Chapter 2

Fisher

I walked downto The Rusty Hook and wound my way through the growing crowd in the dimly lit pub. It was a favorite of locals, tucked against a rocky bit of shoreline that attracted fewer tourists. But it still got overflow from The Drunken Worm and Dirty Dockers, which were nearer the marina.

I spotted my friends seated around a table repurposed from an old barrel. The Rusty Hook embraced lake decor, with boat oars and fishing rods on the walls, plank flooring, and lantern lighting.

Cash was mid-story, Poppy and Sawyer rolling their eyes, when I joined them.

"Then she invited me to her room at The Birdhouse, so it looks like I've still got it."

Cash grinned. He was by far the best looking of our little crew with coal-dark hair and blue eyes framed by long lashes. He'd be pretty if not for the strong set of his jaw and the scruff that almost—but only almost—hid his dimples.

"You've got something," Sawyer muttered, sprawling back in his seat, legs long enough to nearly rival Hudson's height. He was slim where Hudson was broad, though, and about fifteen years younger. Like Hudson, he worked the boats, and I was jealous that he got to spend so much time with him.

Poppy swatted my upper arm, her curly red hair bouncing with the movement. "About time you got here, Fish. I know we're not as interesting as Hudson, but…"

Cash laughed, eyes bright. "Yeah, man, you need to schedule your Hudson drooling sessions so you're not standing us up."

"Shut up," I said, tossing a coaster at him. "I was not drooling."

"But he is the reason you're late, huh?" Sawyer teased.

I shook my head. "My cousin Beck called to catch up, but I did have to run interference between Hudson and my dad yesterday."

"You should tell them to grow up," Poppy said. "They're too old to behave like such children."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think that'd work, but thanks for the advice."

"You're welcome," she said, voice sugary sweet as she smiled and picked up her glass of Coke to sip. Poppy never drank alcohol. She said we did a good enough job making idiots of ourselves without her joining in. She was full of wonderful tidbits of wisdom like that.

A mug plonked down in front of me. "There. Don't say I never gave you anything."

My cousin Brooks grabbed a free chair and dragged it over to sit.

"Shouldn't you be tending bar?" I asked. "Looks kind of busy tonight."

"Eh, let 'em wait," he said. "Season's barely starting and I'm already sick of the tourists."

"You don't get that many here," I said. "I'd think you'd need the business."

Brooks shrugged a big shoulder. Unlike me, who was lean, he was barrel-chested and stacked with muscle. Must be lugging around all those cases of beer and crap. Maybe I should get a job at the pub, bulk up a bit. Maybe Hudson would stop looking at me like I was a child then…

"It's not like I own the place. What do I care? But honestly, beer is always good business. We'd be just fine without the tourists."

"Tourists aren't so bad," Cash said. "I'd never get laid without them."

I snorted. I was pretty sure he'd still get laid whenever he wanted.

"You might have to date Poppy," I teased.

Poppy shuddered. "Not in a million years."

Cash slapped a hand to his chest. "You wound me. Luckily, I swing both ways." He waggled his eyebrows at Sawyer.

"Oh hell no," Sawyer said with a chuckle.

"What am I?" I complained. "Chopped liver?"

"No. You're Hudson bait," Cash said.

My face heated as my friends laughed at me. My interest in the hunky boat captain was the worst-kept secret in the Lake of the Ozarks. It was a miracle Dad hadn't found out. He wouldn't appreciate that I was hot for his least favorite person on the lake.

I flipped them all the bird and took a big gulp of my beer. I was going to need it tonight.

"Uh, Brooks, the line at the bar is getting restless."

With a grumble about impatient drunks, Brooks stood and headed across the pub.

"You know, you all act like we're overrun," I said, "but Swallow Cove needs more tourists, not less."

"You won't hear me complaining," Poppy said. "Little Clay Pot could use more shoppers."

Poppy ran a small store with her dad further inland that specialized in pottery. Her dad was the craftsman, but she painted his pottery and managed the business side of things. She traveled to festivals all over the region to sell their wares and was one of the hardest-working people I knew.

"Oh." I perked up. "That reminds me of something Hudson said."

Sawyer smirked. "Of course it does."

"Seriously," I said. "When he came by the store, he wanted to talk to my dad about some kind of event he's organizing."

"Oh yeah?" Poppy asked. "What is it?"

"No idea."

Cash stood. "Okay, on that note, I'm out. I have people to do and things to see."

"Nice," Sawyer said.

"Don't let Declan see you," I teased. "He might ban you from the establishment again."

Cash's sunny smile dropped, and he huffed. "That guy. I don't understand why he hates me so much."

"Maybe because you practically live at his BB when you don't have a room there?"

Cash shook his head. "I've never met such a grumpy asshole, man."

"Well, you bring out the best in everyone, sweetie," Poppy said with a shit-eating smile and flutter of her eyelashes.

Cash tossed some money on the table, flipped us the bird, and took off. Sawyer pushed his chair back next. "I gotta go too."

"Already?"

"Stuck on the booze cruise again," he said with a grimace. "It sucks to be the youngest guy on the crew. I've got to pay my dues, you know?"

"Can't you just tell Hudson you don't want to do it?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. No one else wants to deal with drunk idiots—or the dumb-ass DreamBoats."

The DreamBoats were a boat touring company based out of Swallow Beach, but one that specialized in hauling partiers around the lake at night.

"It's a fucking hazard." Sawyer continued to grumble. "I just hope Ashton isn't out there tonight. One of these days, I'm gonna actually lose my shit and kick his ass."

"Maybe he hates it as much as you do," Poppy suggested.

"I doubt it," he said. "He's always the life of the fucking party, laughing louder than the damn drunks."

He'd had a beef with Ashton for just about as long as I'd known him, which was going on eight years now. Sawyer moved to Swallow Cove in high school, but he was four years older than me, so we hadn't had any classes together. Still, in a place like Swallow Cove, made up of an aging population, anyone under thirty tended to stick together, friends by default.

We'd had to commute by bus to a school in the next county, and once we graduated, the small handful of people our age had mostly gone off to college or other communities that offered more job opportunities.

I'd opted to do a combination of online classes with some commuting so I could stay home and help Dad with the store. He would never admit it, but his business was struggling to be relevant in a changing world.

Dad wasn't one to embrace change, but I hoped with my business school education, I could help him see a new way forward in the future.

Like me, Poppy stuck around to help with the family business. Sawyer loved the lake too much to leave. Cash liked the steady diet of tourist hookups. And Brooks? He stayed to look after his grandma.

Sawyer threw a few dollars on the table and left me and Poppy.

She leaned in over the table. "So you don't know anything about this event Hudson is organizing?"

I shrugged. "He said it would bring in business."

Her eyes lit up. "Good enough. I'm going to hunt that man down and get some details. Dad will be excited for a little boost."

I sighed. "You're so lucky your dad listens to you. Mine just pats me on the head like I'm a cute little boy and dismisses everything I say."

"Well, I'm sure he'll eventually listen," she said, placating me. This was a regular complaint of mine, and she'd heard it all before.

"I doubt it."

"Look on the bright side, Fish," she said. "My dad is horribly disorganized. I've been running the business since I was a kid. I would love a dad who had his shit so together he didn't need me."

I scrunched up my nose because I wasn't so sure that was an accurate assessment. Dad might know how to run his store, but he was stuck: stuck in his ways, stuck in old-fashioned notions, stuck in a rut that kept him from ever doing more than scraping by.

His business could be so much more, but not unless he opened his eyes and realized that Swallow Cove couldn't stay frozen in time and neither could he.

Hudson

I met Sawyer at his pickup point at Swallow Beach for the evening booze cruise around the lake. The night air was ringing with hoots and hollers as the lake began to transition from family days out to parties on the water.

Sawyer was so busy scowling at Ashton with DreamBoat Tours that he didn't notice me until I was beside him.

"How's it going?" I asked.

Sawyer jumped. "Uh, hey, Hud. Same old shit."

"Is there a problem with Ashton?"

"No," he said quickly. "Nope. Just keeping an eye on the competition. You know how it is."

"Mm-hmm. Well, how about you keep an eye on our customers?" I suggested. "They'll be arriving any minute. You ready to go?"

"Yeah, of course. I've already taken inventory of all the life jackets."

That was basic safety protocol, but it was especially important when dealing with people who were drinking. None of us enjoyed running booze cruises. Well, DreamBoat Tours had built its entire business around it, but none of us enjoyed it. Still, it was a hell of a lot safer than letting these partiers drive under the influence—which also happened all too often.

There was a reason Lake of the Ozarks has been called one of the most dangerous in America.

"Good," I said. "I wanted a quick word before you got too busy."

"Okay…"

"I'm organizing an event that'll bring more traffic over to Swallow Cove."

"Oh yeah, Fisher mentioned it."

"He did?"

"He said you stopped by his dad's shop."

I nodded. "Yeah. He say anything else?"

Sawyer gave me a long, steady look. I squirmed under that searching gaze, worried he'd discover the secrets I was keeping. Secrets like a little too much interest in Fisher and what he might say about me.

"Not really," he said after a long, uncomfortable beat. "He didn't know the details."

"Right. Well, it's going to mean some adjustments to staffing. I'm going to need you to step up while I'm handling this event."

"Me? But I'm the new guy."

I scoffed. "You're not that new. Besides, these other boat captains, they're all about going out on the water. But they didn't take a job like that to manage people."

Sawyer looked confused. "And I did?"

"Well, I don't know. But you're young. You've got a good head on your shoulders when you're not being stupid about Ashton—"

"What? I'm not—"

"You let him get under your skin," I said bluntly. "But that's beside the point. I'm trying to tell you that you could have a future doing more than just driving partiers around the lake."

"That would be nice," he muttered.

"If you step up while I do this event, it'll be a good test of whether you can step up in other ways." I held his gaze. "I've got some decisions to make about the business, including whether or not to expand to other locations, but I would need more reliable staff to do it. Understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah." Sawyer nodded. "Just let me know what you need, Hudson. I'm your man."

"Good deal." I watched a group of smiling twenty-something tourists approaching. "I'll let you get to work."

While Sawyer took charge of boarding his passengers, I took off in the bowrider I kept for personal use and headed down the lake. I'd spent most of the afternoon catching up on paperwork, and my rumbling stomach scolded me for skipping lunch.

I had the makings for a sandwich waiting for me at my houseboat, but I couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for it. It'd been too long since I'd been out fishing to catch a decent supper. At least eating out meant I was supporting local business, right?

Catch of the Day was packed. I could tell by the number of boats cluttering the dock behind it. The Savory Swallow would be quieter, seeing as it was a more expensive, upscale restaurant, but I wasn't dressed for that atmosphere, so I pulled up outside The Rusty Hook instead.

One of Fisher's regular haunts.

And a good reason to go somewhere else.

It was busy too, but I knew that most of its clientele would be drinking so the wait for food shouldn't be long. I docked my boat and went inside, cursing myself as an idiot the whole way.

I needed to stay away from that boy.

I had no intention of talking to him, of course. But this stalkery behavior was hardly any better.

I scanned the dim room, gaze jumping from face to face, searching for the one I shouldn't want to see.

"Looking for someone?"

I jumped, probably looking as guilty as Sawyer had when I'd surprised him.

Declan, the owner of the Treehouse BB, gave me a sour look—but that was just his face. He wasn't a chipper sort of guy.

"You're jumpy tonight," he said.

"Just hungry," I said. "What are you doing out and about? I'd think tonight would be busy at the BB."

"Oh, it is," he said with an eye roll. "Fucking Cash is already making himself right at home."

I laughed. Cash was a never-ending source of annoyance to Declan. Something about his smirk and his cocky swagger and his presumptuous strolls through the place when he wasn't a paying guest. I'd heard it all, and frankly, I thought Declan protested a little too much. Cash was a very good-looking guy, after all.

I nudged Declan toward two open seats at the bar. "Why don't you just go for it?"

"Go for what?

"Cash."

Declan sputtered, face reddening. "Go for— What, Cash? Why would I…" He huffed. "Well, that's just nonsense."

I grinned. "Sure it is."

"It is," he insisted as we sat down. "It's ridiculous!"

Brooks chose that moment to stop in front of us. "What's ridiculous?"

I wiggled my brows. "Declan and Cash."

Brooks laughed. "That'd be a sight to see, wouldn't it?" He gave Declan a considering look. "Hmm."

"Oh, stop. You're a bartender. Pour me a drink."

Brooks snorted. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

We'd both been to the pub enough times that Brooks knew our drinks of choice. He mixed a Jack-and-Coke for Declan and pulled a beer for me.

While he worked, I listened to Declan complain and scanned over the menu, not that I didn't have most of it memorized by now. "Brooks, get me an order of the Jamaican jerk wings and a side of those prime rib potato skins, will you?"

"Damn, Hud, is some of that for me?" Declan asked.

"I've barely eaten today. Order your own gut bomb."

He chuckled. "I'll take the skillet trout. I'd rather not die of a heart attack tonight."

Brooks grinned. "Declan has a point, Hudson. You're not getting any younger."

"Thanks," I said dryly.

At forty-one, I didn't need any reminders that I wasn't as young as I used to be. My aching muscles told me well enough after a long day out on the boat.

Brooks left to give our ticket to the kitchen and serve another customer a few seats down the bar, a slender guy with hair so blond it was nearly white.

Declan continued to bitch about Cash, and I was tempted to shake some sense into the man. He didn't have a twenty-year age gap holding him back or a guy's father who hated his guts. But Declan wasn't the type to make a move. Hell, he might not even recognize a move made on him.

Sometimes I wondered if he might be asexual or demisexual, but he'd never confirmed or denied.

When Brooks returned with our dinner, it was a relief to fall on the wings and change the subject.

"Brooks, you got any interest in participating in a dock hop I'm organizing?"

"What the hell is a dock hop?" he asked, sounding distracted, his gaze back on the pretty-looking rich boy. As far as I knew, Brooks had no interest in men, so there must be something else about that guy holding his attention.

"Well, the idea is to bring in more tourists and get them to explore local businesses. They have to stop at designated docks, go inside, and find a scavenger item. That way they spend a little time looking around."

"Huh. Sounds like a pain in the ass."

"Well, don't get too excited," I said. "I thought you might like to make more money."

I had expected more enthusiasm for drumming up more business. Swallow Cove couldn't survive without the tourists these folks seemed to hate. About ten years ago, there'd been more of an independent town here—or so I heard; it was before my time, since I'd only moved into the area five years back. As young people grew up and left and older folks died, the town had dwindled in size and a lot of folks were barely scraping by in the offseason.

Which was why we needed to take a page from Swallow Beach's book, even if we weren't ever going to be a party destination, and use tourism to our advantage.

"I guess I can ask Dirty Dockers instead," I said, bringing up a rival pub to get his back up. It worked.

Brooks shot me a glare. "I'll check with the owners."

I wiped my mouth with a napkin and finished off my beer. "Sounds good."

I glanced around the pub one more time, unable to resist the urge, as I stuffed a few bills into Brooks's tip jar.

"He's not here," he said.

"Who?"

"Fisher." He gave me a pointed look. "He's not here, and even if he was, that's a bad idea. Uncle Boone would shit a brick."

I groaned. "You don't have to tell me. I already know."

"Then here's my tip to you: Stop looking for him."

I couldn't deny that was damn good advice. If only I could get my fucking eyeballs to behave.

Since I couldn't, I took my sorry ass out of the pub and headed home, where I'd get myself into less trouble.