Groom by Design. Christine Johnson

to provide a view of the river and the pond upstream. Already several rowboats dotted the expanse. He led her onto the overlook. A family crowded the opposite side, the little girl pointing excitedly to a great blue heron stalking through the shallows downriver. Sam paused in the shade of a tall maple. From there, they could admire the pond, where sunlight sparkled off the water like a thousand diamonds.

      “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said softly. The colors of the river—from sapphire to emerald—never failed to inspire gratitude for God’s creation.

      Sam settled along the railing beside her. “It is. Almost as pretty as you.”

      The compliment heated her cheeks. “I meant the river.”

      “I know.” He placed his hand beside hers on the railing.

      So close. Almost touching. She could barely breathe.

      “What is its name?” Sam asked.

      “What? Oh. The river. It’s called the Green River, and that’s Green Lake, even though it’s more like a pond.”

      “The Green River. After the color of the water.”

      “One of the colors.” She squinted into the sunlight. “It’s clear brown in the shallows and white at the rapids.”

      “And on the far side of the pond, it’s ultramarine blue.” He pointed to the northeast, where several boats lingered in the bright sunlight.

      “That’s the best fishing hole.”

      “I noticed you brought fishing poles. Do you fish?”

      Ruth gulped. This was her chance to tout Jen’s ability with rod and reel. Her sister could fly-fish with the boys and outcatch most of them. Ruth should implement her plan, but she couldn’t let go of this moment with Sam.

      “I haven’t fished since I was a little girl. Daddy used to bring me and Jen here.”

      She must have sighed because he chuckled softly. “Good memories?”

      “The best. Though I was a terrible fisherman. My line always got tangled, and the fish would swallow the hook. I never felt them bite. Jen, though, can catch anything.” It hurt to promote her sister, but she mustn’t think of herself. She must consider what was best. “Do you like to fish?”

      He shook his head. “Haven’t done it since boyhood.”

      What a relief. He wouldn’t want to fish with Jen. “Did your father take you and your brother fishing?”

      He looked toward the pond. “We lived near a river. Harry and I would go down there often, but he was the better fisherman.” He turned back with that broad smile. “A bit like you and Jen.”

      “Except you probably didn’t kill the fish in the process of catching them. Daddy would scold me, and I felt terrible.” A sudden pang of regret caught the words in her throat. She swallowed hard and leaned on the railing for support. “I stopped going along. I—I wish I hadn’t. But you can’t turn back time.”

      “No, you can’t.” He sounded almost wistful, memories playing across his face for just an instant before he shut them down. “But we could give it a try. What do you say we take those poles of yours and throw in a line?”

      Fish with Sam? She couldn’t cast a fly. Hadn’t attempted it since she was ten or twelve. If she tried now, the hook would end up caught in a tree or—even worse—in his clothing. That was not the kind of catching Jen had in mind with her marriage idea.

      “No.” She shook her head. “No, Jen’s the better fisherman.”

      If he were disappointed, it didn’t show. He shifted his weight, and his hand grazed hers, sending a pleasant warmth up her arm. This was a man who would take care of those he loved. He would protect and hold them close. The way he’d stepped in to help Beattie revealed his generous, compassionate nature.

      “It’s not about the catching,” he said. “It’s about enjoying time with someone, like you did with your father.” His smile could light a cathedral, but it couldn’t dispel the pang of regret that hit her at the mention of her father.

      She bowed her head. Daddy might never come home. He might never fish again. She had wasted precious years.

      Sam laid his hand on hers. “You love your father dearly, don’t you?”

      She drew in a shaky breath. How could she explain? All her life she’d known her father suffered from a weak heart, but his condition had grown worse in the past year. Many days he’d stayed on the sofa or in bed. He hadn’t gone to the shop since October. Mother had brought the ledgers home then, so he could keep the accounts, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he couldn’t do even that. The sanitarium was his last hope. She blinked back tears.