Alaskan Catch

by Sue Pethick

Genres: Animals; Women's Fiction; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

A dream job it’s not. But for Emily Prentice, working as a seafood inspector in  Ketchikan, Alaska, takes her one step closer to becoming a marine biologist. And it’ll give her a first taste of independence from her overprotective mom and the doctor boyfriend she’s pushing into Emily’s arms. Emily’s certainly not looking for romance . . . until a huge dog knocks her down and sends her flying into fish goo. It’s love at first sight for Emily and Bear, whose handsome owner, Sam, becomes flummoxed when the fallen worker in the hard hat turns out to be a pretty young woman. Emily and Bear begin a beautiful relationship, with Sam in tow. And before long the attraction between the humans becomes undeniable. But separation and a dangerous undertaking soon leave Emily wondering if she’ll lose Sam before she gets to tell him how she really feels . . . Bear wants his humans staying together, and before he’s done, both Emily and Sam will learn one essential canine truth: A dog is the only one on earth who loves you more than you love yourself. Praise for Sue Pethick’s Novels “Quirky characters abound in this gentle romantic comedy with a hint of suspense. But it’s the comic scenes featuring Shep that steal the show. . . . Readers who delight in tales about the bond between people and their dogs will enjoy.” — Booklist on Please Don’t Feed the Mayor “A light, heartwarming read perfect for a wintry afternoon at home or a sunny beachvacation.” — RT Book Reviews on Pet Friendly “Filled with romance, drama, and family love . . . a fun, light hearted read that is sure to give you warm fuzzy feelings. ” —Modern Dog on The Dog Who Came for Christmas “Witty and emotional. . . . Grab a treasured pet and a box of tissues before sitting down to read this endearing tale.” — RT Book Reviews on Boomer’s Bucket List

Release date: September 24, 2019

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 253

Sample

Emily Prentice pressed her forehead against the airplane’s window, hoping for a glimpse of the place she’d be calling home for the next three months. When she heard that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration had an internship in Ketchikan, she’d jumped at the chance to go, but the truth was, she hadn’t really thought much about what it would be like to live there. Now, seeing the snow-capped islands that hugged the coast like ships in a storm, she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. After twenty-three years in Southern California, what on earth was she doing in Alaska?

There’d been a fight about it, of course. There was always a fight when Emily made a decision her mother didn’t approve of. Veronica Prentice had tried everything short of holding her breath and turning blue to keep her daughter from leaving home.

“What will I do without you?”

“Your friends will miss you.”

“You’re going to hate the cold!”

And the biggest one, of course:

“Won’t Carter be lonely?”

The two of them would probably still be arguing about it if Uncle Danny hadn’t stepped in.

Veronica would be fine, he assured her, and Emily and her friends could call or text each other every day. As for the cold, he was sure the new Canada Goose parka would keep his favorite niece toasty warm. And Carter? Well, with his final year of residency ahead of him, he’d probably be too busy at the hospital to notice she was gone.

Emily nestled back in her seat, smiling at the thought of the young man her mother called her “steady beau.” Their parents had known each other since before she was born—the Trescotts had been the first to arrive the day her father died—but Carter had never been anything more than Chelsea’s big brother until last year, when he’d kissed Emily at a New Year’s Eve party and everything changed. Since then, their families had been acting as if the two of them would always be together.

And who knew? Maybe they would.

Nevertheless, whether or not Carter Trescott turned out to be “the one,” Emily was determined to have a career of her own, and the job market for marine biology majors was limited to only a handful of research facilities. To find employment in San Diego, she’d have to have more than just good grades; she’d need experience and the endorsement of professionals in her field. Her adviser at Scripps had already written her a letter of recommendation and one of her professors had promised to do the same, but she figured the word of someone with practical expertise would carry more weight than a person in academia. Being an inspector at a fish cannery might not be the most glamorous job in the world, but it would add some much-needed work experience to her resume and prove that she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

The thought of everything that awaited her when they landed was making her feel antsy again. Emily picked up her book and started rereading the first chapter, hoping to distract herself, but it wasn’t long before her attention began to drift.

If only her mother could find a boyfriend, she thought, both their lives would be so much easier. She knew how hard it must have been, being widowed at thirty-nine with a twelve-year-old to raise, and Emily appreciated everything her mother had done for her, but as time went on, her mother’s care and concern had turned into manipulation and control. There were days when Emily felt as if she were being smothered by her mother’s attention, to the point where she wanted to scream. Why couldn’t she just let go?

As the airplane started its descent, the butterflies in her stomach took flight. Emily reached for her bottle of ginger ale and took a sip. She had to stop worrying about her mother, she told herself. It did nothing but keep her from concentrating on moving forward with her own plans, and she had no intention of letting this opportunity go to waste. Chances were, her mother was already consoling herself with some intensive retail therapy.

Shadows swept across the cabin as the plane banked toward Revillagigedo Island, a mitten-shaped swath of green with two small towns—Ketchikan and Saxman—clinging to its leeward edge. As the pressure in her ears increased, Emily took another sip of soda and put it away, then brought her seat back to its full, upright position. Minutes later, she closed her eyes and felt her body strain against the seatbelt as they touched down and the engines reversed, slowing the plane and allowing the pilot to taxi toward the terminal. Emily took out her phone and texted her mother with the news that she’d arrived safely, then turned it off and shoved it deep into her bag, determined not to take it out again until she’d arrived at her new quarters.

When the plane stopped and the flight attendants had secured the doors, Emily grabbed her bag and the parka her mother had insisted she carry onboard—You’re going to Alaska; people live in ice houses up there!—then stepped out into the aisle. She thought she was heading out on a new adventure, a chance to live and work on her own in a part of the country where she’d never been before. Instead, her whole life was about to be turned upside down. And all because of a dog.

Tim Garrett was waiting for her at the security gate, holding a hand-lettered sign that said: PRENTICE/NOAA. A tall, angular forty-something with springy brown hair and hazel eyes, Tim had interviewed Emily when she applied for the internship and he would be her supervisor while she was working at the cannery. She was surprised to see that he was wearing shorts.

“Welcome to Ketchikan,” he said as she approached. “How was the flight?”

“Great!” Emily moved the parka to her left arm so she could shake hands. “Got a late start out of Sea-Tac, but we made good time once we were in the air.”

“Come on.” He pointed. “Baggage claim’s this way.”

Tim turned and strode through the terminal, his long legs making it hard for her to keep up. As she hurried after him, Emily juggled her bag and the bulky black parka, feeling like a dork. The sky outside was intensely blue; not an igloo in sight. Why hadn’t she just packed the darned thing?

When they reached the baggage carousel, Tim checked his watch.

“With luck, this won’t take long,” he said. “The next ferry leaves in eighteen minutes.”

Emily glanced out the window at the stretch of water that separated them from town.

“So, we’re not actually in Ketchikan?”

He shook his head.

“Not enough flat land over there for a runway,” he told her. “Planes land here and people and cars have to ferry over.”

“Why don’t they just build a bridge?”

“We tried. Remember ‘The Bridge to Nowhere?’ That was us.” Tim chuckled ruefully. “Maybe I should have said, ‘Welcome to Nowhere.’ ”

The first of Emily’s bags slid onto the conveyor belt.

“I’ll get it,” Tim said when she pointed it out. “Let’s go.”

“Um, I’ve got another one,” she said, feeling her face flush. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” He set the bag down and checked his watch again. “Sure. No problem.”

Luckily, the second bag showed up seconds later. They caught the ferry in the nick of time.

“I’m afraid there’s not much storage room in your quarters,” Tim said, glancing in his mirror at the bags in back. “Things might be a little cramped.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Emily already felt foolish for bringing a parka that looked like it belonged to Nanook of the North. She wasn’t going to let anyone accuse her of hogging up all the storage space, too.

“And don’t worry about your stuff while we’re at the cannery,” he said. “Folks there know better than to mess with my car.”

He reached around and grabbed a package off the back seat.

“Here you go,” Tim said, dropping it into her lap. “Hope it’s the right size. We’ll pick you up a hard hat and some rubber boots when we get there.”

Emily looked at the plastic bag in her lap: ARAMARK lab coat WHITE Size S.

“Go ahead,” he told her. “Try it on.”

Was this guy serious? She’d been on a plane all day; she’d just gotten there, for heaven’s sake. She hadn’t even had time to go to the bathroom. Besides, it was already after five o’clock. Wouldn’t the cannery be closed?

“You mean we’re going there now?”

“Sure,” he said, grinning. “Gotta make hay while the sun shines, right?”

Emily looked out the window, where a blazing sun still sat high above the patchy white clouds. If memory served, twilight at that latitude wouldn’t start until sometime after nine o’clock. There were still four hours of daylight left.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, wilting slightly. “I guess I forgot.”

A horn sounded the all clear and the ferry started its trip across the water.

“Would you like to get out?” Tim asked. “Stretch your legs? You’ve been cooped up for a while.”

“That’d be nice, yes.”

As she stepped out of the car, a stiff breeze tousled her hair, carrying with it the familiar smells of the ocean: seaweed and sand and driftwood. Emily took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. She’d been expecting Alaska to feel like a foreign country. Instead, she thought, it felt a lot like home.

It was almost six by the time they reached the cannery, an enormous white building perched along the quay. Tim pulled into the gravel parking lot and got out.

“My office is in here,” he said, motioning toward a door in the back of the building. “Once you’re suited up, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Tim’s “office” was a cluttered room about the size of a closet, tucked away beside a door marked MECHANICAL. He grabbed a hard hat off the wall and handed it to Emily.

“See if this fits,” he shouted over the racket coming from next door.

She put it on and jiggled her head.

“It feels a little loose.”

He took it back and fiddled with the liner.

“Here,” he said. “See if that helps.”

Emily put it back on.

“Yes. That’s better.”

“Okay,” Tim said with a wink. “Let’s go see what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Even at that hour, the waterfront was a hive of activity. Boats with fish to sell were being secured to the dock, buyers and sellers were haggling over price, and greedy-eyed gulls were waiting for a chance to pilfer a meal. Farther along the dock, men in thigh-high boots grabbed containers of fish as they were passed up out of the holds, stacking them on hand carts that were taken through a pair of open doors on their right.

“We’ll start at the beginning and move through each step of the process so you can see how things work,” Tim said as they stepped inside.

The cannery floor was enormous—the length of a football field, at least—crisscrossed with conveyor belts and metal ducting and lit by rows of cold fluorescent lights. Workers in yellow slickers and rubber boots stood shoulder-to-shoulder at long metal tables while blood poured over their feet. The hiss and clang and hum of machinery were deafening.

Tim bent down so he wouldn’t have to yell.

“This is the slime line. When the fish come in, they go to the belly slitters, head decapitators, and gut pullers before being washed, weighed, and graded.”

Emily nodded, trying not to gag. The sight and smell of so much blood was nauseating. Tim gave her a kindly smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”

After a mercifully brief perusal of the slime line, they headed for the filleting stations, Emily picking her way carefully through the fish guts and blood on the floor. It occurred to her that if her mother could see what she was doing, she’d demand that her daughter stop this foolishness and come home at once. The thought made her all the more determined to stay.

From the filleting tables, they moved on to the feeder machine, then the patching tables, where the fish were readied for cooking. Tim’s attitude was friendly and relaxed as he explained everything, but Emily noticed that he never stopped scanning the tables. When she caught a few of the workers eyeing him warily, she remembered something he’d told her at the interview. Because NOAA’s inspectors had the power to shut down a cannery when problems were found, they were sometimes seen as the enemy. Fish spoiled quickly, and every hour a cannery was off-line was an hour it was losing product and the workers weren’t getting paid. No wonder her friendly smiles weren’t reciprocated, she thought. As far as these people were concerned, the two of them were trespassers.

Tim had just finished explaining how the cooked fish were sorted and loaded onto pallets when someone at the loading dock caught his eye.

“There’s one of your roommates.” He waved. “Uki! Come say hello.”

A short woman with honey-colored skin and a fringe of blue-black hair nodded in response. As she walked over, paying no attention to the offal on the floor, Emily wondered how long it would take before she’d be as blasé about traipsing through fish guts.

Uki stopped in front of them and folded her arms.

“This is Emily Prentice,” Tim said. “She just got here from San Diego.”

“Hi,” Emily said. “Nice to meet you.”

Uki unfolded her arms just long enough to shake hands, then crossed them back over her chest.

Emily felt a twinge of anxiety. She’d never had a roommate before, and in spite of the horror stories her friends had told her, she’d been looking forward to it. Now, she wasn’t so sure. The prospect of living for three months with someone who didn’t like her was daunting.

“Hang on a second,” Tim said, reaching for his phone.

He turned away, spoke a few words, and put it back in his pocket.

“Sorry. Looks like I’m needed elsewhere. Uki, why don’t you and Emily go back to the intake area and get acquainted while I see what’s going on?”

“Yeah, sure,” Uki said. Then, to Emily: “Come on.”

Somehow, the sight of fish blood sluicing over the slime line didn’t seem quite as awful by the time she returned, and Emily realized that Tim was right when he told her she’d get used to it. Even the smell didn’t seem so bad, but then, maybe she’d just reached some sort of saturation point. Once you were completely sick of something, how much worse could it get?

She saw two guys in the same type of lab coats and rubber boots that she and Uki were wearing standing just inside the open doors, watching a load of fish being brought in. Uki raised a hand in greeting and gave the guy on the left a playful shove.

“This is Emily,” she said. “This is Dak and that’s Noah.”

“Hi,” Emily said. “How’s it going?”

“Where’s Tim?” Dak said.

Uki shrugged. “Got a call. Said he’d meet us here later.”

The other two exchanged glances.

“More problems on the line?”

Uki blew the bangs away from her face. “Must be. He looked kind of angry.”

Emily frowned. “What kind of problems?”

The three of them stared at her.

“Just problems, okay?” Noah said. “Stuff that makes the inspectors look bad.”

“The guys on the line don’t want us here,” Dak said. “They figure if they make us look bad enough, we’ll leave.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Emily said. “By law, the cannery has to be inspected.”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

Emily felt her lips tighten. She might be the newest member of the group, but these guys hadn’t been there much longer than she had. If something serious was going on, she wanted to know.

Before she could say anything, though, Emily heard someone yell and saw movement off to her left—a huge black dog was careening toward them. Scrabbling on the slippery floor, unable to stop, the poor thing was headed straight for the slime line. If something wasn’t done, she realized, it would be a disaster.

Uki screamed and Dak and Noah jumped back as Emily stepped into the dog’s path. The impact knocked her back, but she held on, rotating her body and using the animal’s weight and momentum to direct it away from the fish tables. As her shoulder hit the ground, she released the dog and continued the roll, coming to rest facedown on the concrete floor. Her lab coat was covered in fish slime, but she was unhurt—and so, apparently, was the dog.

As she lay there on the ground, Emily saw four furry legs walk over and felt a puff of warm breath snuffling her hair. She lifted her chin, and a giant pink tongue licked her face. Everyone in the building was staring at her.

Then someone started to laugh.

Sam Reed was not having a good day.

When he and his Newfoundland, Bear, had gone down to the ship that morning, he’d found one of the tender’s owners waiting for them. Travis Reznikoff was a good guy. Though ten years older than Sam, he had no problem deferring to his judgment when it came to the tender and—unlike the ship’s co-owner—he rarely, if ever, criticized the decisions Sam made as captain. Nevertheless, when Sam spotted him up ahead on the dock, he knew it was bad news.

Bear galloped ahead and he and Travis play-wrestled until Sam caught up. Travis had known Bear since he was a pup and the two of them had formed a solid bond—something Sam had recently capitalized on when he sought permission to bring the dog with him onboard.

“Hey, Trav,” Sam said as the two men shook hands. “What brings you down here?”

Travis gave Bear another pat and stood up. “Is Kallik around?”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t think so. He doesn’t usually get here this early.”

“How’s he doing?”

“In what way?”

Sam knew what Travis was getting at, but he wasn’t in the mood to make this any easier. As captain of a tender, he was the middleman between the fishermen at sea and the processors on shore. Every day during fishing season, he and his crew headed out to buy the day’s catch and bring it back to the docks to be sold to buyers from the canneries and fish processors. In theory, it was simple: you bought fish cheaper than you could sell it for, gave half the profit to the ship’s owners, and split the rest with the engineer and crew. But just because it was simple, that didn’t mean it was easy.

For one thing, sailing in Alaskan waters was dangerous. Weather systems that were barely a blip on the radar when they left Japan could spin into boat-battering monsters by the time they reached the northeastern Pacific, and transferring a fishing boat’s catch into a tender’s hold—a difficult job even in good weather—could quickly become life-threatening in a storm. With its hold full of fish, a tender rode low in the water, too, making it susceptible to being swamped. Add to that the physical strength and dexterity needed to move tons of slippery, cumbersome cargo, and it took an experienced crew to pull it all off. Sam had been hauling fish for most of his adult life—at twenty-seven, he was known as one of the safest captains in Ketchikan—and he resented having his judgment questioned.

Travis was scanning the ships in the harbor. “Jack thinks he should go.”

Sam felt his fists clench. Jack Crompton, the ship’s co-owner, was an impatient little man, quick to find fault and eager to place blame without knowing all the facts. If Sa. . .