From inside Geary Marin’s boat, Faith watched the marina fade from sight as wind whipped her hair. She turned and nestled deeper in the seat, her hand clutching the handle on the side as they raced across the water at a speed that made her a bit nervous.
As if reading her mind, he shouted over top of the engine, “You okay?”
She nodded and held on tighter as the boat hit rough water, hating that her only choice had been to accept his invitation. He was nice to offer and all, but she didn’t really have time for this little detour. The sooner she could get showered and back to business, the better.
In what seemed like no time, they neared the shoreline and he slowed, easing the boat to the dock. The condominium complex was not so unlike her own, except for the expansive lawn between the buildings and the lake, and all the pretty landscaped beds filled with sego palms and hibiscus. Her own building near downtown Houston was surrounded by cement parking lot and sadly lacked any foliage.
Faith wasn’t sure what a fishing enthusiast’s place would look like, but when he opened the door, there were no muddy fishing boots near the entrance, no lures or empty frozen dinner trays stacked on the counter as she expected.
The modest living area was neat and orderly, everything in its place, like something out of a magazine. Modern even, with walls painted the lightest shade of gray, the sofa slipcovered in a textured chevron print in a darker shade. The lamp shades were definitely Pottery Barn.
Frankly, his decorating taste surpassed her own, even if she picked up all the clothes off the floor of her tiny apartment.
“Can I get you something to drink?” their host asked.
Chuck dropped his camera bag on the floor. “Sure. A beer, if you’ve got it.”
“Sorry. I have sweet tea or lemonade.”
Chuck shrugged. “Lemonade, I guess.”
Faith shook her head. “I just need a shower, thanks.” She needed to hurry and get cleaned up and out of here. Even now, she should be shooting crowd reaction to the tournament.
Noticing several other networks setting up in the parking lot as they’d started across the lake annoyed her to no end. She’d been benched by her own stupidity. The only thing she could do now was hurry and get back to the action.
Geary smiled. “Shower is in this direction.” He led her down a hallway lined with doorways and framed photos. He stopped at his linen closet and pulled out a few extra towels.
“Are these your bass?” she asked, pointing to a couple of shots with him holding sizeable fish in front of him.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Those were all caught here at the lake. Snagged that fifteen-pounder about twenty yards off the dock out back.”
Another showed him on a stage accepting a large trophy. “So, you fish these tournaments too?”
“Yup,” he said as he handed off the towels.
“But not this one?”
He shook his head. “Not this one. I didn’t have enough points this year to qualify.” He led her to a bathroom located at the end of the hall. “This is the guest bath. There’s shampoo over there.” He pulled out a drawer next to the sink. “And here’s a hair dryer.”
She extended her appreciation, glad he wasn’t expecting her to use his personal shower and hair dryer. Something about that seemed just too—well, too intimate.
“Okay, well, I’ll just leave you to your business.” He smiled and backed out the doorway, shutting the door behind him.
She turned and glanced at herself in the mirror. What a wreck! Thank goodness he’d offered her his place to clean up. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done.
She hung her change of clothes on the door hook.
If pressed, she’d have to admit he wasn’t hard to look at. Under different circumstances she might even find him attractive, although she’d never really gone for outdoor types.
Faith dumped the damp blouse on the floor and unzipped her skirt.
She’d not gone for anyone, really. There had been a couple of guys in college she was mildly interested in, but she’d needed to focus and not get bogged down with romantic complications.
It was cliché perhaps to blame her parents for her attitude toward men, but watching their relationship had definitely colored her own view about such things and influenced nearly every decision she made, particularly the ones about love, marriage, and the way she had chosen to live her life.
Her earliest memories included waking to shouting and her mother’s accusations about her father sneaking home in the predawn hours, followed by slamming doors and the sound of glass breaking.
If she ever married, she’d choose a stable, trustworthy man who would be dedicated to her and supportive of her career. And they would never ever fight like that.
In the shower, she mentally revised her rundown sheet to include this unexpected alteration in the schedule. She’d still like to get crowd reaction shots, but her main interest was in the wives. If she teased the story and built up what was at stake for the challengers through the eyes of their spouses, she might expand the viewing audience and create more appeal. Research showed viewers would be more affected when a news story created an emotional connection, and she intended to take full advantage of every tool at her disposal.
Finished, she stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in one of Geary’s thick bath towels. High quality, like the kind found in expensive hotels. Surprising for a guy who fished bass tournaments.
She hurried her makeup, wanting to get back across the lake as soon as possible. When she emerged from down the hallway a half hour later, she unfortunately learned Geary had made sandwiches and a fresh fruit salad, expecting them to stay for lunch.
“It’s nearly time to eat and the restaurants will be packed,” he explained as he carried a tray to the small dining table.
Chuck was already moving toward a chair. While she was in a hurry, she had to admit she was pretty hungry. Reluctantly, she gave in and smiled. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“No trouble,” he assured her as he pulled out a chair.
She thanked him and moved into the seat. “The entrants are scheduled to come in at four o’clock,” she warned. “Chuck, I don’t want to run into any problems with timing.”
Chuck grabbed his iPhone to check a text. “No worries. We’ll have plenty of time to push film back to the station for the evening broadcast.” He checked his watch. “And we can still squeeze in your special interest segments before the anglers return for the weigh-ins.”
Relieved, she pointed to a framed photo perched on the counter and attempted small talk. “Your family?”
Geary turned back to the counter for the salad. “Yeah, that’s us. A crazy bunch, for sure.” He held up a pitcher. “Tea, or lemonade?”
“Tea’s fine, thanks.” She placed a napkin on her lap. “So do they all live around here? Your family?”
“We have aunts, uncles, and cousins scattered all over Texas, but my immediate family members all live here in Conroe.”
Chuck finished his text and slid his smartphone back in his jeans pocket. “Must be nice at holidays.” He grabbed a sandwich from the platter.
Geary set the pitcher on the counter, then slid into his place at the table. “Uh, do either of you mind if I say the blessing?”
Chuck dropped his sandwich on the paper plate in front of him. “Sorry, no. Sure, go ahead.”
Faith lowered her head, thinking that answered a lot.
First, their host rescued her from the drink, then extended hospitality even when her earlier tone had been brisk. She thought about the photos down the hall, the one of him in his graduation gown flanked by a man and woman, likely his parents. There was a photo of a younger gal with a resemblance to him taken in front of what looked like a church. His sister, maybe? She was very pregnant and her face beaming. There were shots of him playing baseball, several of him fishing, and one of him with his arms wrapped around the feeble shoulders of an elderly man.
None of him with a girlfriend or wife.
He finished the blessing, then offered up the bowl of fruit salad. “So, I take it this is the first bass tournament for both of you?”
Chuck didn’t look compelled to answer anytime soon, given his mouth was full of turkey sandwich. So she responded.
“Yes,” she admitted, taking the bowl from Geary’s hand. “But I knew this shoot was coming up, and I did my research.”
He moved a sandwich from the platter onto his plate. “What kind of research?”
She explained how she’d spent hours on the internet, studying how the tournament was composed of winners from six divisions, combining the top PAA anglers from the FLW Tour, Bassmaster Elite Series, and PAA Bass Pro Shops Tournament Series. She’d memorized the tournament rules and learned not only the professional but the personal histories of the fifty competing anglers, including their wives’ names and where they grew up.
“Really? All that?” he teased her with a slight grin.
She let herself smile back, pondering his laid-back style, his precise housekeeping skills, and the fact he kept enough groceries in his refrigerator to host an impromptu luncheon.
She had to admit she was also slightly enamored with the fact that he didn’t seem put off by her frank style and driven nature. A lot of men were.
That, and the few men she’d encountered drank too much and had octopus hands. Seems they believed if they bought her dinner, she needed to pay them back in some physical manner. Same as those older men who had taught her journalism classes, who intimated her affections would be well awarded with recommendation letters.
Yes, she wanted to climb the corporate news ladder, but not that way.
She ate her sandwich while Geary and Chuck talked about how the high temps might affect the depths the bass anglers would have to go to snag a winner.
Chuck shook his head. “I really admire you, man. Not many have one of those on their shelves.” He pointed to a trophy.
“Did I miss something here?” she said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
Chuck reached for his lemonade glass. “Are you kidding, Faith? Don’t you know about Geary Marin?”
She shook her head, hating that Chuck knew something she didn’t. She looked across the table at their host. “So, who are you?” she asked.
Chuck set his glass down. He grinned and exchanged glances with Geary. “This guy was last year’s second-place winner.”
Oh, great! She’d researched the most minute details and knew the first ten-pounder caught in B.A.S.S. competition history was snagged on February 8, 1973, by J. D. Skinner on the St. Johns River, but somehow she’d climbed in a shower belonging to a runner-up in the main hoo-ha and missed it. And he was now sitting across the table from her—grinning.
Again.
If falling in the drink hadn’t impressed him, she’d certainly just sealed the deal by touting herself as being in the know while completely missing the fact that he was a major contender in the bass fishing world.
Stalling, she took a long sip of her tea.
Finally, she looked him in the eyes (those really nice eyes) and made things even worse. “So, why didn’t you qualify this year?”
He gently pushed his plate back. “I had something important that demanded my attention.”
“More critical than the possibility of winning over a hundred thousand dollars?”
He nodded. “I bowed out this spring in order to take care of my grandpa.”
She blinked, understanding creeping into her thick head. She dared to open her big mouth again. “Your grandpa?”
Geary stood and gathered the empty plates. “Yeah, he suffered pancreatic cancer last year. Terminal.” Sadness instantly shadowed his features. “Family matters to me, and sometimes everything else has to go on hold. It was a privilege to care for him clear till the end.”
Faith melted like a candle to a flame. This was the second time she’d acted like a heel, and instead of leveraging his position and taking advantage, he extended a pleasant and polite attitude, even so far as being nice back to her.
Chuck coughed uncomfortably. “Sorry, man. That’s rough.”
“Yes, me too—I’m so sorry,” she said in earnest, recalling the photo in the hallway. “You must have loved him.”
“Yes, I did.” Geary tossed the used paper plates in the trash. “He was a very special man.”
She scrambled to help clear the table.
He held up his palm, seeming to ignore the fact she’d struck out three times on the impression meter. “Nah, leave it for later. Let’s get y’all back to that tournament.”
He delivered them across the lake and to the main dock in record time, bypassing the masses of crowds that had now gathered and packed all the roadways and parking lots.
Geary then offered to make introductions to several of the tournament officials standing in the holding area by the stage, which gave her ample opportunity to secure exclusive interview footage.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked when she’d finished. She unclipped her lavalier mike. “Especially after—uh, this morning.”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll stay for the fireworks show tonight.”
Those gorgeous eyes seemed to twinkle, and one thing became immediately clear. After he’d been so charming, she couldn’t possibly say no.