Chinook, Wine and Sink Her

by Morgan Q O'Reilly

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

How does a gold mining fisherman catch the girl of his dreams? Ask the moose and the dog. Linnet Greenbriar has a job to do on the isolated Alaskan Yukon River. Hoping the remote area will keep her away from men for as long as possible, she is shocked to see the handsome stranger walking up the river and singing a little song. All her hopes change when a mishap sends her falling into the river and also into the arms of said handsome stranger. Creed finds himself in the wrong place at the right time and becomes a self appointed hero when he rescues the beautiful Fish and Game Officer from the icy river. All he wanted was a little peace and solitude, but one look at this city girl has him changing his tune. WARNING: Sex in bathtubs filled with water from natural hot springs, too many men and a moose, who just might interrupt the fun. 50,000 Words

Release date: September 15, 2008

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 264

Sample

 

Foreword

 

Certain artistic license was taken regarding the location of Creed’s cabin and the village of Circle, Alaska.

While there are working gold mining operations all along the Steese Highway, which leads from Fairbanks to Circle, Creed’s is entirely fictional. The Steese Highway ends at Circle on the banks of the Yukon, and there are no roads leading to hidden cabins so far upstream. River travelers, who put in at Dawson or Eagle and float down to Circle, find many camping places along the route. There are also public-use cabins maintained by the Bureau of Land Management. Slaven’s Roadhouse is a real place, reachable only by river. Whether they have sat-phone or not, I don’t know.

The people of Circle are mostly Athabascan and live in a very small village. They live a mainly subsistence lifestyle with few modern conveniences. The roads are unpaved and the villagers haul water much as our characters do. The Washeteria does exist, pretty much the way Linnet sees it.

The few people we met on the late July day a friend and I made the drive from Fairbanks were very kind. We didn’t see many residents, but those we did looked curiously at our ‘Circle or Bust’ sign on the back of my dusty minivan.

The proprietor of the one and only store told us most tourists make it to Circle by accident, thinking they’re going to the Arctic Circle. No, we told her, we were writers who’d made the drive to Circle on purpose. Yes, she thinks we’re nuts, as well as a few dozen other people we talked to about our trip.

Many thanks to Ron and Sylvia of the Chatanika Roadhouse for good coffee, good food, good conversation and information. Ron gave us a personalized tour which included the official outhouse of their annual Outhouse Races held each March. If you’re ever there, be sure to mention the crazy romance writers who stopped by. We left our dollar bill under the nightlight display near the entry.

Of note, there is a wonderful essay and a collection of photos detailing the history of the Steese Highway to be found at: http://www.steesehighway.org/steesehistory.html

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“There’s a salmon-scented girl, who sets my heart awhirl…”

Linnet Greenbriar closed her eyes and grimaced. Despite the pleasant male baritone singing the annoying song on key for a change, she’d heard the lyrics one too many times in her life. Her fingers clenched around the long aluminum pole in her hands. Each time she’d stopped in Circle some joker had made a point of singing it within her hearing. Out here, miles from the small village, the song was no more welcome than it had been there.

“Manley,” she snapped at her borrowed dog without looking around. “Attention.”

His whines subsided and she knew he stood alert, watching for the stranger approaching along the trail from the cabin. Hopefully the man would see the dog and just keep moving downstream.

Leaves crunched and twigs snapped under his footfalls. He could be the friend George had said might come by for a week of fishing. Or perhaps he was someone else who’d beached his boat at the small gravel shingle in front of the cabin. Screened by the trees, she couldn’t see that far. He certainly hadn’t floated past her. Probably George’s buddy.

Even that possibility didn’t quell the sudden fear turning her blood to ice. With great control, she forced the automatic reaction away. Using rehearsed words, she reminded herself he was just a citizen, entitled to fish wherever he wanted along the river. Men who made the effort to reach this remote location were looking for solitude and a meaningful relationship with the river, not women to party with.

“And she lives along the Yukon, far away…”

Just what she needed, some macho man escaping town for a week of fishing. The least he could do was camp someplace else. Determined not to give in to the urge to dash onto the bank and greet him with a .357 aimed his way, she focused on the job in front of her.

Steadying herself, she made sure her legs were solidly braced, then swiped her dipnet through the strong current of the mighty river trying its best to suck her under. Insulated hip waders protected her from the icy flow, thick and gun metal gray with glacier silt. The Yukon was not a river to be taken lightly. It was a good thing she was tall and her active lifestyle kept her muscles strong, or with one misstep, she could have been swept away by the deadly water pushing at her legs.

The little backwash she’d found was popular with the fish as a resting place where the current wasn’t quite as strong. Not to mention easier for her when standing in the river for most of the day. Did her visitor know this spot for that very reason?

The net jerked and she pulled it back, fighting not only the flowing water, but the fish inside. The lifejacket she wore made movement difficult and the mosquito netting draped over her hat and around her head impaired her vision. At this moment, she wasn’t so sure she loved Alaska. She loved the land, just not the biting black flies, mosquitoes or gnats, and many of the men were debatable.

“Hey there, Manley.” The male voice had stopped singing, and she guessed he stood on the edge of the small clearing on the bank behind her.

She could hear Manley’s tail whacking at the stand of alder defining the space.

“How are ya, boy? Where’s George?” The voice held the same rich baritone quality as his singing.

Great, Manley knew the stranger behind her. Then this could only be George’s friend. She didn’t have time to worry about the dog greeting his buddy. To drop her attention now would mean an unwanted swim in the river.

“You do know dipnetting is illegal, right?” the man asked, closer than she expected.

“Fish and Game,” she growled and carefully stepped backward, lifting the net so the fish couldn’t escape. By the weight and fight, it was a big one. Since it was still hidden under the gray silt of the river she could only guess by the drag on the net. A sixty pounder? Holy crap! No wonder her boss had eyed her up and down before shrugging and sending her out to this post for the rest of the summer. Most of the fish didn’t get this big, and damn few like it made it this far up the river, but snatch just the right king salmon and a girl became a fisherman’s dream woman. Hell, even a forty pounder would impress most men.

“Fins and Feathers, eh? Want some help with that?”

“Got it.” Fighting the monster fish, resisting the current, keeping track of the dog, and speaking politely to a taxpayer was a little more than she could handle all at the same time. The last thing she wanted to do was trip and fall into the river. The water was cold and moved faster than it appeared on the wide flat surface. Even if the stranger nearby could pull her out—doubtful—getting wet was not on her agenda. Weighing and measuring this bad boy was. But first she had to get him onto the bank and that job required her full concentration.

She also didn’t need Manley running around on shore once she landed the fish. “Manley, sit.” 

“Better do as she says, Man.”

Ignoring both of them for a moment, Linnet focused on the job at hand, praying the net wouldn’t slip from her hands. She worried not so much for the loss of the fish’s statistics, but if he remained caught in the net it would be a senseless death. One more step… she grit her teeth and set her heel on the muddy ledge just above the water. Without taking her eye off the wildly thrashing net at the end of the long pole, she shifted her weight, pushing up from the small sandy spot in the water. 

Powerless to stop the motion, her heel slipped as the wet bank under it began to crumble. The extra weight of the fish? Her heart jolted in fear. No! Her fingers automatically tightened their grip around the handle of the net and she shifted her weight back, praying her torso would land on the solid ground. The bank was high enough that she might very well miss and slide down into the water.

“Whoa there!”

Still clinging to the net, she felt the hard ground spank her bottom and not her back.

“Ooof!” The involuntary sound left her on a whoosh of air.

Strong hands held her under the armpits and dragged her backwards until only her feet and the long pole hung over the edge of the bank. Stunned, she didn’t have the presence of mind to protest, much less the time to tell him to keep his hands to himself, before the pole was jerked from her hands and the fish hauled out to lie on the bank beside her. In the next second she had eighty pounds of chocolate lab wiggling onto her lap.

“Manley, down!” She tried to push the eager lab off her.

All his attention was on her now and made the situation all the more awkward. She breathed a sigh of relief when he obeyed, lying at her side with his head across her thigh. “Good boy.”

“Nice catch,” the male voice said with a tone of amused appreciation.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Shifting uncomfortably, Linnet took stock of her situation. The stranger had made a good catch himself by not letting her fall into the river. Other than a bruised butt, she seemed relatively sound. Shaking her head to toss off her confusion, she looked at the man now crouching beside her as he gently worked to untangle the fish fighting for freedom.

“Thanks for ca-cat…ching me.” Her breath caught, making her stutter over the word as she stared into warm brown eyes only inches away. Hot coffee-colored eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes. The kind of lashes she wanted when dressing for a date.

Right, who was she kidding? It had been two years since a date had required clothing fancier than her current apparel. Two years since she’d had any kind of personal relations with a man. Two years since she’d even thought about wearing mascara, much less makeup of any kind. Wincing, she pushed that memory back into its deep, dark hiding place and used her hand to swish away a buzzing insect

“Um, yeah, thanks,” she muttered again and pulled her eyes away. Petting Manley to assure him she was fine gave her a moment to let her heart calm down.

“You okay?” Amusement still laced the warm voice and any cold she’d felt from the water or wet ground disappeared. Had she looked in a mirror and seen her face glow bright red she wouldn’t have been surprised. Funny, the blush seemed to cover her entire body if the all-over body heat was an indication. The only other explanation would be a hot-flash, but she was too young. “Would have been a nasty dunk if you’d fallen in. That silt is a pain to wash away. Not to mention to clean out of a weapon such as the one you have on your hip. Use it much?”

“Yeah, um, yes, I’m fine.” He was right. A swim in the Yukon could have resulted in her being dragged under and found somewhere out in the Bering Sea, if she’d ever been found at all, even with the life jacket she wore. Fallen trees and strong eddies were just some of the dangers lurking in the water. “I carry the weapon to scare off desperados and ravenous beasts.”

Nudging Manley aside, she placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself up. Let him wonder which category she placed him in. A strong hand gripped her arm and helped, doing most of the work of hauling her to her feet. “I just need to get this one’s statistics and put it back in.” The moment she was stable she stepped away, effectively shaking off the stranger’s hand as quickly as possible.

With supreme concentration, she crouched over the huge fish, using her feet to keep him from wiggling back into the water. Even though he appeared to be tiring, there was still plenty of power in his tail. Looked like his gills had been caught in the net. Probably the only reason she’d been able to pull him out at all. Nearly the size of a newborn beluga whale, she bet the damn thing would probably reach her shoulder if she stood it on its tail.

“I don’t want to leave him out of the water too long.” She hoped her explanation sufficed. Looking in the newcomer’s face again was just out of the question. There was work to be done and melting into a puddle at his feet wasn’t on her checklist.

“Let me help. He’s at least sixty-five, maybe even seventy-five pounds. Too bad you have to toss the mighty Chinook back. Good eatin’ there.” Large tanned hands expertly finished extracting the fish from the net.

Linnet passed him a handheld scale and he attached it to the monstrous mouth.

Protesting probably wouldn’t work, so she dug her tape measure from a pocket and stood when he did.

“Oh yeah, what a beauty,” the man crooned. “Seventy-six pounds. About twenty pounds under trophy weight, but still a mighty monster. The big kings like this don’t usually make it this far up river,” he added with a tone of respect. 

Linnet stretched out her tape measure. Four feet, three inches. “The size of a small, skinny pre-teen.” It wasn’t easy to ignore how easily he handled the huge fish. Probably worked out often to have that kind of strength.

The man laughed and she snuck a peek at him. Eyes danced over sculpted cheeks dark with two day’s growth of beard. It would come in darker than his sun-streaked honey blond hair, which was long enough it touched the collar of his shirt in loose waves. “Where I come from, this is the size of a child about seven years old.”

Linnet felt her heart sink even as her eyes cut to his hands looking for a wedding band. No ring and no sign he’d ever worn one, but that didn’t mean anything. Besides, what did she care? She wasn’t out here to find a man, but rather to avoid men on the make in general. She stared at him again and noticed she had to look up. Not just aim her eyes up a little, but tilt her head as well. That was unusual. Must make him well over six feet. Six-four?

Concentrating on her job again, she quickly made her other measurements and jotted them down on her clipboard. Figures George hadn’t told her more about this mysterious friend of his. Probably never occurred to him to mention the man was a walking wet dream.

Good lord, where had that thought come from? Shaking her head to rid herself of a brief fantasy where she looked down at him framed by the curtains of her hair, she tried to remember what George had told her about the man. Not much. Apparently she was lucky George, man-of-few-words, had mentioned him at all.

Finished, she set down the clipboard and reached for the fish as the man lifted the behemoth in his hands. “Done?” He waited for her nod. “I’ll put him back.”

“Really, you don’t have…” her protest faded away as he flashed a wide grin of white teeth and strode past her to the river. Normally teeth didn’t impress her, but the last month had shown her a horrifying array of what poor dental habits could do to people. Damn, if his straight, white teeth weren’t one of the sexier things she’d ever seen. Not to mention those tight buns as he bent over, the giant fish cradled in his hands. If he could hold the fish that easily, he could probably lift me… Just the thought made her head spin with conflicting emotions as she watched him expertly hold the fish facing upstream until it began to move again, then flipped out of his hands. 

“Okay, buddy, there you go. Hang around here and I’ll catch you fair and square.”

He talks to fish. She’d seen stranger things and people were different up here. The thought reminded her of an old quote about Alaskan men. The odds are good, but the good are odd. Just how odd, was the question that plagued her most.

The man straightened and watched the beast flick his tail and move sideways then float downstream where Linnet knew the fish would rest as if assuring himself he was still alive. In a few minutes he’d surge upstream again.

Linnet watched the man’s body shift under the almost-regulation outdoor clothes. Mosquito-proof shirt, camo fishing vest, faded jeans, brown hip-waders encasing long, long legs. Unlike her, he didn’t wear a hat and netting. Must be one of the lucky ones the blood-sucking, vampiric insects didn’t like. If there was even one mosquito in the neighborhood, it would beeline straight to her. Guaranteed. It was a sure bet her back was covered with the blood suckers.

As the man turned back toward shore, she bent to pick up her tools. She’d already decided that fish was the last one for the day. The tape measure was quickly tucked into its pocket and the scale attached to one of the many loops of the fishing vest covering her life jacket. Two quick snaps and her chest gratefully expanded, relishing release from the confining flotation device. A deep breath filled her lungs with cool, fresh air as she straightened and stretched.

Each fish she’d pulled from the river had been larger than the last. After a month of the grueling exercise, her arms had toned up and weren’t so tired as they’d been the first week. Still, the last beast, combined with her slip, put the exclamation point on her aches for a day that wasn’t quite over yet. She finished her notations and slammed her notebook shut with the pen tucked inside.

“Sooooo,” the drawn-out drawl drew her attention to her helper again. “You’re hanging with Manley. Where’s George?” The hand he extended towards her was large. “I’m Creed Willis.” 

Remembering how he’d pulled her onto the bank and the feel of his grip around her arm, she wiped hers on her hip then clasped his cool, damp palm. Of course, he’d just rinsed it in the river.

“Linnet.” Better to avoid her last name in case he recognized her first name was a type of bird. Kind of like being named Robin. Thankfully she didn’t have to endure jokes about red breasts in addition to shrubbery. Once men figured out a linnet was a species of bird, the jokes that followed about a bird in the bush were too hard to resist. And since they were in ‘the Bush’ of Alaska, the layers just increased.

“Just Linnet?” He held her hand warm and secure as she stared. Not hard, just… secure. Like she tried to pull it away. Not. His twinkling eyes messed with her composure again.

“It works for now,” she muttered and, unbelievably, felt her face flush.

He released her hand and pushed aside her vest to show her badge. “Greenbriar. Linnet Greenbriar. Pretty name. Pleased to meet you.” Before she could finish jerking away from the unwanted touch, the spreading grin on his face told her the jokes were already processing in his head.

Telling herself he was only being friendly, she kept her curled fist at her side. “Save ‘em,” she said shortly, and stepped back. “I’ve heard them all, and I do mean all.” Now if only the blood roaring through her ears would dissipate.

“What?” His hand dropped to his side and a confused look creased his face.

“The jokes about my name.” Using the opportunity to avert her face, she bent once more and picked up her dipnet. For the first time she noticed his fishing gear lying on the ground. Probably meant her head was clearing. Still, a good time to put some distance between them. Thoughts of barring the cabin door until he left seemed at once prudent and childish. “Anyhow, I’ll leave you to your fishing. Or should I ask to see your license?”

“George Nyuchuk checked it six weeks ago, but I’d be happy to show it to you,” he said as he reached for his wallet. “What happened to George anyway? This is his beat and you’re with his dog.”

She held up her hand to stop him from pulling out his fishing license. Looking at his license would only prolong this contact. “I believe you. George slipped in the mud and broke his leg. He’s in the office for the rest of the summer, so they called me up from Anchorage. He thought Manley would keep me company and provide a measure of protection at the same time.”

Creed shoved his wallet back into his pocket. “Sorry to hear about that. George is a good man to fish with. Manley makes a good guard dog, though. Knows the regulars on this stretch of the river and he’s an excellent judge of character. Do you fish?”

The animal under discussion wiggled and rubbed up against Creed in a shameless bid for attention. Attention Creed readily provided. Linnet almost envied the dog writhing under the big hands stroking his body. Was it possible to feel that much pleasure from the touch of another? With great effort she pulled her mind back to the question.

“No. I just net, measure and toss them back. That’s enough for me.”

“Nothing like fresh salmon cooked over a birch fire on the riverbank.” The look in his eyes made her want to wiggle under more than just his hands.

Immediately after that thought she wanted to slap herself. Men who looked like him felt like they were God’s gift to women. She didn’t need to be a groupie on his ego trip. Been dragged down that road already.

“If you say so.” She adjusted her grip on the dipnet and notebook, looked around the cleared bank to make sure she had everything, then shook her head to clear the unwelcome thoughts suddenly inhabiting it. “We’ll leave you to it. Have a good evening. Manley, come.”

The dog reluctantly came to her side. After a month of being her obedient and enthusiastic companion, his action was telling. Definitely George’s friend. Great. What had George said about the man? A loner who liked to spend hours in the river fishing. She patted Manley’s head and took her first step.

“Wait.” Creed’s tone more than his word stopped her. As if he wanted to keep her there. At her heels, Manley stopped as well and sat down. “Are you staying out here? I pulled up at the cabin back that way and noticed the truck outside.” He pointed upstream toward the cabin. 

Good manners said all travelers were welcome at the old log cabin, which was open for public use. George had told her it was on private homestead land, but the owner purposely allowed river travelers to use it as needed. Silly to bar a perfectly warm and dry cabin to those who floated the river. It was just the Alaskan way, and all who used it knew the rules and savored the experience of living in a genuine, pioneer log cabin built in the early nineteen thirties.

Most only stayed one night before they moved down the river. If more than one party arrived on the same night, they shared the space. They stayed longer if the weather was bad or they were tired. So far she’d only had to share it one night with a family canoeing the river from Eagle to Circle and another with an older gentleman who stopped because of rain. All the others had opted for the gravel bar downstream, away from the mosquitoes and biting flies. Smart people.

Only a handful of people knew how to access the cabin over land, via a track not worthy to be called a road. Since neither vehicles nor road could be seen from the river, the secret stayed secure. Even with a detailed map, she’d needed GPS coordinates to find the final turn-off from the Steese Highway to travel the last twenty miles over the four-wheel-drive-only track between the trees. A drive that discouraged her from daily trips to the nearest town for groceries. In four weeks, she’d only been out once by the road.

“Yes, that’s my truck. If you want the cabin, I can set up my tent. I’m prepared to give way to citizens.” Damn. Because Manley and any bears in the area weren’t a good mix in a tent, she’d chosen the cabin. The truck was big enough they could sleep there again. George had assured her Manley knew all about camping. He’d never mentioned whether or not this friend stayed in the cabin or pitched a tent.

“No, don’t move out. There’s a tent in the shed I can use. Since it’s a good place to park, I hope you don’t mind if I set up near there?”

“No. No problem.” Yes, there was a problem, but she could bar the door at night and had a couple of weapons handy, not to mention Manley was well trained with voice commands and would attack on order. Creed didn’t look like a murderer or rapist, but you never knew out here in the wilderness.

Looks, as she well knew, could be deceiving, and she was miles away from anywhere… A moment of panic iced her blood before she shook it off. Manley knew him. Would Manley protect her from a man he knew? Who was more dangerous? The two- or four-legged predator? Nevertheless, Creed was right; it was one of the better camping spots with the flat ground around the cabin, a fire pit and an outhouse. 

“Nice truck.”

“What about it?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes. This is where he’d say something cute and patronizing about girls out in the wilderness.

“Hey, I’m not trying to harass you. I just like the decal on the back. It’s wrong, but I like it.” He gave her a boyish smile and she felt one side of her mouth curving up to return it before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, well, you’re allowed to have your own opinion.” Teasing? Where did teasing come from? Seeking to regain control, she forced her expression to fade into the neutral cop face she was learning to cultivate to hold strangers at bay. “Enjoy the fishing. There are some big ones out there right now.”

“No kidding. A hog like that one would feed me all winter. I’m not usually so lucky.”

“Well, remember your limit. Good night.” Feeling as if she fled, she turned and strode into the trees with Manley at her side.

* * * *

Good night? Creed glanced at his watch again. Early August meant the days were still long. No, his time sense wasn’t that far off. It was only seven in the evening. Maybe she just knew fishermen. He was likely to stay out here until it grew too dark to see or he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. A couple of times this summer he’d fished all night and not realized it. It was easy to lose track of time out here when the sun didn’t set long enough for even dusk to settle. This close to the Arctic Circle the sun didn’t set at all for a week on either side of the Summer Solstice.

But not tonight. It had been a long day and all he wanted tonight was fresh salmon cooked over an open flame for dinner. He’d get to the more serious fishing tomorrow. The sooner he caught the fish, the sooner he could get back to camp, set up, and find out more about his neighbor for the next week and a half.

Intimately familiar with his gear, five minutes later he stood knee deep in the water. As the river pushed at his legs, the soothing flow washed away all the cares of the outside world. Standing on the edge with the mile wide, flat river before him put life in perspective. The sheer vastness of the river and the land around him reduced his problems and worries to specks no larger than the swarm of gnats hovering nearby.

The last four weeks had seemed endless, but now he was here. Just twelve hours ago he’d eaten breakfast a few hundred miles to the north. Less than an hour off the plane and he’d been in his truck for the four hour drive to the river, the last forty miles pure dust and grit after several weeks of sun and little rain. He’d dreamt about this every night for the last week. This was the life. Just him and the river. One trying to hold onto the fish, one trying to steal them out. An ancient battle. One he was very good at.

The image of Linnet standing in the current came back to him as he made a deep cast out into the water. He’d noticed right away that she was taller than most women when she stood next to him. Despite the layers of clothing . . .