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With the wooden sketchbox easel Abby had given him for Christmas, Jake settled on the sand a few feet away, and began to paint his favorite subject on the empty canvas. While Abby practiced, she occasionally glanced at her husband, busily working as he usually did whenever she fished. Abby breathed in a contented sigh. His handsome face smiled as thoughts that only he was privy to, slipped through his mind and his paintbrush glided over the canvas. Abby was so caught up in watching Jake, that she didn't notice a quick tug on her fly rod.

When it happened again, Abby suddenly realized that someone was paying her a visit at the end of her fly line. She let out a little more line, and let the bass run with it for awhile, before pulling it back to shore. After realizing that it wasn't going to get a meal, the fish opened its mouth and let the hookless fly go.

"Just wait until June, when bass season begins," she warned the creature as it swam away.

Abby yawned, suddenly realizing how tired she was feeling. Fishing never made her tired-- unless she had been at it for several hours, of course. Then she remembered that she was pregnant, and sighed patiently. The Murphy men in her life were making it difficult to not only stay in practice, but to also fish. Abby smiled to herself when she recalled Jake's apology. As if she would have wanted it any other way!

Reeling in her line, Abby walked over to where Jake sat on the sand and tried to sit down beside him.

"Need any help?" he asked, as she clumsily attempted to lower herself onto the ground without landing in a sudden heap.

"Thank you, but I can manage," she insisted, finally putting her hand on his shoulder and settling down on the hard ground. The look on her face told Jake that she was uncomfortable, but she wouldn't admit it.

"I thought you were so eager to fish," mused Jake, loading his paintbrush with more color. "What are you doing here with me?"

"I got tired," she sighed, seeing for the first time what he was painting. "Jake," Abby laughed, "you must have hundreds of pictures of me by now. Why do another?"

"You don't see me making any remarks about your fishing, do you?" he teased.

"No."

"Then leave me to my painting, Little Fly Casting Instructor," he smiled.

"At least," sighed Abby, "you could've painted me without that large belly."

"I love that belly," said Jake, gently slapping her hand away as she reached for a brush to fix the painting. "I suppose this is what I get for being married to a wannabe artist."

"Oh, it is?!" she cried.

Jake broke out into hearty laughter as Abby tickled him beneath his arms. When he let the paintbrush fall to the ground, Abby knew her hold over him was gone. Gently overpowering her, Jake tenderly pinned her back to the sand, and intently looked down at her with breathless awe. As he thirstily drank in her blue eyes, Abby gazed at him in wonderment.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she laughed.

"I can't believe how blessed I am," he sighed in amazement.

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