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diametre. From each frame hung a mesh net, which disappeared down into the green depths of the water. An older man, cigarette sticking precariously from his mouth, was busy scooping red pellets from a twenty litre bucket into each net. Kirsten watched as a myriad of fish began to appear, their silver bodies twisting and turning in the water as they found the food. The surface of the water bubbled as they thrashed in their frenzy.
    “Wow.” Kirsten leaned over the rail to get a better look as Tyler appeared at her side.
    “They’re Chinook Salmon,” He pointed. “Or King Salmon as they’re commonly called.”
    Sarah was busy hopping from one foot to the other, watching her reflection in the water.
    “Sarah, come here sweetie. I don’t want you falling in the water.” Kirsten took hold of her hand and turned back to watch the fish. “How many in each net?” She asked as she counted the rows of nets.
    Tyler grinned. “You wanna go down and count?”
    “No thanks.”
    “There would be several hundred in each net, if we’re lucky.”
    “That’s a lot of cat food.” Kirsten teased.
    Tyler scowled in disapproval. “The finest Salmon in the country, thank you very much.”

    * * * *

    When they arrived back at the wharf around four o’clock Kirsten felt like a salty sea dog. Her hair and bare legs were caked with sea spray. She was pleased she had at least pulled her hair back into a pony tail for the day; otherwise it would be a bird’s nest by now.
    She figured herself unlucky she had inherited the recessive gene for red hair and freckled skin. This came from her father’s side of the family. She would appreciate it more if her hair was straight, but it curled and had a mind of its own. People always said how pretty it was, but Kirsten hated it. Other parts of her were acceptable. She liked the curve of her athletic legs and the hourglass shape of her torso, but her pale skin never tanned.
    She removed her life jacket as Tyler helped Sarah out of hers then they walked up the hill to the house. Sarah skipped a few metres ahead, singing happily under her breath as she grabbed branches and pulled leaves from nearby trees.
    “Is she always this happy?” Kirsten asked. Sarah was a delight to watch, her long blonde hair bounced behind her as she moved.
    “Most of the time. She has her moments like any kids, but she’s pretty good.”
    “Where does the blonde hair come from?”
    Tyler’s smile faltered. “Must be Jamie’s side of the family. The Frampton’s are all dark and brooding.”
    Something about his voice made Kirsten almost stop in her tracks. It made her wonder if the animosity between the two men was so bad that Tyler didn’t even like mentioning Sarah’s father. Or was it something else?
    “Oh?” Kirsten swung the topic back to Tyler; she suspected it was his favourite subject. “Dark blood?”
    “South American on my father’s side, Greek on my mother’s side, I think.” He smiled. “Though she will maintain her family is strictly English.”
    His attempt at a proper English accent made Kirsten giggle. As they came up out of the bush and onto the lawn, Sarah rushed off to the terrace. Something had caught her eye.
    “Dad!” Her sneaker-clad feet pounded up the path toward the man who stood at the edge of the concrete patio. She flung herself into his arms and he swept her up with no effort.
    James was taller than Kirsty had pictured him, with a lean frame and mousy hair. Nothing about him gave away the fact he was Sarah’s father. Except for the blonde hair, Sarah looked just like Brook. He had just showered or swam, for his hair was still damp, and as the gap between them lessened Kirsten noticed he smelled divine; a masculine mixture of musk and woody high notes.
    “Hi, honey bear.” Jamie hugged his daughter. “Mmmm, I missed you.”
    “I missed you too, Dad.” Sarah wrapped her arms around Jamie’s neck and squeezed.
    “James,” Tyler acknowledged as he walked up the