Hummingbird Lake Page 0,3
job in D.C.”
His father shook his head. “That’s a crying shame, son.”
Colt had to agree. Colorado always had been special to him. His family had vacationed in Eternity Springs every year when he was a kid, and he’d loved everything about the town. He’d started working summers up here his last two years in high school and continued that all the way through college and even grad school. His mom always said that the reason he’d stayed in academics as long as he had was because he wasn’t willing to give up his summers in the mountains.
“I wish this trip could be longer,” he admitted. “If my appointment next week was for anything other than testifying before Congress, I’d skip it.”
“That’s a difficult class to cut.” Ben Rafferty, high school science teacher, nodded sagely.
“It’s a dog and pony show, is what it is. A pain in the ass.” After a teaching stint at Georgia Tech, Colt had taken his Ph.D. in chemical engineering to the CSB, the U.S. Chemical Safety and Hazard Investigation Board, where he investigated industrial explosions. He loved the work—solving the puzzle of what happened in an incident and why and determining how to avoid a similar accident in the future—but he hated the hoops he and his team had to go through to get anything changed. They could write wonderful reports about their findings, but unless that led to change, what good did they do? “Let’s not talk about work anymore. It’ll spoil my appetite for my fish. I’m here today, and I intend to take full advantage of it. A little dose of Eternity Springs is better than nothing.”
“Amen, son.”
Thinking he’d had a hit, Colt tugged on the line. Nope. Nada. He made another cast, then laughed. “Know what I was dreaming about when you woke me up this morning? Senior trip.”
Ben Rafferty gave a long-suffering sigh. “And people think preachers’ kids are wild. Teachers’ kids are ten times worse.”
“Aw, c’mon, Dad. I wasn’t wild.”
Ben snorted. “Sure you were. You were also the most stubborn, hardheaded, determined boy on the planet. Once you got an idea in your head, there was no stopping you. Don’t see how that’s changed, either.”
“Being tenacious is an asset in my work.”
“Sure made it a challenge to be your father.”
After that, conversation lagged as the two men went about the serious business of fishing. For that stretch of time, Colt was as happy as he’d been in months. I really need to get to Colorado more often.
“Woo-hoo,” Ben called out, snagging Colt’s attention as he landed the first fish. “Better get to work, boyo. I’ll be having myself a fine trout breakfast and you’ll be eating cereal.”
“Not gonna happen.” Colt proved his claim by catching the next two, which led to some good-hearted grumbling from his father.
Time passed and Colt soaked in the peacefulness of the morning. The air carried the tangy scent of a cedar campfire, and above him a hawk soared on a subtle breeze. Worries about the upcoming committee meeting nagged at the edges of his brain, but as Ben Rafferty pulled another rainbow from Hummingbird Lake, Colt lifted his gaze toward Murphy Mountain, tucked his worries away, and allowed Eternity Springs to work its mojo on him. He was here, fishing with his dad. Life was good.
“I’m glad you could make it up here this week, Dad.”
“I am too, son. Wish the rest of the family could have come along as well, but your mom insisted that you and I needed some”—he smirked and stressed the words—“male bonding time. Personally, I think she’s laying the groundwork to take a girls’ trip with your sister. I’ve heard them whispering about a spa weekend.”
“If Mom and Molly want a spa holiday, they should come up here. I have it on good authority that Angel’s Rest has hired the best masseuse this side of the Mississippi.”
His dad glanced over at him. “Speaking of Angel’s Rest, when do I get to see this sign of yours? Ms. Blessing went on and on about it and about your artistic talent yesterday when I checked in.”
“She was happy with the sign.”
“Happy? Now there’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. She told me that you have enough talent to make your living as an artist.”
Colt shook his head at that nonsense and changed the subject. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking it’s about time for breakfast.”
“Sounds good.” His father jerked his head toward their fishing creels. “You clean ’em, I’ll