Read Online Familiar Stranger by Sharon Sala - Free Book Online Page B

okay?"
    "Why not? I know how to be a good sport. Name your something."
    "The loser has to clean the fish."
    He wrinkled his nose. "I don't know. I don't want you hurting yourself."
    She laughed. "My word! The utter gall of the man. Not only have you announced yourself winner before the game even starts, but you're already concerning yourself with my inability to clean a fish."
    "Not a fish, my darling woman. Lots and lots of fish."
    "Fine. I accept your challenge."
    He nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now … is this the turnoff you told me to take, or do we take the second one posted on that sign?"
    "This is it," Cara said, pointing toward a narrow blacktop road leading off to the right of the highway. "Caribou Lake, dead ahead."
    * * *
    It was late afternoon before Cara showed signs of wearing out. They'd shared a picnic and taken pictures and reminisced about so many people that David's head was flooded with things he had spent years trying to forget.
    To his delight, she'd caught the most fish, and her pride had been obvious. His claim to fame for the day was that he'd caught the smallest, which she had promptly recorded for posterity with a demand for a pose. Laughing, he'd held up the four-inch fish on the line, measuring it with his thumb and forefinger for the camera as she snapped the shot.
    He glanced at her again, as he had so often during the day, smiling about the smear of dirt on her forehead and the faint hint of sunburn on her reddening nose and cheeks.
    "Don't you think it's time to call it quits?" he asked.
    She looked at him, her eyes snapping with challenge.
    "Only if you're the one who's saying uncle."
    "Then uncle … and aunt, and cousin Joe, and Uncle Bob, and whatever the hell else it takes for you to admit you're as tired as I am."
    She grinned. "All right then, just one more cast and I'm yours."
    "Now you're talking," he said, and then watched as she made a perfect cast into the lake.
    "Good one," he said. "Where did you learn to fish like this?"
    "My son, Tyler. He demanded his time between ballet lessons and cheerleading practices."
    David nodded, wondering where Ray Justice had been during those years. So far, Cara rarely mentioned his presence in their everyday lives. Then her next comment answered his question without being asked.
    "Ray was always working," she said. "Someone had to do the guy stuff with our son." Slowly, she reeled in the line, skillfully playing the lure in the water as she talked. "I got pretty good at it, too. In fact, there for a while, spending the night at Tyler's house was all the rage because his mom wasn't squeamish about worms."
    David grinned.
    Suddenly, Cara's line jerked.
    "I've got one!" she shouted, and began backing up as she reeled.
    The pole was bending, the line quivering and taut. When it was less than five feet from the shore, they could see the shadowy shape of the fish beneath the water.
    "It's a big one," she squealed. "Just look at him fight."
    David glanced toward the water just as she took another turn on the reel. In that moment, the fish slipped the hook. The tension went from constant to nothing and the hook came up and out of the water like a pronged bullet, heading straight for Cara's face.
    David reacted without thinking, spinning between her and the missile, then flinching in pain when the hook set itself deep within his back.
    Still blinking from an impact that never happened, Cara saw David reaching over his shoulder, feeling his way around the wound. When he removed his hand, it came away bloody.
    "David?"
    "It's in my back," he said. "If I had a pair of needle-nosed pliers, I could pull it out."
    "Oh, my God," she moaned, and made him turn around. "I saw it coming and just froze. If it hadn't been for you, it would have been in my face."
    "It's nothing," he said. "Lord knows I've had worse. Now go look for the pliers, will you?"
    "I will not," she stated firmly, and took a pocketknife out of her tackle box and quickly cut the line. "We're