Duncan identified the origin of the sound; Connor's bedroom and the maker of the sound; Connor, but he couldn't quite label the sound. If any other had made it, he would have said it was a shriek, but he was sure Connor did not shriek or at least would never admit to it. He arrived at the threshold of Connor's bedroom as John MacLeod, now five, threw open the door and bounded towards his father.

"Daddy," he bubbled with enthusiasm, "you found them!"

’Daddy,’ Duncan noticed was almost dressed for their evening out. Except for his hair, stunned expression, determined grasp to keep his pockets and their contents from touching himself, and the pile of dirt and wiggling earth worms lying on his bare feet.

Duncan couldn't help himself. He started laughing.

Connor managed to close his mouth and shoot Duncan a dirty look before he looked down at his son who was bent over picking up worms.

"Daddy," John scolded, "you have to keep them in your pockets, or they'll get away."

"Johnny?" Connor unwillingly let go of his grasp on one of his pockets and touched the boy's shoulder to get his attention. "Son, why did you put worms in my pockets?"

Duncan had almost regained his composer when a worm made an escape attempt and John clamped his small fist on it only to have it squirt up in the air. Connor without thinking about it made a grasp and caught it. The look on his face sent Duncan off again and, despite the knowledge that Connor believed in paybacks in spades, Duncan laughed louder. John, never one to let anyone laugh alone, joined his Uncle. "That was a good catch, Daddy!"

"John!" Connor reminded his son that he was waiting for his answer. Unsure of what to do with the worm, Connor dropped it back in his pocket.

John gave his father a look that, while loving conveyed, signified he thought adults were exasperating. One always had to explain the obvious to them. "Because you're going fishing."

Connor looked at Duncan, who had almost managed to stop laughing. He briefly considered tossing a handful of worms at him … but decided that explaining why to John wouldn't be worth it. "John, I'm not going fishing."

"Yes, you are." John was confident. "I heard Rachel tell you there were plenty of fish in the sea yesterday and this morning you told Uncle Duncan that you were ready to test the waters again. So, I dug them up while I was at the park this afternoon." John looked puzzled then sly, "Why do you have to fish this late? If you waited until morning I could go, too."

A smile crossed Connor's face and he glanced at Duncan. "What say you, Duncan? You up to taking the boat out and catching some lunch tomorrow?"

Duncan nodded, "All right, but tonight I want live music, dancing, and *fish* of a different sort." His gaze on Connor intensified, "You promised."

"Perfectly good drink in my liquor cabinet and as for fish, the ones on the corner are..." He caught John looking questioningly at him and Duncan's eyebrows climbing and paused. John wasn't old enough to open that can of worms. "OK, give me a few minutes to get ready. Could you take our worm procurer here and clean him up a little so Rachel won't take me to task, Duncan?"

Duncan took off his cashmere jacket and slung it over the back of the easy chair. Rolling up his sleeves he laughed, "Come on, John, can't have Rachel cross at *us*.

Connor snorted, as if any woman stayed cross for long at Duncan.

"I heard that," Duncan's voice drifted back from the hallway. "Brush your hair and no running shoes."

Conner could only hope that whatever fish Duncan caught tonight had cold hands and Duncan, always the gentleman, would offer to warm them for her in his pocket. With a smile, Connor dumped the contents of his pocket into one of Duncan's.

DeniseCDC from Kansas City
July 26 2003

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