A/N: Next installment for you, Cammie! Thank you for the review.

Thanks to my beta's for all their help. They're the best!


The next morning Foyle woke early to the sun just rising in the eastern sky. After completing his morning ablutions, he set to work putting together a small picnic basket, including a blanket and a bottle of wine he'd kept hidden away. After assuring himself that all was set, he sat down to review the case notes from Milner on the recent burglary at the Hamilton's summerhouse. Sam wouldn't be arriving until noon, so he carefully read Milner's recommendations, then made notations of his own. The case and thoughts of Milner's work reminded him that now that he'd gained the approval of Sam's father and mother, he should say something to the young detective. He knew Milner had an inkling of how things were developing, but had honorably kept his thoughts to himself. Foyle had made the right choice of sergeant five years ago, Milner having proven himself an intelligent and observant investigator. Foyle would honor him the same way by taking him into his confidence, thus ensuring that no untoward rumors would spread about Sam and his attentions to her. Perhaps I'll stop in this evening and have a word with him.

He glanced at the clock. Sam would be arriving soon. He retrieved the picnic basket from the larder and set it on the floor in the hall. If the rising temperature this morning was any indication, the afternoon would be quite fine and warm. Foyle had dressed casually in a long-sleeved, button-down shirt and a cardigan. His tackle was prepared and already sitting by the front door. Sam was the only missing ingredient to their planned outing. As if on cue, he heard a knock at the door—one he recognized all too well. Yes, this was going to be an excellent day.


Foyle directed Sam to his favorite fishing spot just outside of Hastings. The area was mostly wide-open around the river's mouth, but a secluded area, surrounded by trees on three sides, was only a few hundred meters from where he usually fished. After parking, Sam followed Foyle to help unpack the boot of the car. She'd remembered her waders and had appropriately dressed in slacks and a pair of boat shoes. Foyle had forgotten to warn her of the possibility of gnats, but once he saw her long-sleeved shirt, he couldn't help smiling. It showed that her interest in fishing was not just her way of finagling time with him; she meant business.

As her waders had somehow lodged in the far back corner of the boot, Sam had to reach for them. Even with her height, she couldn't quite grab them. Foyle, seeing her struggle, tried to help, placing a hand on her back to let her know he was there. The contact made a shiver course through her body, one that he easily felt. Pretending not to notice, he reached in from his side and was able to tug the waders and pull them forward.

Before he could pull out from the boot, Sam leaned further forward and gave him a peck on his cheek, murmuring a quick thank-you before up righting herself, blushing becomingly.

Foyle straightened then closed the lid of the boot and replied, "You're welcome."

It all seemed so awfully proper, considering their kiss the night before. Foyle wasn't sure why, but he felt as if they'd started over and were in the beginning stages of a courtship rather than already well into it. Something was amiss.

During their drive to the riverbank they'd made small talk, but Sam continually averted her eyes. He had attempted a time or two to meet them, but she'd turned her head to look out the window. Then he'd asked her how she'd slept, and watched her bite her lip, deep in thought. She'd told him she slept well—that is, until she woke up from a nightmare just after dawn. But she didn't want to talk about it.

As he watched her now, setting her bait and donning her waders in a very businesslike manner, he realized she was acting as if the last few weeks had never occurred, except for the small peck on his cheek.

He'd been getting used to the playfulness between them, reacting to her flirting in ways he'd only dreamt of doing the past several years. He wasn't about to go back to the way it had been; not when they'd come this far already.

He approached her cautiously, almost stealthily, like a hunter coming up on his prey. The analogy was not lost on him. "Sam."

"Hmm?" she replied as she fiddled with the clasps on her waders.

He grasped her elbow gently, getting her attention. "Is something wrong?"

She asked, a little startled, "What?"

He fumbled for the words but wasn't really sure how to address her change in behavior without sounding callous. "Is everything alright? You seem a little distant."

Her eyes grew round and she licked her bottom lip before rolling it between her teeth. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then added, "No… no, just… I'm a little tired. I slept well, just not wonderfully. I'm probably just a bit antsy from the night…" she trailed off.

"It might help to talk about it," he offered softly.

She shook her head. "It was just a nightmare. I don't really remember much about it, just the feeling I had after waking. It'll go away." She placed her unfettered hand on his chest and leant forward. "Really. I'm alright." Then she gave him a small kiss on the lips. She drew back and he released her elbow. "I don't get nightmares very often, not like I used to when I was younger. So, I guess I don't react to them very well now."

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. He'd had recurring nightmares nearly every night just after Rosalind passed away, and oftentimes they involved losing Andrew. They were quite disturbing, their effect often lasting throughout the day.

She looked him over and laughed. "You'd better catch up or I'm liable to steal all the fish away from you today!"

He chuckled and turned to retrieve his tackle and waders. Once he was properly attired, he joined her at the river's edge where she'd waited patiently for him. They entered together with several meters between them. Before letting his first fly out, he watched her expertly cast her line, arching his brow in concern. She just might steal all the fish, anyway. He grinned. But who would blame them?

His thoughts proved prophetic an hour later, when he'd finally caught his first fish to her three. Though small, they were large enough to keep. Then, half an hour later, Sam shouted as she caught something larger and struggled with her line. He waded over to her to help pull it in. But his hand slipped and the line went taut again, out of his reach. He maneuvered around her, his chest pressed against her back as his arms came around and helped hold onto her pole. She yelped at the contact, but pressed firmly against him a second later as they struggled with the line. With success, they pulled in a sizable and heavy trout.

Sam's delight in her catch was obvious from the large grin on her face and her "what a whopper" comments as they netted the fish. After settling it in his bag with the other four fish, they continued for another half-hour. Foyle successfully tagged another two trout of rather good plumpness.

"Shall we call it a day, Sam?" he called to her.

She nodded and began reeling in her line. They met and again looked over their catches, Sam with a bright smile as she fingered her larger trout. "Jolly good, don't you think?"

"Definitely!" he rejoined, smiling back at her.

"I'm hungry," she announced.

"So am I. I'll settle these if you'll grab the blanket from the back seat and spread it out." He looked around and pointed to the glade behind them. She nodded as she began her trek back to the car, already fingering the clasps on her waders.

After settling the fish in his bag, at the edge of the water, and taking off his waders, he joined her at the car. She'd lain the blanket out and had come back to retrieve the basket. Before she could grasp the handle, though, he plucked it out of her reach, waggling a finger and 'tsk'ing at her. "I've got it. You just march yourself over there and get settled."

She rolled her eyes but did as she was told, settling herself with her feet tucked beneath her, rolling her shirt sleeves up past her elbows. He joined her with the basket, less than a meter away, and started pulling out the items he'd packed earlier that morning. When he drew out the bottle of wine, he heard a hum of appreciation from Sam. This time he rolled his eyes at her and mumbled something about a lush. She gasped, having heard him, and laughingly swatted his arm.

They lunched on hard-boiled eggs, slices of ham, bread, and cheese as well as a few glasses of wine. The sun was past its crest, just over the tops of the trees, lending them a little shade.

Foyle asked her if she was feeling better. She nodded and hummed as she made a small sandwich. He watched her twirl her glass in her hand, making sunlight glint off the shiny surface. Sam sipped the last of her wine and placed the glass down near the basket.

"Do you think Andrew will have a hard time with this?"

Foyle had just been about to sip his glass of wine and paused with it at his lips, looking over the rim at her. He finished taking the sip and set it down next to her empty glass. "About what?"

She looked askance at him. "Us."

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose he might. You're his age, young enough to be my daughter and his sister. You stepped out with him. He could have lingering feelings for you."

Sam's eyebrows shot up at his reference to Andrew's feelings. "You really believe he might? Even after his breaking it off with me in a letter?"

Foyle considered a moment, but nodded in answer. "He most certainly might. If you'll remember, when he left he'd been dealing with some rather large and emotional issues. And although he was flying off to a somewhat safer duty, the feelings would still be there. No matter what decisions he made then, he might have regrets."

"Hmm." Sam placed her hands behind her on the blanket, propping herself forward, staring up at the blue sky, her knees bent in front of her. Foyle was reminded of the constellation Cassiopeia. "So, I suppose you'll have to have a discussion with him when he comes home." Her emphasis was not lost on him.

"I imagine so."

He watched her pucker her lips in distaste. He could clearly see what she was thinking. She didn't like the idea any more than he did. Andrew was still a boy when he joined the RAF, and though he'd probably come back more mature than he was when he left, he would still react with some of the immaturity of his youth. His reaction to his father's blossoming relationship with Sam could cause some major contention between them. Of course, it could go completely the opposite way.

Sam dropped to the blanket, lying prone. Her face still staring up at the clear blue sky, a few wisps of springtime clouds developing overhead. She licked her lips and Foyle couldn't resist the urge to kiss her. Lying on his side, propping himself up with his arm, he lightly caressed her bare forearm, diverting her attention from the sky to him. The lazy smile that greeted him tugged at his heart. Sam was and always had been a breath of fresh air. And he didn't know what he'd done to deserve her. She scooted a bit closer, turning on her side to match him. They faced each other, tenderly eyeing one another. His fingers trailed along her arm, skirting up the short space to her cheek. He caressed the blush that suddenly appeared before tucking a curl behind her ear. "Come closer, Sam," he whispered.

She scooted a little closer as his hand left her cheek to tug on her hip. With mere inches of space between them, he pressed his lips to hers, his gently parting as she opened to him. She'd braced herself with a hand on his arm that soon traveled upward to cup his head, her fingers splaying in the curls at the back of his neck. His body pressed into hers, pushing her back against the blanket. He abandoned her mouth for the sweet taste of her skin at her chin, raining kisses onto her throat, suckling gently on the hollow at its base.

His hand at her hip had trailed along her side, his thumb smoothing circles over her rib cage, sweeping the sensitive area at the base of her breast. She gasped at the feelings flooding her overly heightened senses. Foyle was astounded at the passion that had lain dormant in his young driver, passion that made him forget their surroundings and the innocence of the woman he held. His hand inched upward of its own volition. He caught her gasp with a kiss as his thumb grazed over her breast. Her taut body arched upward, responding to a primal need that went way beyond her years.

Just as his touch had lit a fire in her, she suddenly pulled away, startled, pushing on his chest, gasping for air and staring at him with wide, fear-filled eyes.

TBC...