Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

she was. Until he took in Garrett’s sidearm, and perked up.
    “Naw, we won’t let the mud take you, Sonya.” Peter winked. “We need you for fishing.”
    It was a standing joke that the mud was out to get Sonya. The only problem was everyone thought it was funny except Sonya.
    The mud was out to get her.
    Alaska had many hazardous areas where mudflats thrived. Bristol Bay wasn’t immune. The region was blighted with them. They showed themselves at low tide and were made up of fine silt particles, the result of glaciers milling away the surrounding mountains. The mud made a treacherous quicksand—called quicksilt—that sucked at your feet and made it precarious to walk across its deceiving surface. If that wasn’t a big enough problem, the mud also contained hidden sink holes. Many an unsuspecting person had been killed when caught in a hole that seemed to have no bottom.
    One of those deadly sink holes had almost taken Sonya when she’d been sixteen. The summer after losing Sasha and her parents, she’d fallen prey to one. The mud had grabbed onto her with no intention of letting go. She’d fought for her life, while the incoming tide stealthily crept forward to drown her as Gramps, with the help of the Hartes, had worked frantically to free her from the mud’s fatal clutches. Since then, she never ventured into the mud unless she absolutely had to. What really pissed her off was that Wes, Peter, and Gramps never had a problem with the mud.
    Unfortunately, the situation with the skiff was one of those absolutes. Another thing to lay at the vandal’s feet when they caught him.
    Peter had already hooked the trailer up to the 4-wheeler so that they could bring the outboard engine back with them, in a wasted attempt to try and save it. Spending the afternoon drowned in salt water wasn’t going to do the aging outboard any good.
    The four of them were outfitted in chest waders and ready to face the mud. Well, three of them were ready. Sonya was never equipped to face the mud. Turned out, Garrett was one of those prepared cops who had a pair of waders in his Jeep. Had she really thought he wouldn’t be primed for any situation? He’d probably had a handy condom in his pocket when they were at the old Diamond O Cannery, too, just in case.
    Wes currently kept watch aboard the Double Dippin’. Sonya wasn’t taking any chances leaving the drift boat unattended with all that had happened.
    “You ready, Sonya?” Gramps asked.
    “As I’ll ever be,” she muttered, wishing she could be doing anything else at the moment. She’d rather have a Brazilian wax than traipse through the mud.
    Garrett laid a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
    The heat from his palm cupping her shoulder made her want to rub against him, much the way a cat would. She stepped forward to break the contact before she did just that. “I’m fine. I just have a healthy respect for the mud.”
    “You can wait here while we take a look and get the engine,” Gramps said, mounting the 4-wheeler behind Peter.
    “No.” She was running the fishing operation now, and she’d be involved in every aspect of it, whether she liked it—feared it—or not. She turned to the remaining 4-wheeler and climbed aboard, sweat already breaking out over her body.
    “Do you want me to drive?” Garrett asked.
    “No, I can do it.” She could, damn it. If she had to confront the mud, she was definitely driving. She’d be the first to admit she had control issues and wasn’t about to put her fate in the hands of anyone else, no matter how capable Garrett’s hands seemed to be.
    Garrett swung a leg over, and nuzzled up behind her on the seat that hadn’t seemed that small a few seconds ago.
    “Do you have to sit so close?” She tried to ignore the heat infusing her body with him plastered against her.
    “Yes.” His breath caressed her ear as his rock-hard chest pressed against her back. “I do.”
    “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
    “Probably more than I should. Besides, you wanted to drive.”
    Right, but who was really doing the driving?
    She started the 4-wheeler and followed the trail Peter had forged through the mud. She tried to keep her speed steady and stay in Peter’s tire tracks, praying that this time she wouldn’t get stuck.
    Garrett’s hands snaked around her waist.
    She jerked, which made the handlebars do the same, and the mud grabbed at the tires. “What are you doing?”
    “Hanging on.”
    She gave the ATV a