He's the One (23 page)

Carla turned to see a frown that creased Tuck’s forehead so deep, it made her laugh.
“Well, jeez, don’t look at me like that. First off, I didn’t say I was interested,
but even if I were, you said he was an all right guy. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean I wouldn’t worry about you if you and the nerdy professor went
out together or anything. But I didn’t think he was the type of guy you’d date.” Tuck
whispered the last word, as if the professor on the shore might hear.

Carla gave up on finding any catfish in the section she’d been working and stood.
She moved a few feet over and felt for holes, resuming the conversation when Tuck
followed her. “Exactly. I’ve had it with my usual type. I thought it might be nice
to get to know a guy who doesn’t ride horses.”

“Or ride buckle bunnies?” He grinned, even as she scowled at the truth of that comment.

“Yeah, that too. And remind me not to tell you my personal business from now on.”

“Sorry. I’m not making fun. I’m just surprised. But hell, you’re right. You could
do way worse than him.” Tuck tilted his head in the direction of the professor, who’d
just made a surprisingly good cast for a novice. “He’s got a good job with a steady
paycheck and benefits. And I bet he’s got shelves and shelves full of books at his
house. You know, in case you two had nothing else to do at night, you could read or
something.”

His smirk had her frowning. “Tucker Jenkins, you can be a real bastard, you know that?”

“Now, why would you say a thing like that?”

Tuck’s innocent act wouldn’t work on Carla. She knew him too well and she wasn’t about
to put up with his teasing her about her possible interest in Mark just because, at
first glance, he was the typical nerdy professor type.

“You’re marrying an English professor yourself, so don’t pick on me for asking a casual
question about this one. And don’t think I didn’t notice that bite mark on your chest,
Tucker Jenkins. Don’t you tell me all you do with your professor at night is read
books.” She let out a snort and attacked the mud beneath the water with new enthusiasm.

Glancing over her shoulder, she took great satisfaction in the way Tuck’s face turned
beet red at her bite mark comment. Good. He deserved to be embarrassed for teasing
her.

When he started to wade toward the shore, Carla frowned and stood. “Hey. Where are
you going?”

“To put my shirt on.”

His mumbled answer made her laugh. “Why? Too late now. I already saw your hickey.”

“It’s not a hickey. It’s . . .” It seemed Tuck didn’t have the words to finish his
hissed reply.

“A love bite?” She happily supplied that suggestion and watched his face color deepen.

“Whatever. And you may have noticed it, but hopefully my fiancée’s boss hasn’t. I’d
like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind, so keep your voice down.” With a scowl
he proceeded toward his clothes, which were piled on top of the cooler.

“Yes, sir.” She grinned, thankful she and Tuck didn’t have the typical work relationship
that Becca and this Mark Ross probably did.

Thankful, too, that for the next day and night there’d be no rodeo cowboys around
to tempt her. Just one alluring, nerdy professor whose eyeglasses she wouldn’t mind
steaming up a bit.

She’d been so busy teasing Tuck, she’d almost failed to notice the professor was not
only alone now, but wrestling with something on the end of his line. Glancing at the
shoreline, she saw Logan was nowhere in sight, and Tuck was still fighting what looked
like a losing battle to get his T-shirt on over his wet skin.

Carla didn’t think twice. She bounded out of the water and ran to Mark, who obviously
needed help reeling in whatever was on his hook. It had the tip of his rod bent low
over the water.

“Where’d Logan go?” she asked when, dripping wet and out of breath, she reached him.

“To the truck.” Mark widened his stance and tried to control the rod as the unseen
fish nearly tugged it out of his hands. “There’s something . . . on here.”

The man could barely get the words out while he gripped the pole with white knuckles.
As if his life depended on it.

“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.”

“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.