Every Step of the Way: (Smugglers Cove #1)

by Anna Lindgren

  EVERY STEP OF THE WAY

  A NOVEL

  Anna lindgren

  Contents

  1. Cammie

  2. Jake

  3. Cammie

  4. Cammie

  5. Jake

  6. Cammie

  7. Jake

  8. Cammie

  9. Jake

  10. Cammie

  11. Jake

  12. Cammie

  13. Jake

  14. Jake

  15. Cammie

  16. Jake

  17. Cammie

  18. Jake

  19. Cammie

  20. Jake

  21. Cammie

  22. Cammie

  23. Jake

  24. Cammie

  25. Jake

  26. Cammie

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  An Excerpt from - Just Say It

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To J, thank you for grounding me, believing in me, and encouraging me to trust myself.

  One

  Cammie

  “Looks like it’s going to be another beautiful day in paradise,” Hilary sings above the sound of the window wipers on high.

  Rain pelts the windshield in harmony with whistling gusts of wind. Behind the droplets of rain plastered against the car window is one of the most spectacular, untouched, places on earth. A place I’ve recently begun to call home.

  Another gust of wind shakes the vehicle as we drive through town, the car jostling against the uneven road. I turn towards Hilary whose fingers are drumming against the steering wheel as she bounces eagerly in her seat.

  “Your optimism is literally killing me.” I mutter, pressing my finger tips to the warm air vents. Hilary rolls her eyes and pulls into the gravel parking lot of Kayak Alaska.

  “Lighten up, would you?” Hilary calls after me, her voice muffled by the hood of my raincoat wrapped tightly against my body.

  “Morning!” A friendly fisherman calls from the dock. We return the gesture with a welcoming smile and wave.

  I’ve come to expect this kind of warm welcome even on a shit-weather day like today. I’ve lived in Smuggler’s Cove for some time now and it takes these bright, familiar faces to replace the lack of sunshine during the dark winter months.

  As I wait for Hilary to grab her gear, I watch the looming spruce trees dance in the wind. The heavy southeast rains now coming down in sheets. I frown, not the kind of weather you’d expect for a May morning. However, the weather is known to be unpredictable.

  Hilary falls in beside me as we run towards the door. “Cammie, you know what this means, right?” She grins, waggling her eyebrows as I hold the door ajar. “Most of our tours will be canceled.”

  The word canceled sends a bolt of excitement through my chest. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I restrain myself from lifting my frown.

  “Do you,” I hesitate with suspicion. “Do you really think so?”

  My question is answered by Hilary’s confident smile as she blows past me into the lobby. This time of year, the tourism industry floods the small, isolated, community of Smuggler’s Cove. We hardly get a day off to go explore the outlying islands and untouched wilderness.

  “Ladies!” We are greeted by the warm bellow of our friend and boss, Tommy.

  “Hey, Tommy,” Hilary and I respond in unison.

  “What’s on the schedule today?” I ask, praying for the answer we’re looking for.

  “Welp…” He says, looking out the window, peering down at the dock below us, noting the whitecaps on the water. His lips turn with a slight frown. “Looks like we’ll have to cancel our morning tours. Supposed to clear up later today.”

  “Oh, bummer,” Hilary says with a disingenuous pout.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He waves us off knowingly. “You ladies have fun this morning. Be safe, and be back no later than one.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.” I smile and start grabbing my gear out of the back room.

  Hilary and I put on rain pants and zip up our raincoats, pulling the life jackets from the hooks before jogging down the ramp to the dock below. Our company kayaks are tied up inside the boat slips at the end of the wooden dock. We slip and slide around as the dock tosses in the waves.

  “What a shit day!” Hilary squeals with excitement as her blonde hair billows in the wind. No normal person would be excited about this horrid weather––except for two women that know their tours are canceled, which means getting paid to play.

  As we approach the end of the dock, I hop into my yellow, fiberglass kayak, and Hilary climbs into her teal-blue one. My hand reaches toward the cleat to untie Hilary and myself before heading off across the channel.

  Hilary’s face lights up as we begin to paddle out of the harbor. Laughter bubbles up through my chest as the rain pelts against my face. These small moments of pure bliss are one of the reasons I decided to move here.

  “Betton?” I yell out to her, and she nods in agreement. I turn right, toward the north end of the island before crossing the channel to the outlying island of Betton that remains uninhabited. It will be less windy there, protected behind the rising mountain as the southerly wind blows across the sea.

  Once we round the point, the water begins to calm as we meander along the rocky coastline. The spruce trees pile on top of one another, their reflection vaguely appearing in the rippled water.

  My eyes dart toward Hilary who begins shuffling in her kayak. “Here.” She says, tossing me her paddle. I float along next to her to steady the kayak as she finds what she is looking for. She looks up, giving me a mischievous grin and pulls out a fishing pole.

  “What the hell is that?” I say through bouts of laughter. I’m not sure how she managed to stuff it in to the sea kayak; it must be nearly impossible to fit such a long pole in our cabins.

  “A fishing pole?” She draws her brow like I’m crazy.

  “I see that. Why do you have one?”

  “Because I want to fish…” She continues to look away as she baits up her pole with a herring. “I’m going to try and troll this off the back as we kayak along the shore.”

  I roll my eyes knowing this is a near impossible feat but of course, this is something Hilary would think to try.

  “I brought you one, too.” She waggles her eyebrows as she magically pulls another fishing pole from her kayak.

  I shrug and take the pole, allowing her to rig it up before handing it back to me. I let out some line and then place the pole between my legs as I awkwardly paddle around it. Hilary does the same.

  “Alright,” she says after a few frustratingly long minutes. “I think we need to talk to Tommy about getting some pole holders screwed in here.”

  “I bet we could just do it. He wouldn’t mind.” I turn to inspect the stern. “We could attach one to the back of each of our kayaks.”

  “Now you’re thinking. I always knew you were the smart one.” She teases. “We could even put a pole in the water out on tours. I bed we’d rack in the big tips if we caught anything,” Hilary says despite knowing the only salmon we would catch this time of year is the elusive kind salmon, making our chances slim to none.

  After trying, and failing, to maneuver the fishing pole around the paddle we take a break and beach our kayaks. We sit along the rocky sand and look out over the calm water and gray skies. In the distance, we can hear eagles calling out to one another between the swaying limbs of spruce trees. I inhale a cleansing breath and attempt to be at peace in this moment, but my attempts are no match for my best friend.

  “You doing okay?” Hilary asks as she tosses rocks out into the bay.

  “I’m alright
,” I wince, knowing Hilary will see through my deflection.

  “Are you going to talk about it or wait for me to beat it out of you?” She asks with a playful smile.

  I sigh. “Brandon texted me last night and asked how I was doing.”

  “What an asshat,” Hilary groans, tossing another rock into the ocean.

  “He keeps telling me he’s sorry and he never meant to hurt me.” I look over at Hilary who is shaking her head with disgust. “I don’t ever respond or anything.”

  “Good for you!” She nods, but senses my hesitation. “Why do you seem upset?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I mean, I was with the guy for two years.” I swipe the hair from my face. “I guess I always figured Brandon would be the guy I’d spend the rest of my life with.”

  Before moving to Smuggler’s Cove, I was in a relationship with a man I thought was my knight in shining armor. I worked long hours in a boring tech job, not doing anything I particularly enjoyed, but doing a job that allowed me to live a lifestyle I was convinced I should want. In reality, it sucked the lift out of me.

  When I came to Smuggler’s Cove, I had planned on it only being a week-long vacation, a way to get revenge on Brandon and make him see the adventure and spontaneity he was missing out on. I ended up taking a kayak tour with Hilary and while out on the water, just the two of us, I broke down sobbing. I cried and cursed… and threw my paddle. It was not my proudest moment.

  If Hilary and I hadn’t been friends since college, I’m sure she would have pegged me as an insane person who had escaped a mental institution. Luckily, she knew me and how unprecedented this response was. Instead of judging me, she had taken care of me, listened to my story, understood my feeling purposeless and empty. When we arrived back at the dock she took me to toss a few back at the local watering hole, the Fish House, and celebrate the fact I hadn’t tethered myself to Brandon.

  “I just keep thinking about how lucky you are not to still be with him. Can you even imagine?” Hilary shudders at the thought.

  Our relationship wasn’t all bad. We had some good times. Don’t get me wrong, I never would have stayed with him, but there was a part of that hoped he’d follow me here, beg for my forgiveness, and we’d go back to Denver together.

  But he never came, and I never returned.

  “Yeah.” Is all I manage to get out on an exhale.

  “Alright.” Hilary pushes herself into a standing position, reaching her hand toward me. “Let’s go.”

  We launched our kayaks off the beach, beginning our trek toward town.

  “Okay, I think I’ve figured out this fishing-from-our-kayak thing,” Hilary shouts across to me as we paddle leisurely toward the point, conserving our energy for the storm inevitably waiting around the corner.

  I laugh. “How’s that?”

  “If you stick the pole in your crotch and then paddle on the other side of it… it could work. That way, you won’t hit it as much.” I laugh and shake my head at Hilary, whose tongue is sticking out from her mouth. “Oh, shut up. I’ll just show you.”

  She wiggles and shimmies around in her kayak, pulling out the two fishing poles. “You know, we probably should have just done this from the beach,” I call out.

  “You know, we probably should just shut up and enjoy this beautiful fucking day!” Hilary mocks my opposition. She tosses the pole across to me once she’s rigged it up, and I take it with ease.

  “Alright, put it near your crotch and clench your thighs tight around it so it stays in place.”

  “That’s what she said,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I heard that.” I giggle. “Then, just, paddle on the outside of it.”

  I do as I’m told, but it still feels awkward.. “You know, this feels kind of erotic.”

  “I was seriously just thinking that we may have come up with a new design for a sex toy.” She laughs.

  “Oh my God! What would you call it?”

  “Hmm…” Hilary allows herself to think through her new entrepreneurial pitch. “I would call it the vagina-slayer as a play on words from ‘fish slayer’. Then, you could have a little reel on the side that your partner could play with to produce more pleasure.”

  I pause for a moment and then spit with tears of laughter brimming my eyes. “What the hell?”

  “What? It is a great idea!” She shouts.

  We continue to paddle our way toward the point and laugh as Hilary continues pitching her idea for her new sex toy. As we approach the point, I reel in my pole and pass it back to Hilary.

  “Don’t have too much fun with that thing.” I wink toward her.

  She shakes her head, “I’m never going to be able to look at another fishing pole the same.”

  We chuckle as we pull our hair back into tight ponies. I pull my life jacket off for a moment while I zip up the layers underneath. Before I clasp the last buckle of my life jacket, we become waked by a boat hurdling around the point headed directly for us.

  “Shit,” I say as Hilary and I split apart in hopes of creating clearance for the large, aluminum fishing boat to pass between us.

  “Oi!” Hilary shouts and wavers her arms in the air but is no match over the roar of the motors.

  The boat passes in a rush, without any acknowledgement from the captain, not even an apologetic wave. Hilary and I regain control of our kayaks in time for our eyes to lock on two unsuspecting men sitting out on the back deck. They wave–– a common courtesy here in Smuggler’s Cove.

  Hilary and I return this kind gesture with both hands, flipping them off. One of the men stands and doubles over with laughter. He grabs hold of the other one’s shoulder, gaining his attention. A bright smile breaks out across his face and for a small moment my confidence wavers that is until he waves once more.

  “Assholes,” I mutter to myself before picking up my paddle and heading toward town.

  “What the hell were they thinking?” Hilary questions, obviously flustered. “They could have slowed down or given us a wide berth.”

  I nod in agreement. Most locals are cautious about kayakers and often proceed with unnecessary caution.

  “You know what, that was Alan’s boat,” Hilary calls out. “I saw his smug face through the window as he passed.” Her tanned cheeks burning with frustration. “I bet he’s been taking tourists out on charters. He’s never cared too much about anything getting in the way of a large payout.”

  Alan’s an old, crotchety fisherman in town. He charters tours for the wealthiest of tourists who can afford his extravagant services. Really, there isn’t anything extravagant about it, but he has found if he charges significantly more than other charters, it somehow translates as “better” within the tourism industry.

  “Be a shame if we stopped serving him at the Fish House.” I add and Hilary’s eyes glow with ideas. Alan is also known for having a significant drinking problem and often closes down the Fish House on a nightly basis.

  As we paddle back toward town, I admire the beauty of Smuggler’s Cove approaching through the fog. It’s colorful buildings are built into the side of a mountain, only accessible by boat or floatplane, in the middle of the Tongass National Forest. A small, blue-collar, working town with great scenery and even better people.

  The harbors stay full year-round with fishing vessels and independently owned boats as the fishing industry continues to roar with abundance. The only maintained road through town is built on pilings and follows along the coast, capturing the small islands smattered across the channel. The weather is often gray and wet, but the few days of sunshine erase all the darkness.

  This place has begun to feel like home, but I’m not sure I really belong.

  By the time we reach the dock, the weather has started to clear. Hilary and I hop out of the kayaks and secure them to the dock. Her wavy hair whips around as she searches the dock for Tommy. Her skin bronzed from the summer daylight, creating freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  Everyone who has met Hil
ary has been captivated by her. She’s a wild and free spirit, a beam of light on these overcast, drizzly, days and a force to be reckoned with.

  “Hey, Tommy!” Hilary calls as we approach the ramp leading back to the office.

  “Hey, how was your morning?” He asks as he finishes buffing out a scratch on one of the rentals.

  “It was eventful,” I say with a mischievous smile. His light brown hair shifts as he turns to look at us from his crouched position.

  “Alan almost killed us with his charter boat,” Hilary adds.

  “Welp…” Tommy stands, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “Don’t look now, but it looks like he’s returned.”

  Tommy knows as well as I do that Hilary won’t be able to walk away. She’s a fierce defender of all things fair and equal. She’s always up for a fight and will find any opportunity to speak her mind.

  Hilary places her hands on her hips, the fire of opposition and defiance burn behind her eyes. I timidly cross my arms against my chest in anticipation for what’s to come.

  Prepare for war.

  Two

  Jake

  I’ve been back in Smuggler’s Cove for less than twenty-four hours, and already I’m wreaking havoc––something I’ve tried to avoid since I’m well aware of how quickly news spreads around town. I joined Alan and my best friend, Ryan, for a brief survey of a stream on Alan’s property over on a remote island a few miles from town. Alan, the shameless flatterer he is, decided to take us out on his own charter boat. Really, I think his hope was that we would look the other way if we found salmon habitat on his property and avoid the cost of permitting. As a state biologist, I play fair, which means I’m not persuaded by his nice-ass boat.