Page 14 of A Rugged Beauty
The man's eyes flicked to the water, to the new tension on the line as it disappeared into the depths.
Another tug.
This time he yanked back, felt the weight of something thrashing on the other end of the makeshift fishing line.
He pulled in the string, hand over hand, and at the last, flipped a shimmering green and brown fish onto the bank.
It kicked and flopped, but he quickly captured it in his hands. Instinct had him hold it by the lip, squeezing tightly with his thumb as he disengaged the hook from the fish's mouth.
She joined him on the bank, squatting next to him, the fish between them.
"Here's our breakfast." He breathed the words. Felt satisfaction and another beat of urgency flow at the same time. It wasn't enough, the fish too small to feed both of them.
They needed more.
The woman's eyes sparkled like the sunlight on water. "May I try?"
H secured the fish, weighting it down with a partial log.
Her first attempt at tossing the hook and line into the water splashed wide with aploop!and she looked to him for help. He came behind her, close enough that his nose could press into her hair if he leaned forward the slightest bit.
"Here. Like this." His right hand closed gently over her wrist and he guided her toss so that the hook dropped in the water at just the right spot.
Her head tilted, and he caught the flash of white teeth in her smile. A wisp of her hair caught in the scruff at his jaw, and he had to force himself to concentrate.
Fishing.
Food.
Survival.
"Keep a bit of tension in the line," he told her quietly.
Her head turned—so slightly—as if she felt the brush of his words on her cheek. But she didn't shy away. From him or his touch. Whatever distrust she'd held for him yesterday, it seemed to have gone with the rising of the sun.
A new noise came to him over the sound of the burbling river.
She was humming.
She did that a lot.
He couldn't say how he knew, only that he did.
A flash of the sketches in the notebook popped into his mind. There'd been a small bird on several pages, in a corner or along the inside margin.
A song sparrow.
Some tenuous connection to her clicked into place.Sparrow.
It wasn't a name, but somehow it fit.
Light filtered through the leaves, creating patterns on the ground around them. Something stirred inside his mind.
"I remember fishing," he murmured. She didn't look at him, but he had the sense that she was listening.
He was conscious of what had happened yesterday when he'd tried to grasp on to the memory. This time, he let the images float there in his mind, not pushing. Not chasing after them.
"Not exactly like this," he said the words barely above a whisper. "We had... poles, I think."
