Free Those Cassabaw Days by Cindy Miles

quickly picked her way over the sun-bleached slats. What if something had happened? Maybe Matt was hung up on a piling? Her eyes scanned the water and muck below, and at the same time she searched for Matt.
    She’d almost made it to the big gap in the dock when the sound of splintering wood reached her ears. With a yelp she plummeted into the murky low-tide river water.
    “Oh!” she squawked, just as her head submerged. The second she popped back up and drew in a lung full of air, Matt was there. And he wasn’t happy.
    His dark brows slashed angrily over his eyes. “Dammit, Emily. Are you hurt?”
    Emily blinked the water from her eyes and she began to tread. She noticed her shin burning. She must’ve scraped it on the fall down. “I think I’m okay. I thought something had happened to you.”
    Matt made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a growl, shook his head and grasped her by the arm. His eyes flashed, and she noticed the water beading in his buzzed hair. “I told you to stay put.”
    Emily’s jaw began trembling. “I d-d-don’t listen well, I guess.” She blew out a puff of air. “Oh, my God, this water is f-f-freezing!”
    Again, Matt just shook his head. “Come on.” He tugged Emily’s arm and began swimming back to the bank, pulling Emily right along with him. The water was chilly for late May, maybe because of the early-morning hour. Saw grass swiped her wet skin, and she noticed fiddlers popping in and out of their homes, angrily shaking their big claws at them as they swam by. When she licked her lips, she tasted salt. All familiar things. All things she’d missed.
    Finally, she felt the muddy bottom of the creek. She sank into the muck, and trudged through it until they reached the bank. Matt grasped her hand and pulled her out behind him, and quickly his eyes scanned her legs.
    He frowned harder and kneeled down, just as his fingertips grazed her shin. “Jesus, Emily,” he said.
    She looked down, past the breadth of Matt’s bare wet shoulders, to her shin. A gash allowed a steady trickle of blood to stream down her leg. An enormous splinter stuck out of it.
    “Oh, shoot,” Emily said. “No wonder it burns.” She reached with her fingers, ready to pluck the old wood out. Matt stopped her with his hand.
    In one motion Matt rose and scooped Emily up in his arms. The muscles in his jaw flexed. As he hurried along, carrying Emily’s soggy wet and muddy self toward the house, he mumbled something unintelligible before glaring at her. “Swear to God, Emily. Next time just listen when I tell you something.” He sighed. “Hardhead.”
    Even though her shin stung like crazy, it didn’t stop the smile from stretching across her face as she floated through the air in Matt’s steel-like arms.
    Maybe her old friend wasn’t as big of a grump as he pretended to be? And maybe, just maybe, his lighthearted self was still in there, buried, somewhere.

CHAPTER SIX
    “ D O YOU HAVE an emergency kit?” Matt asked. He sat her down at the kitchen table on one of the small wooden chairs, then rocked back on his heels and inspected her shin. The movement made his dog tags swing and bounce against his chest. A gentle grasp around Emily’s leg belied the true strength in his big hands. He lifted her leg, stared and set it back down, waiting on an answer.
    “Er, no, I don’t,” Emily said. She looked at her shin. “It’s really okay, just let me pull that out—”
    “No. Just wait here,” Matt instructed gruffly. At the kitchen archway, he looked over his shoulder and glared. “Don’t move. Don’t pull it out. Just sit.” He turned and ran out of the house.
    Emily rested her head against the back of the chair. “Fine,” she said out loud. Again she examined her wound. It wasn’t that bad. Just a scrape, really, maybe a little deep in one area close to her bony shin. And that splinter. She cocked her head and looked closer. Maybe more than a splinter, actually. Possibly the size of a