He's the One (21 page)

The spring on the box released, and a pink diamond flashed. The ring sparkled brightly
beneath the overhead lights. Emotion swept through Violet, so powerfully, her entire
body shook. “The ring from Saunders Shores,” she said, fighting back tears. She gave
Brad a watery smile. “You saw me staring a hole through the jewelry store window.”

He kissed her lightly. “The pink is soft but vibrant. It suits you.” He slipped the
ring on her finger. It fit her perfectly.

The customers in the diner rose as one. They crowded Brad and Violet with words of
congratulations. The men thumped Brad on the back; the women wanted a glimpse of Vi’s
engagement ring.

The locals took their leave shortly thereafter. Molly and Joe went back to the kitchen
to prepare for the dinner rush. Violet stood in Brad’s embrace. His arm was tight
around her waist, his heart entwined with hers. She’d never been so happy in her life.

The clank of dishes drew her gaze to a nearby table. The sight of Lydia busing tables
seemed surreal. Her sister looked up, glared back. “What are you looking at?” she
asked. “New customers can’t sit at dirty tables.”

“You’re doing a great job,” came from Brad.

“I’ve watched Vi work over the years,” Lydia tossed back. “There’s nothing here I
couldn’t handle.”

Violet glanced at Brad and he nodded, reading her mind. “Molly and Joe will be packing
up in a month or so,” he told Lydia. “Violet and I will be hiring additional staff
before then.”

Lydia wiped down a tabletop. “And that affects me how?”

“We’re offering you a job,” Violet said. “Waitressing brings in good tips.”

Her sister straightened the condiment stand, taking her time before she said, “There’s
more money in management.”

“Prove yourself first,” said Brad, challenging her.

“Don’t give us a hard time, keep your nose clean, and don’t eat our profits.”

Lydia scrunched her nose. “You have a lot of rules.”

“Take them or leave them,” said Brad.

“When would I start?” asked Lydia.

“As early as tomorrow,” said Vi. “I’ll schedule you on the dinner shift. That way
you can be with your kids during the day and Mark can watch them at night.”

Lydia grew quiet. “Why are you doing this for me?” She needed a reason for their offer.

“Because it’s time you stood on your own two feet,” said Violet. “Here, you’ll get
support from family.”

“Yeah, fine, maybe . . . okay.” Lydia was slow to make up her mind. She slid her hand
in the front pocket on her skinny jeans, tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
“Cost of my meal including your tip,” she said. Then moving toward the door, she paused
with one hand on the knob. She dipped her head, said, “Thanks, sis.” Then she was
gone.

“You’re welcome,” Vi called after her, the door closing on her words.

Brad kept his arm around her. She never wanted him to let her go. “I think we need
to take a look around our investment,” he said in a casual but loving manner. “Nice
dining room,” he noted, then led her into the kitchen.

Molly was at the stove, stirring a pot of gravy. Joe was slicing roast beef. Violet
had never seen them look so happy. “The back half of the diner is modernized with
plenty of work space.”

“Then there’s the storeroom.” Violet kept her voice low.

“Lots of good memories among the buckets and brooms,” he agreed, then squeezed her
waist.

She felt daring with her man. “Care to make one more memory, tonight after the diner
closes? Initiate our place.”

His dimple flashed. “I like the way you think, babe.”

F
ISH
O
UT
OF
W
ATER

Cat Johnson

Chapter One

“S
tillwater, Oklahoma’s Lake McMurtry offers both primitive and improved campsites
.” Mark Ross read the description from the computer screen, and then glanced up. “Primitive
or improved? I hate to even ask, because I doubt I’ll like the answer, but what’s
the difference? And more importantly, which one are we going to?”

Logan Hunt grinned back at him from the other side of the desk. “Why? You worried?”

“Yes. Do you blame me? Primitive. What kind of descriptor is that to try to sell this
place to the public? They need some help with their marketing materials, I can tell
you that.” With one finger, Mark pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose,
from where they’d slid down. “And you still didn’t answer my question.”

“The difference is that the primitive campsites only supply water, while the improved
sites have both water and electric.” Logan leaned back and rested one heavy-looking
combat boot on the camouflage-covered knee of the opposite leg. Logan tended to make
himself comfortable anywhere, whether he was lounging on Mark’s office furniture,
or in an easy chair in his living room.

Mark, on the other hand, was not at all comfortable with the idea of this camping
trip. “And we’re going to which site?”

By the smug expression on Logan’s face, Mark had a feeling he knew which the man had
chosen for the staff retreat even before he answered. “The primitive.”

“Of course.” That’s what the university got for turning over the planning of the year-end
faculty event to the military science department. Soldiers had a different idea of
fun and relaxation—and comfort—from English professors.

“Stop scowling, Mark. We take the ROTC cadets there for overnight trips a few times
a semester. Never lost one of them yet.” Logan’s persistent grin was enough to make
Mark want to wipe it right off his face.

As if he could. Mark had a feeling the six-foot-two lieutenant colonel seated across
from him had been trained well during his years in the army. At least well enough
to defend himself against a disgruntled English professor armed with nothing more
than a pen. Though they did say the pen was mightier than the sword, Mark figured
Logan’s combat training would win out in this case.

“Jeez, Mark. Back out if you’re that miserable about going.”

“I can’t. I’m a department head. I have to lead by example.” Besides, it had been
strongly suggested
by the powers-that-be at Oklahoma State University that all heads of the departments
go, whereas the assistant and associate professors working beneath him could choose
not to, and quite a few had. “It is still one night, correct? Or did you tack on a
few more fun-filled days?”

“Yes, we’re only staying for one night. And stop acting like the whole time is going
to be torturous for you. Come on. It’ll be fun.” Logan’s enthusiasm, whether fake
or not, still wasn’t very convincing.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Tons of fun.

Sleeping in a tent, in the pitch dark no less, since there was no electricity. Yeah,
sure. That sounded like a blast. He’d be lucky if some animal didn’t crawl in with
him in the middle of the night.

“Seriously, Mark. The site’s laid out real nice. The lake has separate areas for swimming
and for fishing.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Meaning he’d be in the water right along with the fish that probably all
congregated in the designated swimming area, knowing fishermen couldn’t get them there.
“What other fun things do you have to entice me?”

“Come on. There’s nothing like it. Think what a sense of accomplishment you’ll have
when you catch your own dinner and cook it over an open fire.” Logan leaned forward,
looking truly excited at the concept.

Landing his position as the youngest head of the English department at OSU—
that
had given Mark a sense of accomplishment. Landing a fish? He wasn’t certain that
would qualify as being in the same league.

Oh, well. Nothing Mark could do about it now. The plans had been made, and if nothing
else, he’d learned his lesson. Next year, he’d plan the faculty retreat, and it wouldn’t
entail fishing. He’d have to look into the local winery. They did tours and tastings.
They could probably host a faculty retreat. Now there’s a place he wouldn’t mind camping
out. Rather than catching a trout, or whatever species of fish he’d be swimming with
shortly, he could catch a nice wine buzz.

Speaking of camping and biting insects that went buzz in the night... “You’re still
bringing an extra tent for me, right?”

Sleeping in a tent might be pretty low on the list of things Mark wanted to do in
his lifetime, but sleeping outdoors without one was even lower. The thought sent a
chill straight up his spine.

“Yes, sir.” Logan nodded. “Tuck has an extra tent he’s bringing. And I’ve got a spare
sleeping bag for you to use.”

He hoped Logan’s friend, Tucker, was aware he’d not only be loaning the tent, but
also instructing Mark on how to erect the damn thing. These guys were used to camping
if they owned extras of both tents and sleeping bags, while Mark didn’t own a single
one of either.

Tucker Jenkins was one of Logan’s military science and ROTC instructors. Mark knew
the man, though not well. He should try to get to know him better since Tuck was engaged
to Becca Hart, one of the associate professors in Mark’s department. She had conveniently
planned to be visiting her home in New York this week.

No dummy, that girl. Her fiancé, the owner of not one but at least two tents, had
probably already taken her camping, or at least tried to. City girl that she was,
Becca knew to get out of town or she’d have to go on this overnight trek into the
great outdoors.

Mark had no doubt he’d have plenty of time to bond with Tucker this weekend. With
no electricity, there wouldn’t be much else to do except get to know each other. He
should pack a deck of cards and some poker chips, just in case they all got bored.

“Oh, and good news. I grabbed my extra fishing rod last time I was home visiting my
parents. It’s light action, but it’ll be good for what’s in the lake, so I’ll bring
that along, too.”

Mark had never held a fishing rod in his life and chances were Logan damn well knew
that.

It looked like Mark would be learning how to fish on this trip as well as erect tents.
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll, uh, bring along my extra eReader, if you’d like.”

Logan’s dark brows rose at the offer. “Uh, yeah, thanks, but that’s okay.”

Mark shook his head and let out a short laugh. “Why are you friends with me again?”

Logan raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Because you invited me to be the fourth
for your weekly poker game when what’s-his-name left.”

“Ah, yes. I remember it all now. Old Percival from the math department. Damn man hardly
ever lost a hand or a dollar. I swear, he had some sort of mathematical system he
used against us to win. I’m glad you agreed to fill his spot.”

His friend let out a snort. “Why? Because I hardly ever win?”

“That’s one reason.” Mark grinned. “But mainly because a man just can’t have enough
fishing and camping buddies in his life.”

“Mmm-hmm. Yeah, I’m sure.” Logan didn’t seem at all convinced by Mark’s faux enthusiasm.
“So, you all packed?”

“Yes . . . mostly.” The only things Mark had put in his overnight bag so far were
sunscreen, bug repellent, a beach towel, two pair of swim trunks because he hated
sitting around in a wet bathing suit, and a folding chair. Just because they were
camping, and primitive camping at that, was no reason to sit around on the ground
like cavemen.

He’d get the rest packed after work today, not that he was all that sure what he’d
need to take.

“Good. Tuck’s picking me up at zero-six-hundred and then we’ll swing over and get
you.”

Zero-six-hundred. In military time that hour sounded even more insanely early than
usual. Mark cringed. “Why are we leaving so early again?”

“You know what they say. Early bird gets the worm.” Logan grinned.

“Yes, I’ve heard the saying. But we’re fishing. I assume for fish, not worms.”

“We are, but we need worms to catch fish, now don’t we?” Logan raised a brow as Mark
felt both his jaw and his spirits drop.

“We have to catch our own worms?”

How the hell did a person go about catching worms? Mark could imagine it must involve
digging in the dirt. Hopefully, he wasn’t expected to bring a shovel since he didn’t
own anything even resembling one. He happily paid a hefty maintenance fee at his condo
complex to have groundskeepers do things such as dig, and deal with worms.

Logan broke out laughing at what must have been a pretty stricken look on Mark’s face.
“I’m kidding. I’m picking up the night crawlers at the bait shop. We don’t have to
catch ’em ourselves. But we still want to get there early because the fish are more
likely to bite earlier in the day.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Mark figured there was no fighting Mother Nature. Logan and
his friend Tuck were early risers, and the fish they’d be after were early birds as
well. He was clearly outnumbered.

“I need to get going and finish some stuff before morning.” Logan planted a hand on
each arm of the chair and hoisted his six-foot-plus frame up.

“All right.” Mark had quite a bit to do before morning, too, apparently. This trip
was sounding more and more rustic than he’d ever imagined. He’d better pack a first
aid kit. Who knew what could happen out there.

Logan turned to go, but paused in the doorway and glanced back. “It’ll be great, Mark.
The best, most relaxing time you’ve had in years. I promise you.”

Mark sighed at his own doubts, in spite of Logan’s obvious sincerity. “Okay. See you
in the morning.”

“Zero-six-hundred,” Logan reminded.

“I’ll be ready,” Mark assured him. He might not be a camper by nature, but neither
was he tardy.

“All right. See you in the morning.” With one final nod, Logan was off to go buy bait.

Night crawlers. Even the name was disturbing. As the sound of Logan’s boots echoed
farther down the hall, Mark sighed, “God help me.”

“Are you sure you can get away? It’s not mandatory that you come, you know.”

Carla Henricks balanced the cell phone on one shoulder as she dumped another scoop
of horse feed into the bucket. She laughed at Tuck’s suggestion she stay home. “Are
you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this weekend for anything. It’s been far too long since
I’ve taken a day to get away to just fish and relax.”

“Your mama is okay at your place without the help? I know your pa’s out on the road
at that stock auction right now.”

“Tucker Jenkins, I know you’re a natural-born worrier, but stop. Mom will be fine.”
Carla finished filling the pink bucket in front of her and moved on to the empty blue
one. “I rearranged the lesson schedule so tomorrow will be light. Craig is on the
road with Dad, but my other brother is around. And there’s always a bunch of kids
here willing to help out in exchange for riding time.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Tuck chuckled. “I remember back when I was young,
I’d shovel manure or move stock for whoever’d let me, just for the chance to get up
on a cutting horse or a good bucker.”

“Well, hell. Feel free to stop by anytime. We can always find some shit for you to
shovel in exchange for some time in the practice pen.”

“Thanks.” He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She smirked, knowing Tuck had moved past that stage in his life years ago. The former
rodeo champion was a full-time ROTC instructor now. He was also Carla’s boss in her
role as assistant coach of the rodeo team. She’d made an extra effort to rearrange
her schedule so she could attend this faculty retreat he’d invited her to because
what she’d told him was true—she needed some time away.

Away from the never-ending work at the family farm. Away from competing on the rodeo
circuit. Away from all the rodeo cowboys, and the trouble that came with them.

Carla sighed. Her most recent troubles with cowboys were over. After the last one
she’d dated, a steer wrestler who liked to wrestle buckle bunnies as well, she’d sworn
off cowboys. Every last boot-wearing one. That was yet another reason she needed diversions
such as this camping trip, to keep her mind off men. A nice calm day of fishing on
a peaceful lake would be exactly the right thing to take her mind off her sexual frustration.

She dug into the bin for another scoop of feed. “So who else is going?”

“I think it’ll be about two dozen staff members total, but they’re from the other
departments so I don’t know most of them.”

“Is Becca coming?” It would be nice for Carla to be able to spend some time with Tuck’s
fiancée. Carla didn’t have all that many close female friends.