Полная версия
Hooked
Hooked
More Than Words
Betina Krahn
MILLS & BOON
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More Than Words: Bestselling authors & Real-life heroines
We all have the power to effect change—we just need to find the strength to harness it. With every good deed done and helping hand offered, we are making the world a better place. The dedicated women selected as this year’s recipients of Harlequin’s More Than Words award have changed many lives for the better, through their compassionate hearts and unshakable commitment. To celebrate their accomplishments, bestselling authors have written stories inspired by these real-life heroines.
In this book, Betina Krahn honors the work of Donna Fischer, the Arizona program coordinator for Casting for Recovery, a national nonprofit organization that runs fly-fishing retreats for women who have or have had breast cancer.
We hope More Than Words inspires you to look inside your heart and get in touch with the heroine inside you.
Dear Reader,
For many years Harlequin has been a leader in supporting and promoting women’s charitable efforts. Through Harlequin More Than Words, each year we celebrate three women who make extraordinary differences in the lives of others, and Harlequin donates $15,000 each to their chosen causes.
We are proud to highlight the current Harlequin More Than Words recipients with the help of some of the biggest names in women’s fiction, Harlequin authors, who created fictional stories inspired by these women and the charities they support. Within the following pages you will find a touching story written by Betina Krahn—one of three ebooks available at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com. Be sure to look for Michele Hauf’s Maxwell’s Smile, and Jillian Hart’s No One But You—also available online. A book with three additional stories, written by Debbie Macomber, Brenda Novak and Meryl Sawyer, can be found on the shelves of your favorite bookstore in More Than Words, Stories of the Heart. All six of these stories are beautiful tributes to the Harlequin More Than Words recipients and we hope they will ignite the real-life heroine in you.
Thank you for your support; all proceeds from the sale of the print edition will be returned to the Harlequin More Than Words program. For more information on how you can get involved, please visit our website at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com.
Together we can make a difference!
Sincerely,
Donna Hayes
Publisher and CEO
Harlequin
Casting for Recovery
Donna Fischer
How Donna inspires others:
Cool, fresh water swirled around Donna Fischer’s hip waders as she cast her line under the Arizona sky. Fly-fishing was even better than she’d thought it would be, and to be there with thirteen other women who were also screaming and yelling with delight as they hooked fish after fish was incredible. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open in laughter; a photographer clicked a photo and captured the moment.
Donna still has that photo. She keeps it as a reminder of that weekend back in 2006 when she left her life behind and experienced pure joy through fly-fishing with amazing women she now calls friends.
Yet there’s something the image doesn’t show: the seven long months she spent undergoing surgery, radiation and chemotherapy after being diagnosed with breast cancer.
Donna, now cancer-free (cautiously) for over five years, was a survivor participant with Casting for Recovery, a national nonprofit organization based in Manchester, Vermont, that has been running fly-fishing retreats for women who have or have had breast cancer.
Despite first impressions, breast cancer and fly-fishing do indeed connect. The gentle casting motion is therapeutic for muscles and tissues that have been damaged through surgery and radiation. Being outside, on the water, and the meditative nature of the sport also can’t be beat.
“When you’re fly-fishing, that’s all you think about,” says Donna, who is now a dedicated and passionate volunteer. “You don’t think about your cancer. You’re in the moment,”
The ripple effect
Founded in 1996, Casting for Recovery is the unique brainchild of a breast cancer reconstructive surgeon and a professional fly-fisher. What began as a local grassroots effort to empower cancer patients and survivors has since gone national—and beyond. The organization now offers forty-three programs in thirty U.S. states and has inspired similar programs in Canada, New Zealand and the U.K.
It continues to grow, no doubt due to its focus on fun, education and bonding. In most cases, women show up on Friday afternoon, learn fly-fishing basics, hit the water and participate in support groups in the evening, hosted by therapists and medical personnel. The groups are kept small—just fourteen people—so everyone is heard and supported. On the final day, each participant is paired with an experienced fly fisher, or river helper. It’s the only time men are included in the weekend, but it’s an important time.
“It’s a very intense two and a half days, and the women get so much out of it,” says Lori Simon, the group’s executive director. “But we find that men get so much from the program because they, too, are affected by breast cancer when their wives, moms, sisters or daughters have it. This is a way for men to give back.”
The groups are also spread out geographically in order to make it easier for the women to attend. Fly-fishing programs in Nebraska, for instance, accept only women from Nebraska. Although the program is free to attend, participants must pay their own way to get there. For many of the women, it’s one of the first times they’ve traveled on their own, without husbands and children in tow.
Donna remembers her own drive to Greer, Arizona—a four-hour car trip. Despite typically being a passenger and allowing her husband to drive the family around, she hopped into the car and drove herself. By the time she reached the retreat location she was already feeling empowered, although apprehensive. What was she getting herself into?
The other thirteen women had similar expressions on their faces when they showed up. But that all changed after everyone was suited up in hip waders and taught basic casting moves.
“Soon we’re showing each other scars and pointing to where things hurt. We were just so out there and I didn’t know these people from Adam!” she says now, laughing.
The supportive atmosphere works. Women say they arrive as strangers and leave as friends. Many continue to stay in touch years after their retreat. Others use what they learned during their weekend away and turn it into a new hobby—fly-fishing. No wonder 100 percent of attendees say they would recommend the program to others, and 90 percent say they felt better able to cope with their disease after the retreat.
Hooked on giving back
Donna, a busy executive assistant for Banner Home Care, says Casting for Recovery changed her life. Her retreat weekend in 2006 gave her the time she needed to recover emotionally after cancer. “I didn’t need a support group,” she says now, “but I needed to talk.”
As soon as she returned home, she spoke to her two children, who encouraged her to step up and volunteer for Casting for Recovery. Donna knew that it cost roughly $1,000 to send a woman on the retreat, and decided then to join Casting for Recovery’s 1,800 volunteers and dedicate her time and energy to ensure one other woman would receive the same experience she did.
Since that day, Donna and her family often raise over $1,000 each year (enough to fulfill her promise to send one woman to the retreat annually) in a Bunco tournament. Supporters play the popular dice game, donate money and win prizes that Donna has convinced local businesses to donate.
Beyond that event, Donna is also known for balancing her commitment to family, colleagues, cancer survivors and her community in a dignified and loving way, whether she’s talking to bikers about Casting for Recovery when they’re on a motorcycle run, or running a booth at a trade show. She also shares her story at wine tastings and with fly-fishing clubs. And she’s the first to welcome women as they register for a retreat. She’s the consummate ambassador, enthuses Lori Simon, who says Donna is also “hysterically funny.”
Donna is quick to point out that humor is important to get through recovery, but organizations like Casting for Recovery are needed, since breast cancer is no laughing matter. In 2009, more than 192,000 women in the U.S. were newly diagnosed with the disease. In Arizona that year, there were 3,470 new cases.
Knowing the incredible need, Donna took on the responsibility of Arizona program coordinator after the former coordinator resigned. She says she simply could not allow the state’s program to go dormant until a new coordinator could be found.
“After you have cancer, you realize it’s pretty darned good to be alive,” she says. “So you need to give back, because every day we get something great out of life. It’s important to make sure that others do, too.”
New York Times bestselling author Betina Krahn, mother of two and owner of two (humans and canines, respectively), shares the Florida sunshine with her fiancé and a fun and crazy sister. Her historical romances have received reviewer’s choice and lifetime achievement awards and appear regularly on bestseller lists…including the coveted USA TODAY and New York Times lists.
Her books have been called “sexy,” “warm,” “witty” and even “wise.” But the description that pleases her most is “funny”—because she believes the only thing the world needs as much as it needs love is laughter. You can learn more about her books and contact her through her website, BetinaKrahn.com.
For Donna Fischer of Casting For Recovery, who embodies hope for so many, and for everyone who has or has had breast cancer.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Greer Lodge, Arizona
Escape was not an option.
Bearing down on Stephanie Steele from across the lodge’s festive great room was a man wearing a muskrat on his head—either that, or the worst hairpiece in the western hemisphere. The unfortunate fellow’s arm was caught hard in the grip of Terrie Gardner, her dearest friend and the mother of the bride…who had cleverly trapped Stephanie at a table against the wall via a place card bearing her name. Now she was caught like an antelope with a bum leg watching a lion approach.
Weddings. Modern society’s version of stalking on the Serengeti.
“Stephanie!”
Terrie had tried to make this introduction last night at the wedding reception, but Steph had pleaded fatigue from the long flight and even longer drive from the airport, and fled. The wedding brunch provided her with the perfect second chance.
“You simply must meet Bob Slidell…Rick’s boss. He’s the head of the Bitterman Group, the commercial property giants. Bob, Steph is the founder and CEO of Silk and Steele, the hottest upscale women’s clothing chain in the country.” Terrie beamed with determined mischief. “You two have a ton in common, being business magnates and all, so I’ll leave you to your tycoon talk while I circulate.”
“So, Stephanie.” Bob slid into the chair beside hers, clearly interested. She was wearing a saucy Carolina Herrera tunic that left one shoulder bare; of course he’d be interested. “You’re quite the little dancer.” When she looked blankly at him, he clarified, “I saw you at the reception last night. You know, with Cassie and the bridesmaids out on the dance floor.”
“Oh, well—” Steph laughed, with precious little humor “—there’s a perfectly good explanation for that. I taught Cassie and her friends to dance when they were in middle school, and since then, she always pulls me out onto the floor and makes me relive the experience.”
“Well, you’ve got all the right moves,” he said with too much emphasis and too much eyeballing. “You put the younger crowd to shame.”
Ah, the maneuvers of a CEO on the prowl. Charge in like it’s a hostile board takeover, toss out some left-handed flattery, and then flash some of the good life in the dazzled quarry’s eyes…. Yep, there was the Presidential Rolex, right on cue. Bob propped his left elbow on the table, baring his twenty-thousand-dollar timepiece in a fairly casual way.
“Terrie says you’re based in Atlanta now.”
“I moved the corporate headquarters from Phoenix to Atlanta four years ago,” she said, “and it was a good move. Silk and Steele has really taken off…seventeen markets now. Plus, I have two sisters in Atlanta, and nieces and nephews aplenty. It’s been great to get back to family. Do you have children, Bob?”
“Two. East and West Coasts. Thank God for boarding schools. Pretty much leaves me free to…have fun.” He waggled his eyebrows, saluted her with his mimosa and then drained the glass. “What about you? What do you do for fun, Stephie?”
“It’s Stephanie, Bob,” she said, smiling, and battling an urge to turn her sharp little hooves on his tragically insecure underbelly. But she was a decent and rational human being, not given to inflicting emotional pain on desperate, dead-muskrat-wearing executives fresh from the divorce wars. “And lately…I’ve been too occupied to water-ski, bodysurf, hike, train my dog or even use my gourmet kitchen.”
“Occupied?” He gave a wicked laugh and looked her up and down. “I just bet you have. With what?” He laughed again. “Or is that whom?”
She didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t part of some grand discourage-the-masher plan. It just came out. Pure and simple. The truth.
“With radiation therapy, Bob.”
He huffed a half laugh, frowned, then finally got that she was serious.
“Radiation?” He recoiled, albeit unconsciously. “You mean for…”
“The big C.” When he continued to stare, she smiled again and felt a rebellious pleasure at the release of the tension that had coiled in her middle. She had simply told him the truth.
And the rest of the truth was that she didn’t feel like playing dating games just now…or maybe ever again. Until now, she’d refused to tell anyone except her sisters about the breast cancer diagnosis or the treatment that left her drained of energy and depressed at times. She hadn’t even told Terrie, one of her oldest friends. All their phone conversations over the last year had been about the engagement, the wedding plans and the way the Phoenix store was doing. There just never seemed to be a good time to say “Cassie’s got to have the Vera Wang for the wedding, and by the way, I’ve got breast cancer.”
She hadn’t told any of the people at her corporate offices, either. The first surgery had taken her away from work for a week, which she’d listed as “vacation.” The second surgery had taken another week, scheduled just after Fashion Week in New York, so everyone assumed she was taking a little downtime in the Hamptons.
Why she had chosen to break her careful silence with old Bob Slidell was something of a mystery. Except that he was here and she was tired of hiding the truth she lived with day after day. Too late to recall it now. The muskrat was out of the bag.
“Damn. That’s tough stuff…cancer.” Bob’s gaze flicked around the room as if Terrie or her husband or any of the seventy-five other guests could help him out with something to say. “Are you…I mean…okay?”
“So far. Two surgeries and some radiation later, I seem to be clear.”
“What kind of cancer was it?” And damn if his gaze didn’t go straight to her breasts. Probably unintentionally. But he was, after all, on the make. Most likely had breasts on the brain.
“Yep. That’s the one. Breast cancer.” She watched color rise in his face. And because of what she’d been through, of what she’d learned from dealing with the people who loved her, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she just dropped that bomb and watched him scurry away in embarrassment. Or have him blame Terrie for putting him in such a spot.
“Terrie doesn’t know,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning in. “As you can imagine, it’s something I’ve kept pretty close to the vest. In the fashion business, you don’t want to be seen as anything but vigorous and healthy.” She touched his arm with a tentative smile. “Being in business yourself, you would understand that in a way few people could.”
Her words took a moment to register, but he returned her smile with a newfound equilibrium. Keeping up a face for the business—that he understood. After a moment, Steph sensed his discomfort melting into a more human bit of concern.
“And it’s been such a lovely wedding,” she continued. “I’d hate for my news to spoil it for Cassie, or Terrie and Rick.”
“I won’t say anything,” he said, giving her hand on his sleeve a pat. “Hey, how about a refill on that mimosa?”
And just like that, Muskrat Bob became an insider in the biggest secret of her life. He actually came back to sit beside her, and as the table filled up around them, he became a fount of good-natured blather and appealingly awful puns. It turned into a fairly enjoyable wedding brunch.
Until the toasts.
The first was the maid of honor’s retelling of the bride and groom’s meeting, so sweet it should have had diabetic warnings before and after. Then came the parental “welcome to the family” speeches, complete with reminiscences of childhoods and declarations of destined love. Cassie and Jason were perfect for each other, completed each other, enlarged and encouraged each other. Boxes of tissues covertly made the rounds.
With each testimony, Steph felt a little more estranged and out of place. She adored Cassie and Terrie and their family, but all the talk of fated love and happily-ever-after was too much just now. Memories of her own checkered romantic past—of “almosts” that never became “for always”—began to scramble for attention in her head.
When yet another bridesmaid took the microphone, she gave Bob’s hand a pat and excused herself to go to the restroom. Reaching the porch of the Red Setter, she kept moving. Once on the bark-lined path that snaked among the various lodges and cabins, she glanced down at her flat shoes and deemed them sturdy enough for some walking, then struck off on the road around the lake.
Wind rustled leaves, sunlight dappled the ground beneath the newly greened trees, and the tart, earthy scents of the warming spring worked a calming magic. When she emerged into a sunny spot on the path, the contrast of warm sun and cool breeze on her exposed skin made it feel like the loveliest day ever. She appreciated such things more now. The simple acts of walking and breathing the crisp, clean air were pure pleasure.
Then her brain started to work.
Romance. True love. The happiness in Cassie’s face. Why hadn’t Steph ever felt so happy, so fulfilled, so sure of someone’s love?
The answer, as she’d come to see it over the last year, was that she’d been too busy making money, making a name for herself and making good on the promise that her parents, professors and early business associates had seen in her. She’d always put love and relationships second, because there would be time for that later.
Well, now it was “later.” And she had one and a half breasts, an uncertain future, and a baggage train longer than most of the men she had considered too “entangled” to get involved with.
How long Steph walked, trying to lose herself in nature, she couldn’t have said, but when she heard the voices, her cheeks were warm and her shoes were rubbing in places that said “too long.” She rounded a bend in the path and spotted a number of women thirty or forty yards away, at the water’s edge, wearing tan vests and a variety of hats and caps. They all looked oddly plump, until she realized they were wearing those fishing things—waders.
Edging closer, into the shade of a tree beside the path, she watched them laughing and waving their fishing rods around, seemingly having a great time. A bunch of women who—
A booming male voice made her reassess that thought. She quickly located a tall man who was giving and getting hugs galore, and bantering with the women. There were a couple of other men present, but none as large and memorable as that one…especially when he threw back his head in a deep, finger-tingling laugh that rolled across the grassy space between them to make her heart skip.
She knew that laugh, that voice, that man. It was Finn Hartley, the guy she’d dated in Phoenix before moving her headquarters to Atlanta.
She braced herself against the tree and took a deep breath, stunned by the impact of seeing him again. How could he be here now, at Greer Lodge? And why was he hugging all those women?
Hugging. Suddenly she recalled in a heart-stopping flashback the size and strength of his arms, the warmth of his big body, the comfort of being clasped in his embrace. He was hugging those women. All of them. As she watched, her eyes began to burn. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Her very skin felt hungry for touch. She wanted one of those hugs. She needed—oh, God, how she needed—somebody to wrap warm arms around her and just hold her.
Chapter Two
She barely saw the water or sunshine or even the path itself as she hurried back to the Red Setter, where “wedding afterglow” practically pulsated from the windows. Steeling herself, she headed instead to the main lodge and drew up at the front desk to say, “There was a group of women up the trail, fishing….”
“Ahhh.” The barrel-chested fellow behind the desk nodded, clearly anticipating the rest of her question. “That’s the Casting for Recovery retreat. They come every year at this time.”
“Casting as in fly-fishing?” she said, and he nodded. At least that part made sense; Finn Hartley was an avid fisherman. “Recovery from what?” The answer struck her—women and recovery—even as he spoke.
“Breast cancer.” He picked up a cardboard-backed poster from one of the desks behind him, and there were the familiar pink ribbons. “These women are breast cancer survivors and the organization puts on these retreats to help them learn to cope while they’re learning to fish. It’s a great group.” He beamed. “This is the Arizona chapter, but there’re groups all over the country now. And those gals—” his smile mellowed “—they’re pretty danged special. It’s an honor to have ’em here.”
Stephanie’s smile felt as tight as the knot in her stomach.
“Yes, I imagine they are,” she said. “Thanks. I was just curious.”
The unshed tears in her eyes made it difficult to see the path, but she managed to make it back to the cabin where her room was located without running into Terrie or any of the rest of the wedding party. She sat on the bed and looked around the homey, Western-themed decor, hugging herself and wishing that tomorrow morning would hurry the hell up and come so she could get out of here.
