"It's a relief to hear that. I was feeling a little out of place with the boys," Becca said.

Then they went back to sitting, silent and shivering, waiting for game. What about this is fun, exactly? Becca wondered. She heard soft masculine laughter now and then. What could possibly be entertaining them? The cold? The rain?

At a little before noon, Muriel decided she'd had enough, bid everyone goodbye and took her dogs home. A little while later, Becca took refuge in her brother's truck, drank more hot coffee and ate a sandwich. She turned on the truck to run the heater and within seconds Denny was there, telling her to kill the engine. The noise! She hadn't gotten even an ounce of heat, but she turned the ignition off. She decided the guys could have as much wet, cold fun as they could stand, she was done for the day. She couldn't feel her toes; her nose would never again be a normal color. At least it was a little warmer inside the truck, even without the heater. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

She wasn't sure how long she had dozed when the truck's door on the driver's side opened and caused her to wake. Smiling, Troy settled behind the wheel. "Just thought I'd grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich. You okay?"

"Fine. Just got cold and hungry. Time for a break."

He reached into the back of the extended cab, into the picnic box Preacher had packed, and pulled out a sandwich. "So, what do you think of duck hunting so far?"

"Honestly?" she asked. "A little on the, uh, boring side. Not to mention cold and wet."

He laughed and nodded in agreement. "Good weather for ducks, but not for us. I'd rather hunt on a clear day, but the cold doesn't bother me. And when you actually hit your target, that's when it's cool. And we like to eat our kill," he said, grinning, before taking a big bite of his sandwich.

"How caveman of you," she said. "Do you also like to pluck your kill?"

"We let our women do that," he teased. "We go out, club the beasts, drag them home and our women clean them, cook them and make our clothes out of their skins."

"And what tribe do you come from?" she asked, laughing at him. But he just chewed and his eyes twinkled. "Rich has mentioned you a hundred times, at least, but I don't know that much about you. Besides being a Marine reservist, how do you earn a living?" she asked him.

"I teach seventh-grade math. Geometry and pre-algebra."

"No kidding?" she asked, sitting straighter. "I teach!"

"I know. We have a lot in common."

"I wonder why Rich didn't tell me that," she said.

Troy laughed. "Let me guess-maybe it's not way up there on his list of important conversational topics. I haven't been teaching long. I did two years in the Corps, finished college, got called for Iraq again and came home to teach. I think I'll get in a good stretch at home now."

"But why the Marines? I mean, why still the Marines?"

He shrugged. "I love the Marine Corps."

"And if you get called again?"

"I'll go again," he said easily.

"And Dirk? Did I hear he worked construction...?"

"Heavy equipment operator-a crane. Just like his dad and his brother."

"No interest in college for him?"

Troy laughed. "I don't think so, no. It takes about three teachers' salaries to make one crane operator's."

"Now, see, that's just wrong. What's more important-the future of your children or the construction of a building?"

"You're not looking at it the way they do," he said. "It's not the building that's valued above the future of the children, it's the guys in the hard hats under the crane who count on a really good operator. Their lives depend on it. They would be the fathers."

"Teachers are underpaid," she pointed out to him.

"As are cops, firefighters, librarians and just about everyone who is a public servant. I don't know about you, but most of us don't teach because it'll make us rich."

"You do it for love?"

"I guess. And because I'm having fun!" Then he grinned handsomely. "Those kids just crack me up."

"Me, too," she admitted. "Mine are seven-what a hoot. I hear about teacher burnout all the time, but I'm still on the honeymoon. I look forward to every day. Well...I used to."

"Used to?" he asked.

"My school closed. I'm currently unemployed. When I get home, I'll see if I can sub while I'm sending around applications. It's not a great time to be job hunting. Not only is it a holiday season, but education funds have been cut, too."

"Bummer," he said. "I don't know why I've been lucky enough to hang on to my job while everyone else seems to be getting laid off or cut back on hours. But as Big Richie tells it, you'll probably just get married."

"Wow. That's pretty sexist. I hope I also get married."

"I stand corrected. Who's the lucky guy?" he asked.

"Good question. I've been seeing someone for the past year, but we're not engaged."

"Which allows you to go duck hunting with your ex?" he asked.

"Which allows me to go hunting with my brother," she emphasized.

"And Denny," he said, taking another bite of his sandwich. "You must have a very understanding boyfriend."

"Well, he is, as a matter of fact. Denny and Rich have been friends for years-before and after we dated. It really doesn't have anything to do with me. And what about you? Girlfriend?"

"Sort of," he said with a shrug.

"Sort of?" she pushed. "Either you do or don't have a girlfriend."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Troy said before he had time to fully chew and swallow. He finished that task. "I don't have a steady girl at the moment. I date here and there. I'm talking dinner, movie, clubs sometimes, group things. Lately I've been seeing this girl who gives accident-adjustment estimates-I had a fortuitous little fender bender. She's not quite over the last guy, so we're taking it very slow. We've been out about four times-a couple of softball games with her friends, one Monday-night football at a sports bar with mine and a high school football game to watch her little brother play. I'm not committed and neither is she."

"And Dirk?" she asked.

"Same girl for about six months now. Diedre. An assistant manager of a bowling alley. Personally, I think Dirk might be down for the count. Diedre seems to be around all the time." He took a sip of his coffee. "Tell me more about the guy, Becca," he said. "Teacher? Like you?"

"Law student."

He laughed uncomfortably. "Stiff competition," he said.

"For who?" Becca asked, wondering if her cover had just been blown.

"Well, me, for starters."