Page 34 of Catch and Release Groom

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Easton moved aside a low-hanging tree branch so it wouldn’t smack Imogen in the face as she followed him on the trail. “Oh sure,” he said, feeling carefree for the first time in over a year. “They get us drunk, direct us toward the woods, and say go have fun.”

Imogen patted his pecs as she passed by. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’ve got a compass on my phone if your search and rescue experience fails us.”

He made a noise between a snort and a huff. “Yep, that’s what I do. I call down to hikers which direction they’ve fallen, and suddenly their bones mend and they climb on out.” His eyes cut to her. “Gotta say, I like ‘big guy’ better than ‘you goof.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, casting him a smile as dangerous as the hook she’d lodged in his ear. “And only ever use ‘youbiggoof’ from now on.”

Easton snagged the end of her ponytail and gave it a light tug. “Thanks, Park Avenue Princess. I appreciate that.”

She glared. “Howdareyou. I’m from the Windy City, not the Big Apple. I ride the L and eat deep dish pizza, not that floppy folded stuff.”

“Eh, they’re all New York to me,” he said with a shrug, serener the more ruffled she became. Teasing her was too damn fun. With a snicker, he poked her side, and then they were playfully shoving each other and giggling like the other lovestruck fools on the tour.

Anxiety jabbed, threatening to pop the happy mood he’d been floating on since the latter half of the tasting—every time he made a joke and Imogen laughed, it was like a reward.

Having fun wasn’t part of their deal, but he’d overreacted at his attraction to Imogen before and would rather not spend the remainder of the week riding the hot-and-cold roller coaster.

They’d outlined well-defined terms to ensure no one got hurt. No reason to panic. “If you wanna hear about some of the odder services we’ve had to retain for missions,” he said, and she nodded, so he told her about borrowing horses and even a tractor. “Typically, it’s a lot of rappelling gear, quads, and occasionally, a helicopter. Never a hot-air balloon, though. Not so far, anyway. You think experience in one might look good on my résumé?”

“Is updating your résumé something you do on the regular?”

Again, worry welled, but he didn’t see the harm in sharing. “Just recently.”

Her footsteps slowed. “Oh? Are you looking for a new job? Don’t you already have, like, three?” She counted them off on her fingers. “Deputy, search and rescue, and fly-fishing guide.”

Easton glanced behind them to check on the rest of the group, despite it not being inanyof his job descriptions, and then returned his attention to Imogen. “All those titles, and I still feel like I’m missing my true calling.”

“Which is?”

“Fly-fishing excursions would be part of it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I used to never get restless. Now it permeates everything I do. At one point, I was so determined to…” He shook his head and sighed, struggling to put his frustrations, hopes, and dreams into words. “But maybe I should just be happy with what I’ve got. It’s pretty late in the game to change careers.”

“This might sound odd coming from a person who would see that on a loan application and flag it as a potential risk, but after years of playing it safe, I’m beginning to think it’s better to try than to regret not taking a chance.”

“Loan application? You work at a bank?” The disgusted curl of his lip couldn’t be helped. He’d jumped through countless hoops the first time he’d attempted to take out a loan for a storefront near Lake Coosa. Once Grace bailed, the bank withdrew its approval.

“Not a bank.” Imogen gave a quick rundown of her job, and he nodded along and asked a few questions.

“That sounds worse than the paperwork at the station. Truth be told, it’s about all I do there. I’ve considered turning in my badge and taking on a full-time role with the search and rescue team, but I have this gut feeling I should wait and see for a while longer.”

The overwhelming urge to tell her about the bait-and-tackle shop surprised him. He’d been brainstorming putting a lounge area in one corner, with coolers of soda and beer for purchase, plus tables, chairs, and maybe even a big leather sectional to encourage fishermen to sit around telling their tales.

He hesitated—the last thing he needed was for another woman to fill his head with doubt right as he’d clawed his way back to the possibility.

Imogen tugged him off the trail and peered at him as if she meant to extract an answer from his soul. “Think of your all-time favorite activity.”

His mind went directly there. “Sex, probably.” Perhaps this wasn’t the time for the truth, not when it reminded him of how long it’d been since he’d experienced the sadder solo version in the shower. “You gonna suggest that be my new trade?”

“As long as you’re open to having your wife as your first client.” Like Constance had done yesterday, Imogen slapped a hand over her mouth and turned three shades of red. “That was a slip of the tongue.” Deeper red. “What I mean is, it was supposed to sound like a flirty joke, but then it came out sounding way too forward, and I hope you know—”

The instant he opened his mouth to reply, she tipped onto her toes and touched a fingertip to the center of his lips. It brought their bodies flush together, and they might be doing too good a job posing as newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, as their cohorts in honeymooning were beaming at them again.

“It’s not a big deal, sweet pea.” Automatically, he reverted to their absurd nicknames to defuse the situation. “It was a funny joke, and I’m the one who took it too far.”

The rest of his body insisted he hadn’t taken it far enough, and if he didn’t get his mind out of the gutter, people were going to notice. There was PDA and then there was sporting wood.

Imogen lowered herself to flat on her feet, the graze of her breasts not helping the situation in his pants one bit. “Shall we?” she asked, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow.

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