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

by Anna Lindgren

  The thought sends a bolt of panic through my nervous system. I’m starting to find a home here in Smugglers Cove and in Jake. I don’t allow myself to explore this feeling further instead I plead with my inner self to justify the emotions I’m beginning to feel.

  I’m happy because I’ve found a home in Smuggler’s Cove—maybe my forever home, who knows?

  I am happy because I spent an entire day at a secluded waterfall and have caught crabs for the first time.

  I reassure myself this feeling I have has absolutely nothing to do with the kind, ridiculously attractive, man sitting next to me. The guy who was so protective of my safety he jumped into a potentially dangerous situation in case I needed help.

  No, it has nothing to do with him, I think to myself as I tilt my nose to the sky in an act of defiance.

  We approach the shrimp spot and slow as we near the buoy. I grab the gaff and prepare for our arrival.

  “You can gaff it, but let me pull it in.”

  “I can do it,” I assure him as I lean out over the edge of the boat to gaff the buoy and then start to pull the line in. Shrimp pots are set a lot deeper than Dungeness crab pots. Our shrimp pots are set around four hundred to five hundred feet. We have six hundred feet of line on these pots where all three pots are connected to the same line.

  I start to pull the line in and realize it’s significantly heavier than the crab pots. I stumble but regain my composure, attempting to not show Jake he was right. I turn to look at him, giving him a confident smile. He shakes his head, smiling back in a “told you so” sort of way. I would like to wipe the smug look off his face, except my hands are tied up as I try to pull in the heaviest line known to mankind.

  I make it almost a hundred feet when I come to a dead stop. I pull and pull, but I retrieve no line into the boat.

  “I think we’re snagged,” I say, panting as I try to catch my breath.

  “Let me see.” Jake stands and strides over toward me, tipping the boat toward the water under his weight and I daydream about how it would feel to be caged beneath him.

  Stop it, Cammie! Good God.

  He grabs the line from my hand, sending waves of pleasure through my body, warming me from my head to toes. He tugs on the rope and easily pulls an arm’s length of line into the boat. Then another, followed by another.

  “Doesn’t look like we're stuck.” He grins as his concentration stays focused on towing the line into the boat. “Do you want to start coiling the line up?”

  “Sure,” I say, my arms shaking from shear exhaustion.

  I watch Jake meticulously pull the line in stride by stride, admiring the way his muscles ripple and tense under the weight of the pots. He groans quietly on occasion as he wraps the line around his hands. Close your mouth, I remind myself whenever my jaw drops in admiration of the machine in front of me. The stamina he has is incredible, as if he never tires. Sweat drips off his forehead as he reaches out to grab the first pot.

  He looks at it, and pride crosses his face at the volume of shrimp in the pot. They skid around the pot. I’ve never seen a shrimp move or swim before, it’s quite fascinating. Jake turns back toward the line and, with a gruff sigh, returns to pulling in line. Another fifty feet or so of line and our second pot surfaces, this one equally filled with shrimp and an octopus.

  “Oh my God, I’ve never seen one in person before,” I say in awe.

  “As soon as we get them open, I’ll let you hold it,” Jake says.

  A few minutes later, Jake has pulled in the third pot and is taking a much-needed breather as he sits along the back bench. He wipes away the sweat that has collected along his brow. This man looks like a Greek god; even his sweat has me salivating.

  What is with you today?

  We nearly fill a five-gallon bucket with shrimp before Jake hands me the octopus and lets it wrap its tentacles around my arm.

  “Ah,” I squeal, “I don’t like that. It feels really weird!”

  Jake laughs as I shift and dance, trying to shake the octopus from my limbs. He tosses it back into the ocean, and we see it swiftly move through the water away from the boat before we head back toward the dock with the success of our day behind us.

  After we arrive, I let Jake clean the shrimp and crab while I run up to the Shake Shack to grab dinner and a milkshake. I go for something basic: two bacon cheeseburgers with a peanut-butter-chocolate shake.

  I return to the dock with the paper bag in hand and a content smile plastered across my face. That is, until I see Samantha talking to Jake as he unloads the gear from the boat. I slow my stride to a full stop and take in the sight of her fawning over him. He talks with her like the old acquaintances they are. She reaches towards his arm and rubs her hand across his bicep. “Gross,” I mutter.

  I must have been louder than I thought, because as I continue to suck down my shake, I notice Jake look past Samantha, locking his eyes on mine, his smile growing more by the second. My heart flips in my chest, and it picks up pace. I stay still where I am until Samantha whirls her head around toward me, her smile falling the second she lays eyes on me. I wave and start marching toward them more confidently, determination filling my chest.

  “Hey, I got us some dinner.” I wave the bag in front of them.

  “What’d you get?” Jake asks, eager to see what’s inside.

  “Bacon cheeseburger and a peanut-butter-chocolate shake,” I say, doing my best to ignore Samantha.

  “My favorite, thanks,” Jake says before leaning forward and planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  My heart pounds against my chest as I try and will myself not to blush. It’s no use. I can feel the heat rising through my body.

  “Well, I should be going,” Samantha says irritably before she turns around with her short blonde bob sashaying to the motion of her stride. She’s wearing a pretty floral sundress that billows behind her in the wind.

  I’m suddenly aware of my lack of beauty. My messy hair hiding under my baseball cap. My sweaty t-shirt and athletic shorts. My lack of make-up due to playing all day in the waterfall. I continue to suck down my milkshake as I look over at Jake. He doesn’t seem to care, so I shrug my insecurity off. He’s spent his day with me. He kissed me on the cheek in front of Samantha. Obviously, I shouldn’t make a big to-do about something so insignificant.

  I catch my reflection in the window of a larger fishing boat and jump at the sight of myself. My make-up isn’t off; it has run down my face, creating dark circles under my eyes. My face is bright red from the amount of sun exposure today, and my hair is a fucking rat’s nest all knotted up from the wind blowing through it.

  “Oh God,” I say as my stomach lurches.

  “Everything okay?” Jake asks as he walks next to me, holding the shrimp pots in his hands.

  “Yeah, I just…I look awful. Worse than I thought,” I say with embarrassment flushing across my reddened face. Not that anyone would notice since I’m now the color of a ripened tomato.

  “I think you look beautiful,” he says, his voice eliciting chills across my skin.

  “Really?” I ask skeptically.

  “Really.” He reassures me with a smile. “Plus, I would say your entire look complements the fun-filled day we had. We were too busy living to give a shit about what we looked like.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I scoff. “You still look like you walked out of a movie.”

  He stops in his tracks and turns to give me a cocky grin. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “What? No! Of course not.” I wave him off.

  “It sounds like you’re hitting on me.” He smirks as I laugh, trying to ease my embarrassment.

  We walk the ramp in awkward silence, reaching Jake’s truck. “Thanks for trusting me today.”

  “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” I smile and get into the cab of his truck.

  “Next time, I’ll let you show me your Smuggler’s Cove,” he says as he turns the key and the engine revs.

  “Deal
.”

  Eleven

  Jake

  It’s been nearly a week since Cammie and I spent the day exploring all that Smuggler’s Cove has to offer. I’ve seen her around town but haven’t been graced with any more alone time. Yesterday, I saw her down at the dock while we were bringing the work boat back after a few days of surveying surrounding islands.

  She was wearing her ripped-up jeans and bright-red Kayak Alaska t-shirt that graciously hugged every curve of her body. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, and she was hosing down kayaks but what stopped me dead in my tracks was when she saw us approach, she smiled and waved.

  Who was this woman who seemed to be warming up to me?

  “Are you ready for my adventure yet, or are you going to keep avoiding me?” She asked, tying us off to the cleat. Her hair twisting around her face in the afternoon breeze illuminating the glow of mischief written across her face.

  I was happily caught off guard after convincing myself I had scared her off after I kissed her on the dock. Yes, it was only the cheek but the way she froze beneath my touch had me signing my own death certificate.

  “I’ve got time tomorrow if you are free.”

  “See you then.” She smiled as she walked back to where she was spraying off kayaks.

  So, it’s ‘tomorrow,’ and by that I mean today is the day Cammie plans to take me on an adventure. I’m not sure what’s in store, and I know if I ask, she wouldn’t tell me anyway. She likes to keep me guessing.

  I meet her down at the dock and see that she has a double kayak geared up. I’ve done some kayaking in my day, but I’m definitely not an expert. I smile as I walk down the ramp toward her direction. It’s early, a quiet, eerie morning. The fog aligns itself on the gray water unbeknownst to me where one ends and the other begins. I have always appreciated days like today. The isolation of it all. The silent stillness.

  “Hey,” I hear Cammie call toward me.

  “Morning.” I smile brightly. “I brought us a thermos of coffee to keep us warm and energized for today’s shenanigans.”

  “That was thoughtful.” She gazes at me. “Is this what you’re wearing?”

  I look over my outfit, I’ve got on rain pants and a raincoat.

  “Well, it’s drizzly. I figured I should wear my rain gear.”

  “Mmm…” she says, looking me over with a scrutinizing arched eyebrow. “Scrap it.”

  “What?” My brows press together.

  “Take it off,” she shrugs as she moves past me. “We’re going to get wet. There is no need for fancy rain gear. You live in a rainforest for crying out loud,” she says, not giving me another look.

  I jog back to my car and take my rain gear off, leaving me in fleece sweats and a ratty hoodie. I hear Cammie call, “That is much better!”

  I take a bow, mocking her need to determine my outerwear, surprised at how little her being in control bothers me.

  “What are we doing?” I ask, knowing the answer will be vague.

  She smiles, biting her bottom lip and shrugs. “Do you think we can fit this on your truck?”

  “The kayak?” I ask, seeing Cammie nod like that was implied. “Sure.”

  We pull the kayak out of the water and hoist it up onto my truck. It will be difficult to figure out how to attach it, but by the look of determination in Cammie’s eyes, I’m sure she has a plan.

  We secure the kayak using some of the gear Tommy has in the shop. Cammie tells me what to do, and I follow suit. She stands with her hands on her hips, pleased with the progress before turning to me and reaching out her hand. “Keys.”

  I chuckle. “No.”

  “It’s my adventure, and I want to drive,” she says, a smile that tells me I don’t stand a chance at denying her request.

  It’s not even that I have a nice truck and I’m worried about her driving, it isn’t like that at all. I kind of like the idea of taking care of Cammie in whatever way she’ll let me.

  I pull the keys from my front pocket and drop them into her hand. I move toward the passenger side and hop in, meeting her inside the cab.

  We drive out of town toward my property and for a split second I wonder where she’s taking me before surrendering all thoughts and questions. I don’t ask where we’re going because I know Cammie isn’t going to tell me. Instead, I bathe in the feeling of being out of control. I’m okay with it as long as Cammie’s at the helm of it.

  We veer off toward an area of town that was heavily logged a few years ago.

  “You know where you’re going?” I ask, knowing Harriett Pass can be difficult to navigate this time of year with snow still on the road in some places.

  “Yes,” she says in an irritated tone reminding me to mind my own business.

  The road is a narrow, graveled, logging road through the mountains and along ridges. I don’t allow myself to look out my window for part of the journey because there are no guard rails, and with one wrong accidental move, we would be tossed off the ledge of a thousand foot cliff.

  Cammie and I make small conversation during the drive, laughing when our voices hitch due to the potholes we bumble over. “Good thing I secured that kayak so well.” She pats herself on the back.

  “If I recall correctly, you were good at giving orders, but I was the one to secure it.”

  “Pft, yeah right.” She waves me off and I laugh. Her hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves, her cheeks still flushed from being out in all sorts of harsh weather conditions.

  We’ve been driving on the logging road for nearly an hour, taking precarious turns onto side roads. I’ve started to wonder if she’s keeping track of her lefts and rights in order to navigate back out. My cell phone doesn’t have service out here, and it would be difficult to map the road system seeing as how everything out here is unmarked.

  As if she could read my mind, she says, “I know where I’m going, and I have my turns memorized.” I’m puzzled by the ease of our conversation here inside the bed of my truck, the confidence she possesses beneath the fear of betrayal. “Don’t worry.” She assures me.

  “I wasn’t worried,” I lie through gritted teeth.

  “I just have to make two more rights and three lefts.” She smiles, and then her eyes go wide. “Or is it three rights and two lefts?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, as fear claws itself into my throat. We are incredibly ill prepared to rough it out here until someone reports us as missing.

  She shifts her hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles before she bursts out laughing. “I’m totally kidding. You should have seen your face.”

  Her laughter fills the cab of my truck and erases the tension. I laugh alongside her. “You are terrible, you know.”

  “Your eyes”—she laughs—“I was worried”—more giggling—“that you were going to stroke out if I didn’t come clean.”

  “Alright, alright,” I say, shaking my head, enjoying the fact she can pull one over on me. “I hope you know I fully intend on getting you back.”

  “Oh, I would hope so,” she says intently.

  We finally come to a stop, and I look out my window from a vantage point at the summit of the logging road. My nose presses against the window as I squint my eyes to see the channel below us weaving its way into Edwards Sound. A large, clear lake sits along the coastline. “Wow,” is all I manage to get out. I have lived here almost all my life and have never seen this.

  “Isn’t it spectacular?” Cammie says over my shoulder as she puts the truck in gear and continues down the winding switchbacks leading to the lake.

  The lake is surrounded by jagged mountains where snow still covers the peaks. The water looks icy cold and is stunningly clear. The landscape is different back here. The grass is mostly dead, although some has started to green up. The trees look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book as the marshes and muskeg fill the space around the lake.

  I hop out of the truck once it’s in park and start unfastening the kayak. My jaw hangs ajar while I abs
orb the pristine landscape. I turn my attention back to the kayak and notice that Cammie is looking at me. She raises her hands to her face as if she were holding a camera.

  “Click,” she says softly as she presses the make-believe button.

  I drop my head, trying to hide an embarrassed grin. “What are you doing?”

  “I take mental photos of moments I want to remember,” she says.

  “Why not just take a normal photo?” I ask, and a hint of judgment seeps through my question despite my intention.

  “I guess I could,” she starts, sounding unsure of herself, slowly returning her gaze to mine. “But I want to remember how I felt in this moment, the sounds I heard, your laughter. All of it.” She gently shrugs, the shift spilling her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not sure a real photograph could capture all that.”

  I nod in agreement, my eyes memorizing the woman standing before me. Her deep-brown hair and pale-colored eyes far more familiar to me than they should ever possibly be. The shape her body makes when she folds her arms across her chest in defiance. The curve of her hip, waist, and breast, something of a muse I could paint for thousands of years and never grow tired of.

  “What?” she asks defiantly.

  I lift my hands to my face and capture my own mental picture here in this moment. The feelings of uncertainty paired with excitement. The sound of her laughter when she realizes what I’m doing. The smell of her hair wafts as she covers her face with her hands.

  “Alright, superstar. We getting this boat in the water?” I ask once playfully returning my fake camera to my pocket.

  Minutes later, we’re paddling across a glass-calm lake, the mountains perfectly reflected along the water.

  I sit in the back of the kayak, admiring the direction Cammie gives to me as if this is the first time I’ve ever kayaked. I let her explain because, honestly, I like her telling me what to do. She’s pretty cute, too, when she gets all authoritative, her brow crinkling each time she asks, “Does that make sense?” I always nod so she knows I’m listening.