Page 27 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

Lexie moves closer, rattling off instructions so I can keep the fish on without breaking the line. Several sensational moments later, I get him close enough to slide into the net. He thrashes and fights, his coloring a perfect match for the river—shiny moss-green scales on his back and pale silver on his belly, with an iridescent rainbow stripe down his sides.

In one swift movement, Lexie removes the hook. “He’s a beauty.”

“Now what?” I ask over the rush of the water.

Lexie glances up, her eyes so clear they shine. Her silver locket dangles from her neck, catching the light. We’re both breathing hard, the cold river sluicing past. Though everything about this moment is wild and strange, I’m desperate for it to last. I want her to keep looking at me like this, with the tumble of the creek and the scent of the water filling my senses.

“We take a picture, then let him go,” Lexie says.

Right. I pull back from where our noses are practically touching.

We switch roles and I plunge my hands into the icy water. The fish is heavy, with slippery scales. Holding him is like harnessing thunder.

“Okay,” Lexie says.

I lower the net and the fish darts off, disappearing with a flick of his powerful tail.

“Having fun yet?” Lexie asks with a soft smile.

I have the urge to answer her with a kiss, but that would be crazy, and irresponsible.

From upriver, Quinn roars, his line pulled tight. Lexie hands over my rod and sets off, navigating the current and slick cobbles with ease. I watch her go, fighting the conflicting feelings stirring inside me.

I try to reset my gear, but my eyes are watering and my hands shake.

“Fuck, it’s just a fish,” I mutter. What the hell is wrong with me?

With a full breath of cool river air, I sweep my gaze from Quinn and Lexie to the cluster of alders across the bank, their yellow leaves fluttering like streamers in the breeze.

After a few deep breaths, I set off again. The melody from this morning surfaces. I move upstream, casting and drifting the coral-tinted beads past riffles and pools. The song unspools in my mind, and words fall into place, like they’ve been there all along, waiting.

Below another pool, I drop my bead at the edge of the current, humming to myself. I get a strike, and using Lexie’s coaching from earlier, manage to guide him into my net. This one is smaller, but the rainbow stripe is almost completely crimson. Reaching my phone to grab a picture is too awkward without a spare hand, so I release the hook and set him free.

We fish past another bend and above a rapid to a giant pool the color of slate. Up here, the valley is tighter, the thick alders hanging over the water.

Lexie signals us to a sandy bar along the left side. “We’ll take the trail back,” she says when I join her.

“We’re done?”

Lexie laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Quinn leads while I follow Lexie, my waders swishing. We leave a trail of water on the dry ground.

“You both looked all right out there,” Lexie says. “Maybe not so rusty, then?”

Quinn turns back to give Lexie a grin. “Thanks to your coaching,”

“Where’d you learn to fish?” she asks.

“The Truckee River,” I say.

She turns to me, a question in her eyes. “California? Aren’t you from Austin?”

“I am,” I reply.

Quinn adds, “D.J. and I both went to a boarding school in Nevada. Fishing was…uh…part of the curriculum.”

Her eyes widen. “Lucky you.”

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