Maybe she should have just lured Ty into the tent after all.

IMOGEN was sitting next to Ty on the seat of the rowboat, diligently following his instructions as he showed her how to cast her line and how to reel it in. Ty liked that even though she clearly wasn’t comfortable with being in the boat or casting the line, she was willing to try it.

She was chewing her lip rather industriously as she practiced with her rod. “Damn it,” she said when her line got no farther than the floor of the boat, hooking the rubber of her boot.

“You’re getting it,” he told her, releasing the hook so she wouldn’t attempt it herself and manage to impale her finger with the sharp end. “Try again.”

She did, and this time her line sailed and dropped nicely into the water.

“Good one.”

“I did it.” She smiled. “Well, you learn something new every day, don’t you?”

“That’s the hope,” he told her. “And even if you don’t, you know what they say—every day aboveground is a good one.”

Imogen gave a startled laugh. “That’s rather macabre, yet drives home a crucial point.”

What she said. Ty grinned at her, fascinated as he always was by Imogen’s speech patterns. There was something damn adorable about when she slipped into her thinking mode.

“Reel your line back in. You need a worm on it now for this to work.”

“Oh, I guess I don’t have a worm, do I? Maybe I should have put one on before I threw this perfect arch. I might have caught seven fish by now.”

“Not likely.” And he was further amused because he was starting to recognize that when Imogen was enjoying herself, she got flippant. “But it’s possible, and I take complete responsibility for that missed opportunity.”

Imogen reeled her line in and Ty took the lid off the Styrofoam cup holding the bait and held it out to her. “Pick your worm.”

Most of the women he had dated in the past would have squealed and protested and insisted he do it for them. Aware that he just might be testing Imogen, he waited for her response.

“Just grab any one I want?”

“Yep. I’ll show you how to put it on the hook.”

“Okay.” Imogen frowned in concentration. “This one looks appropriately plump and enticing to . . . What kind of fish are in this lake?”

Ty felt the corners of his mouth turning up. So far, she was passing the test. “Uh . . . crappie, bluegill, and yellow perch, and a couple varieties of bass.”

“Crappie? I don’t want to catch one of those.” Imogen put her fingers into the cup and gingerly removed a worm. “This is a bass-catching worm, I’m certain of it.”

“Absolutely. It’s written all over him.” Ty plucked a worm out for himself and showed Imogen how to put it on the hook. “See? That’s it. Just watch your fingers.”