolled her eyes at his deliberate misinterpretation.
“Just one.”
It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but she was short on time. “I’ll think about it.” She jerked her hand free and raced for Gertie’s car.
“That’s not the answer I was looking for,” he called after her.
“Good!”
He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled in exasperation until he caught Gertie grinning out her window as she backed up. She gave him a thumb’s up sign and ignored the crunch of her bumper against the picnic table sitting on a small patch of weeds near the motel. Then they were gone in a roar of dust and exhaust, on their way to Huey’s house. Gertie told Mercy he would pay $100 a week and include food and board.
“I hope that’s okay,” she said, casting worried eyes at Mercy. “Or do I need to call Ida Belle and let her know she has a temporary job?”
Mercy giggled as she imagined Ida Belle’s outrage. “I’m broke and soon-to-be-homeless, so this arrangement suits me fine.”
“Whew! I’m glad to hear that because I don’t think Ida Belle would take the news well.”