“I use a knife. Is there another way without using hands?”
He drops his head. “I’m so dumb. I’ve never seen a fish that wasn’t packaged in the grocery store or served to me in a restaurant. I guess I just never thought about it.”
“You’re not dumb. Lots of people don’t know what happens outside of a supermarket. I can teach you if you want.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No thanks. I’ll just stick to catching them if that’s okay. What about just trail rides? How often do you do those?”
Pausing my work, I lift my shirt to wipe my face before continuing. It’s warm in the barn this evening. “If you want to go by the book, we schedule morning, afternoon, andtwilight. Of course, it’s always flexible, and so are the distances. An hour, a few hours, and sometimes we do overnight camps.”
When I turn back to Ethan after stowing the last saddle, his arms hang limp at his sides, and his gaze seems to be stuck on me like I’m a stranger.
“Is something wrong?” I ask as I wipe at my face. Maybe I have a hunk of mud there. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Uh, no. I’m fine.” He swallows and motions to me. “You, ah…you’re hiding a lot under that shirt, Colt. Kind of took me by surprise. Maybe I should put you in all the marketing shirtless. To heck with the mountain scenery.”
My hand absently runs over my stomach as he speaks. I’m fit for my age, I know that. I have to be because it’s physically demanding. I’ve never flaunted it, though.
“Please don’t ask to take photos with me half naked.” I love my job, but I could never do that.
Ethan shakes his head, his normal demeanor returning. “No, I’d never do that. Just was surprised.” He pockets his phone and tilts his head toward the door. “I’m going to get some work done. Thanks for the ride today. Maybe you can take me fishing next?”
“I’m at your disposal, Ethan. I'm available whenever you need something. Just say the word.”
He bites his lip and turns toward the door. “Good to know. I’ll come and find you. Thanks, Colt. Have a nice night.”
I watch Ethan’s back as he leaves, my hand still on my stomach and my mind racing. I should have asked him out.
Springtime brings a lot of things,but one of my favorites is the reopening of Your Fly is Down, the fly-fishing and tackle shopin town. Not only do I get to wander among all the colorful feathers and furs, but I get to talk with Chris again.
The door of Your Fly is Down closes behind me, and a familiar head lifts from behind the fly-tying bench at the front of the store.
“Colt Beckworth, this is a record of how fast you came here after opening day.” The large man, Chris Egans, lowers the magnifying loops from his face and pushes away from the fly-tying bench. “How the hell are you?”
He meets me in the middle of his shop, arms open for a friendly hug, and I step into them.
“Doing pretty good. You look great. Winter in the south agrees with you.” Chris and his wife close the fly shop every November and spend four months in the Florida sunshine.
Stepping out of the hug, Chris grins and pats his small belly. “It does. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s nice to be close to so many great restaurants on the beaches. I miss my little place here, but it’s nice to get away.”
Several boxes of unpacked stock sit against the wall, but Chris ignores them and returns to his bench, where he’s tying flies. He’s brilliant with his designs and creations, and they often sell out to the tourists here. Especially when I use them on guided tours and catch huge fish with them.
Chris can barely keep up with the demand when that happens.
“Are you working on a fly for me to test? I’m due to start a fishing guide in two weeks when the rainbow should be finished spawning.”
Chris laughs as he leans over the vise clamped on the desk, and I watch for a moment as he deftly ties a pair of sheer wings to the small body he already made on the hook. It always amazes me how a few fibers on a hook can mimic a real insect. Chrisis a master at it, too.
“I’ve been thinking about it. This one might be a contender. How’s the ranch shaping up for the season with bookings?”
With a huff, I wander through the store and admire the peacock feathers standing in a jar while I find the words to answer his question.
“It’s picking up. They hired a…marketing expert. An influencer, I think he called himself.”
Chris leans back and abandons his loops completely, slipping his glasses back on.
“You don’t like him?”
“No…I like him just fine.” My chest swells as I inhale a breath and pet the piece of fox pelt next to me. “He’s, um, nice to look at.”
