Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel)

by Tiffinie Helmer

  She had a feeling her troubles were just beginning.

  Garrett boarded the Calypso, where Judd and Skip waited for him. He quickly filled them in on what he’d found aboard the Double Dippin’.

  “Sonya could be right,” Judd said. “This could be an accident. Some kid having fun with a slingshot.”

  “The other boats were too far away. No kid would have enough power to shoot that distance and break a window,” Garrett said. “Besides, with the other troubles the Savonskis have had, I don’t buy that this latest one is a random accident. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Garrett’s correct,” Skip said. “We need to follow this up. I’ll give a holler over the radio to see where the other boats are that fished around her today. It might take a while to find them now that the fishing period is over.”

  “Damn, I was looking forward to some land time,” Judd said, his tone wistful.

  “Don’t you mean some Davida time,” Skip said with a knowing look.

  “Got that right. If I don’t keep showing up at the cannery every now and then to remind her what a great catch I am, she’s going to go fishing for another man.”

  Garrett didn’t bother telling him that he was better off losing a woman who wouldn’t wait for him. If he did, Judd would probably follow it up with some advice of his own regarding Sonya. Judd had picked up the vibes sweltering between him and Sonya this afternoon. Since Garrett was already confused over his feelings for the woman, he didn’t want to invite more opinions. Pushing thoughts of Sonya aside, he focused on the job.

  They located the Mary Jane first. She was anchored just south of the cannery. The crew was on deck cooking salmon on a Hibachi grill. The sweet, tangy smell caused his stomach to rumble. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten well.

  The crew groaned as Judd informed them they were coming aboard. Some days it was tough doing a job when nobody wanted you around.

  “We ain’t doing nothin’,” hollered one of the men, dressed in sweats, short boots, and a stained sweatshirt. The man badly needed a shower. The stench overpowered the salmon sizzling on the grill and had the added benefit of silencing Garrett’s stomach.

  “Hell, we aren’t even fishing,” added another crewman, similarly dressed and also hygiene-handicapped.

  “We’re just here to ask a few questions concerning the Double Dippin’,” Garrett said, taking a step back. How did these guys stand their own stink?

  “Heard Sonya had some trouble,” Stained Sweatshirt said. “Was she hurt bad?”

  “Bad enough,” Garrett replied.

  “Pretty girl like that should be home making babies, you know what I mean?” He made an insulting hip thrust that had the two other guys hooting

  Garrett clenched his fists. Judd took a step forward, grabbing the guy’s attention. “Any information you can give us would be helpful.”

  “Don’t have much to tell ya. We were fishing. Heard the news after it had all gone down.”

  “Who informed you?”

  Stained Sweatshirt turned to the third crewman aboard, who was keeping an eye on the smoking salmon. “Ringo, where’d you hear the news about the Double D?”

  “Davida at the General Store.”

  Judd turned to Garrett, and his raised brow seemed to say they should have started their questioning there. They finished their interrogation, getting names, times, and places. Garrett knew in his gut that these guys didn’t know anything. It was a relief to get off their boat and take a deep breath of clean air.

  They tracked down the Intrepid next with pretty much the same results. Treat, the Captain of the Miss Julie II, pointed them in the direction that Garrett had wanted to start with.

  Chuck Kendrick.

  Treat was the first fisherman to regard them as less than fish slime. He was a fit, observant man, around Garrett’s age with a shrewdness about him Garrett immediately connected with.

  “Sonya’s a fine fisherman,” Treat said, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “I hated hearing that she was hurt today. She going to be okay?”

  “Sore for a while,” Garrett answered steering the subject back to Kendrick. Recalling images of Sonya hurting and bleeding impaired his ability to do his job. “Tell me why you think Kendrick had a hand in this?”

  “It’s something sneaky the asshole would get off on. Saw Sonya cork off the Albatross the first day of fishing. That woman has balls.” He chuckled, the sound full of admiration. “It was only a matter of time before Kendrick got back at her for it.”

  Kendrick’s threat of payback seemed to keep most afraid to mess with him. “Have an idea where we might find the Albatross?”

  “Try the bay. Kendrick doesn’t like anchoring in the river with the rest of us. You know, it’d be like a rat sleeping with a pack of dogs. Most of us have something against the man.”

  “What do you have against him?”

  “He sunk my boat.” Treat’s eyes hardened, and Garrett recognized the man’s intention. Some day, somehow, Treat planned on getting his revenge against Kendrick.

  Garrett recalled Skip informing him of the sinking of the first Miss Julie when he’d arrived in South Naknek. If his memory served him right, there hadn’t been enough evidence to charge Kendrick with the crime, even though everyone knew he’d been the one responsible.

  “Get the son of a bitch,” Treat said. “Sonya didn’t deserve what happened to her today.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  At the insistence of everyone, Sonya was at the cabin being nursed to death by Grams. A whole day had passed. Twenty-four freaking hours. Wes had the Double Dippin’ anchored off the set net sites where the men could keep watch while they fished the set net opening. Not only was Grams driving Sonya nuts with the constant attention, knowing that the men were fishing and she was stuck cabin-bound, was sending Sonya over the edge of her sanity.

  She should be out there with them. Wanted to be. Damn it, she got a thrill picking fish out of the net. Drifting, she was always so busy piloting the boat, running the hydraulics, and keeping an eye out for the rest of the drifters. When they set netted, she actually got to pick fish.

  Grams kneaded bread dough at the kitchen table, while Sonya had been confined to lie on the bed and not tax her stitches.

  The smell of yeast drifted in the air. Nothing made a place feel homey like homemade bread. Fish camp was the only time during the year Grams went through the effort. She’d pulled her silver curls to the crown of her head and restrained them with a clip, a few fell softly around her flushed face. The woman was beautiful, still striking in her golden years.

  Sonya hoped genetics would be as kind to her. Last night, after Grams had carefully helped her wash the blood from her hair, she’d gotten up the nerve to look in a mirror. Her refection had stared back at her in shock, giving her doubts that she’d ever look the same. She’d held it together though. Not a tear had fallen since those few traitors with Garrett.

  “You have to quit thinking about it,” Grams said, not looking up as she sprinkled more flour over the dough and kneaded it in. “You’ll be turning heads just the same as always.”

  How had Grams known what she was thinking? “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Don’t give me that gibberish. You are too.” She slapped the dough into the waiting bowl and tossed a towel over it to rise. “If it were me, I’d be worrying about it.” She dusted off her hands and then pulled another bowl out of the cupboard. Then she grabbed packages of chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, peanut butter chips, and M&M’s.

  Sonya sat up on the bed. “What are you making?”

  Grams smiled, her dancing blue eyes twinkling. “Monster mug-up cookies.”

  “Seriously?” Her absolute favorite.

  Grams got out the oatmeal and brown sugar. “Figured we could use a treat.”

  “Can I help?”

  Grams laughed. “If I let you help, you’ll eat all the M&M’s.”

  Well, yeah.
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  “Besides,” Grams continued. “You need to lie down and rest.”

  “Grams, lying down is driving me crazy. I’m not a lay-about type of person.”

  “Neither was your father.” Grams smile was bittersweet. “When he was sixteen he broke his leg skiing. He wasn’t about to miss the rest of the season. He figured that his ski poles worked just as well as crutches. So, one night when your grandpa and I were out on a date, he duct-taped his cast to his ski and tried skiing down the driveway.” She laughed at the memory.

  “What happened? Did it work?”

  “Oh, heavens no. We got home and had to rush him back to the hospital. Not only did he have to have another cast made for his broken leg, he received a matching one for his new broken arm.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t keep that boy down for nothing.”

  “Must be where Peter gets his wild hairs.”

  “Yep, and your father got them from your grandpa.”

  Sonya already knew that. There were times she had to fight the urge to do something wild herself. It obviously ran in the blood. Why else would she entertain the idea of getting Garrett alone? While he wasn’t the man for her, he had the equipment to take care of a few of her urges.

  Grams glanced up from mixing the butter, sugar, and eggs together. “Now you’re thinking of a man. Your fish cop, by chance?” She reached for the jar of chunky peanut butter and spooned some into the bowl.

  There was no point in lying to her. The woman could see through a solid steel door. “He’s occupied a bit of my mind lately.” More than a bit, if she were honest.

  “He’s a fine looking man. Nice butt. I can see why you’re interested.” She scooped four cups of oatmeal into the mix.

  “Grandma.” Little old grandmas weren’t supposed to check out men’s butts.

  “What woman wouldn’t have noticed those tight buns?” Grams laid down the spoon and picked up a pocketknife. She sliced open the many bags of chips, pouring them each into the bowl.

  Sonya swallowed. Okay that was it. She wasn’t lying here any longer. She stood up and had to fight a wave of dizziness, results of residue from the pain killers she’d taken last night. Her head throbbed for a moment, but it felt good to move around.

  “If you’re not going to lie down, at least sit,” Grams scolded, adding the package of M&M’s to the bowl. She saved a handful and set them on the table for Sonya.

  Sonya sat and began eating the chocolate pieces one by one. Did anything taste better than chocolate? She didn’t think so.

  “Sonya, is Garrett being a trooper all that’s keeping you from having a relationship with him?”

  “As barriers go, it’s up there.” Sonya popped a few more M&M’s, hoping Grams would drop the subject. She wasn’t up to discussing what was between her and Garrett.

  “You’re only a fisherman two months out of the year. What barrier does a trooper pose for a high school music teacher?”

  “Logistics?” She didn’t like where Grams was going with this. She really hadn’t thought about what could happen with her and Garrett when fishing season was over. She didn’t know if she wanted to. Fishing was a nice solid wall erected between them. She didn’t like Grams poking holes in it.

  “What logistics?” Grams asked. “I heard he lives in Homer. That’s only an hour away, maybe an hour and a half depending on weather.” Grams gave her a measured look. “What’s really keeping you from starting a relationship with him?”

  It was time for a subject change. “How do you stand being in this cabin all day?”

  For a moment, it looked as if Grams wasn’t going to let the subject of Garrett Hunt be pushed aside. She must have thought better of it, much to Sonya’s relief.

  “How do I stand it?” Grams repeated her question. “I treasure it. Don’t get me wrong. I love Nikky, but the man can wear on the soul of a priest.” She began dropping spoonfuls of dough onto a cookie sheet. “Since he retired, he’s always underfoot. I never have time to myself. So, when everyone is out fishing, I get to read, carve, take long walks. Anything I want to. Sure there are chores, but even doing them is a pleasure when it’s quiet.”

  Sonya had never looked at it from Grams’ point of view. She’d always felt a twinge of guilt leaving her at camp all the time. It was good to know that she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

  “Don’t think this talk about Garrett is over,” Grams said, sliding the cookie sheet into the propane oven. “He seems to be a good man. I love his take-charge attitude.” She closed the oven door, set the timer, and met Sonya’s gaze with her pointed one. “Besides, he has a strong enough character to equal your own. He’d be a good match for you, Sonya.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re playing matchmaker too?” Did she have old maid stamped across her forehead?

  “Just telling you like I see it. Garrett’s a keeper. A smart woman would recognize that and snag him.”

  Aidan slapped a piece of cheese between two slices of bread. He was so furious he could barely keep from punching the wall. Knowing that the punch would probably bring the shack down around him kept him from doing exactly that.

  Lana sat quietly in the corner. She hadn’t said two words to him since he’d found out what happened to Sonya yesterday. She’d buried her face in a book once they’d returned to camp. Classic avoidance. How had she missed the temper gene? She sure as hell would benefit with a bit of fire. What he wouldn’t give to have some of her easy-going temperament. It would sure help pave the way with Sonya.

  Sonya.

  His heart ached.

  Why hadn’t someone from the Savonskis’ camp told him what had happened to her? Didn’t they realize how worried he’d be? Not just worried, he was frustrated as hell, and so angry he didn’t know if he could pull it back. He’d had to hear the news from Davida. He’d made a run for groceries—seemed they were always out of stuff—after the fishing period had closed, and had picked up more than food.

  Davida had said the troopers thought someone had shot Sonya’s window with a slingshot. How she got her information, he didn’t know, but he did know of someone who was very skilled with a slingshot.

  Earl strolled into the cabin and spied the box of food sitting on the table. “Hey, you picked up more vittles.” He seemed to be in good spirits for a change.

  Why was that, Aidan wanted to know. Was it because Sonya was across the creek, sporting stitches from cuts his father’s slingshot might have caused?

  “Good thinking, Junior,” Earl continued. “We was getting a might low on essentials.” Earl rifled through the box, still packed with cereal, snacks, and canned goods. “Didn’t you get any more beer?”

  “Nope.” There was enough drinking going on around here between his dad and Uncle Roland. He wasn’t going to supply it for them. If they wanted to get stinking drunk, they could buy the beer themselves.

  “Well, why the hell not? You wasted a whole trip to the cannery and didn’t get a case of beer. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking of Sonya.” Aidan nailed him with a stare. Earl seemed to take notice that Aidan wasn’t in a pretty mood himself. “You have anything to do with that?”

  “With what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, old man. I know you heard what happened to her yesterday. Did you have anything to do with it?”

  “Settle down, boy. Of course I didn’t. How could I?”

  “You’re damn good with a slingshot. The only other person I know who can come close to you is Roland.”

  “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or insulted. No matter how good I am, I couldn’t make a shot like that from shore. Plus, why would I want to hurt Sonya?”

  Why did Earl and Roland do half of the mean-spirited things they did? “Maybe you weren’t after Sonya. Maybe you just wanted to cause trouble, like with their skiffs.”

  Earl laughed and shook his head. “You been smoking weed, boy?”

  Not since high school. “Where were you and Roland y
esterday afternoon?”

  “You’re overstepping yourself, Junior. You don’t have the gonads to go up against me. So pull it back.”

  Aidan’s fists clenched next to his sides. How he wanted to plant one right in his father’s face, just like his dad used to do to his mother. Like he’d done to Aidan.

  The man more than had it coming.

  “Aidan?” Lana’s hesitant voice broke through his need for vengeance. “Don’t do it.”

  He turned and met her wide, fretful eyes. He looked back to his father, who seemed to delight in the confrontation. Realization hit him like a rogue wave.

  Earl wanted Aidan to take a swing at him. Relished it.

  Aidan fell back. He was staring into the cold, mean eyes of his future self, if he didn’t gain control.

  Earl shook his head in disgust when Aidan stepped back and relaxed his fists. “Sissy boy,” he said, turning on his heel and slamming out of the cabin.

  “Thank you, Aidan,” Lana said. She earmarked the place in her book and rose to her feet. “I really appreciate you holding back. I know it wasn’t easy.” She combed golden hair back behind her ears with nervous fingers. “Do you really think Uncle Earl and my dad had something to do with Sonya getting hurt?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Aidan picked up the cheese sandwich he no longer wanted and offered it to Lana. She shook her head. He took a bite, not willing to waste the food even though he wasn’t hungry anymore. The sandwich tasted stale with a hint of mold. Time to throw out the rest of the bread, if not the cheese.

  “Why would our fathers do something like that?” Lana continued with her questions.

  Aidan wished she’d stop. He didn’t have an answer for her and he didn’t want to think about what Earl and Roland were up to now. If their sick sense of amusement had targeted Sonya and her family, he needed to do more than think about it.

  First, he had to see Sonya. “I’m going across the creek.”

  “Can I go with you?” Lana asked.