by Jewel E. Ann
The Fisherman Series
Books One & Two
Jewel E. Ann
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Jewel E. Ann
ISBN 978-1-955520-06-5
Ebook Edition
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Jenn Beach
Photo: © Regina Wamba
Formatting: Jenn Beach
Contents
Foreword
Playlist
The Naked Fisherman
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Book One Bonus Content
Select Chapters from Fisher’s Point of View
Fisher
Chapter Three
Fisher
Chapter Eleven
Fisher
Chapter Sixteen
Fisher
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fisher
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fisher
Chapter Thirty
The Lost Fisherman
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Book Two Bonus Content
Select Chapters from Fisher’s Point of View
Fisher
Chapter Sixteen
Fisher
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fisher
Chapter Thirty
Preview of Transcend
Acknowledgments
Also by Jewel E. Ann
About the Author
Foreword
This special edition contains exclusive bonus content. The Fisherman Series was originally written and published from the heroine’s point of view. It is her journey into womanhood, her journey to think for herself, her journey to evolve emotionally and spiritually. This is a story of love and loss, and freedom and redemption through the eyes of a passionate and vulnerable young woman.
I don’t believe there is a one-size-fits-all when crafting a story. Life is experienced through many lenses, and it’s often what we don’t see that can have the greatest influence in our lives. As you will read, The Naked Fisherman has many “lessons” to teach Reese Capshaw. The best way to experience The Naked Fisherman is through the lens of the young woman who will forever be changed by her time with him.
Since its original publication, many readers have expressed great interest in the hero’s point of view during pivotal moments in the story. I believe by the end of this story, you will know The Naked Fisherman. His actions are revealing and his words are honest—sometimes brutally honest.
However, I’m touched that so many readers have loved this story and read it more than once. For those of you who can’t get enough and want to live in this world and with these characters a little longer, the bonus content at the end of each story is for you. Enjoy!
Playlist
James TW — “Butterflies”
Holly Humberstone — “Livewire”
Holly Humberstone — “Please Don’t Leave Just Yet”
Natalie Taylor — “Wrecked”
Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors — “Live Forever”
Judah & The Lion — “Only To Be With You” (Unplugged)
Matt Maeson — “Put It on Me”
Matt Maeson — “Tribulation”
Matt Maeson — “Hallucinogenics”
John Legend — “Wild”
Josie Dunne — “Good Boys”
James Bay — “Wild Love”
ZAYN — “It’s You”
HRVY — “Me Because of You”
The Driver Era — “Natural”
For Jenn, if only Fisher were Scottish … this would be perfection.
The Naked Fisherman
Chapter One
The day I met the naked fisherman, I was a wholesome eighteen-year-old girl, fresh out of high school with lots of opinions and zero big ideas. The perfect target. I had only heard about men like him through sermons and Bible studies on temptation.
However, as I spent the morning packing, I was unaware of his existence. I should have embraced the final few hours of my innocence instead of fretting over the thought of seeing my mom for the first time in over five years. It made me want to throw up my scrambled eggs and at least one piece of buttered toast. Six months earlier, she’d been released from a women’s correctional facility in Nebraska. Apparently, she had a few too many marijuana plants growing in the storage room of her hair salon. My dad said he knew nothing about it, and the judge believed him.
My grandma snatched everything I tossed into my suitcase and refolded it. “You’re an adult now, Therese. You don’t have to live with her … or us. You don’t have to live with anyone. Are you sure you don’t want to get an apartment with some friends? There are mission trips that can take you all around the world.”
Three years earlier, my dad’s heart had stopped working. A congenital defect he didn’t know he had. No high blood pressure. No high cholesterol. Not a single sign before he just … keeled over while sitting at his drawing board. We’d had pasta that night. I still couldn’t look at pasta without tearing up.
He was a brilliant architect. My grandparents (his parents) got custody of me since my mom was in prison and her parents lived in a dinky but expensive apartment in Boston. They were Catholic liberals with a special detest for my father’s parents—conservatives who took advantage of my mom’s incarceration and my dad’s death by enrolling me in a private Christian academy in Houston, Texas.
“She’s my mom. I haven’t seen her in five years. And it’s only temporary until I decide what I want to do with my life.” I gave my grandma a reassuring smile, but her frown told me she wasn’t feeling the least bit reassured
.
“You didn’t invite her to your graduation. Why are you so curious now?”
Coughing before laughing, I shook my head. “Pa talked me out of inviting her, just like Dad would have done. And she’s my mom, not a zoo animal I’m ‘curious’ about. If she’s not what I remember, if she feels like a complete stranger and I feel no connection to her, then I’ll come home.”
“Therese, I worry that by not going to college right away, you’ll never go. And your father would have wanted you to get a degree.”
I tossed a pair of sandals and flip-flops on top of the clothes she’d just refolded. “Statistically, people who take a gap year do better when they do go to college.” A true statistic I played on repeat.
Lack of direction wasn’t fun. At my graduation party, everyone asked where I was going to school … what I planned on doing. I cringed and threw out my brilliant Gap Year Plan. It felt like code for “smart kid who happened to be an underachiever with little to no direction.” Nobody actually said that to me, but I saw it on their faces. Then they listed all of the things I could do, as if I simply needed a good idea.
Grandma pressed her hands to my cheeks for a second before stroking my hair down my shoulders. My straight, dark brown hair and blue eyes were all my mom, but my grandma always said I looked like my dad. He had blond hair and hazel eyes. The only things I got from him were my full lips and obsession with crossword puzzles.
“I also worry your mom won’t be the best influence.” Grandma frowned as she continued to stroke my hair. There it was—her real fear.
“If she’s on drugs or if she has taken up smoking three packs a day, I’ll come home. Besides, I’ve already found a church to attend, and I’m sure I’ll find good Christian friends who will keep me from falling under my mom’s spell.” I winked at Grandma. I was only half serious. There wasn’t a rule book for reuniting with your mother after years of separation due to incarceration. Would she expect me to call her “Mom?” Would it feel natural to call her that? It felt natural at thirteen, the day I last saw her and cried fat tears while they removed her from the courtroom in handcuffs. Her tears matched mine as she mouthed, “I love you.”
Dad hugged me and promised I’d see her soon.
Soon …
That didn’t happen.
“You can come back. Anytime. You know this, right?”
I nodded while zipping my suitcase. “Yep. That’s why I’ve told you a million times that I’ll come home if it doesn’t work out. Besides, half of my stuff is still here. Of course I’m coming back. I just want to see what she’s like now and see if I like Colorado.”
Grandma’s eyes glossed over with emotion. “Therese, I’m going to miss you so much. It’s like I’m losing your dad all over again.”
“God will watch over me.”
“I know, honey.” She kissed my forehead. “Let’s have Pa load up your suitcase and drive you to the airport so you don’t feel rushed getting to the gate. I still can’t believe we’re letting you fly by yourself.”
I laughed a little. “I’m an adult now. I’ve got this.” I wasn’t sure eighteen felt like adulthood, but I put on a brave face because my friends were going on summer trips and preparing to head off to college. They were leaving the nest. I was moving to a different nest. The least I could do was fly by myself and pretend that I was a real adult for a few hours.
Chapter Two
I would have been lying had I said I wasn’t scared to death. My hands and my voice shook, fumbling my bags and ID while going through airport security. Everything freaked me out. Strange men looking at me. Women corralling their young kids while eyeing me like they wondered if they should report me to airport security—a young woman possibly being smuggled to some faraway place (like Colorado) to be sold as a sex slave. For five hours, I feigned confidence. When I exited the secured area of the Denver airport, it took me only a few seconds to spot my mom: brown almost black short hair, not quite touching her chin with bangs cut a little too short (just my opinion), and skinny as a rail. She sent me pictures after we made contact shortly after my eighteenth birthday, but she looked even thinner in person.
The mom I remembered from the courtroom had curves. She wasn’t overweight, but she looked healthy and well nourished. Post-prison Mom looked like she ate to live and not one bite more. Her bones protruded from her cheeks, shoulders, and hips. Sunken blue eyes the color of a stormy sky at sunset eyed me with anticipation. And not as much as a single speck of makeup could be found on her face. The owner of a salon, she used to have long hair, nearly to her butt, always curled in princess-like ringlets.
Where did the hairdresser go? Makeup? Nail polish? Perfectly styled hair? I wondered if she remembered that person or if that person died over the five years I hadn’t seen her. Over the five years she didn’t get to see me.
“Reese!” She hooked her crossbody handbag over her shoulder and ran toward me.
Reese … I hadn’t been called that in years. I was Therese to my dad and my grandparents. I was Therese at the Christian academy and to my new Christian friends.
My body stiffened, panicked by the stranger ready to get up close and personal with me. Would she smell the same? Would her embrace feel the same?
“Hi,” I croaked as she knocked the wind out of me and nearly tackled me to the ground.
“Oh my baby …” She cried. Literally cried.
I had thought I would cry too, but there were no tears in sight. Nerves and sheer awkwardness gobbled them up before my eyes had a prayer of shedding even a single one.
Everything felt different.
Her embrace was not as comforting, probably too many bones and not enough fat.
She smelled woodsy, not the floral scent of her perfume I remembered.
I thanked God for reuniting us. My mind should have stopped there. That was all that mattered, but I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways she was a little less than I remembered. Did my thirteen-year-old self have her on a pedestal? Or was the eighteen-year-old version of me being unfairly judgmental?
Thou shalt not judge …
That was always a hard one to obey.
“You’ve grown into the most beautiful young lady.” She grabbed my shoulders and held me at arm’s length, getting a good look at me.
“Thanks.” I smiled.
“Well, let’s get your luggage and head home. We have so much catching up to do before I leave town.” She looped her arm around mine and led me toward the baggage claim.
“What? You’re leaving?”
“It’s just for a month. Six weeks tops. My new employer is sending me to L.A. to work at his salon there and get refreshed on my skills. I’ll be working with people who do hair and makeup for celebrities. How awesome is that?”
“Um … really awesome, I guess. So, I’ll be living alone, in your house?”
“Yes and no.” We stopped and waited for my luggage at the carousel. “And it’s my landlord’s house. Not mine. I just rent the basement. It has its own entrance at the back. He’s the nicest guy. And adorable. We’ve become good friends. I’ve told him all about you. And he’s also willing to give you a temporary job this summer while you figure out what you want to do.”
“What kind of job?” I watched for my suitcase, sparing a quick side-glance for my mom.
“He owns a construction company. I’m not sure what you’d be doing, but I’m sure you couldn’t ask for a better boss.”
“Construction? Building houses? I’m not that great with a hammer.” With a nervous laugh, I considered the bigger picture. My hammer abilities were the least of my concerns. My mom was leaving me with an adorable man. Adorable as in old and quirky?
She laughed. “I’m sure there’s office stuff you can do.”
I nodded several times, trying hard to formulate an image of adorable in my head. Kittens were adorable. “Okay. Yes, I can do office work. Thanks for asking him.” Mr. Adorable.
She glanced over at me and smiled. “
Of course. I want to do everything I can for you. Lots of lost time to make up for.”
Chapter Three
It took us forty-five minutes to get to her place. I’d never been to Colorado. Never seen the Rockies. I couldn’t stop gawking at them in the distance. How had we lived in Nebraska for nearly fifteen years and never headed west? We’d made a million trips straight south to Texas and a few trips out east to visit my mom’s parents. But never west.
“Home sweet home. I know it’s not as nice as your grandparents’ home in Houston, but I want you to feel like it’s yours. We can decorate your room. Paint. Whatever you want. Fisher said as long as we don’t tear down walls, the sky’s the limit.”
“Fisher?” I asked while climbing out of her Subaru Outback.