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They reeled in their lines and pulled the anchor, chugging back to the dock. After they unloaded, selling to two major restaurant chains in New Orleans and a pop-up market owner who sold fish out of the back of his pickup truck in the parking lot at the mall, they cleaned up and ate their lunches before heading out again.
“I want to go back to the cove on the other side of Bonnet Island,” Alphé said. “We can put the trawl out for catfish. Now I got a hankering for more.”
“Let’s go,” Pierre said.
No one suspected that on that lazy Saturday in early January, the ninth day of Christmas, just three days before Epiphany, wonderful things would happen that would change lives in unexpected ways.
Lying on a blanket with her head propped up on her hand, Katrina Blanchard meditated on the beautiful scenery before her, the magical cottage where she had been invited to stay, the blue water surrounding the small island where they’d just enjoyed a delicious lunch, and now, the sound of a diesel engine chugging along, getting closer.
“Boy, he’s close,” Maggie said, sitting up. “Out of the channel if he’s not careful.”
Then they heard it, the sound of the motor muffled as it ran aground in soft sand.
“Ugh, at least his props won’t get damaged.”
“You know about boats, too?” Katrina asked, grimacing. “I guess you need to know everything if you live out here.”
“Ahoy there,” a voice called out, waving.
Holding on to Brulee, they watched the handsome fisherman jump agilely off the side of the boat into the water. He wore waders, thankfully, and made his way over to the women. They could see he was laughing.
“Oh my god, it’s the guy from the marina this morning,” Maggie hissed, slapping Katrina’s arm. Moaning, she saw that Maggie was right.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Do I look alright?”
“You’re gorgeous,” Maggie said. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off those legs.”
She was right.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” he called out. “I wonder if I could get your help to push this thing off the sandbar since your legs are bare.” He grinned. “It shouldn’t take much. We’re pretty light, too; ain’t put the nets in yet. I’ll pay you with catfish.”
“I love catfish,” Katrina said, standing up. “I’m in.”
She was laughing now, too.
“I’ll tie Brulee up to a tree,” Maggie said. “She’ll swim after an alligator if I’m not careful.”
“You won’t find any gators here,” the man said kindly. “This water too brackish for gators.”
“Yeah, that’s what they tell me, but I ain’t, um, I’mnottaking any chances with my dog.”
“She’s a fine specimen of a dog,” he said, smiling, and Maggie finally gave in and laughed, too.
He was right, the boat was as light as could be. He just needed that little extra push to get it off the sandbar.
“Be the last time I let my deckhand take the wheel.”
“Oh, right, blame me so you don’t look like a goofball,” Pierre said.
“This is a great boat,” Katrina said, holding out her hand to shake. She wanted to feel his skin at the very least.
“My pop’s,” Alphé said, staring at her beautiful red hair, her long neck, and that body as he took her hand.
“Katrina Blanchard,” she said, her eyes unable to move from the amazing face. “And this is Maggie Angel.”
“Alphé Beaumont,” he said, still holding on to Katrina. “My deckhand, Pierre.”
Pierre and Alphé looked at Maggie, not wanting to embarrass her but wanting to know. “If I may ask, ma’am, ain’t you the lady Ed Fontenot hit with his boat?” Pierre asked.
