He did the same and pulled the extra blanket up over them. “Lookin’ back, I think it might have been because they’d just found out about her sickness and he wanted her to have treatments,” Wyatt said. “But to get on with the story, she booked me to take her fishin’ the next Monday. I told her that I didn’t go fish with fewer than four men, because it wasn’t worth my time to just take one.”

“Bet that went over like a roach in the punch bowl,” Harper said.

“She said that she’d double my rate, but she wanted to be on the water at daybreak and she damn sure wasn’t comin’ back to the resort until after dark. So I got the bait and enough food ready for the whole day and picked her up at five that Monday morning. She didn’t catch a single fish all mornin’.”

“And that’s funny why?”

“I’m gettin’ to it,” Wyatt said. “She reached in that big black purse that she carries and brought out a Jerry Clower CD and told me to put it in the player on the boat. I did, and he told the story about a guy who’d gone fishin’ with the game warden. Claude Ledbetter was the fellow’s name, and the way the story went . . . well, dammit, to get the full effect, you’ve got to hear it. She gave me that CD when we finished the day, and I’ve played it dozens of times when my fishermen aren’t gettin’ bites.”

Harper had heard the whole CD many times and it always made her laugh, but she couldn’t fathom why that would be his funniest fishing story. So Granny gave him a CD and they thought the comedian was a hoot.

“You must have had some boring trips if that’s your funniest one,” Harper said.

“Patience, darlin’. A good story starts out with ‘Once upon a time.’ That part was just the beginning. Miz Annie and I listened to the story about Claude throwin’ dynamite into the river at least three times, and I laughed harder every time even though I knew what was going to happen after that first time. Now, go back to that old black purse that Annie carried. Well, she reached inside it and brought out a stick of dynamite and one of Zed’s cigarette lighters.”

“No!” Harper gasped.

“I told her that she couldn’t do that, that we’d both wind up in jail, but she lit the damn thing and handed it to me. I can still see her face when she said, ‘You goin’ to argue with me or are you goin’ to fish?’ just like Claude asked that game warden when he gave him that stick of dynamite.”

“What did you do?” She could picture him holding a stick of lit dynamite and Granny sitting there with her purse by her side and a fishing pole in her hand.

“I threw it as hard as I could,” he said.

“What happened then?”

He shrugged. “I gave thanks that there were no game wardens or other boats on the lake that evening. And then gathered up enough bass and catfish that they almost sank my boat.”

Harper clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sweet mother of God, did y’all wind up in jail?”

“No, but we did take all that fish back behind the café and Zed had to clean them. The next day’s blue-plate special was fried catfish. All you can eat.”

“Did they get over their argument?”

“I asked her about that the next day, and she said that Zed made a deal with her. If she’d never use dynamite to fish again, he wouldn’t fuss at her about anything else. I didn’t know that she was sick. Now your turn,” he said.

“My brain is still reelin’ from your story. I wonder where she even got that stick of dynamite.”

“I didn’t ask, but you might tell Dana that there could be more hidden away in the house,” Wyatt said. “Did you always work in bars?”

“Since I was twenty-one. Before that I worked in an animal shelter. My funniest story was about old Barney Bailey out in Amarillo, though.”

“Does it involve explosives?”

“Not really, but three guys might still think that they were hit with a bomb,” she answered.

“I’m listenin’.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.

“Barney would come into the bar and get plastered the first day of every month. I’d call a cab for him because he didn’t have a car. He always sat on the end stool and told me stories if it was a slow evening.”

“Did you have many slow nights?” Wyatt asked.

“Busiest times in a college bar is weekends. But if the first day of the month fell on a weeknight, things were calmer.”

“Why?” Wyatt asked.

“Because that’s when folks usually got paid or got their retirement checks,” she said. “But this time it fell smack on a Saturday night, and the bar was full of wild college kids. So there’s old Barney nursing another whiskey and Coke when it was nearly closing time. Minding his own business until three smart-ass young guys started pickin’ on him. I told them to leave him alone, but he held up a hand and grinned at me.”

She could still see Barney in those khaki shorts he wore year-round, white tube socks that came up to his knees, and combat boots. His T-shirts varied depending on the concert or ball game he’d attended recently. His old camouflage jacket had seen decades of wear, but his name tag above the pocket was still legible.

“Thought they were tough guys, didn’t they?”