She lifted her face and let the mellow September sun warm her while she inhaled deeply of the rich green smells. They were walking along the bank of the stream that wended through the woods behind the cottage. “Midday feeding, a good time to catch fish,” Jon said, stopping and pointing to the stream. Anne shielded her eyes and followed his gaze. The current flowed between the rocks and made clear pools. Many large, silvery-white fish swirled in the dark blue depths. Alongside the pools, riffles rushed, frothy white over pebbles that gleamed in the warm sunlight. “But we didn’t bring a pole,” she said. “We don’t need a pole or fishing line.” He grinned at her while pulling off his leather glove. “I think you ought to have the pleasure of getting your fair hands dirty for once.” He stripped down to his shirtsleeves, knelt down and crawled out flat on the mossy bank. “Now watch me.” He reached into the placid dark pool and tickled and coaxed a fish. Then he grasped the fish in both hands, leapt to his feet and rushed over to her.
