Chloe's Catch: Mountain Men of Cupid Lake, #1

By Kate Stone

I came to Cupid Lake for to save the family business and no guy, no matter how drop dead gorgeous, is going to get in my way.

 

I'm too busy for romance and I always have been. Turning failing restaurants around is harder than you see on TV and to make it to the top of my business will take everything I've got. I moved to New York and had some big name clients.

 

Then, I got the call.

 

When family calls, you answer and you do everything you can, even if it means abandoning the life you've built. 

 

I had to save the one place that couldn't go under - my dad's. It was going to take a miracle to get his customers back and to see any profits.

 

That miracle had a name - Kane. Kane Hodge, the loner mountain man who didn't care about anyone unless they'd chartered his boat. The first day he brought us the catch of the day I thought he might be a fun fling. By the next morning, I knew I was in over my head and that I was here in Cupid Lake to stay.

 

Chloe's Catch has everything you need:

Sexy Mountain Man? Check
Happily Ever After? Double Check
No Cheating? Not with these two - the moment they met, they knew they had to be together!

 

Chloe's Catch is the first of Kate Stone's Mountain Men of Cupid Lake series. If you crave instalove, a man who won't stop loving his woman, no matter what, and sizzling sex scenes, you'll love Kate Stone's latest, Chloe's Catch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Stone
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223223511

Book preview

Chapter One

Kane

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The boat rocked a little, but the three men and one woman obeyed directions and remained in place until I tied the rope to the piling. I stood on the dock and offered them my hand and one by one they stepped out. The woman was last and she maintained eye contact for too long as she pressed herself against me in a way she probably believed could be played off as accidental but was clearly intentional. Thank you, she said. She may as well have said, Take me to my hotel and screw me.

It was a hazard of the job, I imagined. Women from the city came to the lake and decided they wanted to experience a simple, stupid animalistic outdoorsman. Perhaps I was an outdoorsman and I strived to live a simple life. There were even times I might be called animalistic. I wasn’t stupid, though, and for most of the fishing trip while the woman made overtures and the men pretended to be manly, I resisted the urge to tell them their ideas about implementing an employee incentive program were inherently flawed because they were confusing extrinsic motivation with intrinsic and the solution wasn’t manipulation but corporate culture based on participation.

I almost said it all because it would dispel the woman’s perception of my stupidity, the balance of power would change, and she wouldn’t want me anymore. I didn’t, of course, because nobody wants business advice from a fishing guide even if that fishing guide had a degree in business from Yale. Unfortunately, these kinds of clients were the bread and butter of my business. I much preferred the families, when a father would bring his son or daughter or when a newlywed couple would hire me to add a fishing trip to their future memories.

When they were all safe on the dock, I lifted the cooler from the deck. The woman drew in a deep breath and one of the men said, You need help with that?

I got it, I said. Thanks, Thomas.

He nodded and I said, We’re walking to that little covered area at the end of the dock.

Not toward the shore?

I shook my head and started walking. No. We clean the fish over here.

I walked along and looked out over the water. Sill a few hours before noon, the lake was quiet. Nearly everyone out was local. The tourists would hit the water in the early afternoon. I reached the cleaning station and set the cooler down. It was a good catch, nearly all of them caught their limits and a great deal of perch that had no limit. I imagined it was nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of fish, maybe seventy or eighty pounds of filets.

Um... we don’t want the fish, Thomas said from behind me. I turned around. The woman was there. She looked me up and down, and I decided the next trip I’d wear a shirt with sleeves.

I asked you before if you wanted these to be released. You said you didn’t.

He shrugged. I didn’t expect us to catch more than one or two. You’re just too good a guide, Mr. Kane.

Just Kane, I said. I didn’t bother pointing out it would be Mr. Hodge. I stared at him, frowning, and it took a while for me to realize he couldn’t comprehend why I might be frustrated about a hundred and fifty pounds of fish going to waste when they could all have been sent back. The woman stared at me like I was some kind of Greek god and I just didn’t have the time for it. I’d already been paid and didn’t need their damned tip so I said, And lose my number. You’ll never fish with me again. I turned around and lifted up a black bass, trophy-sized, and went about cleaning it.

I ignored Thomas’s stuttering protests from behind me and when the woman put her hand on my shoulder and said seductively, See you around, I told her I would do everything in my power to make sure I didn’t.

I assumed they left and then I put my knife down. I called Harry at Fish and Game. When his far too playful voice came on the phone I said, A group of assholes just left me with four times the legal limit of fish they told me not to release but decided not to take.

Did you at least get laid?

God, man. Leave me alone.

Seriously, he said. You were swimming in it and then suddenly you’re a monk. I heard shuffling and he said, Okay. What species? I gave him the rundown of the fish in the cooler and he said, Okay, anyone stops you, send them my way. What the hell are you going to do with all of them?

I don’t know. Probably see if William can use them.

That’s kind of you. So no women anymore but Mr. Community Support.

No women is none of your business and I’m bringing them to William because then I don’t have to process them completely.

The call lasted a few more minutes, most of it me promising to save a few perch for him and him probing me on my sex life or lack thereof. It was expected. Harry’s twin brother Jared, my best friend growing up, died in a boating accident when we returned home to celebrate our degrees. Harry did all he could to take over his role. I didn’t fault him for trying and didn’t mind the occasional company either.

I wasn’t sure if I would have talked to Jared about my growing isolation. Was I just becoming some misogynistic jerk, the stereotype of every rotten jerk out there believing he’s God’s gift to women? Maybe I was. There were certainly women everywhere trying to treat me like a divine gift. No fucking way, I said aloud. I’d be getting laid if that was me. The four perch on the table didn’t respond. A few of them still had movement in them but not enough to risk their survival if I put them back in the water.

I called William French and a strange female voice answered the phone. The voice was the opposite of the woman who’d pursued me all day. This was no sickeningly sweet, cloying and overly sensual play voice. The girl answered in a no-nonsense tone but her voice seemed melodic, lovely nonetheless. I’m looking for William French, I said. I have some fish for him.

We’ve already done our ordering for the day. Thank you very much, she said and hung up.

I dialed again and she answered again. William French, please, I said.