“A change in fish migration patterns?”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the front room. Another bad sign. At least in the bedroom she’d have had a fighting chance.

“I seriously doubt that migration patterns are going to change enough for a saltwater fish to end up in a freshwater lake!” He pushed her down onto the couch.

She should have gone back to the lake last night and fished out the fish, but she’d assumed they’d stay where they were until they sank. They probably would have if it hadn’t been for the storm.

Okay, enough messing around. Time for some righteous indignation. “Really, Kevin, just because I happen to be brighter than you doesn’t mean I know everything about fish.”

Probably not her best strategy, because his words bristled with splinters. “Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t know anything about how a tuna got in that lake?”

“Well …”

“Or that you don’t know why Eddie Dillard came up to me this morning and told me he wasn’t going to buy the campground after all?”

“He did?”

“And what do you think he said to me before he drove away?”

“Just a guess: ‘You duh man’?”

His eyebrows shot up and his voice grew as soft as an assassin’s footsteps. “No, Molly, he didn’t say that. What he said was ‘Get some help, man!’  ”

She winced.

“Now what do you suppose he meant?”

“What was it he said again?” she croaked.

“Exactly what did you tell him?”

She fell back on the Calebow kids’ technique. “Why do you think I told him something? There are lots of people here who could have said something to him—Troy, Amy, Charlotte Long. It’s not fair, Kevin. Every time something happens around here, you blame me.”

“And why do you think that might be?”

“I have no idea.”

He leaned down, braced both his hands on her knees, and brought his face inches from hers. “Because I’ve got your number. And I’ve got all day.”

“Yes, well, I don’t.” She licked her lips and studied his earlobe, perfect just like the rest of him, except for a small red tooth mark she was fairly sure she’d put there. “Who fixed breakfast this morning?”

“I did.” He spoke softly, but the pressure on her knees didn’t ease. He definitely wasn’t letting her up. “Then Amy came in and helped me. Are you done stalling?”

“No … yes—I don’t know!” She tried to move her legs, but they weren’t going anywhere. “I didn’t want you to sell the campground, that’s all.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Eddie Dillard is a tool.”

“I know that, too.” He stood up, but he didn’t back away. “What else have you got?”