Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

any other fishermen with Garrett as loud as the law onboard, and she didn’t want to answer questions over what had happened with Earl last night.
    Word had already gotten around the bay. She felt the prying stares, had ignored the probing questions. She’d pretty much done a good job of staying in her own little bubble in her broken down pilot house. She’d only been able to cover one of the windows with plastic. The other had to stay open so she could see and converse with her crew.
    Luckily the day had turned warm and sunny. The temp flirted around the sixty-five degree mark. A true heat wave for this part of Alaska. Sonya currently wore a short-sleeve t-shirt sporting the words, “Get Reel—Go Fish.” The guys were similarly dressed. They’d even had to pass around the bottle of sunscreen. Nothing like being on the water, in an aluminum boat, to produce killer sunburns if they weren’t protected.
    Wes and Peter were putting Garrett through the paces. Good thing he’d swallowed a few Tylenol. The man was a greenhorn, having only fished with a rod and reel before. Drifting was a different kind of animal.
    Sonya consulted the depth finder. She was in four feet of water, drifting over a sandbar. She glanced at the clock and then reviewed the tide charts. Another half hour until high tide, so she was fine drifting where she was. When the tide turned, she’d have to be careful hanging out over the sandbar so she didn’t run aground. There wasn’t another drift boat within a thousand yards of her. With their deep hulls, they couldn’t drift in shallow water and had to steer clear of areas like this one. With its flat bottom, the Double Dippin’ would be fine in two feet of water.
    She raised the binoculars and scanned the cork lines. Not a lot of splashing going on, but hanging over a sandbar had to be where the fish were. Salmon liked shallow water and her lead lines were sitting on the bottom. The net had already been soaking longer than she normally preferred. She’d been hoping the sandbar would produce a net full of fish, but no sign of white fire.
    There weren’t many fishing days left. While she wouldn’t call this season a bust—she had made expenses—it sure hadn’t lived up to the bumper year she’d hoped. All she’d gained this year by drifting and set netting was more work, less sleep, and too many enemies. She shook her head. She wasn’t defeated yet. There was still time and salmon left to catch. She’d turn this season around. Damned if she wouldn’t.
    She’d given the net enough time. If it hadn’t caught any fish, it was time to find another fishing hole. “All right, guys,” she hollered to her crew. “Let’s reel her in.”
    She engaged the hydraulics. Peter grabbed the end of the lead lines as the net came over the front rollers, and secured it to the cork line and reel. The reel groaned, and Sonya added more power.
    Silver flashing tails and fins flapped over the rollers in a heap of writhing fishermen’s currency.
    Wes let out a holler.
    “Hot damn,” Peter added as the salmon-laden net slid slowly over the rollers.
    Excitement shot like a sexual thrill through her middle. Hot damn was right. The fish had been caught on the lead lines, which was why there hadn’t been a lot of splashing.
    The tide still hadn’t turned, which meant if they were quick, they could get another chance at cleaning up the sandbar. “Guys, you’ll need to pick and round-haul that net in as fast as you can so we can get it back in the water.” With Garrett aboard, they’d be strictly adhering to each and every blasted rule.
    She’d stumbled across one sweet fishing hole.
    Peter scrambled for he knew what work lay ahead. This haul meant a lot to him too. Garrett was going to wish he’d remained on the Calypso after today. Peter motioned for Garrett to take the lead lines, while he chose the corks. Sonya couldn’t help but feel proud.
    She blasted the Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA” for Garrett over the speakers. Wes went to relieve Garrett for a spell. Garrett leaned back and wiped his forehead. He looked up at her sitting snug and comfortable in the pilot house. A smile spilt his face, and Sonya realized, with surprise, that the fish cop was enjoying himself.
    As the afternoon progressed, they proceeded to pull in net after net stocked to the gills with fish. Sonya knew it would be a record catch for them this year, if not their best ever. All the fish they’d caught today was