Catching Mr. Right
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Carol Ross
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23
CHAPTER ONE
THE KID COULDN’T be more than ten or eleven years old, Seth James decided. He watched the kid’s skillful maneuvering of the well-used bass boat toward the shady cypress cove. Seth had a pretty good view from his seat on the opposite bank of the channel just up from where it spilled into the flat water of Louisiana’s picturesque Lake Belle Rose.
Skinny and long-limbed, the kid wore faded coveralls, and a bucket hat shielded his face from the rays of the afternoon sun. Standing on the bow with the easy confidence of a practiced angler, he simultaneously worked the electric motor’s foot controls and readied the fishing rod he held in his hands.
Open-faced reel, Seth noted, as the boat slowed. That alone suggested a measure of skill. A notion the kid proceeded to prove with a smooth flick of the wrist, casting in among the trees. The lure sailed smoothly through the air, sliding perfectly into place under a thatch of low hanging branches with a quiet plop. Tipping the rod up and to the left, he reeled in and cast again and again in rapid succession, each time placing the lure a little to the right of the previous attempt. And then, on maybe the fifth cast...
Bam!
The line went taut, the rod bowing as a fish hit the lure and bolted. He reeled, steady and smooth, keeping the line nice and tight. The fish fought, jumping and showing itself to be a good-sized catch. Calmly, like he’d done it a million times, he smoothly landed the large-mouth bass. Seth felt himself grinning with equal parts of admiration and envy. A distinctive feeling, which his own lifetime of angling experience had convinced him only this sport generated.
Working quickly and efficiently, the kid slid a thumb inside the fish’s mouth to grip its bottom lip, and then removed the hook. Holding the fish vertically to prevent any harm, he lowered to his knees and produced a portable scale, clipped it in place, took the weight, and then snapped a photo with a cell phone. Then he leaned over and, with gentle hands, released the fish back into the water.
When Seth had pulled into Bayou Doré RV & Campground Resort, he’d immediately spotted the sign reading Lake Belle Rose 32nd Annual Junior Fishing Derby. The number of parked vehicles with empty boat trailers suggested it was a popular event. The registration office was unlocked, but no one was inside. A note on the counter instructed visitors to head toward the dock, “where someone will be with you shortly.” He’d found the dock easily enough, but it, too, was devoid of people. Spotting a pair of empty Adirondack chairs several yards away and shaded by a patch of trees, he’d wandered over and taken a seat.
Minutes later, boy and boat had motored around the corner, and up the mouth of the channel where he’d proceeded with his unintentional bass master tutorial. Seeing how Seth had arrived in the state only hours before, it felt like the perfect introduction. Especially since he knew he was early and had some time to kill. He was glad for the opportunity to get his bearings and soak in the beauty of the lush surroundings.
The warm air felt pleasantly heavy. Tiny insects flitted and buzzed around him. To his left, trees and thick vegetation provided shade from the heat of the waning sun’s late spring rays. Some of the trees he could identify like tupelo, willow and, of course, the giant cypress with its scarf-like strands of Spanish moss swaying gently in the breeze. Bushes, flowers, vines, he wasn’t as confident about, but they all mingled together in an extremely pleasing way. The landscape couldn’t get much different than his home on the southern Alaska coast.
And that was okay with him. He’d traveled to plenty of other states and countries, and so long as fishing was the common language, he got along just fine. He had no doubt that the reps from Romeo Reels would see that about him, too, once they arrived. Upon being notified about their flight delay, Seth had decided to rent a vehicle and find his own way to this idyllic Louisiana outpost.
As one of three finalists shortlisted for a spot on Romeo Reels’ pro staff, this was the next step. A very big step. Not only did the contract guarantee a position as a sponsored angler, but it also included the coveted title as the fishing gear and tackle company’s spokesperson, their “star ambassador.” Seth had every intention of being the new face of Romeo Reels.
Even though this junket felt like a bit of a respite, these last few weeks would be intense. Romeo wanted to see each of the final competitors out in the field, interacting with other anglers and the public in a setting different than they were used to. For the next few days, he and two representatives from Romeo Reels would be fishing with fellow finalist Vic Thibodeaux.
Next, Vic would head to Minnesota to fish with the other finalist Henry Foster. Seth would then host Henry in Alaska. When the individual trips were completed, the three finalists would be flown to Maritown, Florida, for the Pro Plus Fishing & Outdoor Expo, one of the largest fishing shows in the world. There, they’d present workshops, participate in demos, interviews, events, and meet with Romeo Reels executives and members of the spokesperson selection committee.
Seth, focus still on the water, watched as the kid suddenly turned and squinted toward the shoreline. Two things occurred then; he realized that the boy was actually a girl, and said girl went wide-eyed as her gaze latched onto his. Grimacing, she set the pole to one side and removed something from her pocket. A pair of clippers he realized when she snipped the lure from the end of the line and tucked it into her pocket. The move made Seth smile again because he knew she was stowing it out of sight of fellow derby contestants. He would have done the same thing. Settling at the helm once more, she nudged the throttle and motored straight toward the dock where she hopped off the boat and hastily secured it to the dock with an expert cleat hitch.
“Hello, there,” she called with a wave, every trace of the grimace now buried beneath her pleasing accent and friendly smile. Slender with long legs, she strode across the wooden planks in a deliberate, graceful manner that reminded him of his sister and fellow triplet Iris.
When she reached the end of the dock, she jogged over to stand before him. “Can I help you, sir?”
Both taken with and taken aback by her professional demeanor, Seth muttered, “Oh, uh, I don’t...know. Maybe. Do you work here?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do. My family owns this place. Are you here for the derby? Or checking in as a guest?” She removed the sun-faded cap from her head, and now he could see her hair twisted into a bun low on the back of her head. Pausing to take this all in, Seth noticed that her sense of style was more reminiscent of himself and his sister Hazel, who comprised the final third of his sibling trio. The coveralls she wore were faded and knee worn, and her dingy tennis shoes sported mismatched laces. One had a hole in the toe. Slung from one shoulder was a tattered and stained fishing vest, the pockets bulging with bait and tackle. He owned a nearly identical vest, albeit in a much larger size, currently packed in his suitcase.
“No. And yes. But aren’t you competing in the derby? I don’t want to keep you.” Seth gestured at the water, recalling how competitive he’d been at her age. Who was he kidding? He was still that competitive when it came to fishing.
Valiantly fighting a scowl, she answered, “No, sir, I am not.”
“But I just saw you land that monster bass. Well done, by the way. I know people who’ve fished their whole lives who couldn’t make those casts.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t even try to stop the grin that erupted across her face. “Biggest one of the derby, by far.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t competing?” How else would she know that if she wasn’t? Offshore, Seth noticed an airboat cruising in their direction.
The sound must have reached her, too, because she glanced over her shoulder. When she faced him again, a staid expression was back in place, and she answered with a cagey, “Yeah, I’m not.”
“Can I ask why?”
Nostrils flaring slightly, her mouth formed a tight, flat line. The topic obviously irritated her, but she was trying to suppress it. Sighing, she looked down and nudged the ground with her toe. From the worn hole in her sneaker, it looked like a habit she might often employ in times of stressful interrogation. Yet her answer was spoken with straight-up diplomacy that Seth could only admire. “My mama says I have an unfair advantage.”
“I see.” Seth knew the feeling. Knew it well. And disagreed on principle. It reminded him of the time he’d covertly entered a local junior fishing derby after his dad told him he shouldn’t. Ultimately, the win had been worth the admonishment he’d received after his dad found out. “Because you’re so much better than other kids your age?”
“Yes.” Nibbling on her lip, she seemed to be struggling not to say more.
“How is it your fault that other kids choose to spend their time engaged in any activity that isn’t fishing? You’re not complaining because they’re better at some video game or have a longer snapstreak than you do, am I right?”
“Exactly!” She cried, throwing up her hands. “Put down your stupid phone and go get your fishing pole for crying out loud! I’m not stopping you.”
They laughed together.
“Spinnerbait?” he asked, tipping his chin toward the lake.
Grinning slyly, she nodded and threw a sidelong glance at the water. “Mmm-hmm. Need something flashy today. Water’s still a little murky on account of the rain we had last week.” Not, Seth noted, offering up the brand, type, size or color of the lure. A true angler and a kindred spirit.
They were chatting about all things bass related—lures, water conditions, weather, the spring spawn—when the airboat pulled up to the dock. Peripherally, Seth saw a brown-haired tallish woman exit the vessel and tie up next to the bass boat.
He was too intent on the mini-Seth standing before him to observe anything further. Not only was the girl entertaining, she was also a wealth of angling information. Information that could prove vital to him in the following days. The woman headed their way, and, sensing she was about to interrupt the conversation, he realized he hadn’t introduced himself.
Reaching out a hand, he said, “By the way, my name is Seth, Seth James.”
Still smiling, she said, “It’s real nice to meet you, Mr. James. I’m Scarlett.”
“Please, call me Seth.”
“I’m not sure if Mama or my grandmas will like that, but I’ll give it a try.”
As he’d suspected, the woman approached and asked, “What won’t we like, Scarlett?”
“If she calls me by my first name,” Seth answered for her, finally looking at the woman. And for the first time since he’d stepped foot in Louisiana, he was admiring something more beautiful than the scenery. Like her daughter, the woman was slender with long limbs and narrow shoulders. An effect that made her seem taller than she was, he realized, as she stood next to Scarlett. Her brown hair was a shade or two lighter than her daughter’s and tinged with more red. Although, that could have been because more of hers was glistening in the sunlight, piled as it was up on top of her head. They had matching green eyes, too, and hers were sparkling with affection when they settled on Scarlett.
He wondered if she liked to fish as much as her daughter. What would that be like, he wondered, to be with a woman who liked to fish as much as he did? Or was there a husband in the picture? Scarlett had said her family owned the place, so maybe this woman’s husband was Vic Thibodeaux? Probably not a good idea to admire the wife of the man with whom he’d soon be fishing with—and competing against.
“That does feel a bit familiar,” the woman said good-naturedly.
Tilting her head, Scarlett nudged her eyebrows upward in a lighthearted I-told-you-so expression.
“You can ask Mémé what she thinks if you don’t like my answer?” Scarlett’s mom suggested.
Scarlett groaned. “Very funny. I already know what she’ll say. She won’t even let me call Mr. Landry by his first name, and I’ve known him since birth.”
“Hey, I call him Mr. Landry, too, and I’ve known him since my own birth.” Her arm went around Scarlett’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
The woman turned a polite smile on him. “What can I do for you? Is Scarlett taking care of you? Are you checking in? Doing some fishing?”
“Yes, Scarlett has been extremely gracious and helpful. And I will be checking in and doing some fishing. I’m supposed to ask for Vic Thibodeaux?”
“Oh.” Surprise had her eyebrows drifting up onto her brow. “You’re early, I think. Aren’t you?”
“I am a bit. I hope that’s not an inconvenience?”
“Not at all,” she assured him.
“Is he here?” Seth asked and then found himself blurting what he really wanted to know, “Is Vic your husband?” Nice, Seth, he chastised himself as heat crept up his neck, very subtle.
The woman’s expression had twisted with uncertainty while he was busy embarrassing himself with tactless curiosity.
“No, I’m—”
“She doesn’t have a husband,” Scarlett interrupted brightly.
“Vic,” the woman finished at the same time, reaching out a hand. “I’m Vic, Victoria Thibodeaux, your fellow finalist. I’ll be your fishing guide while you’re here in Louisiana.”
“SETH JAMES,” THE MAN introduced himself, clearing up any lingering uncertainty Victoria had about his identity.
Seth James, her competition. He enfolded her hand in his, agitating the awareness already coursing through her. What was up with that?
She’d been helping her grandmother and her mother run Bayou Doré her entire life. It wasn’t like she was a stranger to handsome men. In fact, that’s how she’d met Scarlett’s daddy. A relationship that, aside from Scarlett, had caused her nothing but misery and regret. Victoria hadn’t invited another man into her life since. And she had no plans to do so, especially with the Romeo Reels spokesperson contract within her grasp. Which, now that she thought about it, was undoubtedly the reason behind the tummy spin. Nerves. This guy was her rival for a job that would change her life, a job she’d do anything to earn.
Short of winning the lottery, she couldn’t imagine anything else that could compare. Except, where the lottery was all luck, she’d worked her tail off for this opportunity.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. James, and welcome. Have Mr. Drewson and Ms. Rivas arrived then, too?”
“Please, call me Seth. No, they haven’t. Did you not get the email saying their plane was delayed?”
“Thank you for letting me know. I’m sure I probably did get it, but I’ve been out on the lake and haven’t checked my email.”
The derby had taken all her time and energy today. And yesterday, too, for that matter. As fun as it was, the annual event tended to wear her out. Tired and nervous was probably not the best way to begin this endeavor. The Romeo Reels reps would be watching her every move, assessing, evaluating, judging. Even though this was her home turf, she needed to be on her game.
At least, the delay gave her some extra time to get her wits about her. And, she realized, it also lent her the perfect opportunity to assess her competition.
“Scarlett, will you head on up to the house and let your gram know that Mr. James is here? He’s going to be staying in Cabin 3, and I’m not sure if the bed has been made yet. Grab the key, and we’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Yes, Mama,” Scarlett answered and jogged away toward the office.
Vic turned on her most gracious smile, honed from a lifetime of working with the public, and faced her rival. “All right then, Mr. James, if you’d like to walk with me, I’ll give you a quick overview of our facilities here at Bayou Doré.”
While I take a quick overview of you.
