One Night with a Cowboy - Sara Richardson Page 0,79
they waded in the small pond. “There’s really no bad spot here.” Off to the left, a waterfall tumbled down the wall of rock he’d loved to climb as a kid, opening up into a deep pool before the banks widened into the fishing pond. The whole scene was hemmed in by jagged, snow-covered mountain peaks.
“Look at that waterfall!” Ryan and Timothy splashed their way to the edge of the deeper pool.
Wes met them there. “I used to climb up all those rocks and jump into the pool. With my dad’s help, of course.” He didn’t want the kids getting any fancy ideas. The rock wall had to be at least twenty feet tall, and it had always been slippery because of the spray.
“That’s so cool!” Ryan looked up at him in awe.
“I think it’s kinda scary,” Timothy said, moving in his dad’s direction.
“We can just admire it from a distance.” Wes unlatched the fishing pole from the outside of his backpack. They hadn’t really come equipped to swim anyway. “The best part about this place is the fishing. I can promise you that.”
“Yes!” Ryan sprinted over to where he’d dropped his backpack. “I can’t wait to use this fishing pole. It’s the coolest.”
Wes turned to the rest of the group scattered behind him. “We can spread out. Let me know if you need help rigging up any of the gear.”
Everyone dispersed, with Timothy and Cal walking the path to the south side of the pond and Carlos and Gabe meandering farther north. Wes joined Ryan on a large flat rock where the pool and the pond met. “This is actually one of the best spots on the lake,” he whispered to the kid.
Ryan paused from tying on a fly beneath the bobber Wes had rigged up earlier. “Really?”
“Really. The fish like the deeper water.” He pointed to the pool. “But then they come to the shallower water to feed on bugs.”
“I hope they feed on my bug.” Ryan went back to work on the fly, his tongue sticking out slightly while he focused.
Wes pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture. “I’m sure the fish will love that fly.” It had never let him down before. He handed Ryan the small scissors from his tackle box so the boy could cut off the extra line. “It looks exactly like the ones they’re feeding on.”
“That’s what I thought.” Ryan stood up and shuffled to the edge of the rock, where he brought the pole back and then cast the fly onto the pond’s surface.
“Wow, sweet cast.” Wes sat on the other side of him where he wouldn’t interfere.
“Thanks.” The boy shot him a toothy grin. “I’ve been practicing real hard at home.”
“I can tell.” Wes took another picture of him reeling in the line.
“I’ll try again. I bet I can get it even farther this time.” Ryan wound up again and then sent the fly hurtling through the air. It landed with a delicate splash a good foot away from where he’d put it the first time.
“This is the hard part.” The kid sat next to Wes, never taking his eyes off the bobber. “Catching a fish sure seems to take a long time.”
“Yeah, it takes a lot of patience,” Wes agreed, remembering how hard it had been at Ryan’s age for him to sit still. “My dad used to pass the time by telling stories about the miners who’d settled in these hills back in the 1800s.”
“Did they find gold?” Ryan seemed to have forgotten all about the bobber. Instead, he focused on Wes.
“Some did.” He pointed to the top of the waterfall. “According to my dad, some prospectors found gold right up in that creek there.” He realized suddenly, as he looked into Ryan’s excited face, that his father had likely made up the whole story, but Wes went on to tell it anyway. “There was one miner in particular who came all the way from Canada to settle right here on this land. They called him Wild Bill, and most people thought he was an outlaw on the run.”
“Like the police were chasing him?” Ryan turned to face Wes fully.
“Exactly. But they could never find him, because he was a true mountain man.” He glanced at the bobber to make sure they hadn’t missed a fish. “Legend has it that Wild Bill built his house somewhere inside the mountain. Some people think he still lives there today.”