Friday I'm In Love (Wild Irish, #5) Read online

  “It’s eleven o’clock, babydoll. That’s hardly dawn. Now get up.”

  She opened her eyes and pierced him with a glare that had destroyed stronger men than Ewan Collins. He merely stared her down. “Now, Nat. I don’t want to have to dump a bucket of cold water on you, but I will.”

  “I will crush you like a bug if you try it.” She tried to invoke as much threatening menace into her voice as possible, but for some reason her powers of evil didn’t work against the idiot and he laughed.

  “Come on. I’ve planned a nice day for you. I don’t want you to miss it.”

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “Fishing. With Pop.”

  “On the shore or on a boat?” The thought of getting on anything that rocked suddenly sent her stomach into lurch mode and she swallowed heavily.

  “Boat, but it’ll be a gentle ride. Take the aspirin. Get a shower. You’ll feel better. I promise.”

  She sat up gingerly, ready to be assaulted by a mammoth head rush. She was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t come. She rubbed her eyes, unaware of Ewan’s sudden silence until she opened them again and looked at his stunned expression.

  His line of vision had drifted somewhat south of her neck and she glanced down. She was naked, the sheets hovering around her waist, giving her male friend more than an eyeful of her naked breasts.

  “Shit,” she muttered, quickly pulling the sheets around her. “Where are my pajamas?”

  “I didn’t take your shirt off last night, I swear.”

  His oddly worded reply caught her attention and she lifted the sheets, shielding her body from his sight. Sure enough, her skirt was missing as well. “What part of my clothing did you take off?”

  He crossed his arms across his chest smugly. “I didn’t take off anything you didn’t ask me to.”

  She gritted her teeth, fighting to remember the previous night. She had definite flashes of memory, though none of them were things she wanted to focus on too much. “You can leave now. I’m up.”

  “So am I,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and she laughed, the action sending another slash of pain through her head.

  “Don’t make me laugh. Go away, you pervert. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

  He chuckled and left her alone with her thoughts. Fishing? With his pop? Oh hell. How did she get herself in to this mess? She’d never been fishing in her life. She’d never wanted to go fishing. If she made a bucket list right now, fishing would be at the very bottom, along with turkey hunting and attending a NASCAR race.

  She sighed as she considered the previous night’s activities. She hadn’t wanted to go clubbing with Riley either, now that she thought about it, and despite the fact she was suffering, she’d had a really good time. She picked up the glass and swallowed the two aspirin Ewan had thoughtfully supplied—and then it hit her.

  She’d slept all night. Slept peacefully for nearly eight hours.

  Passed out was probably more the truth, but she didn’t care. She’d slept a full night.

  Hot damn.

  Maybe playing along with Ewan’s experiment would pay off in ways she hadn’t foreseen. If she ignored her throbbing head, she was actually well rested and… She tried to find the words to describe her state. Less heavy was all that came to her.

  She felt lighter this morning.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, she found herself standing on the bank of a lake waiting for Pat’s friend to drop his bass boat into the water—and feeling a return of her usual irritability and impatience. They’d driven over an hour to get to this bug-infested pond to ride around in a boat that was older than she was, and now they were supposed to try to catch a bunch of stinky fish. She hated fish. Never ate it. Shrimp and crab legs slathered in butter were her usual fare at a seafood restaurant. She suspected they wouldn’t be finding any of those in this murky brown water.

  Oh yeah, this was a good idea.

  “Can we just pretend we did this and go home? I’d kill for a nap.”

  Ewan stepped closer to her, gave her that sweet grin she was starting to find endearing. “Come on, babydoll. Give it a chance.”

  “Whoa!” she burst out when it looked like the man with the boat was going to drive his trailer and truck right into the lake.

  Ewan put his arm around her. “It’s okay, Nat. The boat launch goes down quite a ways.”

  “My head hurts,” she murmured, pushing her sunglasses up in an attempt to shield her sensitive eyes from the bright rays slicing into her brain like a laser.

  “Today won’t be hard. Promise.”

  “You said that about last night.” She shrugged off his arm as she spoke, trying to express her annoyance at being dragged out of her bed far too early after their very late night. Her willingness to give fishing a chance had ended when her headache didn’t. “By the way, I’m never drinking tequila again. If that’s on any more of your so-called life lesson plans, mark it off now.”

  Ewan grinned. “That’s one vow I’m willing to take with you. My head feels like it’s going to split apart.”

  She looked up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t tell me you felt bad too.”

  “You were bitching enough for both of us.”

  She scowled, and then realized he was right. “I told you I was bitchy. Gave you ample warning. I guess you’re reconsidering this whole seven-day deal, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you, Nat?”

  “Figured out what?”

  “I like you. Just you. The way you are.” He paused to let his words soak in and Nat felt uncharacteristic warmth build in her chest. He liked her.

  No one liked her.

  Then he added, “Even if you are a gigantic pain in the ass.”

  She giggled. “Want some aspirin? I brought along the bottle.”

  “I took a couple at home. Besides, I have a feeling a few minutes on the water will be more than enough to cure my aches and pains.” He pulled her in front of him so her back rested against his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and placing his chin on top of her head. She leaned back, letting him envelop her, marveling at how much warmth he could put into a simple embrace.

  She watched his pop help his friend offload the boat for a few minutes. “Shouldn’t we help?” she asked.

  “I offered, but Pop said I’d only be in the way. These guys have been coming to this lake once a month for nearly twenty years. They’ve got their routine down to an art form. Besides, it looks like they’re ready.”

  “Damn,” Pop said, walking over to them. “Hate that we’re getting such a late start.”

  “Late start?” she muttered, realizing their tardiness was her fault. “Sorry.”

  Ewan gave her a quick squeeze. “No worries, Nat. Pop would have been complaining about being late even if he’d been out here at daybreak.”

  Pat grinned. “Never too early to get out on that water.”

  The older man with the truck finished tying the boat to the pier and walked over to greet them. Natalie thought he appeared to be about the same age as Ewan’s father, though Pat had aged a bit better than his friend, who was totally bald and supporting at least two spare tires around his middle. He was dressed in head-to-toe camouflage and the word redneck briefly floated through her city-girl mind.

  “Well hello, Ewan. Long time, no see,” he said, shaking hands with Ewan. “I was glad to hear you were joining us this weekend. And who is this pretty lady?”

  Ewan did the introductions. “Moose, this is Natalie Miller, a friend from California. Nat, this is Moose.”

  Moose gripped her hand, shaking it firmly.

  “Please God, tell me Moose is not your given name.”

  The man laughed, albeit a bit too loudly for Natalie, who fought not to wince at the sound. “Nah. It’s a nickname, but I probably shouldn’t share how I got it in mixed company. Not polite.”

  Natalie blushed, but P
at just shook his head, laughing. “Sweet Mary, you’ve been trying to pass that lie off as the truth for forty years.”

  “Maybe one of these years it’ll stick,” Moose said.

  Natalie narrowed her eyes playfully, feigning anger at being taken in by his crude joke. “You hunt for moose?” she asked, thinking he certainly looked the part.

  “His last name is Moosefield,” Ewan explained.

  “Ah.” She grinned and shook her head. “Well, that’s certainly a letdown. Shame on you, Moose.”

  “You were thinking something really naughty, weren’t you, sweet stuff?” Moose teased, enjoying having a bit of fun at her expense.

  It was a shame he’d just met his match. “Nope, not really. But then I know how you fishermen are with your fish tales.” She held her hands up, as if she were measuring something a couple feet long, before slowly drawing them together until there was only an inch or two between her palms.

  Pat hooted with laughter. “Hee hee! She’s got your number, old boy. Good girl, Natalie.”

  Moose guffawed loudly before grasping her hand. “Come on and get in this boat, sweet stuff. This is gonna be fun. I bet I make a real fisherman outta you and before the day is through, you’ll be telling some fish tales of your own.”

  Ewan and Pat followed them aboard the boat. They all took a seat and Natalie relaxed as Moose took them for a cruise farther out onto the lake. They pulled back in close to shore before Moose cut the engine. According to Pat, they’d arrived at their world famous fishing spot.

  “World famous, eh?” she asked. “Funny. I don’t see any paparazzi hovering on the shoreline.”

  Moose laughed. “That’s because it’s a super-secret spot.”

  “How do you know you can trust me not to divulge the location?”

  Pat looked at her with a crooked grin, acting as if he’d just realized their mistake. “I knew we should have blindfolded her. You said we could trust her, Ewan.”

  Ewan looked at her with mock seriousness. “I did vouch for your upstanding character, Nat.”

  “You lied to your father?” she asked. “Pretty sure you go to hell for that, hotshot.”

  Moose came over and slapped her on the shoulder. “I like this gal. She’s got spirit. Come on now. We need to get organized. The fish aren’t gonna hop in the boat.”

  “They aren’t?” she asked, only partly joking. “Shit.”

  The men started assembling assorted equipment and Natalie marveled over the tremendous amount of stuff needed for fishing. And here she thought she had a lot of photography equipment. Ewan had returned her small digital camera this morning and she pulled it from her backpack to snap a few pictures of Ewan and his pop and Moose.

  Ewan caught her and took the camera again. “Strike two, babydoll. I can see I’m going to have to hold on to this camera until you leave next weekend. You’re off-duty. Today is about fishing, not photography.”

  He handed her a pole. “Great,” she said, failing to mask her lack of enthusiasm. “A fishing pole. Just what I’ve always wanted. You sure do know the way to a girl’s heart.”

  “Did you just call that a pole?” Moose asked.

  Natalie nodded. “I know I’ve never been fishing before, but I can tell a fishing pole when I see one.”

  “You’ve never been fishing?” Moose’s questions were becoming more aghast by the minute. “Sweet stuff. Number one, that’s a fishing rod. And number two, where the hell is your father? Why didn’t he take you fishing?”

  Natalie rolled her eyes at his rod comment. “Semantics. Rod, pole, whatever.”

  Ewan smirked. “It’s a rod. He and Pop are purists when it comes to that.”

  “Fine. Thank you for letting me use your fishing rod today and my dad was a workaholic. It’s sort of hard to take your daughters fishing when you work 24/7.”

  “What about your mother?” Moose asked.

  Natalie laughed. “The alcoholic June Cleaver? Um, no. Fishing doesn’t seem to be one of those sports you can do in pearls with a gin and tonic in your hand.”

  The men fell silent and Natalie cursed herself for her too-revealing, too rude comments about her parents. She decided a change of subject was her only shot at trying to salvage the mood she’d just killed. “So I suppose I just put this hook in the water and wait?”

  Ewan laughed and Moose shook his head. “Ah, Natalie. Come over here, sweet stuff. You let Uncle Moose teach you all about fishing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Uncle Moose? You do realize I’m thirty-four years old.”

  “Doesn’t matter how old you are. Sounds to me like you need an adult male influence to teach you the finer things in life. Like fishing.”

  “Fishing is a finer thing?”

  “It’s the best thing.”

  He reached down and grabbed a Styrofoam cup full of dirt. “You need to put bait—in this case, a night crawler—on your hook, and then you cast it into the water.”

  She glanced at the cup. “Fine, Uncle Moose. How about you dig around in that dirt and bait my hook for me because there’s no way I’m touching a worm. I just got a manicure.” She flashed her freshly painted nails at him, but the men didn’t seem deterred.

  Pat rubbed the back of his neck and stepped closer. “Well, Natalie, I’m afraid on this boat, it’s every man for himself. Go on and dig in there and get yourself a nice, fat worm. They don’t bite.”

  She blew out a deep breath and then reached into the cup, wrinkling her nose as she pulled out a worm. It wiggled and she dropped it. “It’s still alive!”

  Moose laughed and bent down to pick up her squirming bait. “Of course it is. What did you think?”

  “I thought it would be a dead worm.”

  Moose shook his head. “Here, I’ll show you how to do it this first time.” He grasped her hook and deftly poked in through the worm several times. “There you go. Next time, you do it just like that.”

  She looked around at the men, her gaze freezing when she caught Ewan’s amused smirk. “That’s disgusting.”

  “That’s fishing, babydoll. Come here. I’ll show you how to cast.” She crossed to the other side of the boat as Moose and Pat prepared their own rods. Ewan stood behind her, showing her the finer points of casting her line successfully. Once she had her hook in the water, Ewan followed suit with his own.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now, we wait. If that bobber goes under the surface, you’ve got a bite and that’s when you want to reel it in. Until then, we sit down and relax.”

  They both claimed a chair. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Pat and Moose had done the same, the two old friends settling into a quiet conversation.

  “How long do we have to wait?” she asked after watching her bobber float for several minutes.

  “Who knows? Could be five minutes or five hours or not at all.”

  “Not at all? Are you seriously telling me we’re going to wait for hours even if we aren’t catching anything?”

  Ewan nodded. “That’s just fishing, Nat. Some days are diamonds, some are stone.”

  “You expect me to sit here for hours on end watching that little ball float on the water? Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Close your eyes,” Ewan prompted.

  “I thought I was supposed to watch the bobber.”

  “Close your eyes, smartass.”

  She obeyed after rolling said eyes. “They’re closed.”

  “Now listen,” Ewan said, his voice soft. “Listen to the light slapping of the water against the side of the boat. Listen to the birds singing. Feel the gentle sway, rocking you like a mother rocks her baby. Feel that warm breeze as it strokes your face. Take a deep breath of that sweet, fresh air, Nat. Let it fill up your lungs and clean out all the dark, dirty worries creeping around inside you.” After each direction he paused for several moments, letting her do exactly as he suggested.

  She listened to his words, letting the sounds, the smells, the feelings fill her up unti
l she felt as if she were asleep, though wide awake.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Relaxed. Peaceful.” Boneless, content, comfortable, calm. A multitude of words flowed through her mind—each one more gentle, more soothing than the one before. She felt…good.

  Ewan’s hand lightly stroked the skin at the back of her neck. “Now open your eyes and watch the bobber. It’s not a difficult thing to do, so while you do it, you can let your mind wander. Let it go. Why not enjoy the scenery? There’s a heron over there on the shore. See it?”