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toward the lake.
    He’d lived in Nashville too long, because the
Minnesota June morning held a chill. He’d warm up in the sun, and,
since he’d been raised in the state, refused to go back for a
jacket. He’d never hear the end of it.
    As he crested the rise overlooking the water,
he saw many of the boats had already left their slips. The sun rose
early this far north, and though it was only six a.m., the lake was
dotted with small boats.
    A man moved with familiarity nearby, working
a boat loose from its mooring. As Maddox approached, he saw it was
Quinn, the owner of the bar and grill. The other man straightened
in surprise when Maddox approached with his gear.
    “Heading out?” Quinn asked.
    “Yeah, I rented a boat for the week.” Maddox
nodded to the end of the dock, a simple motor boat that would serve
his purpose.
    Quinn gestured toward his own boat, pretty
nice for a bar owner. “This one’s already stocked with food and
drinks. If you don’t talk too much, I can show you some nice spots
for wall-eye.”
    Maddox lifted his eyebrows. The bar owner
didn’t seem the type to be swayed by celebrity. Maddox had thought
to go out on his own, but, “What kind of food?”
    Quinn grinned. “Sandwiches, chips, water,
soda.”
    “Soda.” Maddox handed over his gear. “So
you’re not a native.”
    “From Kansas.”
    Maddox hopped on board, and wondered a moment
what he could do, or if he should do nothing since this wasn’t his
boat. “What are you doing up here in the Great White North?”
    Quinn started the engine once Maddox was
seated. “Fishing.”
    Maddox nodded, getting the unspoken message
as Quinn guided the motorboat out of the slot and onto the open
water. He shivered as the wind hit his bare skin. Stupid to have
been too proud to go back for that jacket.
    Once they were out of the shade of the trees,
the sun offered a little warmth, but Quinn picked up speed and sent
them skipping over the surface of the lake. The roar of the motor
bounced off the houses on the shore. Quinn grinned over his
shoulder and Maddox willed his teeth not to chatter. Finally, Quinn
pulled back and they coasted, Quinn circling the boat until he
found the perfect spot. Then he killed the engine, opened his
cooler and tossed Maddox a bottle of water.
    “Blood thinned living down south?” he
asked.
    “Little bit.” Maddox uncapped the drink and
took a pull. “This your spot?”
    Quinn nodded and reached for his gear. Maddox
attended his own, and both men cast, one on either side of the
boat. They fished in silence for a while, Maddox’s shoulders
relaxing as the sun warmed his skin, before Quinn said, “So what
was going on with you and Beth last night? I’ve never seen her back
go up like that.”
    Maddox took a minute to process the question,
especially because it came from Quinn. “What, with the tray?”
    “I thought she was going to take the broom
and start smacking you with it.”
    “We have a history. I used to spend my
summers out here when I was a kid. She waitressed at the diner, I
thought she was cute, we spent a lot of time together.” He’d wait
for her outside the diner and they’d drive up north, to a secluded
part of the lake, sit on the hood and talk—or make out—until almost
dawn. She’d had no desire to go home, and no one had noticed if she
did or didn’t, except for the tips she added to the family
finances. He still couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to save
enough for his Gibson. What had she sacrificed?
    “Beth doesn’t strike me as the type to hold a
grudge. You didn’t leave under the best circumstances?”
    Maddox shrugged. “Everything was fine. I was
going to Nashville, she was going back for her senior year. She
gave me a guitar and wished me luck. I admit I probably should have
called her, but like you said, she’s not the type to hold a
grudge.”
    “Something had her panties in a twist last
night.”
    Her panties had been in a twist ever since he
returned. He