by Cat Johnson
She’d added the last as one final dig. It hit home. Tuck groaned. “Don’t remind me. See ya tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” With a smile, she disconnected the call and shoved the cell into her jeans pocket.
Quite the cast of characters she’d be hanging out with this weekend. Tuck, his commander, an English professor, and her. It should be interesting.
Chapter Two
The early morning sky, streaked with vibrant colors, made for a breathtaking start to the day. No doubt about it. For millennia, man had waxed poetic about sunrises this magnificent. Mark knew he should be more appreciative. Take note of the experience. After all, it’s not as if he was up and outside early enough to see the beauty of this natural phenomenon all that often. But instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
To be fair, she was a natural beauty as well, silhouetted in profile against the hues painting the sky. She stood on the shoreline of the lake, holding a fishing pole. His first glimpse of her had him tripping over his own feet.
A few steps ahead of him, Tucker strode toward the lakeshore. “Hey, Carla. You catching anything?”
“More than you got while you were sleeping in, that’s for sure.” She turned and Mark got a better look as she faced them and teased Tuck with easy familiarity. Of course she did. Tucker wore a hat that looked almost a mate to the cowboy hat she wore. Or perhaps hers was a cowgirl hat. Mark didn’t know these things. That was probably obvious to the stranger from the canvas bucket-hat Mark had chosen for this excursion. It had looked pretty sporty on the mannequin in the store, but here and now, up against Tuck’s headwear, or even Logan’s baseball cap, not so much.
Mark watched the interaction between Tucker and the cowgirl fisherwoman. He didn’t recognize her as one of the faculty. Not that he knew everyone, but still, he thought he’d remember seeing her.
“Is she with our group?” he asked Logan.
Logan dumped a load of camping gear on the ground and glanced up. “Carla? Yeah. She coaches the rodeo team with Tuck.”
“Ah.” The university’s rodeo team had never been on Mark’s radar before. After seeing Carla, it would be from now on.
How could a woman manage to look so tempting this early in the morning? And while fishing?
Maybe it was the long, brown braid draped over one shoulder. If he loosened that braid, set those waves of hair free, it would reach all the way down her back. Her cowboy hat was pulled low over her eyes so that it accentuated the heart shape of her face. He wanted to peer beneath the brim of that hat and discover what color those eyes were.
All in good time. For now, this view would have to do. And oh what a view.
The contour of her Cupid’s bow lips drew him. He couldn’t help but stare and want to see it all closer. Even this distance, just a couple of yards away from her, seemed frustrating. Was her complexion genuinely that rosy, or was it a trick of the light? He needed to find out.
She stood in the ankle-deep water with her jeans rolled to her knees. Most of the women Mark had dated wouldn’t even venture outside in the rain. Everything about her seemed to be the opposite of the females he was used to, and he liked the differences.
The weight of the overnight bag in his hand finally drew Mark’s attention away from his ponderings. He lowered it to the ground and glanced up to find Logan staring.
“I’ll introduce you if you want.” Logan wore an amused expression.
Mark managed to maintain a poker face while playing poker, but judging by Logan’s smirk, he wasn’t doing too well at hiding his interest in Carla now. He swallowed hard. “Oh, sure. That would be good, since we’ll be fishing together.”
Sure, fishing. That’s what he wanted to do with this vision in denim before him. Fish.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Logan grinned. “Come on.”
Leaving the pile of gear on the ground, Logan led the way toward the shoreline. Every step they took ramped up Mark’s nerves until his heart pounded. It was insane. He lectured to an audience of hundreds on a regular basis, he’d shaken hands with a former president of the United States, as well as the current poet laureate, but meeting this one woman made him anxious.
Logan stopped just short of the water. “Hey, Tuck. Do you wanna make the introductions for me while I go grab the bait outta the truck?”
“Sure, no problem.” Tuck turned toward the goddess wielding the fishing pole. “Carla Henricks, this is Mark Ross.”
“Becca’s boss.” Carla nodded to Tuck and turned to look at Mark.
She knew who he was? Mark didn’t know how to feel about that. Had Tucker talked to her about him? And what in the world could he have said? Paranoia kicked in as he wondered if it had been good or bad. Either way, here was his opportunity to make a good impression. Mark couldn’t help what others said about him, but he could control how she saw him now. He’d show her who he was, and that was a gentleman.
“Very nice to meet you, Carla.” Mark stifled a groan at his own mundane words.
The head of the English department, with a PhD in linguistics, and yet he couldn’t come up with a better greeting than that? He stank at this male/female stuff. He stepped forward and extended his hand, hoping it didn’t feel as clammy to her as it did to him.
“Pleasure meeting you, too, Mark.” She wiped her hand on her jeans before reaching out to grasp his. “Sorry. Fish guts.”
“Oh, no problem at all. To be expected, really. Considering.”
“True that. All part of the sport.” Her smile lit her face and possibly outshined the morning sun rising in the sky.
Her grip was strong and firm in Mark’s hand, and it wasn’t until he noticed he’d held it longer than was proper that he let go.
All right. The introductions had gone well enough. So far, so good. Now all he had to do was not look like a fool trying to fish, since this girl seemed to be an expert. He could tell that just from the confident way she held her pole, not to mention all the fishing paraphernalia littering the ground around her.
Tuck peered into the big white bucket resting on the ground. “Nice-looking bass.”
“Yeah, I only got the one but it’s not a bad size. Still, I’m catching crap here with the rod. I was fixin’ to do some noodling. If you’re up to it, that is.” Carla glanced at Tuck.
“Damn right, I’m up for it. I didn’t know you’d be, though.” Just as Logan returned from the truck, Tucker began to strip. In seconds he was out of his boots and working on unbuttoning his jeans.
“Hell, boy. I’ve been noodling since I was four years old. What’s the biggest one you ever caught?” she asked.
Tuck paused in his stripping and eyed her. “Fifty-five pounds.”
“Ha! Seventy-five-pounder for me.” Carla’s smile was triumphant.
As the conversation and Tucker’s stripping continued, Mark turned to Logan, more confused than ever. “Noodling?”
What the heck was that? Mark had to wonder, since it required that Tuck strip naked for him to do it with Carla.
“It’s hand fishing for catfish,” Logan answered, resting the bait on the ground.
With a relief, Mark saw Tucker had been wearing swim trunks under his jeans. The man wasn’t naked after all, only sans pants. And now shirt, as he exposed suntanned muscles worthy of a men’s health magazine cover model.
So much for Mark impressing Carla with his own physique. That wasn’t going to happen with Tucker there, looking like a Greek god. Maybe Mark should start working out with Logan and the ROTC cadets if those muscles were the result. Until then, it was best Mark leave his shirt on. The Total Gym he stored in the spare bedroom kept him toned, but jeez, nothing like this guy.
When Mark could wrestle his eyes off what was happening between Tuck and Carla, what Logan had said about the noodling sank in. “Wait. What? They’re going to catch fish by hand? That’s what noodling is?”
He watched as Carla reeled in her line and then proceeded to peel off her own clothes to reveal a
sexy as sin bathing suit that captured Mark’s attention far more than Tuck’s stripping had. Wow. A woman who could catch a fish with her bare hands while looking that good in a bikini. He’d never met anyone like her before, and he doubted he ever would.
“Mark. You’re staring.” Logan’s touch on his shoulder brought Mark’s head around.
He swallowed hard. Logan was right. He had been staring. He hated to admit it but his jaw had dropped open at the sight of her and all that exposed flesh. Mark slammed his mouth closed now. “Sorry. I’ve just never heard of anything like this noodling before.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Logan didn’t look convinced that was the reason for Mark’s openmouthed shock, but he continued anyway. “This time of year the catfish are spawning. The females lay their eggs in underwater holes in the banks of rivers or lakes, but the males protect the eggs. Carla and Tuck are going to feel around and try to find one of those holes.”
“And then grab the fish?” It sounded pretty difficult. Mark could only imagine the fish would be slippery and hard to hold.
“Not exactly.” Logan laughed. “More like they wait for the catfish to bite them. Once his mouth is clamped onto their arm, they pull him up.”
“No.” Mark’s eyes opened wider.
“Yup. You have to have two people because some of these catfish can grow to be over a hundred pounds. And then, you know, it also helps to have a second pair of eyes to watch out for water snakes. Or beavers, depending on where you are. Those bastards can get nasty.” Logan spoke while prying the lid off a small plastic tub. Mark assumed it contained what would be their bait for the day.
“You’re messing with me.” Mark screwed up his face. Real funny. Make fun of the nerdy English professor who grew up in Chicago and never fished in his life. Ha, ha.
“Not at all. Mark, I swear, my hand to God, it’s true.” Logan went so far as to hold his hand up along with the pledge.
After Logan’s impassioned declaration, Mark could see the man wasn’t joking. “You’re serious? They’re going to catch catfish with their bare hands?”
“Yes. Watch. You’ll see.” Logan turned away and started to root through the things they’d brought, as if what their two companions were about to do was nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m going to assume you’re not up for any grabbling.”
Mark sighed. “What’s grabbling?”
Logan paused in his search and glanced up. “Same as noodling, but grabbling is what my granddad and my dad always called it.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Mark began to see an untapped market here. An opportunity he might have to take advantage of. He could write a dictionary of fishing terms for the novice sportsman. He could see it now on the shelf in his library right next to the linguistics textbook he’d contributed to.
Unperturbed, Logan continued, “I’ll set you up with a light rig. The night crawlers I bought will attract pretty much anything in this lake.”
“Okay.” Mark wasn’t sure he had an opinion, or wanted to have one, on the creepy-sounding and unfortunately named night crawlers.
“You’re going to want to cast close to the shore near the reeds, but as far away from Carla and Tuck as you can. They’ll likely spook anything nearby just by being in the water.” Logan spoke while he worked. Mark cringed as he watched Logan impale a worm on the hook.
“All right.” He’d have to take Logan’s word on all of this. Besides, Mark was too fascinated by this whole hand-fishing scenario to think too much about his own pole. He glanced back at Carla, wading out into the water with Tuck at her back. “Logan, I don’t know much about fishing, but do women usually do that? This noodling grabbling thing, I mean?”
“Yeah. Some.” Logan handed the rod to Mark and then reached for the second one on the ground.
“Oh.” Apparently, Mark hung out with different kinds of women than Tucker and Logan. Maybe he needed to start spending more time with these two men.
“Let me get my rig set up and I’ll show you how to cast.”
“Sure.” Mark could stand there looking at her all day and be very happy. No fishing required.
He noted how the rising sun caught the golden highlights in Carla’s brown hair. She’d taken off her cowboy hat when she’d stripped down to her bathing suit. Now, Mark could see how light in color the strands were, except near the bottom where the braid had turned dark from trailing in the water.
As he watched, she sank shoulder deep. She laughed and said something to Tuck—all while she tried to feel around underwater for a hole with a hundred-pound catfish inside to bite her so she could catch it.
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
“So what’s up with the professor over there?” Carla glanced at the shoreline where Tuck’s boss, Logan, was showing Professor Mark how to cast. Something about this shy, unassuming English teacher intrigued her. With his pink, collared polo shirt and khaki shorts that looked as if they needed to be ironed, it wasn’t like he was her usual type. But there was something in his blue eyes, a kindness that showed through from behind those glasses that kept slipping down his nose. It made her want to learn more about him.
Tuck glanced at the two men standing a pretty good distance away, and then back to her. “What do you mean?”
“You know. What’s the four-one-one?” As Carla felt along the underwater bank with one hand, she kept her gaze focused on the object of the conversation up on shore.
“The four-one-one?” Tucker laughed. “Jeez, girl. You’ve been hanging around with the students too much. You’re starting to talk like them. I don’t know what else I can tell you. He plays poker with Logan once a week. He seems like an all right guy. I’ve only hung out with him a few times. Why?”
“No reason.”
Tuck splashed his way closer to her. “Wait a minute. You’re not interested, are you?”
Carla turned to see a frown that creased Tuck’s forehead so deep, it made her laugh. “Well, jeez, don’t look at me like that. First off, I didn’t say I was interested, but even if I were, you said he was an all right guy. Right?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean I wouldn’t worry about you if you and the nerdy professor went out together or anything. But I didn’t think he was the type of guy you’d date.” Tuck whispered the last word, as if the professor on the shore might hear.
Carla gave up on finding any catfish in the section she’d been working and stood. She moved a few feet over and felt for holes, resuming the conversation when Tuck followed her. “Exactly. I’ve had it with my usual type. I thought it might be nice to get to know a guy who doesn’t ride horses.”
“Or ride buckle bunnies?” He grinned, even as she scowled at the truth of that comment.
“Yeah, that too. And remind me not to tell you my personal business from now on.”
“Sorry. I’m not making fun. I’m just surprised. But hell, you’re right. You could do way worse than him.” Tuck tilted his head in the direction of the professor, who’d just made a surprisingly good cast for a novice. “He’s got a good job with a steady paycheck and benefits. And I bet he’s got shelves and shelves full of books at his house. You know, in case you two had nothing else to do at night, you could read or something.”
His smirk had her frowning. “Tucker Jenkins, you can be a real bastard, you know that?”
“Now, why would you say a thing like that?”
Tuck’s innocent act wouldn’t work on Carla. She knew him too well and she wasn’t about to put up with his teasing her about her possible interest in Mark just because, at first glance, he was the typical nerdy professor type.
“You’re marrying an English professor yourself, so don’t pick on me for asking a casual question about this one. And don’t think I didn’t notice that bite mark on your chest, Tucker Jenkins. Don’t you tell me all you do with your professor at night is read books.” She let out a snort and attacked the mud beneath the water with new enthusiasm.
Glancing over her shoulder, she took great sati
sfaction in the way Tuck’s face turned beet red at her bite mark comment. Good. He deserved to be embarrassed for teasing her.
When he started to wade toward the shore, Carla frowned and stood. “Hey. Where are you going?”
“To put my shirt on.”
His mumbled answer made her laugh. “Why? Too late now. I already saw your hickey.”
“It’s not a hickey. It’s . . .” It seemed Tuck didn’t have the words to finish his hissed reply.
“A love bite?” She happily supplied that suggestion and watched his face color deepen.
“Whatever. And you may have noticed it, but hopefully my fiancée’s boss hasn’t. I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind, so keep your voice down.” With a scowl he proceeded toward his clothes, which were piled on top of the cooler.
“Yes, sir.” She grinned, thankful she and Tuck didn’t have the typical work relationship that Becca and this Mark Ross probably did.
Thankful, too, that for the next day and night there’d be no rodeo cowboys around to tempt her. Just one alluring, nerdy professor whose eyeglasses she wouldn’t mind steaming up a bit.
She’d been so busy teasing Tuck, she’d almost failed to notice the professor was not only alone now, but wrestling with something on the end of his line. Glancing at the shoreline, she saw Logan was nowhere in sight, and Tuck was still fighting what looked like a losing battle to get his T-shirt on over his wet skin.
Carla didn’t think twice. She bounded out of the water and ran to Mark, who obviously needed help reeling in whatever was on his hook. It had the tip of his rod bent low over the water.
“Where’d Logan go?” she asked when, dripping wet and out of breath, she reached him.
“To the truck.” Mark widened his stance and tried to control the rod as the unseen fish nearly tugged it out of his hands. “There’s something . . . on here.”
The man could barely get the words out while he gripped the pole with white knuckles. As if his life depended on it.