The earth beneath her ugly boots seemed to shift as they picked their way toward the rushing waters below. Zeke occasionally took her elbow, which made her feel safe, something that warmed her from the inside out.

Every now and then she peeked through her eyelashes at the man, who wagged his head left and right keeping an eye out for cougars, which he said came down from the mountain sometimes. A decent haircut would do wonders for the man, not to mention a good trimming of his beard. Still, the mussed-up, carefree traveler look worked for Zeke. His shoulders were wide enough to withstand trouble, his rangy body alert. Those emerald eyes reminded her of fresh clover (the shade of eye shadow she used, not the actual plants), and his lips were full, a sort of Brad Pitt thing. Zeke mostly stayed quiet, his gaze attentive and intentional, but when he spoke, it was with animation and passion. She could hardly look away from him.

Yesterday on the porch, while Olivia engaged in a struggle with her sibling, Zeke had explained he was a fishing guide who owned his own business. He also made jigs that he sometimes sold online. She’d had no clue what a jig was, but he’d explained how he used bits of hair or feathers bound to a hook that looked enough like an insect to seduce a fish. Zeke had only been doing the guide service for a few years. Before that, he’d worked in NYC. She’d tried to find out why he’d ended up back in Cotter’s Creek, but he’d shrugged off her questions. Like Olivia, he seemed fine avoiding his own past. And that was something Chase understood well.

Finally, they reached the banks of the Upper Sacramento River, a forty-mile stretch of wildness and rushing waters at the base of a mountain. Zeke sat the rod cases he carried against a large boulder and peered out at the water, which had sounded more powerful than it looked, as if he were inspecting the river. The stream still rushed all in a hurry around rocks, forming brackish pools. Leaves skated on the surface, small flies hovered, and overhead birds called to one another. Sunlight fell onto the murky waters in patches, and in one pool she could see shapes moving.

“Are those fish?” She stopped on the rocky bank, the water kissing her boots, and pointed to the shadows in a nearby pool.

“Probably,” Zeke said, doing something with the rods and a case he carried, but she didn’t bother watching him prepare to fish. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from the beauty before her.

They were completely alone, buried in the evergreen dabbed with brilliant gold and persimmon along the stream. She stooped and felt the water. Not as warm as she’d expected. Cool nights and mornings had lowered the temperature.