Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(76)

She let out a soft sigh. Except she did feel a bond that she couldn’t quite explain. Not one of the guys she’d dated in college or met during her brief dalliance with the party scene had made her feel like this. Yet, what kind of future could they have? Griff didn’t seem inclined to leave here, and she couldn’t blame him. She needed the excitement of city life, meeting new people, living out loud.

And she only had one more day, one more night, before being escorted back to Atlanta. They lived three hours away from each other but worlds apart.

Once she was done with her oatmeal and banana, she wandered the room, studying the pictures on the walls. Yeah, she was looking for Griff. She knew his uncle had started MUD’N HUNT right after Griff enlisted, so he wasn’t in many of the pictures showing guests holding up huge fish, strings of rabbits, and trophies while standing in front of mud-covered trucks. But she found one of Griff as a teenager with a buck draped over his shoulders. He’d been gorgeous, with a carefree glint in his eyes. He was no doubt different now than that cocky young guy in a Marines T-shirt who raised a beer with a bunch of friends all perched on a hulking truck. She probably would have never connected with that Griff.

Footsteps clomped down the hallway, and she turned to the door. Holding her breath, for Pete’s sake. Something shifted in her chest when Griff came in, followed by Trent. Trent filled the room with his effervescence, and Griff filled it with his masculinity. And his smile.

His gaze landed on her first but quickly skipped to the others. “Cleared today’s area of snakes and snapping turtles.” He gave Kristy a wink. “Don’t want one of ’em taking off a finger.”

Kristy surged to her feet. “Are you serious?” She glanced at the other two women—should she call them victims?—before turning back to Griff. “What are we doing?”

“Wait!” Trent whipped the camera into position, hit some buttons, and said, “Go ahead and tell them.”

Griff paused for dramatic effect. “You’re going ticklin’. Or grabblin’. Or what’s better known as noodlin’.”

Kristy crossed her arms over her chest. “Sounds like a porn movie.” She would have enjoyed the chuckles at her assessment if she weren’t so worried.

Griff grinned. “You’re going to be handfishin’ catfish in the river. I got licenses for you ladies, and special permission, since we’re out of season. But we’re just doing catch and release.”

Addie stepped closer. “When you use the words hand and fishing together, do you mean we’re catching fish…by hand?”

Griff gave her a deep nod. “Yes, ma’am. I suggest you remove all jewelry, ’cause it might end up in a catfish’s gut.”

Kristy wiggled her fingers. “Will our fingers end up there, too?”

Oh, yeah, Griff was enjoying this. Which would have been nice if it hadn’t been at their expense. “No, ma’am, as long as you follow my instructions.”

Kristy indicated a couple of inches between her finger and thumb. “Fish this big?”

He held his hands several yards apart. Okay, not yards, exactly, but close enough. “This big. You ladies will be competing to catch the biggest fish. Noodlin’ is easy. You stick your hand into a hole and wait for the fish to grab hold. Then you pull it out and hold on so that whoever’s assisting you can weigh it.”

“We’re sticking our hands into a hole?” Kristy squeaked out.

“You’ll be sticking your whole arm in most of the time. Or your foot. Basically, you’re luring the fish out of its hole with some part of your body. You’ll each have one of us right next to you, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kristy echoed as they headed out. “Yeah, right.”

They piled into the Jeeps, Chase and the cameramen in the SUV at the end of the caravan. Kristy held onto the bar as they lurched over the uneven ground. Every time she started to say something, a rut stole the words out of her mouth. Griff was in guide mode, confident and easy. She liked him this way, but she loved the way he’d opened up to her last night. There would be none of that happening during this ride.

The river was nearly as muddy as the bog, only a lot wetter. And things lived in it. Fish and creepy crawlies and maybe even those slugs Griff had mentioned yesterday. Panic spiraled through her. “How are we going to catch a fish when the water’s the consistency of coffee?”

He pulled to a stop and hopped out. “It’s all by feel.”

Once everyone was assembled, waist-deep in brown water, Griff led them over to the bank. He sank in up to his chin. “First you find the hole, and then you stick your arm into it. The fish is going to bite your hand.”

“B-bite?” Kristy uttered.

His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he maneuvered beneath the surface. “It doesn’t have sharp teeth. Once it clamps on, you clamp on back and pull it out. It’ll fight you, but hang on.”

He was clearly wrestling something. The scarred side of his face was in the water, and she watched his jaw muscles tighten as he fought, then jerked a huge, slimy fish out of the water. He held the wriggling monster over his head. “See, nothin’ to it.” That garnered groans from Kristy’s competitors. He lowered the fish to the water and released it. “Let’s roll, ladies.”