Two Cabins, One Lake: An Alaskan Romance

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Two Cabins, One Lake: An Alaskan Romance Page 10

by Shaye Marlow


  And in the meantime, I was gonna thrash demons with a really big mace.

  We woke up late the next morning. I actually woke up on top of a mound of snoring, farting human flesh, my nose pressed into a hairy thigh. Truth be told, I almost screamed when the first thing I saw, and smelled, was my brother’s package.

  Gagging, I dragged myself into a sitting position and surveyed the wreckage. Beer bottles littered the floor along with brightly-colored candy wrappers. Someone had brought sunflower seeds and had tried to spit the shells into a bowl, but most appeared to have missed. My furniture had been rearranged, my favorite lamp was lying on the floor at a drunken angle, and my whole living room smelled like potato chips and ass.

  Day one, I thought with a sigh.

  Then I noticed Rory wasn’t part of the pileup of bodies I’d been sandwiched in. I looked around, wondering if he could be in the bathroom. Maybe he stumbled outside to pee…?

  I finally became aware that some of the snoring I was hearing came from above.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” I clambered up the ladder and kicked his ass outta my bed. It was his favorite trick, stealing my bed, and I had no idea how he continually got away with it.

  After the commotion upstairs, my other two brothers were awake, and I struggled to get my ritual morning bathroom time.

  By the time we were all showered, dressed, and fed, it was noon. According to my normal plan for my days off, I should have already gotten at least two thousand words done and had my second cup of coffee. Instead, I was nursing a headache along with my first cup, and wondering what shenanigans my brothers were going to get up to during their visit. Would my cabin survive it?

  “Let’s go fishing!” Zack exclaimed.

  I groaned.

  “What? It’s a gorgeous, sunny Thursday, and there are a bunch of pike out there eating baby rainbow trout as we speak. We should go kill them,” he concluded.

  The problem with fishing was that they did not clean fish. I cleaned fish. So yeah, fishing was fun, but it always resulted in slimy, bloody work. That was fine when it was just me, but with all three of my brothers along multiplying the slimy, bloody work… Yeah.

  “What, fish from the shore?” Rory asked. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he tinkered with something on the table, something with little wires sticking out of it. He’d always liked blowing stuff up, and then he’d been a weapons guy in his couple years in the army. I really hoped he hadn’t brought explosives into my cabin.

  “Or from the canoe,” Zack said.

  “Hel’s only got the one canoe,” J.D. pointed out. He was dressed all in black as per his usual, black T and loose black pants. It made him look sleek and dangerous, like a panther lounging on my second-hand couch.

  He also made a good point. My canoe only had two seats, and we’d sometimes stretched it to a third person sitting on a cooler in the middle. But four adults, three of them grown men? Completely out of the question.

  “Well…” Zack glanced out the window. “I see two canoes out there.”

  “That’s the neighbor’s,” I informed him. I watched Rory over the rim of my mug, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

  Zack shrugged. “We could ask to borrow it.”

  “No!” My chair legs squeaked as I leapt to my feet, betraying my vehement reaction to that idea. I didn’t want my brothers anywhere near the neighbor, and I especially didn’t want them communicating. It seemed like a recipe for disaster; like throwing gasoline on a fire, like waving a red flag in front of a bull, like using a plug-in vibrator in the bathtub.

  Zack stared at me, his stupid blue eyes starting to gleam.

  I wanted to say more, wanted to tell them my neighbor was a dick, wanted to tell them he’d killed my blueberries and littered on my beach and almost shot my dog, and he was a devil with green eyes, and I didn’t want to owe him any favors, and I most definitely didn’t want to borrow his dirty canoe. But I didn’t say those things. Instead, I clamped my mouth shut.

  Zack had always been able to read me. I’d just said the one word, but with my eyes, and with my tone and volume and posture, I’d said far too much.

  “I think,” Zack drawled, “the lady doth protest too much.”

  “I wonder why she doth,” Rory said, looking up from his work to peer out across the lake. The neighbor’s helicopter sat, shiny and expensive on his now scarred and overgrown lawn, the cherry-red toy almost as big as the cabin itself. “I don’t remember your neighbors having a helicopter,” he said.

  I shifted, wishing desperately for cover. I knew my face was an open book, and I didn’t want to talk about the neighbor, not even to say I had a new one, because I’d give myself away. They’d figure out how attractive I found him, how he’d touched me, and how we’d nearly done the deed on my lawn. They’d know.

  Zack’s eyes narrowed. “She’s keeping something from us,” he said.

  My heart was racing as I returned his gaze.

  Then I did it. I made The Mistake.

  I bolted. I raced to the bathroom and locked myself inside. Panting, feeling my crazy rising, I backed up across the thick pink rug.

  Zack banged his fist on the door, rattled the knob, and then banged some more. “Come out, Helly! Come out and tell us about your neighbor.” He said it in his evil sing-song voice that gave me nasty flashbacks to childhood teasing.

  Oh no. I’d shown weakness—and my brothers smelled blood in the water.

  I looked around wildly. It occurred to me to climb out the window, and take shelter in my generator shack. I could live there for a week, eating high bush cranberries and peeing in the woods. For the rest of the visit, I’d just entirely avoid the three-headed mythical monster I occasionally called family.

  Or, or…if Zack picked the lock, I could hit him upside the head with the plunger. Yeah, I liked that idea better. Way too many mosquitos in the shed.

  I heard voices conferring outside the door, and my apprehension increased.

  “Helly, we’ve reached a decision,” Zack announced. “We won’t ask to borrow the neighbor’s canoe.”

  I heaved a huge sigh, shoulders folding forward with the depth of my relief.

  “We’re gonna invite him to come fishing with us, instead.” I heard a mad laugh, and then feet pounding away.

  “No!” I frickin’ shrieked it, and threw the door open. But it was too late. They were already gone.

  Through the picture window, I saw the three of them running along the beach toward the neighbor’s cabin. And what else could I do? I took off after them, continuing to yell, “Noooooooo!”

  Yeah, that silence I was telling you about in which birds sang and water lapped? Drowned, shot all to hell, and trampled to death.

  Gary opened his door just as I ran up behind the abominable trio. I saw him look at me, and then I doubled over panting, trying to catch my breath after the mad dash from my cabin to his.

  “Well hello, Helly’s new neighbor,” Zack said, his drawl telling me in no uncertain terms he’d noticed my lake-buddy’s sex appeal. “We’re her brothers, Rory, J.D., and I’m Zack. And we were wondering if you’d like to go fishing with us today.”

  I straightened up and shook my head vigorously, making big eyes at Gary, begging him to decline. He looked at me for a long moment, holding eye contact. I really thought I was making an impression on him, that he’d say no—I mean, really, there was no reason on this earth why he’d say ‘yes’!—and he’d go back into his cabin, and I’d go back to my side of the lake, and everything would be right with the world.

  But then Gary said, “Sure. I’m Gary.”

  Nooooooooo. It felt like that part in the movies where the camera angle implodes.

  Zack shot me a triumphant look, then, “Sweet. We’re getting ready to go now, gonna take the canoes. We’ll probably be gone most of the day, so if you’ve got any snacks, or beer,” he said hintingly.

  I was so shocked, I actually stood there for several seconds aft
er my brothers had turned and walked away. And Gary continued to stand in his doorway, looking down at me, his lips twitching. I just couldn’t believe…

  We met Gary down at the canoes fifteen minutes later. Zack climbed in with Gary, while Rory, J.D., and I distributed our weight in mine. They tried to make me take the center seat perched on a cooler, but I absolutely refused. It was my canoe, and my fishing equipment, and I was gonna wind up cleaning the fish, and I was the lightest so the front was mine by right anyway—I was taking the front, dammit.

  And then, of course they didn’t want to fish on my lake.

  “That’s too easy,” Zack called from the other canoe as we pulled alongside. “Let’s go over the beaver dam, then take a couple of those portages, get up to one of those lakes where no one ever fishes.” He waggled his brows. “Catch the Big One, one even bigger than cousin Ronnie got.”

  Usually I was all for a marathon fishing trip, but Gary was in the other canoe. He was looking at me with his eyes glowing unnervingly bright as they caught the sunlight shining off the water, looking relaxed and competent, his biceps bulging with each smooth, strong stroke of his paddle. Gary who’d kissed me, who’d beat thugs up for me, whose fingers felt like heaven sliding between my legs. Gary, who’d been fueling all of my sexual fantasies since he’d first burned his way across my retinas.

  I wanted to bounce up and down on his cock, but I still didn’t like him. I also didn’t want to get to know him. I didn’t want emotional investment. I didn’t want to confirm he was an ass, or find out my dog was right and he was really a good guy. I wanted him to stay over there on his shelf, and just take him down when I had an itch I needed scratched.

  Going fishing with him, especially fishing all evening, wasn’t part of the Shelf Plan.

  “Are you sure Gary is up for such a long trip?” I asked. Hint, hint. I kinda desperately wished Zack were in range of my paddle. He’d been careful to steer clear of me since the fishing invitation, but I really wanted to wallop him one.

  They all looked at Gary. Gary was looking at me.

  I probably looked like hitting something.

  “Sounds like fun,” the fucker said. Damn him. Damn them.

  We nosed into the beaver dam and climbed out onto shore. There was a mad shuffle as my canoe-buddies and I tried to keep our balance on wet, beaver-chewed sticks while carry-pushing the canoe with the rods and cooler up over the dam and climbing up ourselves.

  Zack and Gary mirrored our actions on the other end of the dam. With less stuff and fewer people, they made it to the top at about the same time. Once my canoe was afloat above the dam, Rory and J.D. climbed back aboard.

  Zack leaned in to help steady my canoe, and I stepped back so I wouldn’t be knocked into the water. He nudged me, knocking me off balance. My foot caught on a stick and I wobbled, arms windmilling, a breath away from toppling over backward and plunging three feet down and into the lake.

  A hand grabbed my arm, hauling me upright just in time to see Zack vault into my seat. With a cackle of glee, he pushed the canoe—my canoe—off into the narrow channel.

  “Zack! What the fuck?”

  There was crazed laughter as the three paddled quickly away. Leaving me with Gary.

  Leaving me. With Gary.

  I looked down, realizing there was a big, strong hand still on my arm. Beyond that hand, a bicep bulged before a firm shoulder, and above that sat a rugged, slightly confused face. Gary was also staring down at his hand.

  He let me go.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. I didn’t know what he was thinking; I couldn’t tell. He might have been undressing me with his eyes, or replaying the sounds I made when I came.

  I wondered if he could see what I was thinking. I was thinking that from here, I could boonie-bust back to my cabin. It’d be a bit marshy and a bit muddy, and I was in shorts, so the wild roses would scratch the hell out of my lower legs. But it was doable. The urge to ditch was strong.

  He looked away. “You getting in?” he asked.

  I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  “Maybe I want to go fishing.”

  “What do you know about fishing? You didn’t even have your own rod.” I’d had to bring an extra for him.

  He glanced back at me, looking relaxed. Lazy, even. “Nothing,” he answered. “Maybe I want to learn.”

  I scoffed.

  “Maybe I want to get to know my neighbor,” he suggested.

  This time, I could see it. I could see, from the glint in his eyes, he was thinking about me naked, what he’d seen of me. Felt of me. I shuddered, remembering the sweet slide of his fingers.

  “They’re getting away,” he drawled, nodding toward my brothers.

  I glared out over the water, trying to make my decision.

  It was a gorgeous day, the sun high overhead in a bright blue sky. A slight breeze was keeping the few mosquitos that dared to venture out over the water off of us. I’d already spotted a half-dozen pike swimming away from the canoe in the clear, shallow water. It was a good day for fishing.

  And what would I do if I decided not to go? Stay home, shut myself in my cabin? Play video games? Or write some more erotica featuring the man that stood three feet from me? A pathetic thought. The thought of using my pink, bunny-eared vibrator was even sadder. My vibrator couldn’t climb in through my window, or pin me up against the shower wall.

  The man standing next to me could. And already had, in my stories.

  I just had to avoid getting attached. I could do that. I’d be sitting several feet away, and facing forward. I wouldn’t have to touch him, and I didn’t have to look at him. Hell, I didn’t even have to talk to him.

  It was a beautiful day, and I wouldn’t let him ruin that for me.

  I think he knew the moment I capitulated, because his mouth curved into a smile.

  I ignored how sexy he looked with it, and I climbed into his damn canoe.

  Chapt

  er Nine

  “We’re gonna catch a bigger fish than them,” I said, breaking the silence. I knew I was breaking my own no-talking rule, one which Gary had been obeying without having to be told, but I didn’t do silence well. I’d been not-talking to him for two whole lakes now.

  We’d portaged twice, and were on the fourth lake in a chain, the one Zack had wanted to catch the Big One on. It was now later afternoon, probably verging on 4 p.m. and my brothers were already out casting into the water. In the middle of the lake. Idiots.

  “Dunno,” said Gary. “They’re pretty big.”

  I whipped around and gave him a Look, breaking my no-looking rule while I was at it.

  Gary chuckled. “Okay,” he said, “a big fish.” He stroked with his paddle, then lifted it, the dripping loud in the silence. “What are we fishing for again?”

  “Ugh.” It had been a mistake to look at him. I was still looking at him, and my disgust didn’t seem to be making him ugly, like I wanted it to. In fact, had he somehow managed to get more attractive in the past couple hours I’d been ignoring him? It sure as shit seemed that way.

  “Northern Pike,” I informed him.

  He looked confused. “But this is Alaska. Aren’t you supposed to have record-setting Rainbow Trout and a half dozen kinds of wild salmon?”

  “Not since the pike ate them,” I said. It felt eerily like a normal conversation. Where was the monster I knew as Gary? This mild guy seated about eight feet behind me didn’t jive at all with the image I’d created. Had he not had his cocaine today or something?

  That was an uncomfortable thought. He was rich. Rich people had expensive habits, and I didn’t know anything about this particular rich guy. For all I knew, he had a couple pounds of coke in his closet.

  “That looks like a good spot,” I said, and steered the canoe over to a nice little cove. I pulled out my rod, the one I’d grabbed for Zack. I glanced over at Gary to see he hadn’t even touched his.

  He was just sitt
ing there, his forearms braced on his paddle, which he’d laid across the canoe. And he was staring at me. Specifically at my fingers, which were busy hooking the swivel through a bright green spinner.

  I glanced down at his rod, and saw it didn’t even have a swivel tied to the line. Back up at him. Raised my brow.

  He shrugged. “I’m more a hunter than a fisher.”

  “Do you even have a fishing license?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he said.

  I grunted. The truth of the matter was, the Alaska Board of Fish and Game had to actually catch you for that to be an issue, and the idea of them coming to the lake we’d just travelled to was laughable. Further muddying the waters of the law, the reality was that pike were a menace with no bag limit; Fish and Game actually wanted them caught. Really, my only hesitation was the fact that I had my guiding license, and this might be construed as me guiding someone without a license. Which was bad juju. If we were caught.

  Eh.

  Reel-first, I held the newly-rigged rod out to my clueless, illegal, smokin’-hot canoe buddy. “Here. I’ll use the other.”

  He took it, and I was pleased to note he was careful to swing the treble hooks out away from my face. Then he cast, rocking the boat.

  I held on and gritted my teeth. “You’ll want to cast toward shore,” I said patiently (not). “And reel in fast enough to stay off the weeds on the bottom, but slow enough so you’re not skipping along the top.”

  His lure caught on something. The rod tip bent as he pulled back, and his end of the canoe started to drift that direction. He tugged and yanked, and whatever it was he’d hooked didn’t move.

  I hadn’t even gotten the other line rigged out, and he was already snagged. I was starting to feel like yelling.

  I spent the next five minutes getting the lure up off a sunken log.

  “I think I got the hang of it now,” Gary said.

  And then, with his very next cast—his very next cast, mind you—he threw the lure into the bushes up on shore.

 

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