Epilogue
Katie
Ten months later
I turned toward the camera I’d poised on my tripod. “We are at the Fraser River today with expert fly fisherman Joe Lawrence,
who will be teaching us the art of fly-fishing.” I held up the rod. “Already—much to his possible peril—Joe has given me a
fly rod, which is different from spin fishing, mostly because of the line we use, right, Joe?”
“That’s right.” The man adjusted his ball cap and then reached out to tug at the line of my rod. “In fly-fishing, lines are
weighted so that you don’t need to use a bobber or heavy bait. Lines can be any weight from one to twelve, one being the lightest.
We’re using a six weight on your rod for small bass or trout you might catch in this river.”
“And this is the fly.” I raised the fake bait up so that I could edit it later into a closer shot. “As you can see, these
flies look a lot like lures we see in spin fishing, but flies are practically weightless.”
“Which is why the line needs to be weighted—so your cast will reach its goal,” Joe added. “Now casting is a fluid motion where
you try to bend the rod to create energy. That’s called ‘loaded.’ You want the rod to come to a stop twice.”
He demonstrated the action with his own rod, and it looked a whole lot prettier than what I’d tried to do off-screen. I should
have brought Graeme and Lachlan on this assignment. They loved fishing.
I, however, loved the idea of fishing more than the actual action. Especially when it involved finesse.
“Keep the line as straight as possible as you move it from behind to the front with your aim on the fish you have in your
sights.”
I attempted to replicate his movements, only to have the line fall kerplunk at my feet.
“You need to strengthen your wrist a little, Katie,” Joe said. “You don’t want a noodle wrist.”
I looked in the camera. “Save the noodles for your spaghetti, folks.”
“And make sure the rod doesn’t go too far behind you or too far in front.” He adjusted my hands. “That’s a better grip. Now
tuck any of your slack under your finger.” He nodded, glancing over my head for a second before continuing. “Ready to try
again?”
“Sure am!” I looked back at the camera. “Because I’m sure everyone is waiting with baited breath.”
Joe rolled his eyes with impressive dexterity.
“Okay, let’s practice again.” And with my usual excitement, I swung the rod back and forward as practice, heeding his ten
o’clock–two o’clock rule... or at least I tried. The line made it a little farther this time.
Joe looked just over my head again, his grin broadening ever so slightly.
“You know, I think you need to lean back a little this time.”
“Lean back?”
Third time’s a charm? And so I did, but the line must have gone too far back because it snagged on something. (This was not
the first time I’d caught a tree today.) “Um, Joe, I think I leaned so far back I caught another tree.”
He shook his head, grin perched beneath his mustache. “You didn’t catch a tree.”
Oh dear! What did he mean? (Please say it doesn’t require stitches!)
I turned and a laugh burst out of me. Along the tree line with Lachlan by his side stood Graeme MacKerrow, my line in one hand and a large box cradled in the other.
“Oh my goodness!” I called, dropping my rod and laughing again. “Best catch of the day.”
Lachlan’s giggle hit me in the heart. For the past ten months, Mull had become my home base as I continued my travels, and
I’d only fallen more in love with Graeme, the MacKerrows, and Scotland every day. Dropping my assignments to one a month helped
a lot, because it had given me time to work on my book series, since Calum’s publishing house offered me a contract only a
month after he’d sent in the story. Dave celebrated my new love for home by giving me the editorial position he’d always planned.
And it worked. All of it. Mull, my job, and my loves.
Graeme and Lachlan met me halfway across the rocky river beach line, Graeme looking delicious in his jeans and sweater. I
glanced down at my waders, jeans, and rain jacket, and wondered how in the world he could still be attracted to me. Praise
God, he had some sort of hero complex, because I certainly kept him fulfilled.
“I thought you guys weren’t joining me for a few days yet. I still have some filming to do before we go to your art show in
Vancouver.”
“It couldnae hurt to show up a few days early to see you.” Graeme slid his free arm around me and touched his lips to mine
for a quick embrace. “Besides, I’d like to try my hand at fly-fishing. What about you, lad?”
“I’m always ready for fishing.”
I grinned at my men and waved back toward Joe. “You know folks will love to see you on my videos. They always do.” I started
to walk back when the box in Graeme’s arms caught my attention. “Did you bring some of your sculptures out here to show Joe?
Because I know he’d love to see them. Especially your small birds. He’s a fan.”
Graeme shook his head and shifted the box nearer. “This is actually for you, lass.”
The word from his lips never got old. Or stopped sending sweet tingles down my neck in welcome. “For me?” I searched his face, but his expression gave away nothing. So I looked down at Lachlan. His expression was positively impish.
“What are you guys up to?” I narrowed my eyes and gave them another once-over.
“A surprise.” Graeme wiggled his brows and offered the box. “One of the best.”
After taking another look at each of their suspicious faces, I lifted the top off the box as Graeme held it. And then I gasped
so big, I started coughing.
My book cover for Katie on the Fly: An Egypt Adventure stared back at me.
“Oh my goodness. The author copies are here!” I pulled out one of the books. “Can you believe it? Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Like the author,” Graeme added in low tones, which immediately sent me rewarding him with a kiss to his cheek. If he found
wellies, rain jackets, and occasional mud smears attractive, who was I to argue?
“Lachlan, look!” I opened the front of the book to the dedication and read the simple sentence written there. “To Lachlan,
who made the story better.”
“Me? That’s me!” Lachlan’s grin spread all the way across his face. “But why me, Katie?”
I knelt down to wrap my arm around his shoulders. “Because once I added a redheaded sidekick for Katie in her adventures,
the stories got even better.”
“I bet she didn’t get lost as much either.” He nodded, taking the book in hand and looking down at the page with a little
wonder taking up space among those freckles.
I sighed and stared down at the cover again before turning back to Graeme. “This was the best. Thank you two so much for bringing
them to me.”
“Of course, Katie,” Graeme said and then tipped his chin back toward the box. “But you missed something.”
I studied him a moment and then looked back inside. In the far left corner, on top of another copy of Katie on the Fly , sat a small square box. A little black, jewelry-shaped box.
My gaze flashed to Graeme. We’d talked about marriage dozens of times. I knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives
together. But he’d never given me any clear indication of when he’d ask. “Graeme?”
He took the little box out and gave the big box to Lachlan to hold, and then... my hot Scot lowered himself down onto the
pebbled beach, with the river roaring behind us and an excited ginger-headed boy nearby, and opened the box to reveal a simple
but beautiful diamond.
“Katie Campbell, I love you. I want to build a home with you.” His beautiful gaze held mine, his smile creasing the corners
of his eyes. “Would you share a lifetime of adventures and even misadventures with me?”
I covered my mouth with my hand and lowered to my own knees to touch his wonderfully handsome face. “All of them. Every day.”
And he kissed me. Short and sweet, his hooded look giving me a promise for a more thorough celebration later. And I pulled
him and Lachlan back into my arms and thanked God.
This, by far, was my best blunder of all.
Falling... in love with my Scot.