Angling for you, p.1
Angling for You, page 1
Angling for You
Book 1 in the All for You series
Adele Buck
Quiet Confidence Press
Also by Adele Buck
The Center Stage Series
Acting Up
Method Acting
Acting Lessons
Fast Acting
* * *
The Golden Years Series
The Wedding Bait
Copyright © 2022 by Jill A. Smith
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by John Jacobson.
Ornamental scene break: Fly Fishing by Olena Panasovska from NounProject.com
Cover by KaNaXa.
In memory of Ashley Bartlett.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Enjoyed Angling For You?
Chapter 1 of Handy for You
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
Samantha Halvorsen seethed with a slow, churning fury.
Another sexist bastard? Must be a day ending in y.
Everything had started innocuously enough. She’d met first-time client Derek Ryan at the parking lot at the head of the trail that led down to her favorite spot on the Montgomery River. He’d shaken her hand, seemed polite and professional. When she’d picked up the assignment at Slow Drift Angler’s Supply, the shop she booked fly fishing guide jobs out of, Don had told her that the guy wanted to perfect his casting and get some tips on reading the water. Perfect. It was the kind of thing she did every week.
But she couldn’t ignore the steady stream of innuendo that poured out of the man as soon as they were in waders and in the river. It was bad enough that he’d addressed her as the “girl guide” when they met. Now there were questions about how many other men she had been out with. Insinuations that she might be interested in other activities after getting off the river.
She tried to ignore the underlying message, to just do the job she was there to do and get the lesson on track, but though the innuendo thankfully dried up, the more advice she gave, the more the guy tensed. His teeth were clamped together now, his arm moving in a jerky, stiff mockery of what a good cast looked like.
“How about trying—”
“How about just letting me do this and not getting in my way,” Derek snapped, cutting her off.
Getting in his way? Who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway? But she swallowed the cutting retort she wanted to make and said something about leaving him to practice on his own. She moved a little way away and pretended to fiddle with her gear as she surreptitiously watched to see if his form improved or if he thought better of his unfair fit of temper.
Neither of these happened.
What did happen was Derek Ryan, professional banker and amateur self-important jerk, said, “Fuck it,” sloshed to the bank, climbed out of the water, and dropped his rod on the ground.
Sam would normally remind a client to never leave equipment where you could step on it. But given this guy’s childish behavior, she’d probably cheer if he stepped on that expensive rod and broke it into two very useless pieces.
Well, she’d cheer quietly. Silently, in fact. The unfair, enraging fact of the matter was she needed jerks like Derek Ryan more than they needed her. She waded to the bank just as he was hauling off one boot, looking even more like a toddler, his face reddened as if he was about to pitch a screaming tantrum.
“Is there a problem?” she asked in as even a tone as possible.
“The problem is you don’t have anything to teach me, Miss Halvorsen.” The sneering tone he used when saying her name made her head rear back as if he’d reached out and slapped her. His second boot thumped to the ground, and he started to struggle out of his waders.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep things professional, Mr. Ryan.” Every ounce of calm was bleeding out of her.
“Professional. That’s a laugh. Like a woman has anything to teach me.”
Oh, I could teach you a whole hell of a lot of things, dude. Including manners. But Sam didn’t say what she was thinking. Instead, she climbed out of the swirling water, keeping her distance as Derek Ryan stuffed his gear into a bag and picked up his rod.
“Oh. Here. For your professional services.” He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a bill and shoving it at her. She took it without looking at it, keeping a wary eye instead on his retreating back. When he was gone, she looked down at the bill in her hand.
A five. Tips for a half-day trip were usually around forty-five or fifty dollars. Great. He wasn’t the first sexist jerk she’d encountered on the job, but he was the first one who had managed to insult her with money.
Her jaw tight, she stripped off her gear and packed up, her teeth grinding together as she stalked up the trail toward her truck. In the parking lot, a smiling man and woman held hands and headed for the trail. A sheltie on a leash was with them and it made a beeline for Sam as they passed, pulling the man to a stop.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, tugging on the leash. “Macduff, don’t bug the lady.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Sam said, sinking to her heels and putting her gear down, smiling at the dog’s panting face, its sweet enthusiasm melting her frustration a little. “May I pet him?”
“Sure,” the guy said, exchanging a baffled look with the woman. “He’s not usually this friendly.”
“I like dogs. And they usually like me,” Sam said, stroking the coarse, heavy fur of the dog’s ruff, then relishing the sun-warmed softness of his head and ears. The acceptance and appreciation radiating from the animal made a welcome contrast to the frustration that came with the Derek Ryans of the world. With a little sigh of regret, she stood to let the people and dog go on their way. “Anyway. Thanks for sharing your dog. Have a nice walk.”
The little group headed off down the trail and Sam got her phone out of her pocket to check her messages. No texts, but she did have an e-mail from Don at Slow Drift, telling her they had a potential group trip for her.
Thank God. Maybe her luck was turning around.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Sam looked at Mike, who looked down at Don. Don scrambled to join Mike behind Slow Drift’s counter, seeming eager to have a barrier—any barrier, even if it was made of glass—between him and Sam’s anger.
“You wanted the higher ticket assignments,” Mike said, folding brawny arms across his massive chest, his faded Navy anchor tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. “What’s wrong with a group of three? That’s big money.”
“Three serious anglers? Fine. But you’re talking about a bachelor party.” Pressure built behind Sam’s eyeballs, tension cording her neck. “Have these guys ever fished before?”
Mike’s eyes slid sideways and he ran his hand over his graying, buzzed hair. “Well…the groo—the guy who booked it—is apparently serious.”
“And the other two?”
“Well, not all of them…”
Sam slashed her hand through the air, cutting Mike off. “And did they ask for the ‘girl guide’?” Like I’m a fucking schoolboy fantasy in a scouting uniform? Gross.
Don cleared his throat. “They’d heard you were…”
Sam closed her eyes, opened them to view Don’s mouth gaping, attempting to form words, but not making a sound.
“They heard I was what?”
A nervous smile slid across Don’s thin face, failed to find a home there and fled. “Good looking,” he croaked.
“Give them to Xander.” Sam made her eyes go flat and hard. It was a Halvorsen family special. The unwavering glare had been known to make grown men tongue-tied.
Don tried to rally. “But Xander’s…”
She knew how he would finish that sentence if given the chance. Or she had an idea. A few ideas. There were a lot of ways to describe Xander. Scary was one. Big was another. Hairy also made the cut.
Not exactly bachelor party fare.
But Sam didn’t intend to become bachelor party fare either. Next thing she knew, Mike and Don would think it would be a super idea if she took three guys out fishing wearing nothing but a string bikini. Maybe they’d have her pop out of a cake.
Sh
Don was the one who broke. “It’s not that serious,” he said. “Just a few guys for a few hours…” He pushed his hair back off his forehead, elaborately casual, wrapping the long strands into a messy man-bun and securing it with an elastic he pulled from his wrist.
Sam let her gaze bore into him. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Not. Serious.” She let the two words drop like stones between them. “Do you know the liability we’ll be in for if any of these drunk idiots gets himself hurt—or worse—while they’re on the river?”
“Nobody said anything about drinking,” Don said, trying to arrange his beet-red features into some sort of authoritative expression and failing.
“Bachelor party equals drinking. Even if they don’t show up with liquor in their systems, I can just see some idiot thinking a hip flask is a great idea. I’m not having any part of this. Xander is big enough to haul grown-ass man-children out of the river if they decide they want to get stupid. I’m not.” And I probably wouldn’t want to even if I was as beefy as Xan.
Don shrugged, his shoulders bony under his Nothing Like a Largemouth on my Rod tee shirt. “We can’t make you. But a big group like this…”
Sam gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the fact that the money was tempting. Too tempting, especially after today’s fiasco. She was barely going to make rent this month as it was. But this setup stank to high heaven. “Not worth it. And I have to get out of here. I have a shift at The Hole.”
“If you took groups like this out, you might not need a second job,” Mike said as she opened the door, the little bell overhead tinkling in merry counterpoint to her foul mood. “Or you could pay for more than one or two classes at a time to get that degree you think is so necessary.”
“It’s still a no.” Sam stepped out onto the sidewalk and let the door swing shut behind her with a thump.
She’d only gotten a few steps down the sidewalk when her phone began to ring. “What now?” she growled to herself, then felt immediately guilty when she saw the phone’s screen. “Hey Kari.”
“Hey kiddo.” Kari knew the nickname drove Sam crazy. Only ten years separated Sam from her aunt, but Kari liked to jokingly play the “old lady” card at every turn.
Ignoring her, Sam said, “I’m on my way to work. What’s up?”
“Well… I have a really stupid favor to ask you. Two, in fact.”
“Ooh. You’re going to have to owe me? I like the sound of this.”
“Hard-ass. The first favor is I was wondering if I can borrow Bjorn’s old suitcase.”
Sam’s steps halted “Dad’s suitcase? Sure. Where are you going?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I won a cruise.”
“Won a cruise? How do you win a cruise?”
“At work. A vendor had a contest. Don’t ask.” Kari sounded positively disgruntled. Which was just like her. Kari was a bit of a loner. The idea of her participating in a bunch of coordinated activities with a bunch of strangers didn’t sound like something she would do. At all.
“Um. Okay. One suitcase coming up, then. What else do you need?”
“Some help in the garden. I have a huge azalea that needs to be moved, but I think it’s a two-person job.”
Sam squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against the wall of the bank, the brick cool against her shoulders. “Sure. Whatever you need,” she assured Kari. She’d take care of it. She’d take care of everything. She had to. She and Kari agreed on a day and Sam ended the call and resumed walking, wondering if Don and Mike thought she should be taking care of some of her male clients. Or maybe they thought she already was. The idea sickened her.
The short walk to The Fishing Hole didn’t give Sam a chance to cool down. She marched into the restaurant’s back room to lock up her bag and nearly ran full-tilt into Denise, one of the owners.
“Whoa, there, Samantha. Who took a stick to your hornet’s nest?” Denise folded her arms and tilted her head to look up at Sam, sending her cascade of tiny braids swinging away from her face.
Sam’s jaw worked. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Denise’s lips pursed and she nodded. “Right,” she said, transforming her normally raspy voice into a syrupy drawl, stretching the single syllable out to infinity. She pointed at Sam’s expression. “In that case, did you get whatever’s the opposite of a facelift? I don’t need that scowl scaring my customers.”
Brushing past Denise, Sam opened her locker and shoved her bag into it, slamming the padlock closed and spinning the dial for good measure. As if anyone would ever steal her stuff here. Denise and her partner Jan ran a tight ship. Sam turned back to her boss. “Fine. Yes, I’m pissed. Mike and Don thought it would be a great idea to have me take a bachelor party out on the river.”
“A fly fishing bachelor party? Now I’ve heard everything.” Denise’s brown eyes unfocused. “Hm. Maybe I should partner with those guys. Fish first, drink later.”
“Hilarious. My whole objection to taking them out was that they’d probably drink first. Or during. And wading in fast moving water and alcohol don’t mix.”
Denise’s expression sharpened again. “Girl, have you lost your damn mind? It isn’t just that alcohol and the river don’t mix. It’s that dudes, alcohol, a remote location, and a woman don’t mix…in any kind of good way, at least.”
Sam sighed and pressed her fingertips to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know that. But you think that kind of argument is going to fly with Mike and Don? They wouldn’t get it.”
“Former special forces and the Bernie Bro don’t take your safety seriously? Why am I not surprised.” Denise’s hands landed on her hips, her expression turning murderous.
Sam’s fingers drummed on the metal surface of her locker. “They take my safety seriously when they understand the danger. If it’s a flash flood? Sure. If it’s a case of grab-ass, they’d wonder why I couldn’t take it as a compliment.”
“Someone should grab their nuts and give 'em a hard squeeze. Tell 'em it’s a ‘compliment.’” Denise said as they moved out of the back area and into the dining room.
Sam slid behind the bar and pulled fruit from the fridge, settling the tray of cherries and sliced lemons, limes, and oranges into its spot. She needed more lime wedges. She rinsed the fruit under the tap and sliced it with rapid, practiced motions. “I’m not sure they would connect the dots even if someone did do that to them.”
“Idiots.”
“Right. But what they do understand is liability. To their business, if not to me.”
“And a bunch of drunks on the river…” Denise’s voice let that statement trail off with a flourish.
“Yes. A nightmare for me. But Xander could haul a half-dozen drunks out of a stream without breaking a sweat. So I told them to give the job to him. Even though I could really use the money.”
Denise’s warm hand rubbed Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry. You’re right. Those knuckleheads can’t see past their own noses. And you handling drunks here with me and Jan to back you up isn’t anything like that scene.”
A chill settled in Sam’s gut. “No.” She didn’t want to admit to herself how unnerving the entire scenario was. And while Mike and Don’s cluelessness about the possible dangers they were asking her to take on was predictable, it was also disheartening.
