He smiled, thinking of Heather and her music. She was surrounded by song. She might have anxiety and spend much of her time alone and indoors—but had he ever met someone so alive? He could tell her mood by the music that was playing—opera when she was soaring, classical when she was drawing, country music when she was cooking or puttering about, Bruno Mars when cleaning the house.
He’d sung to Heather, too, in his own way, with his stories. He’d dug deep for every and any snippet of folklore and history, some amusing story, just so he could buy more time with her. So he could see the look of wonder spread across her face as she forgot her reservations and fell under the spell of the tale he was weaving. Heather’s beautiful face, her luminous blue eyes, could conceal nothing. He was challenged to coax a smile or a laugh out of her. Each one felt like a gift because they were so infrequent and difficult to come by.
So when she’d refused to go out to dinner with him, he’d been crushed. He’d felt like a fool. To his mind, when she’d shown him the door on his last day working on the deck and told him good-bye, she was telling him she’d found him entertaining and now she was done, thank you very much. It had hurt. Bad. Just remembering that moment, he felt again the ache in the pit of his stomach.
He’d stayed away. With the job done, there was no reason for him to return. It was a miserable week. Then, on an ordinary day, he’d answered the call from the birds of prey center and there she was, hovering close to the injured pelican, looking at him with an expression every bit as fragile as the hurt bird. He’d put up his guard. Yet somehow she’d found the courage to explain to him why she’d refused his invitation. She’d humbled herself to be honest about her anxiety, and in response, he was humbled by her trust in him.
And here they were. Together again. Like peas and carrots, his grandmother would say. And as before, they didn’t feel any awkwardness with each other. Bo felt a surge of happiness that tasted as fresh and full of hope as the early-morning air. With energy he reached in and hoisted the cooler from the back of the truck, then tossed a blanket over his shoulder.
“Hey, pretty lady!” he called out. “Stop gawking like a tourist and grab the rods. We going to fish or not?”
Heather turned and, upon seeing him, her smile brightened her face to rival the sunny sky. She hurried over to his side.
“I was watching a line of pelicans flying overhead in formation. They remind me of bombardiers on patrol. Made me wonder, how’s our wounded pelican?”
“They think it turned the corner and is going to make it. For a couple of days it wouldn’t eat, now it won’t stop eating.” He chuckled. “Apparently they’ve got to do physical therapy on its injured wing. To keep it mobile. If a bird can’t fly, it can’t survive.”
“Can we see him?”
“Sure, I’ll take you up again and we can check on the little fella.” He paused to look up as another three pelicans flew overhead in V formation. “I’m always glad when they pull through. Lots of them don’t. The ones we find injured we can bring in and hopefully help. Most of them, though, we don’t see, and they just die out there.” He glanced back at her and smiled. “Right, then. Let’s grab the gear.”
Heather reached far into the back of the truck to the rods, offering him a pretty view of her rounded backside. He felt a stirring and looked out at the churning waters of the inlet.
“Got ’em,” she called out triumphantly.
Hefting the heavy cooler, he jerked his chin toward the beach. “Great. Follow me.”
Bo led her down the slope to the small stretch of beach from the Hunley Bridge to a rocky edge. It was not a pretty beach. The bits of sand were patchy and rocky, and no swimming was allowed due to the deathly currents in Breach Inlet. This made it a good place to fish.
“Look, Bo,” Heather said as they reached the beach. “The tide’s out and there’s so much sand. You could walk to Isle of Palms.”
“Don’t ever try it,” he warned, setting down the cooler with a thud. “See that?” He pointed to the large NO SWIMMING sign. “That’s for real. No fooling around. Every year some tourists who don’t understand the tides see all the sand and try to walk across, or just see how far out they can go. Few things scare me more than driving over the bridge and seeing some nice family out there, looking for seashells. Na?ve. They don’t have a clue how fast and furious the tide can rush back in. It’s a force of nature. And then there’s the guy who comes to fish and just wants to go in the water a little bit to cool off. He never intends to go swimming. Just a toe in . . .” Bo shook his head. “People have stood in the shallows, and damn if the sand didn’t give way and they got caught in the currents. Folks use to call it Breach Inlet Quicksand. And that doesn’t even cover the sharks.”
“Sharks?”
Bo looked at her with his brows raised. “Honey, you do know there are sharks in the ocean?”
Heather blushed. “Of course. I’m not stupid. But they’re out there, right?” she said, pointing far out to sea. “Not close in.” She grimaced. “Not a lot of them, anyway?”
“They’re all over. I can’t even count how many I’ve bumped into when I’ve been out surfing.” Bo gestured toward the inlet. “But they really love it in Breach Inlet. It’s a favorite feeding place for sharks. In fact, the largest shark I ever saw was right down there.” He pointed to the shoreline. “It had to be twelve feet long. I was just standing there fishing and it swam right by me, so close I could’ve touched it. Course, I’m not that kind of fool.” He laughed. “Dolphins love it here, too, for the same reasons. Mama dolphins like to bring their young here to teach them how to hunt. It’s a feeding ground in there, with currents as crazy as a pot of boiling soup, and bloodthirsty sharks to boot—nope, no one should try to swim in Breach Inlet.” He cocked his head and winked. “But it makes for great fishing.”
He looked up at the sky to see large gray clouds gathered over the northwest, but the sky above the ocean where they stood was still blue with white clouds, and the wind was light.
“I don’t like the looks of those clouds. Let’s get started before they move any closer.” He bent to pick up the cooler again with a grunt. “Just a little farther,” he said, leading the way to a far corner of the beach where rocks gathered at the base of the slope. He set the cooler down while she spread out the blanket, anchoring it with the cooler and rocks. They gathered the gear and began hooking the bait.
“This here’s shrimp. It’s still alive. We want them dancing on the line. Live bait is the ticket.” He held back a smile, observing Heather’s intense concentration as she watched him demonstrate how to place the hook through the tail of the shrimp. “Do you think you can do it?” he asked.
She reached out to touch it tentatively. Her long fingers inched closer and at last barely touched the tip of the shrimp’s fan tail; when it twitched, she yelped and jumped back. Bo laughed, but not too loudly.
Heather laughed at herself, a blush staining her cheeks. “Maybe I should watch you awhile first?”
“Your rod, ma’am.”