He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  “Yup, there’s definitely something on there.” She nodded.

  “Maybe you should handle this.” He glanced at her through glasses that now were askew and halfway down his nose. She fought the urge to slide them back into place for him.

  The teacher in Carla kicked in. “No, you can do it. I’ll tell you how.”

  “I think you should do it.” He thrust the rod at her, just as the fish gave another hard tug.

  No time to fight with him now or they could lose whatever he’d hooked. She took over manning the rod. “All right, I’ll do it for you, but watch me so you can do it next time. Okay?”

  He let out a short laugh. “I’ll watch but that’s no guarantee it will help me next time. If there is a next time.”

  Carla shook her head at his pessimism. The best fishermen were natural-born optimists. They had to be, to sit for hours, sometimes without even a nibble. But apparently professors, or at least this particular professor, was not.

  Turning the handle, Carla reeled in the line, slow and steady as the fish kept the tension tight enough to bend the end of the rod. Mark’s catch fought and tugged until it broke the surface of the water, but then it couldn’t fight anymore and just dangled. She reached out one hand and grabbed the line to keep it from swinging.

  “It’s a bluegill. They tend to swim sideways when you reel them in. That’s why it felt bigger than it is. They’re real good eating, though.” Carla gripped the fish behind the gills and unhooked it. “Here you go. It’s all yours. Your first catch of the day.”

  He let out a short laugh and stared at the wiggling fish she tried to hand him. “Not just the first of the day. This fish is my first catch ever.”

  Finally, he took it, looking at a loss what to do next.

  “Well, then, you should be very proud. That’s a nice one, too. Probably about a pound. Maybe more.”

  “It does look like a nice one, doesn’t it?” Mark smiled and held the fish, considering it. “Can I keep it? I mean it’s not too small, is it? Do I have to throw it back?”

  Mark’s rambling enthusiasm made Carla smile. “No, you can keep it.”

  Tuck, finally in his shirt, the telltale bite mark safely hidden from view, made his way over. He eyed Mark’s fish. “Yeah, you can keep that one. It’s just a sunnie. There’re no regulations on size for those. That’s why little kids usually start out catching them.”

  Seeing the pride over his first fish beaming from the professor even in the face of Tuck’s smart-ass crack about it being a kid’s fish, Carla shot Tuck a warning glance and then turned back to Mark.

  “Or, this type of fish is sometimes called a perch, and as I said before, a bluegill. Just a lot of different names for the same thing.” She finished her speech and looked up in time to see Tuck trying not to laugh at her.

  “What do I do with it?” Mark turned to her as the fish remained in his hand.

  She forced herself to ignore Tuck as she dealt with Mark and his catch. “You put it in a bucket with some water until we’re ready to cook it.”

  “I didn’t bring one. I didn’t know I should.” His gaze met hers as he looked a bit distraught about his lack of a bucket.

  “Not a problem. Plenty of room in mine.” She tilted her head in the direction of the big bucket of water currently holding her bass. “Go on and put it in there.”

  A frown knit Mark’s brow. “With yours? Is that okay? They won’t, I don’t know, fight or anything?”

  Carla smiled. “Nah, it’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” Holding the fish out at arm’s length and looking like an excited ten-year-old rather than his thirty-some-odd years, Mark made his slow but steady way toward the bucket.

  The moment he was out of earshot, Carla spun to deliver a warning to Tuck. “You be nice.”

  “Me?” Tuck drew back. “What’d I do?”

  “You made fun of his fish.” Carla had learned how to put a man in his place from watching the best. She had a mama who had never allowed any crap from Carla’s two brothers. Right now, Tuck needed reprimanding.

  “I did not.” When she continued to glare, Tuck backed down. “All right. Maybe that kid crack was out of line, but you didn’t do any better.”

  “Me?” Her voice cracked with a squeak. “I didn’t do anything except help him. Somebody had to. Both you and Logan were ignoring the poor guy.”

  Tuck laughed. “Yeah, sure. You think a man really wants help reeling in his catch? Especially from the girl he’s hot for?”

  “You really think he’s hot for me?” She didn’t bother defending herself to Tuck by telling him Mark had asked her to help reel it in. He’d practically thrown his pole at her, but that didn’t matter now. Not in light of this new revelation. Tuck thought Mark was hot for her. Hmm.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Mark. He stood staring down into the bucket, probably to make sure the two fish didn’t fight. She turned back to Tuck. “How do you know?”

  “Holy crap. Look how excited you are. You do have your eye on Ross. Jeez, girl. You need to get yourself another boyfriend if even the professor over there is getting you squirrelly in the drawers.” Tuck’s focus on Carla and her love life was a little too intense and personal for her liking.

  “Oh, hush up.” Carla shot Tuck what she hoped was a withering glance but most likely fell short, since he chuckled at her.

  She allowed herself one more quick look in Mark’s direction. Tuck was right, she needed something but it wasn’t necessarily another boyfriend. At least not one like the last one . . . or three.

  Maybe just a nice fling. That would be lovely at this point in the man drought in her life.

  So Mark wasn’t her usual type. So what? She wasn’t going to count him out of the good-in-bed category because of that. Cowboys didn’t hold the monopoly on sexual prowess. Hell, it was the quiet guys, the ones you’d least expect it from, you had to watch out for. They could be the wildest once the lights went out.

  Oh, yeah, she’d like to get him to let his hair down—figuratively speaking. It was true what they said: still waters ran deep.

  Checking out Mark as best she could without having anyone notice, Carla decided he was a damn attractive man once she looked past the surface. There appeared to be a nice and firm, although lean, body beneath those clothes that belonged more on a catalog cover than a fishing trip. Not to mention those high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. The man definitely had good bones. He was like the male equivalent of the sexy librarian hiding behind staid clothing and studious eyeglasses.

  Carla wouldn’t mind being the one to get him to whip off those glasses. Then he could sweep aside piles of books and lay her down on top of his big, sturdy oak desk—

  “What did I miss?” Logan’s question broke into the porn movie playing in Carla’s head.

  “The professor caught a sunnie, and Carla yanked the rod right out of his hand and reeled it in for him.”

  “No! You reeled it in for him? Ah, Jesus, Carla.” Logan slapped his palm to his forehead and let out an exasperated breath. “At least let Tuck or me filet it. Don’t you do that for him, too.”

  Apparently, Carla had committed the ultimate in sins, at least according to these two guys.

  “Jeez. I’m sorry. I’ll never touch another man’s fishing pole again. Promise.” With that, she stalked over to Mark to see if she could repair this horrible damage she’d supposedly caused to his delicate male psyche.

  He turned to her with the biggest grin she’d seen since her brother had won the high school rodeo championship buckle. “He’s not as big as the one you caught but he’s still pretty nice.”

  She looked down into the bucket. “Well, mine’s a bass. They tend to run a little bigger than bluegill. But you’re right. You’ve got a real nice one here. Though it’s probably a she rather than a he, judging by the size and the way it fought. The females get more aggressive this time of year because they’re laying eggs. But bluegill are tasty. It’ll cook up real good tonight.”r />
  “How do you think you’ll prepare him?” He looked a little crestfallen at the idea of turning his prize over to her for dinner. Little did he know, the camp cook she was not.

  Time to invent some rules of fishing. Mark would never know the difference, she was sure. “Well, now, that’s up to you. It’s your catch. That means you get to fix it any way you want. Hell, you know what? I’ll even let you cook up my fish with yours, if you want.”

  “Really?” Mark perked up at the offer. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind at all.” She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand.

  “Hmm, I’ll have to look at what we brought with us, but I have a few ideas.” He crossed his arms and considered the two fish in the bucket before looking back to her. “I fancy myself a bit of an amateur chef. And I cook a lot of fish at home.”

  “Sounds like we’re in good hands. I look forward to dinner.” Pleased with herself, Carla slapped his shoulder.

  Problem solved. He’d never know she could barely boil water. Actually, she’d even failed at that once when she’d run out to check on something in the barn and forgotten she’d left the pot of water on the stove until all the water had boiled away and ruined the pot.

  Mark the professor was turning out to be a surprise, as well as quite a catch. Cute, smart, modest, and he could cook. What more could a girl ask for?

  Okay, maybe one other thing . . . and she hoped to explore that area with him real soon.

  Chapter Three

  Mark watched as Carla raised the fork, laden with the first bite of the flaky white fish he’d cooked, to her lips.

  When she closed her eyes and released a sultry, low “mmm” from deep in her throat, he feared he might embarrass himself right there. Her groan seemed to cut straight through him, awakening carnal desires he shouldn’t be having in public, and especially not for a woman he’d just met today.

  “What did you put on it?” When her golden-brown eyes opened and focused on him, he had to force his attention off her mouth and what he’d like to do with it, and on her question.

  “I didn’t do too much to it, really. Logan brought salt and pepper and a few lemons. And Tuck had aluminum foil. I wrapped it all up with the fish, and put it over the coals. But of course, there was one more secret ingredient I added.”

  Carla lifted one eyebrow. “Is it so secret you won’t even share with me?”

  Her flirtatious question set Mark’s heart speeding. “I think I might be able to, if you promise not to tell.”

  “Cross my heart.” Her motion as she trailed a finger across the skin of her chest exposed by the bikini top drew all of his attention. He imagined following that path with his mouth.

  It was an effort to wrestle his gaze away as his misbehaving cock woke up and took notice.

  He drew in a deep breath to settle himself and then said, “Beer.”

  “Beer?” Her eyes opened wide.

  “Yes. At home I would have used white wine, but since we didn’t have any with us, I figured I’d give the beer a try.” He shrugged.

  She laughed. “Well, I’m glad you did, because it worked. This tastes amazing.”

  “What’s amazing?” Tuck returned from where he and Logan had the propane burner hooked up beneath a fry pot filled with oil.

  “The fish Mark cooked.” She took another bite. “Oh, my, God. Absolutely amazing.”

  Carla’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head with her obvious satisfaction. Mark’s mind went to bad, bad places as he pictured her beneath him, her face contorted with pleasure from his loving her, rather than from the food he’d cooked.

  Where had that thought come from? Mark pulled his brain off naughty thoughts of making love to the sexy woman in front of him and back to more appropriate topics—such as campfire cooking.

  He cleared his throat. “It was nothing. Really. I just threw on what we had.”

  Logan followed close behind Tuck with a plate loaded with fried catfish. “First batch is done. Second batch is in the fryer.”

  “I don’t know if the catfish I caught and you cooked can live up to Ross’s sunnie, here. According to Carla, it’s unbeatable. Too bad it was too small for all of us to have a taste.” Tuck grinned at Carla.

  “Don’t worry, smarty-pants. There’s more. Mark cooked my bass, too, and it’s excellent.”

  The sound of his first name on Carla’s lips had Mark warming further. Her calling him by his given name sounded even more intimate in contrast, since Tuck always referred to him by his surname.

  But all this discussion about his cooking made Mark self-conscious. He tilted a chin toward the overflowing plate Logan held. “I’d love to try a bite of the catfish you and Tucker fried, Logan. And here, let me get you both a plate so you can try some of Carla’s bass.”

  “Thanks.” Logan put the dish of fried fish on top of the cooler, which seemed to now be functioning as a serving table. “I was talking to a few of the guys from the phys ed department. They set up camp right next to where I had my fryer going. Anyway, they’re going over to see what they can catch on the other side of the lake tonight. Tuck and I are going to join them right after we eat. You two in?”

  More fishing? It had been fun once. No doubt Carla’s presence had added greatly to his enjoyment, but even with her there, Mark wasn’t sure he was up for a repeat. Not at night, following a day that had started very early that morning. After eating the meal and drinking a few beers by the campfire, he was happy to not do much of anything.

  They’d already fished for hours, for the better part of that day, but except for some faculty stopping by to say hello to him on their way to the swimming area, it had been just the four of them. He hadn’t totally embarrassed himself fishing today with Tuck and Logan, and he’d impressed Carla with his cooking skills tonight. His instincts told him it was time to end this day on a high note.

  Who was to say what would happen tonight with these other people? It was best that Mark quit while he was ahead. He could imagine how inadequate he’d feel next to the iron-pumped linebackers from the phys ed department. Jeez.

  With a plate held in one hand, Mark pushed his glasses up his nose with the other.

  “Uh, thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” He reached out and gave the dish to Logan and then bent to pick up the second plate, which would be for Tucker.

  “You know, I’m not gonna want to go out again tonight, either. I’m thinking after such a good meal, all I’m going to want to do is relax.” Carla’s answer almost made Mark trip and drop the plate in his hand.

  She wasn’t going fishing? When the others left, she was going to stay there. With him. Alone.

  He forced himself to pay attention to where he was walking only to find when he did glance up from the tricky terrain, Tuck was grinning at him.

  Mark thrust the fish-laden paper plate forward. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Ross.” Tucker had a way of smirking that made Mark feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. As if Tuck could somehow know what Mark was thinking, and it amused him greatly.

  If Tuck could read minds, Mark’s romantic thoughts about Carla would amuse the cowboy to no end, because women like Carla didn’t go for men like Mark. Historically, inevitably, they went for guys who could wrestle giant fish with their bare hands, the way Tucker had today.

  Meanwhile, Mark had done nothing to help Tuck with his struggle in the water except stand by, openmouthed and amazed. Then he’d whipped out his cell phone to take a picture of the action, because really, without proof, who would believe it if he told them?

  Women like Carla went for guys like the bruisers from the phys ed department who coached the OSU Cowboys football team to victory. But men like Mark? Pale—make that slightly sunburned, since he’d forgotten to reapply his sunscreen today—professors who spent their days behind a desk or in front of a classroom?

  No. He couldn’t see a woman like Carla with someone like him.

  As unfortunate as that was, M
ark feared it to be the truth. As an Oklahoma cowgirl, Carla was used to the rough and tough outdoorsmen she encountered in her everyday life. Her perfect man would be a fish wrestler, or a cattle rancher, not a pencil pusher. Not even one who could cook.

  Tucker took a plastic fork full of the bass Mark had so painstakingly prepared because it was Carla’s catch and tasted it. “Mmm, Carla’s right. That is damn good.”

  Logan laughed between forkfuls from his own plate. “Uh-oh, Mark. You may have just nominated yourself camp cook for the next fishing trip.”

  “Next fishing trip?” Mark paused in his path back to his chair.

  “Yeah, sure.” Logan nodded. “Tuck and I go as often as we can. At least a couple of times over summer break.”

  “Really? Oh, okay,” Mark agreed, figuring when the time came, if they did invite him, which he doubted, he’d come up with some kind of an excuse to back out. Unless of course, Carla would be there again.

  Would she? Did this group he’d fallen into today all hang out together on a regular basis? Or was she on this trip strictly because she was part of the OSU rodeo team and this was a university retreat?

  Mark didn’t know, but he’d like to find out because although Tuck was engaged and a taken man, Logan wasn’t. Logan was single and available and could definitely make a play for Carla should he wish to. The university’s nonfraternization rule wouldn’t even apply in this case since the rodeo team was classified as a club and not an official part of the sports program.

  All of his pondering raised another, more important question—was Carla even single? She didn’t wear a wedding or an engagement ring, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in a serious relationship with some cowboy off tending his herd somewhere.

  When Tucker and Logan went off fishing tonight, and Carla was all his—and God how he wished she were his—then Mark would have to see what he could glean. Words were his life, and although it seemed she made him as tongue-tied as a teenage boy, Mark would find out more about this woman. Once he set his mind on a goal, there was no stopping him.

  “You sure you don’t want to come?” Tuck asked.