Nature can be unforgiving; therefore, you must be prepared to defend yourself in a variety of situations to survive.
~
As soon as my ear detects a sound behind me, I pivot, sweeping my leg along the ground. My foot clips two black boots, catching my attacker off guard. He trips and falls. I quickly pounce on top and jab my knee into his chest, pinning him to the ground.
I do all this in a flash, without thinking or even realizing who it is.
Mo stares up at me with wide eyes. “Bloody hell!”
It takes a second to register his face. “Jesus. Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on someone?” I roll off him and jump to my feet, still tense and on guard. Darting my eyes, I search the woods to be sure someone else isn’t with him.
Mo lies on his back with his mouth hanging open. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking.” He sits up and smacks dirt off his pants. “Anyway, I believe it’s much ruder to attack someone who’s only armed with a fishing pole and a smile.”
I take my hand off the handle of my knife before he notices I almost drew a weapon on him. “Well, if we’re getting literal, I wasn’t attacking. I was defending.”
He holds up two hands. “Is it safe for me to get up?”
I shrug and hide a smirk. “If you can.”
Mo stands and massages the back of his neck. “Crumbs, I can’t figure you out, Grace.”
My tummy flip-flops when he says my name. “Are you trying to?”
He teases me with his eyes. “Maybe.”
I recoil, surprised at his bluntness. “So then, what’s the big mystery?” After all, Dad says I wear my emotions on my sleeve so I can’t be that difficult to read.
He picks his bag up off the ground. “Do you always react like this?”
“Do you always stalk girls? In the woods? When they’re alone? Anyway, after the other day, do you really blame me?”
Mo frowns and shakes his head. “No, I guess I don’t. You’re right. It was daft of me not to say anything. I apologize. Then again, I told you not to come out here alone. So in a way, maybe it was a lesson.”
“Only it looks like you’re the one who learned something.”
Mo grins and bows. “Touché.” He studies me and moves his lips to one side, chewing on the bottom one. “Well, not many people can throw me off guard. I believe you’re one of the first.”
I wish, I think. Instead, I say, “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Might ruin your reputation.”
He purses his lips before smiling. “It’s all right. Those are overrated anyway. Where’d you learn to move like that?”
I tuck my hands into my pockets so he can’t see the lingering tremors from an overflow of adrenaline. “My dad taught me self defense. He was a black belt.”
“Hmmm. Smart man.”
“Yes, he was ... I mean ... is.” The pit of my stomach boils when I realize I almost used the past tense. My heart sinks, wondering if deep down, I’m secretly giving up. Letting go. I shake off the feeling. No, I will not let that happen. Ever.
Mo eyes my rod. “So let me get this straight. You’re a flyfisher, a tracker, and a black belt’s protégé?” He flips into a bad American accent. “Grace, you are one whacky chick.”
I return to the moment and crack a grin. “Ha ha. What are you doing here anyway? If I was paranoid, I’d think you were following me.”
He pushes his longish bangs to the side, out of his inviting eyes. “I was out collecting samples and wondered if you’d be here.”
“Thought this wasn’t a ‘good idea.’”
He laughs aloud. A deep throaty laugh that divides the tension between us in half. “And telling by your reaction, I was right. You out here fishing alone sure isn’t the best idea.”
“So then why’d you come?”
He claps the dirt off his hands and smears the rest on his pants. “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”
I grin and wrinkle my nose. “Only it was you who needed protection.”
“Who knew?” Mo moves next to me and stares out at the river. His elbow jabs me lightly between the ribs. “Oi. Fancy showing me some of your fishing moves?”
I inch to the right. “I changed my mind. I don’t fish with strangers.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh! Pardon me, but if I recall, this bloody stranger saved your life. That should count for something.”
I tap my finger to my lips and contemplate. “Why? You could be a mass murderer, casing riverbanks for your next victim.”
Mo shakes his head in disagreement. “That’s poppycock. If I were a mass murderer, I’d pick a more populated spot. Nothing ‘mass’ about it if it’s just one poor ole’ sod. Anyway, I don’t think a killer would take time out to fish. Do you?”
“Maybe it’s your cover.” I shrug. “Never know these days. The world’s a dangerous place.”
He smacks his forehead dramatically. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Did you think I would?”
“I guess not. Oh well, if you’re not going to fish with me,” Mo tosses his bag over one shoulder and shifts into an odd drawl, “then I’ll just mosey along.” He begins slowly walking away, every few feet looking back over his shoulder with a sad puppy face.
I giggle at his horrific attempt at a Southern accent and pitiful expression. Probably worse than my English one. “To where?”
“My secret fishing spot.”
My smile drops, and I call out to him as he leaves, hopping from rock to rock. “That’s ridiculous! I’ve lived here all my life and know every spot here.”
He shakes his head without looking back. “Not this one.”
I grow slightly irritated, shifting from foot to foot in a swaying motion. “Impossible. I’ve hiked out here almost every day since I was three.”
“Then you have nothing to fear, my dear. Fancy coming along? Or are you scared you might actually enjoy hanging out with a foreign stranger.”
“Hardly.” I pause for a few seconds. Part of me needs to stay. Yet a larger piece of me wants to go check this guy out. If he knows of a place I don’t, then maybe it’s a new place to search. Or maybe I should just go along because I deserve a break. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s the catch? No pun intended.”
He grins mischievously. “If I show you a spot you’ve never seen, you have to teach me how to fish.”
“Thought you knew how to fish.”
He scoops up some water and runs his wet hands through his hair. Little drops land on his lips. “Bloody hell, woman, you know what I mean. Flyfish.”
My stomach flip-flops at the thought of spending more time with him. “What if I’ve been there before? What are you going to do for me?”
He scratches his scruffy cheeks for a few seconds until his face lights up. “I’ll cook you a fabulous dinner.”
“Can you cook?”
“Abso-bloody-lutely.” I pretend to think for a moment, letting the suspense accumulate. Mo urges me on. “Come off it. What are you afraid of?”
Everything, I think. “Nothing,” I say.
“So, you in?”
* * *
Yellow stargrass borders the overgrown trail. Beams of sun pour through the scattered canopy. Mo walks a few yards ahead of me. I’m preoccupied by his gait as he saunters along the path. He moves with a slight rhythm and confidence.
He sneaks a peek over his shoulder to check on me. I pretend to be studying my footsteps so he doesn’t catch me gawking. We traipse along the wooded track in silence, an unspoken agreement not to ruin the peace with mindless chatter.
After tracking our coordinates, I’ve come to the dreaded conclusion that I probably haven’t seen Mo’s secret hideaway. I scrunch my face. Crap. I know these woods are vast, but how can some dude all the way from England find a place I don’t know about when I’ve lived here my whole life?
“We there yet?” Dad’s silly response plays in my head. What do you mean by ‘there’? Because wherever you go, there you are. I smile to myself thinking about how he never answers a question directly.
Mo obviously doesn’t get the joke, because he responds, “Nearly. Does anything look familiar?”
“Keep walking, English boy.” I’m not about to admit anything yet. Especially my inevitable defeat. I’m not looking forward to confessing the truth.
That I’m wrong.
Something I hate almost as much as losing.
After winding around a few more bends, Mo stops in front of a huge rotted tree trunk that stretches across a wide creek. The wood appears to be scarred, battered by Mother Nature. We inch across the log to the other side. He jumps down and holds out his hand to help me.
“I got it.” I leap over the gap on my own. Why do guys always assume girls need help?
He points ahead. “We’re almost there. Nervous?”
“You wish,” I say.
We hike downhill, deeper into the green canvas splattered with brown hues. The broken path disappears as we trudge along a lane decorated with splotches of different colored flowers. He stops and looks both ways before continuing down a patchy trail.
I tease him. “I’m starting to think you might be lost?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m traipsing through a dark forest with a stranger after only knowing you a day. What do you think?”
He smiles at me over his shoulder. “Sounds exciting!”
A few minutes later, he stops in front of a small opening, surrounded by thick foliage, and motions me through a leafy doorway. “Welcome to paradise, Blossom.”