by Carol Ross
“Uh-oh,” Marissa said.
“It gets worse,” Victoria said. “He proposed that the loser would have to buy the winner a milkshake from Dairy Daisy every Sunday after church for the entire summer. Now, I need to interject here and add that I’ve been working at my family’s resort for as long as I can remember. I mean, since I was a teeny-tiny thing.” With one hand, she indicated a height a few feet from the ground.
“Before I worked for a paycheck, I received an allowance. My mama and grandma believed that was the way to teach me the value of money. It worked. And at that age, much like today, there was nothing more valuable to me than fishing gear and my weekly postchurch milkshake from Dairy Daisy.
“That being said, I knew Billie’s throw down was nothing more than an elaborate ruse designed to steal my secrets. I’d placed first in the junior bass tournament the year before and was always outfishing him. So, I agreed to the competition on the condition that we follow derby rules and not fish together. This created a problem of how we were going to keep track of our catches. In a stroke of self-perceived genius, I suggested we take photos of every fish we caught alongside a measuring stick. Which, I have to say, worked like a charm right up until I landed the moneymaker, or in this case, the milkshake maker. Six pounds, two ounces—I could not believe how big it was. I knew it would seal the win for me. I could literally taste my milkshake-flavored victory as I grabbed Mama’s camera and started snapping photos. I was going for one final shot when... Thud. Boat drifts into a stump. And then splat.”
Marissa cringed. “Is that the sound the camera made when it dropped into the lake?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. Slipped right out of my hands,” Victoria said, and then sighed dramatically. “In my defense, my judgment was unduly impaired.”
“Unduly impaired?” Gerard repeated, shaking his head in amusement.
“Absolutely,” Victoria returned dryly. “My fixation on Dairy Daisy’s banana caramel shakes was akin to a mind-altering state. To the point where it could be argued that it unduly impaired my judgment.”
Gerard laughed. “We may have to find a way to use this story for promotion.”
Marissa was smiling and nodding. “I get it. My mom used to bribe me to get good grades in school. Straight As and I could order whatever I wanted from this restaurant where we were regulars. To this day, my mother credits my graduating with honors to a dessert called the brownie cookie collision.”
“Thank you!” Victoria said, “You do understand. Unfortunately, my mama did not.” She paused to chuckle. “I spent the rest of my summer working to pay off that camera. No money left over for my own milkshakes or fishing tackle. On the positive side, that is the summer I got serious about making my own lures.”
It was all Seth could do not to snort his disbelief. Who was this woman? This chatty, engaging, funny woman was not the same Victoria Thibodeaux he’d met the day before. The one who’d given him the rote tour of the resort and then curtly dropped him off at his cabin like a tired pair of shoes. Nor was it the pensive, serious woman he’d sat across from at the dinner table the night before. And definitely not the surly one who’d chastised him for being kind to her daughter before informing him in no uncertain terms that they were not going to be friends.
Not only was this Victoria charming and entertaining, she seemed completely comfortable that the fishing job they were vying for had suddenly turned into a personality contest. Like she’d known all along and had been practicing and saving all her content for this very moment. And suddenly Seth was wondering how in the world he was going to compete with that, with her? His confidence took a hit while his already-rattled mental state deteriorated further.
“What about you, Seth?” Marissa asked. “Have you done much bass fishing?”
“Uh, no, I have not,” he answered, trying to get his head in the game. “I’ve never fished for largemouth bass if you can believe that.”
“In that case, I think you should have only one goal in mind today, Seth,” Victoria said brightly, and Seth knew—he knew—he was walking into a trap. But for the life of him, he couldn’t see a way out.
“Oh, what’s that?” he asked, helplessly playing along.
“To beat the Alaska state largemouth bass record.”
“We don’t have largemouth bass in Alaska,” he returned, trying not to sound overly smug about this piece of misinformation she’d just surprisingly imparted.
“Well, actually, you do. Or you did have, anyway.” Her smile was pure mischief, and her voice was full of teasing good humor, and he knew she had him right where she wanted him. “In 2018, a seven-and-a-half-inch largemouth was legally caught in Sand Lake near Anchorage.”
“Seriously?” Marissa asked.
“Seriously,” Victoria confirmed. “Wildlife officials don’t know how it got there. Planted most likely. Seth is right that they’re not native, but a record is a record nonetheless.”
Gerard laughed.
Seth felt his neck heat with embarrassment. How did he not know this? He prided himself on his expertise regarding every aspect of Alaska’s fisheries. He recited fishing facts the way other people did baseball stats. He knew how many sockeye salmon were harvested in the Copper River every year. He could list the weights of the top ten largest halibut ever taken in the state’s waters. His fingers itched to grab his phone and fact-check her, but he knew better. The confirmation he’d undoubtedly find would make him look worse.
“Don’t you worry, Seth,” Victoria said. “I’m going to make sure you beat that record today.”
Frustration rippled through him. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her help, that there wasn’t a fishing record he couldn’t break and he certainly didn’t need her assistance in doing so. All of which would make him sound crabby and childish. Not to mention that Gerard and Marissa would be observing it all.
So instead, he forced a smile and played along, “I hope you’re right about that.”
“Oh, I am,” she said, steering the boat toward the right.
Then Gerard asked her to “Tell us a little about the most important aspects of bass fishing in southern Louisiana.”
“I think knowing their behaviors and needs and learning the water are key to bass fishing success,” she explained in the rich-as-cream voice he’d once found so pleasing but now felt contrived. Even though he knew it was silly to think she would alter the tone of her voice. “I’m so glad y’all are here during the spawn because it increases the opportunity to hook a true monster. These largemouth are the most aggressive when defending their nests.
“As far as where we’re going to fish, an important aspect to keep in mind is that the bass spawn is all about water temperature. Of course, that differs from pond to swamp to river to lake, but it can also vary a lot within a body of water, especially in larger lakes. Lake Belle Rose has a lot of depth variation. So once those temps edge up into the high fifties or sixty-degree range, the fish will move into shallower water to lay their eggs. Bass like a hard, flat surface for their nests, so all you need to do is find the nooks and coves...”
She went on, and Seth listened, spellbound, while she expounded on the intricacies of bass behavior in conjunction with water depth, temperature, clarity and even the effect of moonlight.
Still talking, she maneuvered the boat through a short channel that widened into a large cove. “This here is one of my favorite spots around this time of year. As you can see, there’s tons of cover.” Willows and thick patches of tall grass surrounded the perimeter. At the far end, there was a small grove of cypress trees that reminded Seth of the area at the resort where he’d watched Scarlett land the bass.
“We’ve got nice, flat light this morning and the water temperature has been steadily warming the last few days. They should be moving right on in here to spawn. We’ll work our way around from this end.” She shut off the motor and picked u
p a rod outfitted with a bright chartreuse-and-yellow jig.
“Seth, why don’t you start by pitching this one toward that tangle of branches jutting out there.” Handing it over to him, she then motioned toward the bank.
Seth wanted to disagree. If it were up to him, he’d head straight to the far end of the inlet near the cypress patch for a full-frontal assault, so to speak. Again, the presence of Marissa and Gerard kept him subdued.
Dutifully, he took the pole and did as she instructed. Then reeled in the line.
“A little to the right,” she advised. “And closer in if you can. Don’t be afraid to get right on up in that cover. And don’t worry about getting caught up. Nothing there we can’t get out of.”
“Okay,” he muttered and cast again. Nailed the placement, thank you very much.
“Perfect,” she acknowledged. “But, I’d slow down the retrieval a bit.”
“Don’t I want a quicker presentation, though?” Seth countered because, on this point, he felt strongly. He’d read about how aggressive bass were during the spawn and how you could spark a response with a quick approach. Which made so much sense. As he prepared to try again, it occurred to him that she might be setting him up. Uncertainty prickled his scalp. Should he protest and follow his instincts? How many unsuccessful casts would she allow him to make with this bogus rigging before she cast the lure she knew would work?
“Okay, for this one, try dropping it a little to the left...”
Not sure how to politely decline, he did as she instructed, and this time when it hit the water, she reached over and placed her hand on the pole. “Wait... Feel the bottom? There. And go.” She lifted her hand, and, like a conductor, directed him to raise the line.
“There it is!” she said at the exact second he felt the line go taut.
She was right, he thought as the fish struck hard and fast in that way a truly big one will. You feel it, and you just know. He tugged on the line, setting the hook, while a burst of adrenaline surged through him, followed immediately by an awareness of the fish’s strength and weight. He tried to play it cool, but this was his first bass, and he could tell it was a dandy!
“This is a nice one,” he said, unable to squelch his enthusiasm. Sneaking a glance at Victoria, he kept a steady pressure on the fish. The last thing he wanted to do was slack the line or jerk the hook out.
“I can see that.” The smile she gave him felt electric. He let his gaze connect and mingle with hers and he could feel her sharing his excitement. For the life of him, he could not figure this woman out. Moments like these were what fishing was all about. He wanted to tease her and ask if this meant they were friends now. But having an audience was different than he’d imagined, inducing a constant awareness and a check of his behavior he hadn’t anticipated.
“Looks like a nice chunky female, too. Better than five pounds, I’m guessing. Certainly, bigger than seven and a half inches,” she joked.
“Five pounds, are you kidding me?” Seth repeated, not even trying to stifle the thrill coursing through him now. Worried about losing it, he concentrated on the task and soon landed the bass without a problem. Working quickly, he unhooked the fish while Marissa produced a scale.
“Five pounds four ounces,” she declared. “You know your bass, Victoria.”
“Hot dog!” Gerard said video camera in hand. “That’s the way to start us off.”
Seth was ecstatic. “My first bass,” he said. “Thank you, Vic.”
“My pleasure, Seth.” Beaming now, she executed a little bow. “I am absolutely honored to be the one to introduce an angler of your stature to the delights of Louisiana largemouth bass fishing.”
Only then did it dawn on him; his smile froze in place as he recalled the advice and guidelines Gerard and Marissa had established this morning. Like a fish on her line, he’d played right into her hands. This might be his catch, but it was Victoria’s win. And she’d executed it all so brilliantly.
His admiration didn’t last long as fear welled up and squeezed it out. Victoria was everything they were looking for. Doubt hardened into a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. This was going to be so much more difficult than he’d anticipated. Had he overestimated himself? Was he out of his league?
He wasn’t ready to accept that possibility. He’d worked so hard to get here. Fishing was his life. This job was his dream. But if he was going to have any chance of competing with her, he would have to drastically up his game.
CHAPTER FIVE
VICTORIA COULDN’T QUITE believe what was happening. She was on fire. Seth, on the other hand, was barely smoldering. That might be a bit of an exaggeration as he was still affable and witty, but to her, he seemed like a different person. She’d seen him at his best, agonized over the fact that he was going to be stiff competition. Where was that confident, world traveling, smooth talker who’d won over her whole family in less than a day? Not that she didn’t appreciate him taking a back seat and making her look good. But surely, he could do better than this.
The rest of the morning proceeded in much the same fashion, with Victoria driving the boat to a location of her choosing where they’d discuss the conditions, talk strategy, confer about lures, and then catch some bass. Victoria dispensed advice but was careful not to dominate either the conversation or the fishing successes. By noon, she couldn’t see where she’d made even one misstep while Seth, on the other hand, still seemed content to let her take the lead. Definitely not a strategy she’d employ either on her home turf or when visiting another’s.
They headed back to the resort for lunch after they’d landed nine bass among them. Seth had caught three, Victoria five, and Marissa one. For the most part, Marissa and Gerard were observing, filming, taking photos and making notes. But at Victoria’s urging, Marissa had tried her hand with one of Romeo’s newest level wind reels and caught the second-largest bass so far.
At the resort, they agreed on a two-hour lunch break. Mama, with assistance from Mémé and Scarlett had prepared gumbo, shrimp po’ boys on homemade crusty bread and fruit salad with plenty of sweet tea to wash it all down. A platter of molasses cookies and pecan balls were laid out for dessert.
In the kitchen, Seth helped her mom dish out the gumbo while Mémé and Scarlett assembled the sandwiches. Vic couldn’t hear what they were saying as she set the table, but chatting and laughing like they were, she couldn’t help but note how he already seemed like an old friend. Especially when she watched Scarlett approach him.
Vic could tell her daughter had something important to say, and she could see that Seth picked up on this, too. Hands stilling, he tipped his head to listen, giving her his full attention. After a moment, he set down the bowl and ladle he’d been holding, replacing them with an invisible fishing rod. Scarlett giggled as he then proceeded to fight an invisible fish. They continued like this, laughing and chatting and acting out some silly fishing scenario. Completely different than what Scarlett was used to with Austin and his perpetual busyness and impatience where his daughter was concerned. Vic felt a stab of gratitude and an accompanying rush of affection that shocked her with its intensity. He could be chatting up Marissa and Gerard and working on making a good impression, but instead, here he was clowning around with her daughter.
Corinne filled the remaining bowls, and Seth and Scarlett placed them around the table along with the other dishes. Everyone found a seat and, at Mama’s urging, dug in with unabashed enthusiasm. As usual, the food was perfection. Victoria silently conceded that Mama was right; this was just one more good impression for her to leave on the Romeo Reels team. There might not be a place for hospitality on the score sheet, but it certainly couldn’t hurt her chances.
“Corinne, have you ever considered opening a restaurant here at the resort?” Gerard asked between appreciative mouthfuls.
“I have tossed that idea around,” Corinne answered. “I bake cakes and desser
ts on special order and for the bakery in town. But I always feared cooking would lose its flavor if I made it my job.”
“I get that,” Gerard said, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? How sometimes the things we want, and work so hard for, don’t turn out like we anticipate?”
“That is a fact,” Mémé replied. “Being careful what you wish for is one of life’s most interesting challenges.”
Victoria couldn’t help but think of the life she’d wished for with Austin. Wealthy, educated, from a family who had been here for a million years, she’d thought he was the answer to her desire for something different, something of her own.
Mémé had warned her that he was not what he appeared. She hadn’t listened. Her dream of a different life had been too tempting. Even after she’d confessed to a crime she didn’t commit and sacrificed her own future for his, she’d held on to hope that he’d deliver on his promise. How could she have been so naive? Not only had he not delivered, he’d nearly destroyed her in the process.
With everyone still happily nibbling cookies and discussing Cajun cuisine, Victoria slipped out and headed back to the dock. It was time to strategize for the afternoon.
The sun was bright, the day had heated up considerably and the water was beginning to clear, conditions that would be challenging from an angling perspective. They all knew this, which presented the perfect opportunity to showcase her knowledge and experience where bass were concerned. If she could get the combination right.
There were a variety of lures in the tackle boxes Marissa and Gerard had brought along. Now she took a few minutes to study and mentally catalog them; many were of the tried-and-true variety, some she’d never seen before but looked promising, and a few she knew would be useless under the current conditions.
