Reeling

by Ev Bishop

  Also by Ev Bishop

  River's Sigh B & B

  Wedding Bands

  Hooked

  Spoons

  Hook, Line & Sinker

  Silver Bells

  Reeling

  River's Sigh B & B Vol. 1 - 4

  Standalone

  Bigger Things

  EV BISHOP

  Reeling

  River’s Sigh B & B, Book 6

  REELING

  Book 6 in the River’s Sigh B & B series

  Copyright © 2018 Ev Bishop

  EPUB Edition

  Published by Winding Path Books

  ISBN 978-1-77265-021-1

  Cover image: Kimberly Killion / The Killion Group Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Winding Path Books, 1886 Creek St., Terrace, British Columbia, V8G 4Y1, Canada.

  Reeling is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  To my dad, a dear friend, a wise adviser, an occasionally silly guy—

  I hate that you are gone and I miss you every day.

  Thank you for your good example.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The long drive into River’s Sigh B & B was beautiful. Mia understood that, even while she struggled to suppress a low buzz of terror. Despite being nestled securely in her car, her heart pounded and her breath quickened. She was fenced on all sides. Thick trees cast long-armed shadows. A jungle of dark, impenetrable brush sprawled beyond the edges of the gravel road. The autumn sunshine dappled the ground with splashes of gold, but failed to brighten the formidable forest. It was like even nature was warning: anything—anyone—could hide here.

  The website hadn’t been exaggerating when it called River’s Sigh B & B a “wilderness retreat.” If she wasn’t driving along an obvious road, it would be easy to believe she was in the middle of absolute nowhere. It was both horrible and perfect.

  “You can do this,” she muttered. “You can and you will.” She caught a glimpse of her strained expression in the rearview mirror and crossed her eyes at herself. “Or you’ll go crazy trying, which isn’t saying much since you’re practically certifiable already.”

  She wondered if everyone talked to themselves the way she did, but decided it didn’t matter. The running conversations she held aloud were the least of her problems.

  Her peppy little Mini Countryman zoomed around yet another bend, and then, all at once, she was finally there. A large round parking area lay empty before her, except for one old pickup that had seen better days. Here and there, barely visible through the trees and bushes, Mia caught glimpses of colorful tin. The cabins’ roofs, she assumed. Another slippery eel of doubt swirled in her stomach. She’d known River’s Sigh B & B was remote, but she’d envisioned the cabins being closer together, not hidden from view of the main house and from each other. Maybe she should’ve brought her mom or her sister with her, after all.

  “Get out of the car,” she commanded through gritted teeth. “You can’t live like a prisoner forever.”

  She let out a shuddery exhale, eased her hands off her steering wheel, and tugged her plaid schoolboy cap lower around her ears—a difficult thing to do with all her hair tucked up inside it. It seemed to take her forever, but eventually she was standing outside the car, her big rolling suitcase beside her and her large rucksack over one shoulder. She clicked her key fob and heard the car’s doors lock. She clicked again to be certain. Then she walked the perimeter of the vehicle and tested each door handle just to make extra sure. Out of habit, she peered into the backseat too, knowing full well no one could be in there. She’d checked at her last gas stop and had driven nonstop since then, but what could she say? She was incapable of resisting the urge to check.

  Mia had just pressed her forehead to the passenger side’s window, appreciating its cold smoothness against her anxiety flushed face, when someone called her name. She practically jumped out of her skin—and banged her head on the window’s rain guard. Rubbing her temple, she backed away from her car and spotted the source of the voice: a smiling woman in faded jeans and a comfy looking flannel shirt, knotted at one hip. She was close to Mia’s age from the looks of it, so early thirties maybe, with a riot of long curly reddish hair. An old stiff-legged wire brush of a dog accompanied her.

  “Mia!” the woman said again, but then her smile faded a little and she slowed her pace. “Mia Clark?”

  “Yes, sorry, sorry. That’s me, yes. I mean, hello.” Mia groaned inwardly. It was like she was an imposter of herself. Even after all these years, this babbling mess she’d become was an unfamiliar stranger. And the worse part was that she was actually better now than she had been.

  “I’m Jo and this is my faithful friend, Hoover.” The dog gave a solemn nod in greeting, and Jo held her hand out.

  Mia shook Jo’s hand gingerly and cringed again, knowing she was giving a wet fish of a handshake, but grateful she was able to touch Jo at all. It was another bit of progress, however pathetically small.

  “It’s nice to meet you in person, Jo. I appreciate the special arrangements you’ve made for me.”

  Jo shook her head. “It was nothing. The season slows down now anyway and—” She shook her head again.

  “What?” Mia asked.

  “It’s just a bit surreal. You’re really you. Your voice . . . it’s Mia Clark’s.”

  Mia was surprised by a tickle of true humor, not the put on, wise cracking kind she specialized in these days. “Well, I guess that makes sense. I am Mia Clark, after all.”

  “Yes,” Jo agreed. “And I’m an idiot. Please ignore my blundering. I feel like star struck kid. I had all your albums when I was a teenager—and we’re around the same age.”

  Bingo, Mia thought. “Albums, hey? Yep, we’re from the same era all right.”

  Jo laughed, picked up Mia’s massive suitcase like it weighed nothing, and started walking. “You probably hear this all the time, but you were a huge inspiration to me when I was a kid. There you were, having this crazy successful life when you’d started out with nothing just like me. You gave me the idea that maybe if a person worked hard enough . . . then, fast forward twenty years, you
call to book a three month stay. I actually thought you were my sister Sam prank calling me. I almost hung up.”

  Mia rubbed her chin, then became aware of the pensive gesture. Aiming for casual, she stretched her arms out in front of her, like she was stiff from driving, and looked around instead. “Seems to me you have a lot. Must’ve worked hard.”

  Jo’s stride didn’t slow, but she followed Mia’s gaze and sounded a little awestruck. “Yeah, I really do. Sometimes I have to pinch myself.”

  Mia remembered when she’d felt like that. Full of gratitude and mingled disbelief—that you could get paid for doing what you loved to do most in the world. It seemed like forever ago. Jo had expressed surprise that she was “really” Mia Clark, but what would shock Jo even more was the knowledge that despite Mia’s claim a moment earlier, she really wasn’t herself anymore, not in any way that counted. “You know there are wheels on that, right?”

  Now Jo’s step did falter. “Sorry, what?”

  “My suitcase weighs a ton—but it has wheels. I feel bad about you carrying it.”

  Jo looked down, then waved her free hand dismissively. “I’m strong, and I don’t want the gravel to wreck the rolling mechanisms.”

  The parking lot and the safety of Mia’s vehicle were long gone now, the greenery on either side of the trail was wilder, and they still hadn’t reached her cabin.

  “So what’s it like being famous?” Jo asked.

  Mia stopped so abruptly, it was like her rolling mechanism suddenly broke. Her rucksack thudded painfully against her hip bone and she wished she’d put it on properly, not just slung it over her shoulder. She couldn’t do this. If this was what staying here would be like, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  What if other people found out she was here? Jo seemed nice, but she was obviously a fan. And fans talked. It wasn’t like Mia Clark was a big name or anything anymore, not even remotely, but even one wingnut from the past could . . .

  Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure Jo could hear it. She laughed—a shrill, mirthless cackle. “I’m not famous anymore, but oh yeah, it was totally awesome. I mean what’s cooler than being the object of other peoples’ fantasies, right? And if you can collect a stalker or two? Well, that is the best, the absolute best.”

  Jo almost dropped Mia’s suitcase and her face turned brick red, but Mia couldn’t stop. “Seriously, there’s nothing cooler than having people obsessed with you—some so far gone that even when you’ve been a nobody again for more than a decade, they still track you down, infiltrate your inner circle, your family, then attack you and leave you for dead because of some bizarre, imaginary betrayal.”

  Jo’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry—”

  “No,” Mia muttered abruptly, remembering her therapist Brenda’s advice to stop taking her pain out on everyone else in the world. “I’m sorry.” The apology came with difficulty, like it was being pulled out of wet cement—which was a pretty good analogy for how she felt mood-wise these days. “You were just making small talk. You’re curious. It’s normal. I . . . have a tendency toward sarcasm, badly timed jokes, or weird rants when I’m anxious. I’m working on it, though—hence this ridiculous, humiliating confession.”

  Jo gave her a strange, contemplative look that Mia found hard to decipher, then smiled equally cryptically. “I can’t wait for you to meet my sister Sam. Her husband’s an author with a tight book deadline, so she’ll be around lots this fall. I think you’ll really click.” Her smile faded a smidgeon—no doubt reading the extreme skepticism in Mia’s expression. “Or you totally, totally won’t.”

  Mia had nothing to say to that—and her lungs were trying to squeeze themselves shut with a sudden onslaught of fresh stress, so she doubted she could get a word out even if she wanted to. She stood there utterly mute, knowing she seemed horribly rude, but unable to do much about it.

  When Jo realized she wasn’t going to get a response, she, to her credit, continued on like they hadn’t endured a big awkward pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hammer you with questions or bring up things I should’ve realized would be painful.” Her amber eyes looked genuinely contrite, which made Mia feel extra bad. “I’ll stop badgering you immediately, and please don’t worry. I haven’t told a soul about you coming here and I won’t. As per your instructions, the only people I informed about you are my sister, my niece, my husband and that guy you and I talked about. That’s it—and none of them will spill a word either.”

  Mia’s breathing still hadn’t returned to normal and her voice was still sharp with nerves. “Good, good. I mean I don’t want you to think I’m some weird diva or something, and I can’t imagine the press finding out about my . . . holiday, or even caring if they did, but just in case there are rumors or someone does ask about—”

  “No one will say a word,” Jo repeated firmly. “You want privacy and anonymity, and that’s what you’ll have.”

  They started forward again and Jo continued talking, still warmly enough, but with a less familiar, more businesslike tone. “This is Minnow cabin. If you cut through the bush, it’s not far from yours, but for now we’ll stick to the main trails, so you learn the layout of the place.”

  The tiny cabin Jo pointed to was enchanting, with cedar siding, a red tin roof and an itty-bitty sheltered porch that housed a large black rocking chair. A slab of polished wood nestled on the porch railing, forming a beautiful yet practical table. It held a pottery mug, a toddler’s sippy cup, and a stack of picture books.

  “My niece Aisha and her little daughter Mo live here. Aisha’s the onsite staff member I told you about. I know you want solitude, but this is a lot of it, especially for some people. It can be hard to understand what it’s like until you live in it. She won’t bother you, but she’s nearby if you want her.”

  “Thank you,” Mia said softly.

  Jo nodded, and as they continued along the winding trail, she pointed out other cabins by name, some hidden in the bushes, some out in the open. Mia was particularly struck by a tall skinny one standing off by itself, surrounded by massive cedars. It had row upon row of windows and reminded Mia of a lighthouse. A funky wooden sign identified it as “Spring.”

  It felt like they’d been walking forever when the branches overhead grew denser, blocking out most of the sky, the gravel path narrowed into a soft duff trail, and the forest pressed in closer on each side. A cabin so large it was more like a full-fledged house appeared.

  “Coho,” Jo said, then elaborated. “It’s empty right now and will probably stay that way since it sleeps eight people, and the prime fishing and holiday season is over for the year.”

  A mixture of relief and disappointment seeped through Mia. When she’d asked to be as far away from the main house as possible, she’d had no clue what that really meant.

  Just beyond a copse of orange and yellow leafed birch trees, a little cedar cabin with a river stone chimney and a matching patio area popped into view. Mia’s flip-flopping emotions somersaulted away from trepidation and solidly back to optimism.

  Jo finally stopped moving. “And this is Sockeye.” She flourished her free hand. “Yours for as long as you want it.”

  Mia shook her head. “I . . . I love it.”

  Jo laughed. “You haven’t even seen it yet, but thank you—and yes, I think you will. It’s stocked with the items you requested. You should be good to go.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “That said, we serve breakfast in the dining hall every day between eight and ten. I know you want to keep to yourself and do your own thing, but don’t hesitate to join us if you’re ever in the mood. We don’t need advance notice.”

  Mia nodded as Jo put her suitcase down and handed her a set of keys.

  “And last but not least,” Jo continued. “The gentleman we discussed on the phone got back to me. He’s willing to give you self-defense lessons, and he’s aware of what you need to conquer first.”

  Mia was suddenly freezing, and her palm
s itched and sweated. There was no doubt left in her; she’d tried to do too much too fast. Definitely. She assumed a flippant, joking air. “So the hermit will come down from his mountain? I’m impressed.”

  Jo raised an eyebrow. “Be careful what you wish for. He’s a good guy like I said, but saying he’s not a people person is the understatement of the century.”

  “Got it. Sounds like a gem.”

  Jo shuffled her feet, as if holding something back. “Okay . . .” she said eventually. “I guess that’s it for me. Have a great night, enjoy your months with us, and please don’t be a stranger. If you need anything, I’m here to help.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m planning to make myself pretty scarce.”

  Jo nodded. “Just stick to the clearly marked trails on the map I e-mailed you, and follow the advice we discussed on the phone. If you do, you should be more than fine.”

  She turned to leave, but Mia stopped her. “And self-defense hermit guy, when is he coming by?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, one-ish, in the main dining hall.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Jo’s chin bobbed again, then she lifted her hand in farewell and jogged off down the trail. She was completely out of sight in what felt like seconds. Mia set her rucksack down by the stone fire pit and pivoted in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. Sockeye’s deep purple door gleamed welcomingly, showy and dramatic against the cabin’s rich cedar siding. Its jade and silver fish-shaped door knocker made her smile. The stone patio held two low-seated Adirondack chairs and a funky cast iron chiminea. She instantly pictured herself sitting out here on cool evenings, wrapped in a blanket, fire roaring away, cozily reading a book or writing in her accursed journal.

  Reveling in the heady scent of pine trees, dirt and sunshine, with only the quaint cabin and ancient forest for company, Mia felt like she’d fallen back in time. She wished such a thing were actually possible. It would be lovely to rewind the clock of one’s life, making damaging events and people disappear like they’d never happened.