I emerged from my tent and felt the cold, damp mountain air run a chill up my back. I blew hot breath into my hands and tried to rub them warmer. I zipped my jacket up, pulled my hair into a messy bun, and headed down to revitalize the campfire so that we could make a decent breakfast.
I looked over at Lincoln’s tent. I was still feeling a little raw after making out with him in the water just to have him push me away. Sighing lightly, I closed my eyes and let myself imagine his lips on me again. It felt incredible when his stubbly jaw dragged across my skin. Last night I went straight into my tent, but the truth was that I lay awake replaying it over and over in my mind.
He’d wanted me last night, I knew it, but on a dime, he’d rejected me and I didn’t know why.
Because men like him don’t go for women like you.
Kicking a pebble at the thought, I watched it tumble toward a tree next to my tent. As it clunked against the bark, I saw that there was an indent at the base and a blanket tightly rolled next to it. Had someone sat there all night? I looked around to see if anyone from our group seemed to have wandered off, but in the dim light of dawn, it was eerily quiet.
Uncertain, I headed down toward the other tents, Bud stretching and walking beside me. Brandon had been hauling our supplies so I would have to get the ingredients from him to make the group a simple breakfast.
As I approached, I saw that Lincoln was already awake.
“Morning,” he said gruffly. He didn’t look up at me, but continued working on pulling forks from Brandon’s supply pack.
Ok, good. Maybe he isn’t going to make this weird.
“Morning. You’re up early.” I smiled, trying to act nonchalant. Lincoln looked rugged and sexy and a little bit tired.
“I don’t mind the morning,” he said. “It’s quieter.”
At that, he looked up at me. His eyes looked navy in the dim light, and I wanted to curl into his thick arms, but we both looked away quickly. Swiping a hair away from my forehead along with that thought, I surveyed what we were working with.
Lincoln had added logs to the fire and was already starting on breakfast. He’d made a small space near the coals, close enough to the fire to warm the food, but not so close it would burn.
“What do we have on the menu?” I asked, glancing around and feeling useless.
“Breakfast burritos.”
My eyes lit up. I loved a good breakfast burrito. In fact, it was my favorite camping food. My stomach grumbled at the thought. I giggled. “Sorry.”
He smiled and looked right at me. “I’ll take care of you, Joanna.”
I’m sure he meant breakfast, but my body was really into reading between the lines and warmed at his words. My heart was racing. He called me Joanna last night and again this morning. My Joanna he’d said. I smiled to myself and exhaled a slow breath, willing myself to calm the hell down.
Lincoln poked at the small, foil-wrapped packages in the fire with a stick. Reaching his hand down, he picked one up, tossing it back and forth between his hands.
He rolled the little burrito between his palms and turned to me. I reached out my hand to take it, and when he placed it in my upturned palm, he let his fingers drag across the skin on my hand. His hands were warm and rough, and I had to keep myself from moaning out loud.
Taking a seat on a log near the fire, I unwrapped my little burrito baby. Steam escaped from the top, but I was so hungry, I took a generous bite.
“Mmmmmm,” I said, closing my eyes. This was the world’s most delicious burrito, I was sure of it.
“Careful with those noises,” Lincoln whispered deeply, his voice at my ear. My eyes opened to find his face close to mine, eyes smiling as he placed a cup of hot, black coffee on the ground at my feet. My stomach fluttered.
I looked at his full lips. I wanted to ask him about what happened in the water last night. Were we just going to pretend it didn’t happen? Was he upset we’d kissed?
Stop staring at him.
As I was gathering my courage, the smell of breakfast and coffee hit the group and they all started to stumble from their tents. Lincoln straightened and moved back to the fire. As I suspected, every one of them was bleary-eyed and hungover, including Brandon. Groaning or rubbing their eyes, they ambled toward us, breaking the spell. I tossed the last bottom bite of the burrito to Bud and stood.
I took one final look at Lincoln to find him staring back at me. I offered him a small smile, but his eyes were hard. The muscle in his jaw flexed. Why was he so tense all of the sudden? Had I done something wrong?
Breathe. Just do your thing and stop worrying about this. He doesn’t care about you.
Unexpectedly, my eyes blurred with tears. I had a long day of guiding ahead of me and I couldn’t spend it worrying about whether or not a heated moment last night meant anything. It hadn’t. Not to him at least. I took a deep breath and turned my back to the group to check our equipment before we headed out.
After the guys dragged themselves from the worst of their hangovers, we packed up camp and headed up the ridge. The plan was to hike along the base of the mountain, stopping to fish along the way toward the lodge. If we wanted to make it to the lodge before nightfall, we’d have to get a move on.
“Ok, let’s try the Albright knot. That should keep your line from breaking when you hook a lunker,” I said casually to Sean, one of the guys on the trip.
We stood calf-deep in the clear river, water babbling past us over the smooth rocks as he looked on. I slowed my movements intentionally, letting him see how I was tying the knot.
“It’s a little heavier, with ten wraps, but when you set it, that fish isn’t going anywhere,” I continued. I held the three lines between my fingers and wrapped the lines over themselves—a knot I could do in my sleep. Pulling the line tightly, I secured the knot and then clipped the tag end.
“You’re all set,” I said as I dropped his line and stepped away.
“Thanks, Jo.” Sean tipped his head.
I loved this part of fishing. Of course, the thrill of catching would always be there, but what I loved most was teaching people about knots, fish, the land, everything. Bobber and lure fishing in lakes was fun, but fly fishing was an art.
I stepped back to allow ample room for him to practice his casting technique. He was a little jerky in his movements and was having trouble placing the fly in a spot where the migrating fish would see it.
“Do you mind if I give you a few pointers?” I asked. Stepping in to offer help was delicate. Sometimes I was met with indifference, sometimes even anger. Apparently being a woman meant I couldn’t possibly be a good fisherman.
“Yeah, that would be great!” Sean replied.
Relieved, I trudged forward through the water. He handed over his pole and carefully stepped back toward the bank so that he could see what I was doing.
“Keep an eye on my stance,” I bounced a little on my legs to draw his attention to my foot placement, “but more importantly, watch my arm movements,” I instructed, holding my arms out from my body. “It’s subtle, but if you think of it as a dance, the line should float out there a little better for you.”
Rhythmically, I started moving my fly line back and forth. I moved my body, feeling the weight of the rod in my hands and sensing the ebb and flow of the line on the pole. Teaching fly fishing was so difficult to explain because so much of it was how things felt. When I felt the timing was right, I released the fly line into the water, placing it just around a grouping of small rocks that poked above the surface.
I tipped my head to Sean, motioning for him to come forward. “Try that out for a minute. Let it float away with the water and see what you come up with. Then, you can try casting in that spot a few more times.”
Sean approached, and I released the pole into his hands, stepping back. Within seconds, a large fish thrashed at the fly, scooping it into his mouth.
“Got him!” I shouted.
Sean set the hook and began reeling it in, his smile wide across his face. His excitement was contagious as he whooped and hollered at the other guys in the group. They all cheered in response.
I was smiling, looking around at the rest of the group scattered downstream when my eyes locked with Lincoln’s. He was closer than I recalled, and his deep blue eyes were set on mine. He smiled slightly, then nodding his head, he turned.
I swear to god that man could incinerate every set of panties within a hundred-mile radius with that smile. Dressed in fishing waders, you wouldn’t think anyone looked particularly sexy, but damn. My eyes lingered over Lincoln’s broad chest, shirt tight around his biceps and chest, and moved down toward his tapered waist and thick thighs. He looked strong and rugged as he walked along the bank, checking in on the other guests.
A flare of heat hit my cheeks, and I felt a pull in my belly. I was thinking of all the dirty things I wanted Lincoln to do with me—hand in my hair, pull me close and kiss the fuck out of me, hot and deep and wet—when my thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of my phone.
Finn: Yo, Banana! How goes it? Tell me everything.
I toyed with the inside of my lower lip as I thought about his text. Well, maybe I won’t tell him everything.
Me: Hi! It’s going good. A few more hours and we’ll be at the lodge . . . which is good. I need a shower. You ok?
Finn: Besides bored as FUCK?
Me: You’ll live.
Finn: Heartless
I wanted so badly to tell Finn about what happened with Lincoln in the water, but it also felt weird. Finn was one of my best friends, but this was his brother. Still, curiosity got the best of me.
Me: Lincoln’s been an interesting addition to the trip.
When Finn didn’t text back immediately, a tiny alarm bell went off in my body. I didn’t know what to think of his silence. Would he be mad?
Finn: Interesting, huh? I find that interesting.
Well, shit. I should have known Finn would see right through me.
Me: Ok, I’m going now. Forget I said anything. Don’t make this weird.
Finn: Be good, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!
Finn: FYI – lotta leeway there.;)
Laughing, I put my phone back in my pocket and thought about how great it would be to have Finn out here with us. He was a great fishing buddy—never crowded my space, was up for anything, and comfortable with silence. The only problem was that Lincoln seemed to get really quiet and broody when the three of us were together and I couldn’t figure out why.
They were brothers, but from what I could tell, Finn was closer to me than he was to Lincoln, and that made me ache for the both of them. I knew Finn’s secrets and he knew mine. Most of them, anyway. It would be a good thing when Finn could finally talk to his brother. Air everything out. Until then, I planned to keep my growing attraction to Finn’s moody older brother to myself.
As the sun moved across the ridge, we made our way to the Chaney Lodge. Owned by a retired couple, it was a bed-and-breakfast geared toward anglers and campers around the river. Finn and Lincoln used the Chaney’s property as a midway point in the trip. It allowed the guests to rest, have a proper shower, get a hot meal, and sleep in a cushy bed.
I, for one, was looking forward to melting into the cushy bed.
It had been a great day, overall. The fishing was spot-on, and the group seemed to ease up on the misogynist jokes and comments. All it took was for me to help Sean catch a great fish and they were all eager to ask me for tips and tricks the rest of the afternoon.
After our group arrived, we had decided to eat dinner while it was hot, before unpacking. Mrs. Chaney was adorable, doting on every guest who visited her. For supper, she made beef stew with the softest yeast rolls I’d ever had. She’d even made homemade apple pie for dessert. After living off camping food for the last two days, it was pure heaven.
Once we had full bellies, Mrs. Chaney handed out room assignments. Her beautiful cursive was written on tiny pieces of white card stock. As the guys got their rooms and paired off, my heart sank.
Lincoln and Joe: Stonefly 8
I stared at the small card in my hand and then looked from Lincoln to Mrs. Chaney. “Um, excuse me? Mrs. Chaney? I think there may be some mistake,” I said.
She looked at me sweetly.
“Well, you see, I’m Jo . . . no E. As in Joanna,” I said with my hand on my chest. “I think I was supposed to have my own room.” I snuck another look at Lincoln, but I couldn’t read his expression.
Mrs. Chaney looked down at my card as if there was some mistake. “Oh, my,” she said. “That would be a problem. When this was booked, it was for eight guests, four rooms.”
My mouth opened slightly, and a small sound escaped my throat.
“Surely you can accommodate, Mrs. Chaney,” Lincoln said. He glanced at me, only briefly.
“I am so sorry, but we’re completely booked tonight,” she continued. “We have no available beds.”
“Ok. It’s no problem, we’ll work it out. Thank you, Mrs. Chaney.” Lincoln smiled at the sweet old lady, dismissing her. He turned to me.
My face flushed. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do because the thought of sharing a room with Lincoln made a wave of desire crash into the wave of panic inside of me.
“I can sleep in a tent outside.” His eyes were lowered when he spoke. “It’s no problem.”
“Don’t be silly. We can share the room,” I said. The words were out before I could pull them back.
He eyed me slowly and looked unsure of how to answer.
I doubled down and just kept rambling, despite the tingle of energy rippling through me. “It’s going to be colder tonight, and it’s too late to gather firewood. Plus, who knows if any of her campsites are open. It’s just one night, no big deal. Right?”
“Right,” he said, smiling.
My body was telling me that was, in fact, a really big deal.
