Liberty for Paul

by Rose Gordon

  “Horse.”

  “Did you think of that all on your own?” she teased, putting her foot in his cupped hands.

  He boosted her up and helped her get settled. “Actually, I did. My brother wanted to name her something else. Something entirely unsuitable, I might add.”

  She wondered what it had been. If Paul had been Mr. Daltry, she would have asked. Her face heated up thinking of the scandalous things they’d talked about. His soft chuckle brought her back to reality.

  “Your fetching blush suggests you’re thinking up all sorts of naughty possibilities. However, I can assure you, you’ll never guess,” he said, flashing her a wolfish grin.

  “Then you shall have to inform me,” she said, holding the reigns a bit too tight.

  He shook his head. “No. Believe it or not, there are things even I won’t say. And even if I were the kind to say such filth, I wouldn’t say it in front of you.”

  “And why not?” she demanded haughtily.

  “Because I’d hate to offend your sensibilities by shocking you,” he said, still grinning. “By the way, you’re holding the reigns too tight. Relax your hold. That’s better.”

  “Your excuse won’t wash with me. I know lots of shocking things,” she returned pertly.

  He snorted. “Like what?” He grabbed onto Horse’s bridle and started walking her forward.

  “Like all sorts of dirty slang for a man’s pizzle,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t turn around and catch her blushing.

  He stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. “Finally figure that out, did you?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you,” she retorted after he started walking again.

  “I would have told you if you’d asked. You never did. And when I offered, you refused and fled the room soon after,” he returned. Silence engulfed them, broken only when Paul made an unusual sound with his mouth and mused, “Who did tell you, I wonder.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. This had not been a good conversation to start, she realized. She’d wanted him to confide whatever secret he was keeping from her and thought he’d tell her if she exposed that she wasn’t as innocent as he thought. Apparently she was wrong. “A friend,” she said at last.

  “A friend?” he repeated bitterly, sending nervous chills up her spine.

  “Yes, a friend,” she confirmed.

  He pulled on Horse’s bridle and she turned slightly to start walking toward a not so distant stream. “Why Miss Live-by-the-rules Liberty, I must say I’m rather surprised you would choose a friend who’d discuss such things; or even think about them, for that matter.”

  Irritation at his words caused her lips to twist into a sneer. “There's lots of things you don’t know about me.”

  “Of that, I am quite certain,” he said dryly, guiding the horse around a knot of trees and shrubs. “You hardly see fit to share anything about yourself with me.” His last sentence was barely louder than a whisper and caused her heart to squeeze at the raw emotion exposed in his words. He’d wanted to know her and she’d purposely been distant.

  “What would you like to know?” she asked, ready to make a new start.

  “There are many things I’d like to know. But first, I’d like to know if you’d care to have a picnic with me,” he asked, leading Horse around one final tree to where a picnic had been lain out and was waiting for them.

  “You planned this?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “Not at all,” he said, shaking his head earnestly. “About an hour ago, I was walking from that gazebo over there,” he pointed to a white gazebo a hundred yards away, “after having my daily devotions and I happened upon a couple of young lovers in the midst of a tryst. Scandalized, I preached to them until they abandoned their wicked activities, begged me to baptize them in the stream and went along their merry way. Then I thought what a shame it would be to let their food go to waste and came to see if you would like to indulge in the act of gluttony with me.”

  She couldn’t control the giggle that overtook her. “I would be happy to be a glutton with you. Although, I must admit, I had no idea you had such a sense of humor,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he put his hands on her waist to help her off the horse.

  “Didn’t you?” he murmured in her ear, his warm breath fanning her ear. “Perhaps there are many things you don’t know about me, either.” He led her to the blanket and unloaded the basket while she sat down on the blanket and watched the ripples in the stream.

  Placing her hands on the ground behind her, she reclined and tilted her face toward the sun. It was a rather warm day for the middle of March, she mused as the sun heated her face. Feeling daring, she brought one hand up and untied her bonnet and tossed it down next to her. “What did you pack for us?” she asked casually.

  “Nothing,” he said, pulling out a wheel of cheese. “But I have it best authority that Cookie sent some of her famous shredded chicken sandwiches.”

  “Cookie?” she repeated with a small giggle. “Please tell me that is not her real name.”

  “No,” he admitted, coming to sit next to her. He’d stripped to his shirtsleeves and had undone his top button. He sat with his knees up and his arms resting across them. “That’s just what we call her. Sadly, I don’t remember all the story, but I’ll tell you what I can remember. When I was three I liked to go help her make cookies and other treats in the kitchen. One day I told her I loved her and thought she was sweeter than any cookie ever could be.” He put his head down and shook it, undeniably embarrassed. “Thank goodness I don’t remember saying that to her. However, even though I don’t remember it, both Cookie and my mother thought it was the most darling thing ever and from that day forward, everyone always called her Cookie.”

  She laughed. “You’ll have to make cookies for us sometime, then,” she said, favoring him with a smile.

  “Oh, you don’t want me to, I assure you,” he told her, grabbing a sandwich and handing it to her. “I’ve tried on a few occasions to make them myself. They were so bad a stray dog I found in Bath wouldn’t eat them.”

  She stripped off her gloves before unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “These are good. Do you think she’d write the recipe down for Mrs. Siddons?” she asked before sinking her teeth into the sandwich again.

  “Probably,” he mumbled as he inhaled his sandwich.

  They finished their picnic and Liberty was helping to put the glasses and such away when Paul grabbed her wrist and hauled her to her feet. “You don’t have to do that, I’ll get it.”

  “No; you got it out. I’ll put it away.”

  He shook his head. “If you want to you can, but I was wondering if you might want to do something else instead.”

  “All right,” she said curiously. He was being extremely nice to her today and she couldn’t figure out why. Not that he’d been especially mean to her in the past, but today it felt like he was going out of his way to be overly friendly and it caused the guilt of what she’d done with Mr. Daltry to increase tenfold.

  “Do you remember the day I was late to Alex’s?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you asked where I was that day and I said out. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes,” she said, breaking eye contact. “You said your watch was broken and you lost track of time while you were out.” This would have been a perfect time to give him his watch back. If only she would have brought it with her.

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But I didn’t say anything just now about my watch. I asked if you remember that I told you I was out.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking back to his face. “You said you were out, but never said what you were doing.” She pulled her wrist from his fingers as if she’d been burned. Had he been with another woman that day?

  “Would you like to know what I was doing?” he asked gently.

  “I—I don’t know,” she stammered. She knew he’d been with other women, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear him admit it. Es
pecially after they’d had such a good morning so far.

  He smiled at her. “How about if I tell you anyway? I was fishing.”

  “Fishing?” she repeated, astonished. “Do you do that often?”

  He nodded. “As often as I can. It’s my favorite pastime. I usually go in the afternoon after I’ve taken care of all my responsibilities with the church.”

  “I see.”

  “I brought my equipment with me today and I thought I’d teach you, if you’d like.”

  She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had confessed to an affair. “I would like that very much,” she said simply, watching as a grin bent his lips.

  He walked over to where a smaller basket was setting closer to the stream. He lifted the lid and pulled out a little box. She walked over to stand next to him as he pointed at the objects inside and said, “These are called flies. They’re made from bits of animal hair and bird feathers wrapped around a hook and made to look like an insect.” He took a couple out and placed them on his bare palm then held it up for her to see the different flies. “As you can see, some turned out better than others. The one on the far right, for example; it would be a perfect mayfly except I didn’t wrap the thread tight enough and some of the hair has come loose.”

  “You made them?” she asked, picking one up to inspect it more closely.

  “Of course. A fisherman is only as good as his tackle,” he told her, putting all but one fly back into the box. He put the fly box back and grabbed what looked like a giant spool of thread. “This is called the reel and the string you see wrapped around is called the line,” he said, holding it up so she could see it. He frowned. “There seems to be a tangle in it. Say, why don’t you grab my rod while I work out this knot?”

  “Excuse me?” she exclaimed in shock. He wanted her to grab his rod?

  He looked up with wide and innocent eyes. “Grab my pole while I finish untangling this.”

  Her eyes went even wider. She hoped she’d misheard him the first time, but apparently she hadn’t. The rude man had brought her out here with the express intent to do unspeakable things. Well, that did not mean she had to let him. She crossed her arms and stared at him while he picked at the knot.

  “Or just stand there and watch me,” he grumbled, tugging on the line.

  Angry heat crept up her face and she bit the inside of her cheek. Her gaze dropped to just below his waist and she swallowed. Slowly she uncrossed one of her arms and extended her hand in the direction of his waist. Her fingers were just scant inches from him when suddenly his fingers closed around her wrist, staying her hand. Her eyes flew to his. “What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

  Her face flamed with embarrassment and she moistened her lips. “You said to grab your rod,” she said defiantly.

  “Oh, for goodness' sakes, Liberty,” he burst out, “I meant my fishing rod. Look to your left. Do you see that long skinny pole leaning against the tree there? That’s what I was talking about, not my privates. It seems you have willies on the brain today.”

  Mortification overtook her. “I’m sorry,” she started, “I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, cutting her off. “You didn’t realize I wasn’t talking metaphorically. It’s all right. Would you please go grab my fishing rod?”

  Without responding, she walked over to the tree, snatched the pole and walked back over to him. “Here,” she said, resting it against his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he said, picking up his rod and attaching the reel.

  “You’re welcome. Once again I’m sorry about…” she trailed off and looked at his hands as they twisted little metal objects on the rod.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “Although, I must say, it’s good to know you’re so eager to touch me there,” he teased.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t willing at first,” she countered cheekily. “It was only after I decided you’d never ask me to do so again when I was done with you that I reached forward.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Is that so? I knew you were a bloodthirsty one.”

  “Yes, I am,” she confirmed with a smile.

  “Never fear, now that I know that, I shall not ask you to touch me there,” he told her with a smile. “However, I would like you to grab onto the end of this.” He held the rod out to her and she grabbed the handle.

  “Now what do I do?” she asked.

  “First, you wait a minute while I finish tying the fly onto the line.” He quickly tied the line around the hook eye. “Done. Now, we go fish with it.” He led her closer to the stream and stood behind her before covering her hands with his. “First you have to pull out a good bit of line, like so. Then you cast. To do that you put your right hand here and you loosely hold onto the line with your left. Exactly so. All right. Now, you’re going to bring it straight up in the air and then snap it forward. Very good. Now, do it again. Don’t go so far back. You want to keep your wrist straight and stop when your forearm meets your upper arm.” He released her and stood back to watch.

  “Like this?” she asked, demonstrating what she thought to be proper form.

  “Close,” he said, grabbing her hands again. “You’re bending your wrist. Keep it straight.” His body being so close to hers made hers hum with awareness. There was no mistaking the sheer masculinity of him.

  “Is this better?” she asked, pulling the rod back again.

  “Perfect. Now this time, do that three times and on the third time, snap it almost all the way to the water and loosen your grip on the line enough that it flies out.”

  She looked at him curiously before trying to do what he just said. She pulled her arm back as he instructed three times then she let go of her line, and watched with a frown as her line just fell into a pool of circles at her feet. “I don’t think I did it right.”

  “That’s not your fault,” he assured her, taking the rod from her and pulling the line back in. “It’s difficult to explain. I’ll show you instead.” He grabbed the pole and crooked his left index finger around the line. “All right, you bring it back and snap it forward. Each time you need to allow some of the line to escape. Like so.” He demonstrated twice. “Then on the third time, you’ll want to loosen your hold almost completely to allow even more line to escape as you bring your rod tip almost to the water.” He started over and showed her a complete cast. “Then when the fly is in the water, you move the line over a bit and hold it loosely with your right index finger under the rod while using your left hand to pull in the line.”

  “Why are your pulling it in so jerkily?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m not pulling it in just yet. I’m making small jerking movements with the line so the fly on the end moves under the water. See, the goal is to fool the fish into thinking there’s a bug for him to eat. So you have to jerk the line to move the fly to fool the fish,” he explained with a smile. “It sounds confusing, but it’s really not.” He started to pull the line in, letting it collect into a mass on the ground. “Here, why don’t you give it another go.” He handed her the rod and stepped back.

  She tried to cast a few more times. Each time she got slightly better, but that wasn’t saying much. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said, admitting defeat and offering him his rod back.

  “Nonsense,” he said, pushing her hand away. He walked behind her and grabbed her hands again. “You just started. You’ll get it. I’ll help you this time,” he murmured in her ear, sending sparks of excitement skidding down her spine. He was so close.

  Together they cast and the fly landed right in the middle of a shadowed weed bed. “Did I mess it up?” she asked tentatively.

  “No, not at all. We want it there. That’s where the fish are,” he said, pressing his body closer to hers and helping her work the line.

  “Oh.” Was it just her or did the weather just heat up ten degrees? Being nestled against Paul’s hard body made her blood race with excitement.

  A second later
there was a soft tug on the line. Not sure what to do, her eyes went wide and her hands tightened their holds on the line and pole. “Relax,” he murmured. “You caught a fish. Now you need to set the hook. Slightly pull up on the rod. All right, now reel him in.”

  She was too excited to comply and heard Paul chuckle in her ear. “He’s so ugly he’s cute,” she said when they finally brought the fish out of the water.

  “Now that’s a compliment if I ever heard one,” he remarked, reaching into the fish’s mouth to dislodge the hook. “Do you want to put him back?”

  “What do I do? Just fling him in?”

  Paul’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “You could, I suppose. Most do. But it’s best if you don’t. It shocks the fish when you do that.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “No need. What you do is hold the fish like this,” he placed the fish in the palm of his hand and brought his fingers and thumb up to hold it firmly in between, “then you walk to the edge of the water and lower him in. Be sure to hold onto him until he’s fully submerged. Then let go and he’ll take off.”

  She twisted her lips and looked at their squirming catch. “I don’t know if I can hold onto that wiggly thing,” she admitted.

  “You’ll be fine. Just hold him tightly so he doesn’t break free,” he encouraged, transferring the fish to her hand.

  She’d never felt anything so slimy in her life and was rethinking her decision to discard her gloves before they ate. Even if the gloves would have been ruined, her hands wouldn’t feel so gross. “He’s so wiggly, I think I’m about to drop him,” she panicked.

  “He’ll live. I’ve had a few that have wiggled from my grasp before. You shouldn’t drop him on purpose, mind you, but if you do, he’ll be fine,” he assured her as she nervously walked to the edge of the water.

  “Is this good?” she asked, holding the fish in the water.

  “Yes. Now let him go.”

  She watched the fish swim away and couldn’t stop from grinning like a simpleton. “That was really exciting. Does it always feel so exciting to catch a fish?”