THE CRUSH

The Lake Bittersweet Series ~ 6

Chapter One

Galen Cooper knew perfectly well that his appearance could be terrifying to the unsuspecting. If he was a fairytale character, he’d be an ogre, or possibly a black-bearded pirate, pre-hook. If he was a tree, he’d be one of those gnarled oaks with thick bark and lichen dripping from its branches. 

That lichen would be his hair and beard, both of which were dark and bushy and occasionally untended. 

For the most part, he didn’t actually mind coming across as the Beast. His wild appearance made his guiding clients take him seriously. No one doubted that he knew his way around the wilderness. If he told someone not to keep their goddamn toothpaste in their tent because bears could smell that shit, they listened. In a way, his appearance saved lives. Not once had one of his clients so much as sustained an injury. 

“Best wilderness guide in Minnesota,” the reviews said. “One of a kind.” “Don’t be scared off by his scowl. I’d trust my life to him.” “I nearly slid down a ravine but that dude hauled me up with one hand.” “Gnarly AF.” “I think even the bears are scared of him.” 

There was only one thing that made Galen regret his mountain man looks. One person, actually. 

Brenda McMurray Bogosian. 

And there she was, at this very moment, walking her dog down Main Street, wearing  joggers and clean white running shoes, along with bright pink socks. He’d noticed that she always had some flash of pink in her outfits, and wondered if that was to appeal to her fourth grade students. 

Her hair, the glorious rust color of oak leaves in autumn, swung back and forth in a thick ponytail. Tendrils clung to her forehead. Sweat. She’d been sweating. The thought made him sweat slightly as well. She was usually so immaculate, so tidy. Even her sweat clung sweetly to her skin instead of dripping the way his did on a hot day on the trail. 

From his location inside the office of Lake Bittersweet Wilderness Adventures, where he was checking in after the end of a long day, he tried not to stare at her longingly. But he knew it was hopeless. His crush on Brenda was probably written all over his face; good thing that face was covered up with so much beard. Yet one more advantage. 

“That couple from Belgium left you a massive tip,” said Redbull, his business partner. Many people thought “Red Bull” was his tribal name, but in fact it was his nickname, based on his favorite energy drink addiction. He sat on the stool behind the computer, his black hair in a top knot, a Red Bull can by his elbow, squinting at the screen. The two of them had recently teamed up to open their own wilderness tour company and so far, so good. “They said you were the highlight of their entire trip. All fifty states, and you’re the standout.” 

“Huh.” Galen grunted his response. He would have had more to say, but Brenda had stopped to chat with someone outside the SweetBitter Café. He craned his neck to see who it was. He lived in fear that another man would scoop her up before he’d even screwed up the nerve to ask her out. 

“Just fucking ask her out.” The weary irritation in Redbull’s voice was all too familiar to Galen. All his friends used that tone sooner or later. They all knew about his hopeless crush. It was possible the entire town did, except for Brenda herself. 

Hell, she might know too, and was simply too kind-hearted to show it. 

As he entered information about the trip he’d just completed—bear sign spotted at the ten-mile point of Grace Ridge Trail, not surprising for September—he kept an eye on the flame-haired goddess across the street. Her dog was getting impatient and tugging on the leash. Since the pup was basically a cotton ball with paws, Brenda was unfazed. She ignored the tugging and kept chitchatting. 

Why was it so easy for everyone else to talk to Brenda? He always clammed up and got sweaty and awkward. Other women didn’t have that effect on him. Only Brenda. And other people didn’t react to her that way. Only him. 

In mid-conversation, Brenda lifted one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. In the process, she transferred the leash from one hand to the other, and Cotton Ball pounced on the opportunity. He lunged forward and yanked the leash from Brenda’s grasp.  She tried to grab it, but it was too late. Her little dog raced across the street, barely missing a Ford truck going one way and a Prius going the other, and darted right through the front door of Lake Bittersweet Wilderness Adventures. 

Galen dropped the clipboard onto the counter and stuck the pen behind his ear. Or really, just into his hair, so disheveled from the hike that it could have been an actual shrub. 

Cotton Ball darted toward the cooler Galen had plopped onto the office floor. He and his clients had caught three rainbow trout in Muskee Stream. He’d offered to clean and filet them, which was his next task. 

If they survived this attack. 

The dog knocked over the cooler—one of those lightweight Styrofoam jobbers—and dug his little teeth into the foam, trying to rip off the lid. He was a lot more fierce than Galen had expected. Or she, judging by the little pink ribbon on its collar. 

Galen came around the counter and lunged for the dog, only to stop in his tracks when it turned on him with a sharp bark.  

“Let it alone,” said Redbull. “He’s a fish dog.” 

“What’s a fish dog?” 

“Dog that likes fish.” 

Was that a real thing? Wouldn’t the fish bones hurt his little throat?  

Snarling, the dog returned to the lid and worried at it until it popped off. Bloody water spilled onto the floor and the three trout slid out. 

Galen had to try something. 

“Hey Cotton Ball!” he shouted. “Stay away from the fish.” 

The dog ignored him and pounced on one of the trout. The biggest one, Galen noticed with regret. Should he grab the dog by the collar? Drag him away? Sacrifice one trout? In the wild, he would know exactly what to do. He’d throw a stick or something, distract the dog, or scare it away. 

But this was civilization, and Cotton Ball was a pet. Brenda’s pet. 

A pretty, throaty voice called out, “Olaf! Come here! Stop that!” 

The dog paused and lifted his head, looking guilty. Then went right back to his task of ripping into that dead fish. But Galen wasn’t paying attention to that anymore. All he could see was Brenda’s gorgeous form crouching down to snatch up the leash. 

“Olaf! No!” She took a firm hold of the leash, and the dog finally obeyed her.  He sniffed at the fish one more time, then turned and trotted through the puddle of bloody water toward Brenda. She scooped him into her arms, not seeming to mind that her zip-up hoodie was getting soiled by that fish water. “Very bad boy,” she crooned to the top of his fluffy head. 

Galen thought it was an odd kind of punishment, all that cuddling and cooing. Seemed more like a reward to him. 

She turned to face him, her cheeks pink and glowing from her race across the street. “I’m so sorry. He’s got this thing about fish.” 

“Fish dog,” said Redbull wisely. 

She wrinkled her forehead at Galen’s partner, gave him a perfunctory smile, then turned back to Galen. “Are those your fish?” 

“My…no…I mean, yes…” he stammered. They weren’t really his fish, but he was responsible for them. His clients were expecting some nice, un-mauled filets this evening. 

“He’s got custody of ‘em,” Redbull explained. 

“Client catch.” Finally, Galen got some words out. “It’s fine.” 

“No, of course it’s not fine. I’ll buy you some replacement fish. What are those?” She peered at them. “Tuna?” 

Galen couldn’t help it. He snorted out a laugh. Tuna lived in the ocean, not in any streams in Minnesota. Clearly Brenda had no experience with the fishing around here. She’d only moved here less than two years ago, after all. “Rainbow trout,” he told her. “Freshwater.” 

“Of course. I know that.” Her cheeks flushed even pinker. “I was just rattled. Olaf knows better.” 

“He’s a dog,” Galen pointed out.  

“Yes. What’s your point?” 

“Even domesticated animals like dogs still have primitive instincts.” He’d noticed that some people treated their dogs as if they understood things on a human level. But they didn’t. As dogs, they experienced the world in their own way. They knew things humans didn’t, and they couldn’t know some things humans took for granted. 

“So do people,” said Redbull in that deadpan voice he used to convince people of his deep wisdom. Most of the time he was making fun; maybe one third of the time he actually had some wisdom to impart. 

Brenda clutched her dog closer to her chest. 

“Cotton Ball, I mean, Olaf, can only control himself for so long around a fish,” Galen explained earnestly. “But he stopped when you told him to. Overall, he did good.” 

“Well.” 

It took him a second to realize she was fixing his grammar. He nodded, accepting the correction. 

“And his name isn’t Cotton Ball.”

“It should be,” said Redbull wisely. “Just look at him.” 

Galen wished he could wave a wizard’s staff and send Redbull out back to the storage shed. “Yeah. I mean Olaf. I’m Galen,” he added, as if introducing himself to her damn dog.  

His heart sank to the soles of his favorite leather hiking boots. This was his first real conversation with Brenda, and he was making an epic mess of it. A bloody, fishy mess. 

But Brenda didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and picked up Olaf’s front paw.

“I know. I’ve seen you around. Nice to officially meet you.” She waved the dog’s paw at him. “This is Olaf, and I’m Brenda McMurray. Technically, Brenda Bogosian, but around here I’m a McMurray because of my grandmother.” 

That explained why he’d heard two different last names for her. He’d been terrified that one of them was a married name. 

“And we’re really really sorry for this mess,” she continued. “If you can wait a minute while I put him in my car, I’ll come right back and clean it up.” 

“No no.” Galen shook his head fiercely. “We got it.” 

“He’s got it,” Redbull corrected. “I’ve got paperwork.” 

Galen ignored him. “Don’t you worry about it. You probably have important things to do. School things.” 

Brenda squinted at him curiously. She wore a visor to keep the sun out of her eyes. Sea-green, those eyes, like a mermaid’s. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. His breath, his lungs, all the oxygenation in his blood. He might as well be a puddle of fish water on the floor. “How did you know I’m a teacher?” she asked. 

Galen froze. How to answer that question? I’ve had an enormous crush on you ever since I picked my nephew up from school and saw you walking out the door with your overstuffed book bag. 

Or how about, I’ve never forgotten one single bit of detail anyone has dropped about you within my earshot. I even know your birthday. It was six weeks ago.

Or maybe, I also know that you drink tea, not coffee, and would you be so kind as to accompany me to the SweetBitter Café for a tea latte with oat milk, your favorite? 

Before he could answer, she laughed. “What am I thinking? Small town. Of course you know I’m a teacher. Everyone knows everyone around here. Except me. I’m still learning.” 

He exhaled, his heart still racing from that close call. 

“I’m Redbull,” said Redbull. “That’s my nickname and you can use it. Galen and I own this outfit. Best wilderness tours in Minnesota. We do everything from short hikes to canoe trips to week-long guided adventures to drop-offs and pickups.” 

Why had Redbull suddenly decided to become all chatty? 

Olaf squirmed in Brenda’s arms. “I’d better get this little troublemaker out of here. Are you sure I can’t help—” 

“Sure.” Galen cut her off, more brusquely than he’d intended. She took a step back in surprise, and nearly skidded because of the puddle. He grabbed her arm. The contact sent such a jolt through him that he froze. 

“Thanks,” she murmured as she regained her footing. “Bye now. Nice to see   you both.” 

She hurried out the door, the leash trailing behind her. Galen wondered if he should pick it up and follow her, as if it was a train and she was a princess. Or a bride. 

He didn’t. All the willpower had left his body and all he could do was stand and watch her go. 

“That went well,” Redbull said drily. 

“She knows my name. She already knew it.” And all of a sudden the world shone brighter. Brenda McMurray knew his name, and she’d looked him right in the eye and hadn’t blinked at his twig-strewn beard and disheveled hair. 

Speaking of hair…he felt something on the side of his head and put his hand to it. His pen. Sticking out at a ridiculous angle. That whole time. 

And sweet Brenda hadn’t said a thing. 

He sighed. She knows who I am. She knows where I work, what I do, who my business partner is. 

And that he occasionally stuck pens in his hair and forgot about them. 

“You going to clean that mess up?” Redbull asked as he took a swig of his drink. 

“Of course.” Whistling, he went into the office bathroom where they kept cleaning supplies. 

Brenda knows me.

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