9. Colt
Colt
Ihad to push my fishing plans with Ethan back a day.
The ranch needed help with cattle, and Gunner needed my help to fix a gate on the exercise ring. Then I had a call from Uncle Albert’s retirement home. Thank god I had my phone charged that morning. He had a minor fall and went to the hospital, but all was okay.
After that call, so many things came into perfect clarity.
I couldn’t reject carrying a phone anymore or forgetting to charge it.
What if it had been worse than a fall? I’d never forgive myself if I wasn’t there for him.
It opened my eyes to how I’d been behaving, and, with an honesty I’d never voiced, I realized I was so afraid to lose my uncle that I did everything I could to avoid speaking to or visiting him since he moved to the retirement home.
It made little sense, but after a long talk with Gunner, I noticed what I was doing.
I’d built a shell to live in to not upset myself.
Nobody in and nobody out. The perfect status quo.
But it’s impossible to keep it. My only remaining family member will one day be gone, and while I want to spend all my time with him, I simultaneously keep him at arm’s length because I’m afraid of a life without him.
The lingering trauma of what happened with my mother leaked into my adult life, mostly unnoticed. Maybe a therapist tried to mention it, and I ignored it, but the problem remains.
Just like I don’t want to let anyone in when I’ve denied that I’m lonely for years.
Painting, fly-fishing, work…nothing actually fills the gap I’ve created in my life, but I don’t know how to go about filling it.
It’s probably not wise to try with a guy who’s only here for a short time, but I like Ethan.
He feels safe for me to try, even when I already know I’ll have to say goodbye.
God, no wonder I have anxiety flare-ups. Clearly, I should have kept up with my therapy and not resorted to only journaling.
“Hey, Colt.”
Gunner meets me at my truck as I remove the supplies for today’s fly-fishing outing with Ethan.
“Hey, Gunner. What’s up?”
“Just checking in. How’s your uncle?”
“Fine. Only a bruised ego. He’s embarrassed more than anything.”
“Glad to hear it’s nothing more serious.” He drops his voice and steps closer. “And you? How are you with everything today?”
“Nervous.” I huff a short laugh. “I did a lot of journalling last night. It felt good, but I’m scared, you know? Ethan…”
Gunner’s hand is firm on my shoulder. “Ethan might feel the same as you. At the end of the summer, anything is possible. Enjoy the connection that might be there, Colt. They come so infrequently in life. If you feel it, then be brave.”
“Right, right. I know. If I think too much, I just freeze up, and I’m forty damn years old.
I should be an adult.” A rogue anger builds toward myself as I face Gunner.
“I’ve been acting like some sort of sheltered teenager for the better half of my life.
I shouldn’t be like this, and I want to change. ”
“Colt, you went through things no child should ever experience. Those things don’t just go away. You did what you could, and when it worked, you kept at it. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Self-preservation isn’t a bad thing.”
My therapist used to say something similar when I was younger. Maybe it will never go away, but last night made me hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find someone I felt safe to be with in a way I never had before.
“I’m just frustrated.”
Footsteps crunch in the yard behind us, and we both turn to find Ethan approaching. He’s wearing the vest I gave him over a red flannel shirt with a pair of crisp new jeans and his new cowboy boots. His gaze darts between me and Gunner.
“Hi. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Gunner says as he surveys Ethan, then pointedly looks at my fishing vest lying on my tailgate.
“I was just telling Colt not to hurry back. You should take all the time you need for photos and research. Colt’s fly-fishing excursions have some openings in late summer. We’d love to get those filled.”
Ethan’s face lights up. “All day? Really? I’ll grab an extra battery pack then.”
Without waiting for my reply, he’s jogging back to his cabin, and Gunner laughs under his breath.
“Colt, he’s so eager to be with you. It’s not just about his job. Don’t think I didn’t notice the vest matching yours, either.” He playfully shoves against my shoulder. “I don’t want to see you back here too early. Enjoy it before we get busy. I’ll cover for you.”
He’s a few steps away before I finally find my words.
“Gunner!” He turns to face me, blue eyes still bright. “Thank you.” With a nod and a tip of his ever-present black Stetson, he continues on his way.
“I guess I’m doing this.”
Depositing all the gear we need near the horses I saddled earlier, I pack the saddlebags with the fishing gear on my horse and the cooking gear on Ethan’s. My stomach is in knots, and my mind is fabricating all kinds of scenarios for this trip, both good and bad.
Then Ethan shows up again, all smiles and bubbling excitement about learning to fish, and it all vanishes.
“Listen, I know you think I’m city folk and maybe this won’t be something I like, but I read up about it, and I’m excited.”
Ethan isn’t lying. You can’t fake his enthusiasm.
“You read up about fly-fishing? Really? What did you learn?”
A pink flush floods his cheeks as he clears his throat. “Uh, well, it’s called fly-fishing because you fish with flies. That’s mostly it. Oh, and it looks hard.”
I can’t stop the half-grin from forming on my face.
“You’re right on both counts.” Tipping my chin at his horse, I ask. “You remember how to mount and what to do?”
“Of course.”
He stuffs a boot in the stirrup, pulls himself up, and throws his leg over on the first try. The horse prances a few steps to the side. Ethan grips the reins and whispers to the horse.
He turns to me, clearly pleased with himself, and I am too. I mount my horse and, with a click of my tongue, we start our ride up to my favorite part of the creek.
Our ride to the fishing spot was peaceful.
Ethan took photos, but he mostly remained quiet except for the odd question. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet either. Something definitely shifted with us since we talked into the late night after our burger outing.
After leading the horses to the creek for a drink, we tie them away from the shore and carry all the gear down to the river’s edge. Ethan stands still, staring off down the creek, and I wonder if he shares my feelings about it.
“Snow Creek starts in the mountains with the spring thaw. The creek goes on for miles. There are skinny parts and wider parts closer to where other rivers meet it, but no matter what part of the river you’re at, it always has something to offer.
” Ethan nods and still looks over the water, and I assemble our gear.
“Water is life. In the deeper pools, we find fish. In the marshier places, it’s filled with tadpoles and frogs.
There’s grass and shelter for ducks and birds.
Large animals drink and bathe in it. Sometimes people drink it. It’s just…it’s like…”
“A never-ending gift. A provider,” Ethan supplies and turns to face me. “Often taken for granted. Am I close?”
Swallowing at how darn accurate he is, I nod. “Yeah.”
A fish jumps in the middle of the pool, and Ethan spins back only to catch the circles it left behind in the water.
“Oh my god, was that a fish, Colt!?”
“It was, and it’s a good sign. They’re hungry.” I hand him a rod and quickly pick a fly that the trout have always loved here. “I don’t expect you to learn how to tie knots today, so I’ll do that part for you. The fish always love this fly here in the spring.”
Ethan watches closely as I wrap the end of the leader and secure the fly with a clinch knot. Pulling my cutting tool from my vest, I snip off the excess and shove the waste piece of line into my pocket.
“Wow. I’m already impressed,” Ethan gushes as I finish the task with surgical efficiency.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. It takes practice.”
After tying a fly to my line, I set it aside and explain casting to Ethan. “I think for you, it would be easier to use a bow and arrow technique.” I pinch the line and pull back until the rod tip bends. “If you let the line go with the bent rod, it will spring out in front of you.”
I let the line go, and the fly travels out in front of me. “Then you bring it back by pulling on the line here, and you can either keep casting like that, or you can do a side cast like this.”
After showing him how to retrieve the line, I cast to the side a few times while Ethan watches. “The timing can be tricky when you bring it from the back to the front. I used to say a phrase in my head to help with that when I was just learning.”
“So a phrase that’s kind of the perfect wait time, then?”
“Exactly. I would say, ‘I love redheads,’ then bring my arm forward. Four beats should be the sweet spot.”
Ethan snickers. “Do you? Love redheads, I mean?”
“I don’t really care about someone’s hair, but these days I’m partial to ranch greenhorns.” I give Ethan a second to register my confession and carry on, “But that doesn’t really roll off your tongue.”
“It sure doesn’t.” He watches as I cast a few more times and talk him through pulling back the line. A trout jumps at the fly once but misses, and Ethan’s excitement is unmeasured.
“Oh my god, Colt! Did you see that? I should take photos.” He scrambles to get his phone from the pocket on his vest, then pauses. “Is it okay if I just take photos before trying? Some with you in it?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why you’re here.”
I don’t mind him taking photos while I fish.
Fishing is one of those activities that lets me just tune out the world, kind of like rock skipping.
It’s hard to tune out Ethan, though. In the quiet of nature, his breathy exclamations drag my attention back to him.
It’s not a distraction, though. More like an enhancement.