Chinook, Wine and Sink Her. Morgan Q O'Reilly

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