The trial of Stephanie Andrews had ended within a few short weeks. She'd received twenty years, ten fixed. Rob hadn't been there at the sentencing. He'd been fishing in the Wood River, whipping his Chamois Nymph across the surface of the water. Feeling the rush and pull of the current.

Rob picked the mail off his desk and walked toward the door. He turned off the lights and headed down the stairs. He'd never been the kind of guy to overanalyze his life. If the answer didn't come easy, he forgot about the question and moved on. But getting shot forced a man to take a good hard look at himself. Waking up with tubes stuck in your chest and with your leg immobilized gave you plenty of time with nothing to do but think about how your life got so screwed up. The easy answer was that Rob had been stupid and had had sex with a crazy woman. The harder answer was the why.

With his mail in one hand, he locked the store behind him. He shoved his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and headed for the HUMMER. Once inside, he tossed his mail on the passenger seat beside his groceries and fired up the vehicle. He still didn't know the answer to the last question, but he figured it didn't matter now. Whatever the answer, he'd learned the lesson the hard way. He was a poor judge of women, and when it came to relationships, he was a bad bet. His marriage had been painful, the divorce an inevitable slam to the ice. That's all he needed to know to avoid a repeat of his past.

He would like a girlfriend, though. A girlfriend in the sense of a girl who was a friend. A friend who came over to his house and had sex with him a couple of times a week. Someone who just wanted to have a good time and ride him like a hobbyhorse. Someone not crazy. But there was the rub. Stephanie Andrews hadn't looked crazy-not until she'd shown up in Seattle with a grudge and a gun.

Rob hadn't had sex since he'd been shot. Not that he wasn't able or had lost his desire. It was just that every time he saw a woman he was interested in, and who seemed interested in him, a little voice inside his head always put a stop to it before it even got started. Is she worth dying for? it asked. Is she worth your life?

The answer was always no.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the M &S Market. Not even with a gorgeous redhead with long legs and a nice ass.

Across the street, Rob stopped at the self-serve Chevron and pumped gas in the HUMMER. He leaned his hip into the side of the car and prepared for a long wait. Once again his gaze was pulled to the front of the grocery store. Whoever had come up with the maxim that the more you went without sex, the less you wanted it, was a moron. He might not think about sex all the time, but when he did, he still wanted it.

A Toyota pickup pulled in behind Rob, and a short blonde got out and made her way toward him. Her name was Rose Lake. She was twenty-eight and built like a little Barbie doll. In the summer she liked to wear tank tops without a bra. Yeah, he'd noticed. Just because he didn't have sex didn't mean he wasn't a guy. Today she wore tight Wranglers and a jean jacket with that fake white fur on the inside. Her cheeks were pink from the cold.

"Hey there," she greeted as she stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Rose. How're things?"

"Good. I heard you were back."

Rob pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. "Yeah, I got back last night."

"Where'd you go?"

" skiing with friends."

Rose tilted her chin and looked up at him out of the corners of her light blue eyes. "What are you doing now?"

He recognized the invitation, and he shoved his fingers into the front pockets of his Levi's. "Pumping gas in the HUMMER."

Yeah, she was cute, and he'd been tempted more than once to take what she was offering. "What about when you leave here?" she asked.

He was tempted even now. "I've got a lot of work to do before I open the store in a few weeks."

She reached out and tugged at the front of his coat. "I could help you out."

But not enough to drown out the warnings in his head. "Thanks, but it's the sort of paperwork I have to do myself." Still, there was nothing wrong with chatting up a pretty girl while filling his HUMMER with fuel. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"Emmett Barnes got arrested for drunk and disorderly, but that's not anything new or interesting. The Spuds and Suds got a health code violation, but that's nothing new either."

He pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for his sunglasses.

"Oh, and I heard you're gay."

The pump shut off, and his hand stopped in midair. "What?"

"My mom was at the Curl Up & Dye this morning getting her roots done, and she heard Eden Hansen telling Dixie Howe that you're gay."

He dropped his hand. "The owner of Hansen's Emporium said that?"

Rose nodded. "Yeah. I don't know where she heard it."

Why would Eden say he was gay? It didn't make sense. He didn't dress like a gay guy, and there wasn't a rainbow sticker on his HUMMER. He didn't like to decorate or listen to Cher. He didn't give a crap if his socks matched; as long as they were clean, that's all that mattered. And the only hair care product he owned was a bottle of shampoo. "I'm not gay."

"I didn't think so. I'm usually pretty good at sensing something like that, and I never got the gay vibe from you."

Rob removed the gas nozzle and shoved it in the pump. Not that it mattered, he told himself. There was nothing wrong with being homosexual. He had a few friends in the NHL who were gay. He just didn't happen to be one of them. To him, it was just a matter of sexual preference, and Rob loved women. He loved everything about them. He loved the scent of their skin and their warm, wet mouths beneath his. He loved the heated look in their eyes as he seduced them out of their panties. He loved their soft, eager hands on his body. He loved the push and pull, give and take of hot sex. He loved it fast and he loved to take his time. He loved everything about it.

Rob clenched his jaws and screwed on the gas cap. "See ya around, Rose," he said, then opened the door to his vehicle.

In the beginning it had been extremely difficult to go without sex, but he'd kept himself active and busy. When a sexual thought had popped into his head, he'd just thought of something else. If that hadn't worked, he'd tied flies, losing himself in nymphs and tung head zug bugs. He'd concentrate on mastering the perfect wrap, and eventually going without had got easier. Through force of will, and over a thousand flies later, he'd gained command of his body.

Until recently. Until a certain redhead had brushed her fingers across his arm and sent a bolt of desire straight to his groin, reminding him of everything he'd given up.

It wasn't like she'd been the first woman to offer him a good time. He knew women in Seattle and women right here in Gospel who were up for some bed action. She just tempted him more than he'd been tempted in a while, and he didn't know why. But like all the questions in his head for which there were no answers, he didn't have to know why.

The only thing he knew for certain was that that kind of temptation wasn't good for his peace of mind. It was best to steer clear of Kate Hamilton. Best if he stayed on his side of the parking lot. Best to get her completely out of his head.

And the best way to do that was with a seven-foot bamboo rod and an eight-ounce reel, a box of his favorite midges and nymphs, and a river filled with hungry trout.

He drove home and grabbed his rod and reel and waders, then headed to the Big Wood River and the spot just below the River Run Bridge where the big trout fed without fear in the winter. Where only the most dedicated fly fisherman stood knee deep in water so cold it forced its way through Gore-Tex, pile, and neoprene. Where only the hard-core walked cautiously across the frozen ice, stacked like blue cards against the river's steep banks. Where only the obsessed walked into the river and froze their balls off for a chance to battle a twelve-inch rainbow.

Only when he heard the sound of the river tripping over rocks, the swish of his line whipping back and forth, and the steady clicking of his reel could Rob begin to feel the tension ease between his shoulders.

Only when the sight of his favorite nymph kissed the perfect spot at just the edge of a deep pool did his mind finally clear.

Only then did he find the peace he needed to calm the struggle within him. Only then did the loneliness ease. Only then did everything seem right again in Rob Sutter's world.

Four

"There's a group social at the grange tonight," Regina Cladis informed Stanley Caldwell as he rang up a pound of bologna, a quart of milk, and a can of coffee.

Stanley groaned inwardly and kept his gaze pinned on the keys. He knew better than to look into Regina's thick glasses. She'd take it as a sign of encouragement, and he didn't have an interest in Regina or socials of any kind.

"We're all bringing samples of our poetry. You should come."

He glanced over at Hayden Dean, Rob Sutter, and Paul Aberdeen, who stood gathered around his coffee machine a few feet away. "I don't write poetry," he said loud enough for them to hear, just in case they thought he was the kind of guy who sat around writing poetry.

"Oh, you don't have to write it to enjoy it. Just come and listen."

Stanley might be old, but he wasn't near senile enough to get himself shut in a grange with a bunch of poetry reading and writing women.

"Iona is bringing her famous peach thumbprints," Regina added as enticement.