Traquair had its own river.”
He chewed on a piece of wild mustard. “This land isn’t part of Traquair.”
“But we’re less than five miles from the house. Whose land is it?”
He grinned. “Mine. I told you we were neighbors.”
“I had no idea our land was connected.” Stretching out my legs, I leaned back on my hands and nodded toward the fishing poles lying in the grass. “You did say you would teach me to fly-fish, didn’t you?”
I could feel the approval in his glance. “I said I would teach you to fish,” he said softly. “Fly-fishing is another matter.”
“Why is that?”
He released the catch on his tackle box and pulled out what looked like a brightly colored insect and a hook. Reaching for one of the poles, he tied the hook to the fishing line, knotted the pseudo fly, and secured it to the hook. “Bait,” he said, holding it out for my inspection.
I laughed. “You can’t be serious?”
“The best trout bait in the world.” He reached for my hand. “Come and see.”
We climbed down to a grassy knoll near the shore. I pulled on the boots he handed me while he cast out into the water. The line tightened as the current took it. Within seconds, the pole bent nearly in two, and the line went taut. With a quick flip of his wrist, Ian jerked the pole back hard. “I’ve hooked up,” he said. “Watch carefully.”
With exquisite skill, he alternated between pulling back on the pole with one hand while he reeled in his catch with the other. Finally, I could see the head emerge from the water, followed by the entire body, a large brown and silver fish hanging slack on the hook. Again with the precision of a surgeon, he cut the line, hooked the trout to what looked like a rope, anchored it into the bank, and set the now limp body gently back into the icy loch.
Ian rinsed his hands, tied another lure to the line, and turned back to me. “Your turn,” he said, holding out the pole.
I hesitated. “I’ve never done this before.”
“There’s no hurry. I’ll show you.” He stood behind me, his arms around my shoulders, his hands covering mine. Together, we cast out. I saw a flash of silver, and immediately the line went taut. “Can you feel it?” he asked excitedly. “You’ve hooked up.”
Considering our proximity, I responded with remarkable calm. “What do I do now?”
“Pull hard to embed the hook and then let him take the line.”
I leaned back against his chest, forgetting, for the moment, our intimate position. “Why not just pull him in?” I asked, thrilled at the idea of catching my first fish.
“The swim tires him out. That way he won’t fight and break the line.” His voice sounded strained. Caught up in the drama of the chase, I ignored it.
Sure enough, within moments, the pull lessened, and I was able to reel in my catch.
“Very nice,” approved Ian as he inspected the medium-sized trout. “You’re on your own.” Handing me the clippers to finish the task, he turned and walked up the bank for his own pole and boots. Instead of returning to the banks of the loch, he walked to the falls, waded into the current, and took his position at the mouth of the small burn that fed into the larger body of water.
We fished all morning. To be completely truthful, Ian did most of the fishing while I watched in appreciative silence. Caught up in the precise art and studied grace of a master at his craft, I sat mesmerized by the magic of the quiet glen and the ceaseless flow of water over clean stones.
I drank in every movement of the tall blond man standing thigh-deep in the sun-drenched river. The play of muscle across his back, the dip of his shoulder, the swing of his cast, the impatient way he threw his hair back from his forehead, became as familiar to me as my own reflection staring up from the loch.
I don’t have words to explain why the embarrassing tears sprang to my eyes every time I saw his arm lift, his wrist loosen and snap back, and the inevitable flash of twisting line as it skimmed across the water, dancing like a dragonfly in the sunlight. Time passed without notice. I sat for hours, content just to stare at the sky, the water, the trees, and a man whose smile made my blood run hot after such a long