He laughed. “I doubt it, but it does take some practice.”
“Do you promise not to laugh at me?”
“I promise,” he said. “At least not on the outside.”
“You’d better not!”
He pulled in the line, handed her the reel, and explained how to cast. She cocked her shoulder back, turned slightly, and flung the line—a whole three feet.
“Dammit!”
Cody laughed, and Cassie screwed up her face in a mock-angry way.
“You just promised not to laugh!”
But you’re so darn cute I couldn’t help it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Here, let me give you a hand.”
Or a kiss. Can I kiss you, Cassie? Because I really, really want to.
He waded over and got behind her. The tantalizing sweet smell of her hair made him want to press up against her, hold her close, and breathe her in. Instead he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, which were warmed from the sun and very, very kissable.
“So turn just slightly and keep your eye on where you want it to go. They say it’s kind of like a golf swing. Have you ever golfed?”
“My parents were members of a country club,” Cassie said. “They forced me to take golf lessons.”
“Okay, so bring it back and then let go just about halfway through the motion.”
On the second try she did better, getting the line almost to the area Cody had been fishing.
“Nice!” he said, stepping away from her. “See? You’re an expert already.”
She gave him a proud smile. “Now what?”
“Now you just relax and wait for the tug on your line.”
“This is fun, Cody. Thanks. It beats golf any day.”
“You bet.”
“So what happens when I catch one?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
He went back to shore to get the second rod, and for the next half hour, they fished without success. She was clumsy in the water, a few times nearly falling from the push of the current, and when she maneuvered through it, her steps were tiny and tentative.
“You do know how to swim, right?” he asked.
“Of course! I’ve only ever gone swimming in pools, though.”
“I’ve never swum in a pool.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Her expression turned mischievous. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”
“All the time,” he said. “It’s one of life’s great pleasures. You?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Was that an invitation? He was so dense where women and flirting were concerned. In any case, he was grateful for the loose outer layer of the wading trousers so Cassie couldn’t see his obvious arousal at the idea of her stripping off her clothes and delving naked into the river. He’d be right there with her if she let him. He’d pull her to him, and she’d straddle her legs around his waist, and her breasts would float on the water, and they’d find a calm, sun-warmed spot in the river and stay there for hours. Or they’d do it on the riverbank and take a nap afterwards, letting the mid-July air warm their naked bodies.
He turned from her and got himself together. In time, his erection subsided.
“I can see why you love this,” Cassie said after a while. “It’s so beautiful here, and fishing gives you time to think.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“How big the world is,” she said. “How I could have gone my whole life without ever seeing Alaska, and what a shame that would be. It’s strange how things work out.”
“Alaska in the summer is very different than Alaska in the winter,” he said. “You can’t know her until you’ve seen all her seasons.”
“Which is your favorite?”
“Summer, definitely. Anyone who tells you different is lying.”
“Everyone I’ve come across likes to brag about how tough winter is, but I always get the sense they kind of like it, too,” she said. “Is that how you feel?”
Cody considered how much to tell her. His childhood winters were difficult to think back on, even now. The long, dark months in which his mother would lock herself in the bedroom and they could hear her ragged sobs … the silences that lasted for days, to the point of catatonia … the way she’d sleep for twelve or fourteen hours at a time. It was as if she wanted to hibernate like a bear, to go to sleep and not wake up until the relentless snow had melted and she could leave their small primitive cabin. His mom had grown to hate Alaska, hated the extreme edge of the wilderness, the darkness, the bitter cold, the total lack of social interaction beyond their small family and the other few people who lived nearby.
“My mom didn’t do so well with winter,” he said, knowing it was a major understatement. “She’s from California originally. Hated the winters here and the darkness north of the Arctic Circle. She fell into a depression every damn winter, and it lasted until spring.”
“That must have been hard,” Cassie said. “For you as well as her.”
He gazed across the river, watching the fishing line. “It was. And I’ll never understand why she stuck around when she hated it so much.”
“Probably because of her family.”
He felt his shoulders tense. “I never asked her to, and she wasn’t doing us any favors. Last thing I’d want is for someone to get stuck someplace because of me.”
And that includes you, Cassie Holt.
They fell silent, then, although the silence wasn’t awkward; Cody got the impression she was contemplating things. Perhaps wondering if she, too, would get cabin fever when the snows piled high and the sun struggled to rise.
“I can’t imagine a childhood like yours,” she finally said. “To grow up with so few people around.”
“I didn’t mind that part,” Cody said. “Visitors came through the park, and they always had stories to tell. I was never really lonely. Even when my mom went into her funks, my dad was there. We’d cook together, play board games, and read by the fire. Once I was old enough, each winter we’d pick a really long book, get two copies, and read it at the same time.”
Cassie smiled. “Like what kind of books?”
“Alaska by Michener, of course,” Cody said. “That was absolutely my favorite. We read lots of Herman Wouk. My dad’s favorite was The Caine Mutiny. We read the Lord of the Rings trilogy.” He sighed. “I could go on. I have them all at home.”
“Do you still read a super-long book every winter?”
He did, in fact, and told her so.
“Which book is it this year?”
“This year we’re going to read Ken Follett. The Pillars of the Earth.”
“Oh, it’s still a joint thing?”
“Oh, yeah,” Cody said. “It’s the one thing my dad and I can do together from a distance.”
“Do you miss them?”
“I miss my dad. Things are more complicated with my mom.” He could tell she wanted to ask why but was uncertain if she should, and he found that he didn’t mind telling her. Cassie didn’t seem to judge; she was just trying to understand, and that flattered him. “She never stood up for her own happiness,” he said. “And I know depression’s a mental illness and all that, but the bottom line is you’ve got to save yourself in this world. You can’t change other people, only yourself and your situation. And you shouldn’t drag anybody down with you. My mind’s never going to change on that.”
“Doesn’t your father play some role in that, though? Doesn’t he bear any responsibility?”
“Definitely,” Cody said. “My dad was more married to the land than he was to my mother. We could have left in winters. Could have gone down to Golden Falls or Anchorage or even the Lower Forty-Eight, but he never made that happen. He’s not blameless by any means. But as a kid I didn’t see that. He was my best friend growing up. Still is, in some ways. We’re very similar, he and I—but I’d never do that to a woman.”
“And the g
uys say you don’t talk much.” Cassie studied him, smiling. “That’s just not true at all.”
“With you I guess I do.”
It was a loaded moment. If they’d been five feet closer, he could have kissed her. Might have. Would have, but he couldn’t wade over there now and do it. Or could he? He knew he was the type to over-think things, especially where women and making the first moves were concerned. More often than not in his life, by the time he figured out he should go in for the first kiss, the moment had passed—like it just did with Cassie.
Her fishing rod suddenly bent forward slightly, and she jumped.
“What’s happening? I think my fishing line’s caught on something!”
“Yeah, it’s caught on a fish, Cassie! You got one!”
“Shit, Cody—help!”
Cody quickly reeled in his own line, clipped his rod to his belt, and went to her. He reached from behind and helped her hold the rod steady.
“You want to let it struggle for a few seconds to get that hook in deep … good … keep the rod upright … now slowly, slowly, reel him in. Wait until he stops, let him run, tire him out … There you go.”
His hands covered hers on the grip and the reel, guiding her. Then the end of the line bounced up out of the water with a large, writhing rainbow trout on the end.
“Oh, hey! I actually got one!” Cassie squealed, nearly jumping with excitement. “It’s a big one, too!”
Cody reached forward past her, took the fish off the line, and put it in the net attached to his waders. It flopped vigorously, but he kept a firm hold of it; he would have let Cassie do it but thought she might let it slip and didn’t want her to be disappointed.
“Now what do we do?” she said.
“Now you’ve got to kill it.”
She gave him a shocked expression.
“Unless you want me to,” he said.
“How does it happen?”
“You hit it against a rock, hard. Once it’s stunned, then you can bleed it out and gut it.”
She grimaced.
“I can do it,” he assured her. “I know it’s kind of gross.”
“No, I don’t want to wimp out,” she said. “I’ll do it. But, boy, Alaska’s not for sissies, is it?”
He laughed. “No, it’s not.”
“And then are we done fishing?”
“For now,” he said. “We can always go again another time if you want to.”
“I would,” she said. “Catching that fish was such a rush.”
“Believe it or not, it’s fun even when you don’t catch anything. Just being out on the river, in the quiet … it’s peaceful.”
“That would stress me out. I’m a very results-oriented person. If I didn’t catch a fish, I’d feel like I didn’t use my time well!”
“Typical New Yorker,” Cody said, although secretly he hoped she wasn’t typical.
He hoped she might really learn to love this place. And then he realized he was falling for her, hard and fast, and it was almost scary how much she turned him on. The worst part was that for him, she was already going to be the one who got away. That was established. She’d made it clear she had no intention of staying. He couldn’t let himself fall for her, but that was exactly what was happening, and for a moment he had a dizzying, desperate sense of future loss.
Instead of articulating any of this, he said, “Let’s go find that rock.”
Once ashore, they took off their waders and Cassie put her riding boots back on. Cody tried to shake off his sudden bad mood as they searched for a rock appropriate for their next task.
“How’s this?” Cassie said, pointing to a large boulder.
“It’ll do.” Cody extended the net. “Go ahead and reach in there and grab it by the tail.”
“Ugh!” She tried to grab the fish, but it kept twisting away from her. “It’s … kind of … totally, completely gross.”
“Remember, you’ve got to be Alaska Tough,” he said, amused.
“No sissies allowed.”
“That’s right.”
Her mouth tightened in adorable concentration and resolve. With renewed vigor, she grabbed at the fish again and suddenly had it by the tail.
“Hold it tight,” he said. “Now pull it out and give it one quick, hard strike against the rock. You don’t want it to suffer, so smash it as hard as you can.”
Cassie did as he instructed. The fish made a loud, wet thwack against the rock and then went limp, after which Cassie dropped the fish and promptly burst into tears.
“Oh, Jesus,” Cody said, his dreams of taking her moose hunting fast evaporating. If she cried over a fish, what would she do about a dead moose?
“I’m fine … it’s just … I just feel bad.” She looked at him apologetically. “I guess I’m not tough enough for Alaska.”
“You’re plenty tough,” he assured her. “Does it help to know that this is as fast and painless a death as a fish could hope for? Trust me, it would be worse if it had been eaten by a bear. Caught in those teeth and swallowed alive—now that would suck.”
She cried harder.
Shit.
“Imagine it was a rude cabbie in New York City,” he tried. “Or that guy from your past who called you today.”
Her tears stopped flowing immediately.
“Now I want to smash its head again,” she said, glaring at the fish. “Now I wish I’d made it suffer.”
“Note to self: don’t piss off Cassie.”
That made her laugh, and when she looked up at him, her large green eyes were bright, although they were still shining with tears. “It really didn’t suffer?”
You adorable, sweet thing.
“It really didn’t,” he said.
“Thank goodness.” She leaned back into the crook of his arm. “You’re so nice. Thank you for not laughing at me for being such an idiot and a crybaby. It’s just that this is all new to me. Everything about Alaska is new to me.”
What was new to him was the feeling he had when he was around her. He wanted to kiss her, to ravish her with his mouth, but for a woman like Cassie, a first kiss had to be perfect.
A first kiss had to blow her away.
And that wasn’t going to happen over a dead fish.
9
The next day, Cassie stood at the doorway to her news director’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked on the open door. Buried in work at his desk, Steve glanced up quickly.
“Hi, Steve. Do you have a minute?”
“Enter,” he said.
She took a seat opposite his desk and waited as he minimized the document on his screen.
“What’s up, Holt?” he asked, giving her his full attention. He must have seen the dread in her eyes, because his own narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting already. I expected at least six months out of you, if not a year. You know you need to repay us for moving expenses if you don’t stick it out a year.”
“It’s not that,” Cassie said. “I want to be here. I actually went fishing yesterday to learn how to be more Alaskan.”
“Hmm. Who’d you go with?”
“Cody Bradford.”
“Your firefighter feature story.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Are you two shacking up?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It was just a fishing lesson, not a date.”
That had become clear when Cody unceremoniously dropped her back off at home shortly after she caught the fish. She’d hoped and expected they’d clean the fish and fry it up and make a whole meal out of it, but Cody said he had somewhere to be and drove her home instead, not even giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek when he dropped her off. It felt to her like things had gone south after she cried about the fish. Men can’t handle women’s tears, she thought, and given Cody’s background, he probably refused to on principle.
She expected Steve was the same. If she cried now, he’d probably escort her from the building, so she took a deep, steadying breath before continuing.
“I’m he
re because I need to tell you something, and I need to ask a favor of you.”
He leaned back, settling in for the conversation. “Go on.”
“When I took this job, I did come here because it would give me anchor experience, like I told you,” Cassie said. “That really was a factor. I’d get to do things I wouldn’t be able to do at a large media market station for years. And I’m so grateful for the opportunity.”
“But …?”
“But I also took the job because I needed to get out of New York, and I had to get off the radar.” She shifted in her chair, hating that she had to tell him anything at all. “I have a stalker. Some guy who’d seen me on the news the few times I was on-air during my internship at NBC, and it was getting scary.”
She told Steve what had happened, everything. How she’d begged for the chance to report on-air, how her first spot on a slow news day had been a thirty-second bit about a goofy viral video of a man riding a hoverboard down the subway stairs at Union Square. She’d done well and got a second story, this one a full minute reporting on a bridge closure due to an accident. By the time her summer internship ended, she’d done ten segments, all at the end of the local broadcast, none earth-shattering news, but she’d gone into her final year at Columbia riding high.
Shortly before her internship ended, the messages had started.
It was innocuous at first: an email to her NBC address. It was long, gushed with inappropriate compliments, and ended with a somewhat awkward attempt to ask her out, signed simply, “Doug.”
Flattered, she’d written a kindly response, thanking him for being a fan and explaining she had a boyfriend—not a lie, as she’d just started seeing Jason.
Doug’s response had been immediate and alarming. He wrote her an even longer email, detailing all the reasons they belonged together—absurd, illogical, clearly the product of a deranged mind—and full of emotional pleas to take him seriously and not break his heart. He could give her a good life, he’d said. One where she didn’t have to work and she could just stay home and he’d take care of her. Cassie had shown the email to Abby, who agreed it sounded like he wanted to lock her in a house and keep her captive somewhere, playing out his sick fantasy.
True North (Golden Falls Fire Book 1) Page 6