He's the One (22 page)

“Becca? Camping?” Tuck let out a snort. “Nah. There was conveniently a baby shower
for her cousin back in New York she said she had to attend. Plus she scheduled some
fittings or something for her and her sister’s dresses for the wedding. I love her
more than my own life, but the truth is my little city girl is allergic to too much
outdoors. I think camping and fishing would be way more than she could handle.”

Carla smiled at the image Tuck painted of Becca, the New York city girl, and him,
the rodeo cowboy. “They do say opposites attract.”

“Ain’t it the truth. Guess she and I are living testament to that. Anyway, I’m getting
Logan at six tomorrow morning.”

“Six? So late?” Carla had figured to leave her house closer to four thirty. Her truck
was already packed and ready to go except for the cooler of water and beer, which
she’d ice up right before she left.

“Yeah, I know. I’m traveling with Logan and his poker buddy, Mark Ross, who also happens
to be the head of the English department.”

“Which makes him Becca’s boss.” Understanding dawned.

“Yeeeup.” Tuck dragged the word out and Carla got the idea that spending the weekend
with his fiancée’s department head wasn’t exactly what Tuck had in mind by way of
fun. “I think Logan’s trying not to scare the guy off by making him get up too early.
Ross is more the type to read a book than wet a line. And it’s not as if I could tell
my superior officer to tell Becca’s boss to get his ass out of bed before the fish
stop biting.”

“Nope, guess not. But I’m not afraid to tell you,
boss
, that I’ll be waiting on you at the lake with a nice pile of fish by the time you
arrive.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Tucker snorted. “Good to know we’ll have something for dinner so we
won’t starve.”

“You can leave it up to the cowgirl to put food on the table, but I’m telling you
one thing—I’ll catch it, but I’m not cooking it.” Carla could saddle break a horse
as well as any man, better in fact, but don’t ask her to cook. Her mama had a few
burnt pans still in the cabinet as testament to that.

“That’s fair. I can filet and fry a catfish with the best of ’em. A little oil and
some salt and pepper and cornmeal. Mmm, mmm. Can’t beat it. Or hell, we’ll tie an
apron on Ross and make him cook it. How’s that? Not like he’ll be catching anything,
so he might as well be useful.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She filled the last bucket, and dropped the metal scoop into
the feed bin. After she slammed the lid shut, she latched it to keep the animals out
and turned toward the cart filled with the horses’ afternoon meal. “All right, let
me go and get these animals fed. See you in the morning.
Late
morning . . .”

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

T
he 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?”