Page 85 of Protect Me
I shrugged. “I don’t know how many nerves fish have. Better than dying, right?”
Unconvinced, she looked back in the water. Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t want to touch it.”
“I can help.”
She lifted a hand. “No, I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility. I’m going to set it free.”
With a little shudder, she handed off the fishing pole to me and reached into the water. I lifted the pole higher to bring the fish within reach. She spoke to it soothingly. A few grabby hands and squeals of disaster later, she had her fingers wrapped firmly around a small fish, not much longer than her palm.
Grimacing, Kate gently retracted the lure, then placed the fish back in the water. It darted away, disappearing into murky depths. Once completed, she wrapped her arms around her knees. Her fingertips flicked fish scales free.
“Gross.”
I laughed.
She fell into silence as I set her fishing pole to the side. When she turned to look at me again, she’d pulled the brim of her hat lower over her eyes.
“Why do you love fishing if you don’t eat much meat?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Not sure. It’s a reason to be outside, I think. I like meat, just in smaller doses than most people. If I’m going to eat an animal, I want to make sure it was fairly treated. Fishing trout from a mountain stream ensures that it lived a good life, I killed it humanely, and I don’t waste it. Feels better that way.”
Kate seemed to ponder that, then looked to the canyon walls again.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
She leaned back again. Her hair swept back over her shoulders, looking warm and silky. The sun-warm strands would smell like wildflowers, I bet. I wanted to bury my fingers in it and pull her close.
“Sure.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
Her brow rose. “My favorite color?”
I nodded.
She bumbled with a reply, then stammered, “Um . . . purple, I think.”
“Why?”
“Why is purple my favorite color?”
I rolled my lips to school back a laugh, charmed by her bewilderment. Her mouth lay slightly open, eyebrows crashed together.
“Yes. Why is purple your favorite?”
“I don’t know.” She tilted her head to the side. “I guess I’ve always thought the smell of lavender was soothing, and so was the gentle color. One time, Vini and I found a farm that grew lavender. You could walk through it and smell all the plants and learn about the growth cycle. It was really fun. We went there and had a good time. It was. . . . soothing.”
“Huh.”
She leaned forward, arms wrapped around bare knees. “You?”
“White.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Why is white your favorite?”
