by Carol Ross
“Caffeine withdrawal,” Iris joked. Not Flynn thoughts, that’s for sure.
Seth came through the door. While he’d been tall and lanky all through his teens, his subsequent years of work as a commercial fisherman had added bulk. His chiseled man-build still surprised her.
Depositing his pack next to Hazel’s, Seth pulled her in for a hug and said, “Hey, there’s my other third.”
“Missed you, too, Trip,” she said. “How was Tibet?”
“Incredible,” Seth said.
“Amazing,” Hazel gushed at the same time. “We wish you would have been there. I’m heading to Peru after the wedding. Any chance you’d want to take a little extra time before you start your fancy new career and come with me?”
“Will you be sleeping with anything over your head thicker than a piece of nylon?”
“No, but—”
“And there’s your answer.”
Seth gave his head a little shake. “Honestly, Iris, sometimes I can’t believe you grew up in the same house as the rest of us.”
Iris knew he was only teasing and yet the words cut at her just a little. Covering the sore spot with a smile, she said drily, “Well, Seth, imagine how I feel.”
* * *
HE SHOULD HAVE just kissed her.
Flynn stepped from the dock onto the boat and took his customary spot—port side, stern—and pretended to be interested in the conversation unfolding between Doc and his best friend, Caleb.
Caleb started the boat and headed out. His grandfather zipped his jacket.
“Should we head over to Caribou Head or get closer to Opal’s mouth?” Caleb asked. Caribou Head was a small, rocky island so nicknamed because of the gnarly mass of driftwood that often accumulated on the top, making it resemble a pile of twisted caribou antlers. Opal was the river that emptied into the bay.
“Crab Johnson says the kings are biting near the mouth,” Doc said, as Caleb steered the boat away from a red buoy that indicated a crab pot was anchored to the bottom there.
“Ha,” Caleb spouted. “Crab’s got the worst case of angler envy I’ve ever seen. He will lie six ways to Sunday to keep us from catching a fish bigger than his.”
Doc howled with laughter. “Caribou Head it is. Let’s try trolling with herring first.”
Caleb picked up speed as they motored farther into the bay.
Flynn tugged on the neckline of his jacket. It was early summer, but the morning breeze in Alaska could be chilly, especially blowing across the open water. He’d be peeling off the layers as the morning wore on. Glancing back toward the shore, he thought about texting Iris. Both morning people, they often exchanged texts first thing. It was still pretty early, though, and they’d gotten home late.
That moment outside the dressing room, he’d been almost positive she’d wanted him to kiss her. Almost. But that was the problem. It was so difficult to tell with Iris. Their relationship was filled with teasing and fun and he couldn’t be sure if the light in her eyes had to do with the dress or with him.
Unbelievable. He’d always read the cues so well. Of course, it helped that there’d never been a woman he was interested in that wasn’t interested in return and told him so. It was a new, strange, frustrating phenomenon.
“Flynn, did Doc tell you that Crab said that king salmon he caught last week weighed sixty-two pounds?”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I saw the photo. No way was that fish even fifty pounds. He was posing right next to that Don’t Feed the Birds sign at the marina. Dimwit didn’t even stop to think that everyone knows how tall that sign is. Unless that salmon had recently eaten about fifteen pounds of lead, it was no sixty-two pounds.”
Flynn forced out a chuckle.
Doc said, “Remember that halibut you caught back in ninety-eight?”
Caleb shook his head. “I’d like to land another lunker like that before I die...”
Normally, Flynn found their chatter highly entertaining. Fishing with Doc and Caleb was hands-down one of his favorite activities. But right now, he couldn’t stop thinking about Iris. Truth was, ever since she’d been back in town, she’d occupied nearly every spare second of his thoughts.
If he kissed her and she kissed him back, then that would change everything. But the problem was if she didn’t kiss him back, that would also change everything. And worse, it could irreparably harm their friendship. Bottom line, he’d come to value her friendship too much to lose it now. He loved Ally, too, of course, but she was more like a little sister. He and Iris were just...
Perfect.
That was the word he’d uttered when he saw her in that dress. Words had jumbled and formed pathetically in his mind, each one more inadequate than the last. He’d mumbled something lame about her being gorgeous even though he knew the usual praise and flattery didn’t work on her. Besides, the way he felt about her wasn’t anything close to usual. He just didn’t know how to convey it.
In his pocket, his phone chimed, indicating a text. It had to be Iris. He nearly slipped off his seat trying to dig it out of his pocket.
A twist of disappointment churned in his gut when her green-brown eyes and mischievous smile failed to light up his screen. Not recognizing the number, he hit “view” anyway. Sometimes patients or fellow doctors contacted his personal cell number. He didn’t mind. That was not the case today. Blood pressure rising with irritation, he read the message from his ex-wife.
Seriously, Flynn? You’re blocking my calls now? Please put your personal feelings for me aside. I need to talk to you. It’s important. Please call me.
Two “pleases” in one text. Sonya was pulling out all the stops. What other feelings would he have for her besides the personal kind? The woman had cheated on him and then waylaid his career. Flynn stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Which part of “never contact me again” did she not understand? More than two years since their divorce, a year since he’d last heard from her and now suddenly she’d called twice and texted him four times in the last month. The last one he’d answered and then made it clear that if she needed to contact him she could do so through his attorney.
The boat slowed and bobbed gently on the water. Flynn knew that was his cue to rig up. Fingers flying with the assuredness of someone who’d performed the task countless times, he attached the weight and flasher to his line. He then took a new 40-inch leader from his tackle box and deftly attached a cut-plug herring to the double hooks. Why won’t Sonya leave me alone? Why won’t Iris let me get close?
Turning to face the stern, he lifted the rigging over the rail and lowered it into the water. Caleb throttled up a bit to trolling speed, and they each let out enough line to reach the right depth. Does Iris really not want to get married? Had she been joking, as we often did with each other?
After about fifteen minutes of trolling and what seemed like an excessive amount of nonverbal communication between Doc and Caleb, Doc suddenly yelled, “Fish on!”
Flynn grabbed his pole and swiftly reeled in his line to prevent it from becoming tangled. He glanced at the other two, who were reeling just as fast as him.
When his flasher neared the surface of the water, he asked, “Who had a fish on?”
“Me and Caleb,” Doc replied, as both men lifted their rods to show the herring still attached to their hooks. “Little fish.”
“But definitely not you,” Caleb said.
Confused, Flynn looked from one man to the other—neither of them had been fighting a salmon on their lines. “What are you—”
Doc clued him in. “You don’t have a hook on that line, son.”
“Or bait,” Caleb added. He pointed at the herring.
“Uh,” Flynn said, lifting his flasher out of the water. Nope, no leader attached. He glanced behind him to see his baited double-looped leader lying on the deck, right where he’d put it, and
struggled to come up with some kind of an excuse for such an absentminded oversight. It was futile, he realized, as they were both staring at him now with way, way too much interest.
“The way I see it,” Caleb said, taking his time adjusting the hat on his head. “And, Doc, I could use your expertise here, so please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. But in my experience... Now granted, I’m not a ladies’ man like our boy Flynn here, but I do all right. As such, I am personally aware of only one thing that will so severely throw an experienced angler off his fishing game when the kings are biting that he’ll throw his line into the water without bait or hook.”
Doc and Caleb exchanged glances and then guffawed loud enough for every fish within a seven-mile radius to hear.
While they were recovering, wiping their eyes with their sleeves and shuffling around, Flynn said, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
They both sobered. Caleb stepped up next to Flynn. After a firm slap on the back, he answered, “Well, no, son, you’re not. That would be asking way, way too much of us.”
“Yeah.” Flynn chuckled and shook his head. “You’re probably right about that.”
“Seriously, though, do you want to talk about it? We could help. Doc and I have a solid track record when it comes to matchmaking. Look at Jonah and Shay.”
Jonah fished with them occasionally and Flynn would even say that he’d become a friend. He’d heard the story of how Caleb had disingenuously lured Jonah back home to Rankins with the intention of putting him in Shay’s path.
“I’ve been watching, kiddo,” Doc added. “Iris isn’t your average everyday girl. She’s special. You’re going to have to—and pardon my dated vernacular but it’s the only word that will do here—woo her.”
Flynn looked from Doc to Caleb and back again. Flynn wasn’t too proud to acknowledge that they’d both enjoyed long, happy marriages. Their spouses had passed away but neither had any problem finding dates even to this day.
“Woo her?” Flynn repeated with a chuckle, rubbing a hand across the back of his suddenly itchy neck.
“Trust us. Doc and me, we’ve been around the romantic block at least a dozen times between us.”
“Think of it this way,” Doc chimed in. “It’ll be a great story to tell my grandkids.”
A combination of desperation, resignation and hope swirled like an eddy inside of him. The simple fact was that he was running out of moves. Short of coming right out and telling Iris how he felt, he didn’t know how else to move their relationship out of the friend zone. What could it hurt?
“Okay. Fine. What have you boys got?”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHERE WAS THE norovirus when you really needed it?
“You’re sure about this?” Iris asked Ally, lowering her bright pink beach bag to the floor in the living room next to Ally’s tattered backpack. “It’s not too late to book a spa trip. Ooh, or even a weekend in Vegas! I could get online right now and—”
Ally interrupted her with a laugh. “Iris, I’m positive. You know me, just the thought of being around that many people gives me hives.”
Tag and Ally had decided to forgo the traditional bachelor and bachelorette parties in favor of a joint gathering at Jasper Lake. Their friends Ryder and Jessie lived on its isolated shore and had graciously offered to host. Everyone was brimming with excitement. Almost everyone. The thought of a day of “fun” on the lake gave Iris hives. Never mind the fact that it might literally give her hives. But this wasn’t about her and she’d already considered every excuse in the book to get out of it, but hadn’t been able to think of a single one that her family wouldn’t smile at and ignore. Despite her deepest wish for a brief but debilitating virus, she’d awoken feeling healthy.
“Okay, if you’re sure?”
“Positive. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait for you to meet Jessie and Ryder. I still can’t believe you’ve never been to Jasper Lake. How is that possible?”
“You’ve never been to Jasper Lake?” Flynn asked, brow scrunchy and cute, as he and Seth strolled into the living room. Both men had backpacks slung over their shoulders.
“Uh, no.”
“You’d be surprised at what Iris hasn’t done around here,” Seth commented in a droll tone.
Iris scowled at her brother. This was true, but she didn’t need him pointing it out in front of Flynn.
Rescuing her from the conversation, Tag strode in from the kitchen, travel mug in hand, backpack clinging to him like a friendly koala bear. Life with her family, she thought wryly—a never-ending backpack convention. Iris couldn’t wait to get back to the city, where people carried designer handbags, briefcases or messenger bags and spent their free time partaking in sensible indoor pest-free activities like visiting museums, going to art galleries and attending concerts. Even the parks in DC felt safer, populated and patrolled by staff. The only wildlife encounters you had to worry about were pigeons stealing your lunch.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Tag said, the comment obviously directed at Flynn. Frowning, Tag looked around. “Where’s Hazel?”
Iris answered, “She’s already outside loading the extra lounge chairs into the pickup.”
“Excellent. That’ll save us time.” Tag checked his watch and pointed toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The six of them were riding out to Jasper Lake together. Assuming the role of Fun Captain, Tag reported that Ryder and Jessie had four kayaks, two canoes, three ATVs and an assortment of fishing gear, all of which would be available for use. The trailer hooked behind the pickup held coolers full of food and drinks, three more kayaks and a variety of floatation devices.
“Bering is bringing a raft, life jackets and extra fishing gear.” As the owner of a guide service, Bering always had a supply of quality equipment as well as the latest outdoor gadgets designed to “enhance one’s rustic encounter,” as his website noted. An oxymoron if Iris had ever heard one.
“Goodie, extra gear,” Iris muttered, handing off her bag to Hazel, who was chucking backpacks into the pickup bed. “Because a trailer full of stuff isn’t nearly enough.”
Hazel snickered, took her bag and cast her a sympathetic look. Iris climbed into the back seat. Flynn appeared at the still-open door she’d used as Hazel walked around to the other side. Iris scooted over to the middle. Ally sat next to Tag in the front, Seth got in next to Ally, Tag started the engine and they were off.
For about the first four minutes, Iris tried to relax and enjoy the drive. Then she gave up. Not only was she already battling a crabby mood about spending the day at the lake, but now she also had to deal with this distracting hyperawareness of Flynn’s every move. Was it her imagination or did he seem to take up an inordinate amount of space?
The back seat had plenty of room, but his long legs spilled into her zone, making her entire body hum with an electric awareness. Mile after mile, rut after pothole, every bump had his muscled thigh brushing against hers. At one point, he stretched his arm across the back of the seat, his biceps touching her neck. And then there was the fact that he smelled divine. Iris tried to calm the erratic pounding of her pulse while pretending to enjoy the view. Flynn seemed unfazed.
Luckily, there was never a quiet moment with this crew. Stories and laughter abounded, so her lack of enthusiasm went mostly unnoticed. Or at least they spared her from commenting. Flynn, however, kept tossing curious glances in her direction. Eventually, the lake, menacing and dark, came into view. Like the Black Lagoon. Iris couldn’t decide which was worse—the Flynn jostling or the day now unfolding before her.
Except, Jasper Lake’s water was a lovely shade of green-blue. Flanked by a wide expanse of shoreline, a smattering of houses could be seen peeking out from the brush on one side. At the far end of the lake, lush green hillside slanted up for what looked like miles. Nothing but trees and wilderness as far as the eye could see.
Okay, so it might be pretty to the untrained eye, but Iris knew how deceptive the idyllic scene really was.
Ally’s teenaged cousin had been attacked by a grizzly bear on a hiking trail there earlier in the spring. Tag had been the pilot who’d flown him to the hospital. For some inexplicable reason, Iris seemed to be the only one who thought it odd that they were planning to hike that very trail today. Well, not her, but some of the group.
Tag turned onto a driveway and stopped in front of a sprawling cottage with cedar siding. A chain-link fence enclosed what appeared to be several acres of ground, and inside Ally counted at least eight dogs and puppies in various sizes, shapes and colors. Jessie and Ryder ran a rescue facility, where they rehabilitated abused and neglected dogs. Ryder also trained dogs for police and military use. The vigilant pack, barking madly, tails wagging, shouldered for position along the fence line.
Everyone piled out. Except her. Outside, excited chatter ensued and gnawed at her already frazzled nerves. She was exhausted, and the day hadn’t even started.
Nibbling her lip, Iris stalled and briefly considered staying in the vehicle. But only briefly.
“This isn’t about you,” she muttered. With a weary sigh, she climbed out and hoped she’d packed enough mosquito repellent.
* * *
FLYNN DECIDED THE only thing that would have made the trip better would have been if he and Iris were the only ones in the pickup. But as much as he’d enjoyed their close proximity, he knew something was bothering her. She’d been too quiet on the ride. Iris was rarely quiet.
The day stretched out ahead with endless possibilities of getting Iris alone and fixing whatever had gotten her down. Jasper Lake was the perfect place to relax and have fun. A myriad of activities were on offer to distract her. His number one choice was taking her for a ride in a canoe and finding a quiet spot across the lake. A secluded romantic place for their first kiss would be ideal, seeing how he’d missed the opportunity during their shopping trip.
