Ranger's Legacy

by Vella Munn

  “You don’t always respond to messages.”

  Certain they were talking about Sig, she decided not to respond.

  “Maybe we didn’t want to leave a record of our intention,” Werner said.

  Henry wore a suit, which helped her relax. “Sometimes private conversations are better,” he said. “Lets people feel free to say what they need to.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s right.” Unlike the president of the cabins’ homeowner association, Werner was casually dressed complete with the backward baseball cap he’d had on the night of the meeting. He was taller than she’d initially thought; his dark eyes intense. “What the hell were you doing at my cabin the other day?”

  A chill ran up her spine. Surely the men weren’t intending to physically hurt her but intimidation was a possibility.

  “He told you,” she said.

  Werner glared. “Who told us?”

  “Your friend Sig. He mentioned to the office manager that he’d spotted me.”

  “Did he? Hell, he never could keep his mouth shut. So what were you doing sneaking around my place?”

  “It’s part of my job. You know that.”

  Despite her nervousness, she fought to appear calm. The earlier time when she’d wondered if she was being watched? Maybe she’d been. It didn’t matter who was keeping an eye on her.

  “I’m here as a witness,” Henry said. “If it comes to a matter of who said what, I’ll testify to what I heard.”

  In other words, whatever he might say would be designed to show his friend in a positive light. “I don’t understand what this is about.”

  “Don’t you?” Werner took a step toward her. She leaned away from him. “I don’t want you anywhere near my cabin. The damn government thinks they can ram their noses in everyone’s business, but, damn it, they can’t.”

  “Easy,” Henry warned. “You don’t want to get any more riled up than you already are. Amber, there’s plenty you can do to please your superiors. What we’re saying is that a handful of small, old cabins aren’t important. No one gives a damn how ancient they are or what shape they’re in.”

  Arguing with the men wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Besides, now wasn’t the time or place to try to point that out. She hated admitting their attempt to intimidate her was working, but it was.

  “That isn’t my call to make.” She made a show of removing her keys from her purse. “What I’m expected to do is turn my documentation over to those who make determinations about—”

  “I don’t give a flying damn about that,” Werner interrupted. “You took pictures.”

  “Of course I did. I need a record.”

  “What are you going to do with that record?”

  She swallowed, at least she tried to, but there wasn’t enough moisture in her throat. “It’s part of the documentation process.”

  “Documentation, shit.”

  “What are you trying to accomplish by confronting me?”

  Werner folded his arms over his too-big-to-be-ignored chest. “Getting my point across. Let me spell it out. Delete the pictures you took of my cabin. Stop thinking about it as having historical significance.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Believe me, it’d be a hell of a lot better if you do.”

  Her legs threatened to give out as she headed for her vehicle. “If you have an objection to my doing my job, state it in writing.”

  “Amber,” Henry said.

  She waited until she had hold of the door handle before facing the man.

  “A final word. I watched the news the other night after that hiker was found. There was a clip of you standing close to Garret. If what’s going on between you is what I think it is, I know what he’d say about this conversation we’re having. He’d tell you not to put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  The problem, Amber admitted several days later, was that she was doing too much thinking but getting nowhere. Every time she mentally revisited the confrontation—she couldn’t call it a conversation—with Werner and Henry, it shook her anew. She was far from proud of how she’d handled things but didn’t know what she could have done differently. It had been two against one. Plus, as Henry had pointed out, if she complained, whoever she spoke to would have to choose between her version and theirs. She didn’t know what Werner did for a living, but Henry was a well-heeled professional. His roots here went deep while she was a newcomer. If she wanted to be taken seriously, she had to handle things on her own, not run to Garret for advice and protection.

  Her feelings for Garret complicated things, a lot. Right now, the job should come first. Her parents had once again made that clear during a Skype call the previous day when they’d asked if her superiors were satisfied with the progress she was making. She assured them she was giving one hundred percent of herself while she was at work, even shared a few details. What she didn’t do was reveal how she spent her evenings.

  That was her private time, hers and Garret’s. Not something she wanted to risk ruining by mentioning her problems. Right now he was involved with a trail mapping project in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area, which meant he’d been gone most of Wednesday and until late yesterday. He’d called while he was on his way back and asked if she wanted to join him for dinner in Sweetheart. Because she now saw the town as a slowly opening flower she’d love to explore, she’d agreed. While they were in the Cherry Pit, they’d chatted with several people including a woman who was on the city council. When Amber mentioned why she’d come to the Flathead area, Lisa Hendrix asked her to speak at an upcoming council meeting and she’d agreed.

  Garret and she had spent last night at his place. Making love and talking about their time apart, most of it anyway, followed by having sex again before the alarm went off.

  Even as he’d told her about the countless deer trails that cut through the wilderness area, she’d drawn comparisons between that project and what had recently taken him into the Missions. Wednesday and Thursday had been part of his official job, nothing out of the ordinary. In contrast, the time he’d spent in the Mission Mountains had been about saving a man’s life.

  That was right. He rescued people from the elements and themselves. In miserable contrast, she couldn’t figure out how to handle a couple of hostile men. He didn’t want to talk about why search and rescue came before his personal wellbeing. She hadn’t mentioned Sig, Henry, or Werner. Nothing important.

  Or very important.

  “Are you all right?” Hunter asked from just outside her office. “That was a pretty heavy sigh.”

  “Sorry. I’m fine, just making some comparisons.”

  “About what?”

  His question had her thinking about how their relationship had evolved. They were getting to know each other, their conversations now easy. She suspected Hunter’s acceptance of her had a lot to do with what was taking place between her and Garret. In many respects, the two men were blood brothers. They’d die for each other if necessary. Jake was part of that dynamic but she’d seen less of him lately because of his schedule.

  “About what I’m doing”—she indicated her cluttered desk dominated by paper files—“and what you rangers do. I thought I’d be in the field, working to identify history. Instead I fill out forms.”

  “You aren’t stuck in here all the time.” Careful not to dislodge anything, he leaned against her desk. “I know you’ve been in the field as you call it.”

  “Yes, I have.” She stifled a repeat of the sigh that had caught his attention. “But a lot of it is re-documenting what’s already known about the region’s oldest buildings.” She nearly didn’t mention what was on her mind but maybe someone needed to know a few details.

  “I did get excited about what I came across while I was at the cabin tract recently. There are some authentic old structures there with little documentation. I need to go back there... and I want to but...”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “Will you promise
not to say anything to Garret?”

  He frowned. “You’re keeping something from him?”

  Yes. “You know he has a tendency to be protective.”

  “No shit.”

  “That’s the problem.” She rubbed her forehead while trying to come up with the right words. “From the beginning he warned me there might be problems with a few of the cabin owners. That’s why I haven’t told him about my going out there while you guys were on that search.”

  “The tract’s remote. Did anyone know where you were going?”

  “Not really.”

  “Because you didn’t want word of it to reach Garret?”

  She hated how Hunter made it sound as if she was being deceptive.

  “Nothing happened, nothing bad I mean.” At least not then. “I couldn’t tell whether anyone was around. It didn’t look like it. I took a lot of pictures and have been comparing them with documented historic building techniques and materials. At least one cabin is a perfect representation of what was being done a hundred years ago.”

  “What’s keeping you from continuing your field work there?”

  Meeting Hunter’s direct gaze and point-on question was hard so she stared at her hands. “Like you said, it’s isolated. All those massive trees and the shadows that go with them, well, I hate to admit it, but it was a little intimidating.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t feel like that if Garret hadn’t warned you.”

  “That factors in.” The longer this conversation continued, the greater the chance she’d mess up and say something he’d feel compelled to pass onto his friend. “You know the area, right? Of course you do. Do you find anything intimidating about it?”

  “No. Never.”

  She tried to interpret his words, but the expression that went with them distracted her. She sometimes saw a twin of it on Garret when he looked out his windows at the unspoiled vegetation between his place and Flathead Lake. It was a mix of awe and respect, of love.

  “Please tell me how you feel about this area,” she said. “It might help me.”

  “It isn’t something I can explain.” Hunter pushed away from her desk then placed a hand over his heart. “This land is part of my DNA. What makes you uncomfortable is special to me and my people.”

  “I wish you’d tell me why it’s so special.”

  “Words wouldn’t do it justice. One thing I will say. If you want to feel comfortable while you’re doing the documentation or whatever it is, first you have to be there. Get out of this building.”

  “That isn’t enough.” Although she risked damaging their relationship, she planted herself in front of him. “What does it feel like when you’re in the middle of those trees?”

  “Like home. Like it’s a part of me.”

  “I want that. So much.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe it’ll happen.”

  Maybe but it has to be my journey. I can’t lean on Garret.

  It was nearly eight in the evening when Garret pulled into his driveway. Long days were to be expected, particularly in summer. Before now his only regret had been a lack of time to work on his place or see his relatives. Knowing Amber was waiting for him had changed things, altered his priorities. When he’d called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be able to change the oil in her car until at least the weekend, she’d laughed and said it sounded as if a certain someone had taken priority. He hadn’t disagreed.

  One reason he’d put his mother off was that he was scheduled to spend the night in the Missions in a few days and wanted to spend as much time as possible before that with Amber. She’d occasionally gone quiet on him. Hopefully if they were together more, she’d stop thinking about whatever was distracting her.

  Surprised by the thought, he stopped in mid stride. When and how had she become so important to him and was he ready for it? Were either of them?

  “That smells wonderful.” He stopped in the entryway and removed his boots then enveloped the woman standing before him. Responded to her. “Garlic?”

  “Garlic, the way to a man’s heart.”

  Today had been busy with too many demands on his time, including bringing the head of a hiking group up to date about the mapping project and conferring with local weather personnel about the possibility of lightning strikes tomorrow. Fire levels were high but firefighters were ready. That was all anyone could do until or if a blaze started.

  As he held Amber against him, concern for the forest’s safety faded. She was showing him there was more to life than work, a lot more. Keeping him sexually charged, like now. Changing and challenging him in unexpected ways.

  “You’re good for my culinary development,” she said when, finally, he gave her a little space but not so much he no longer felt her in his bones. “I’m liking this cooking business.”

  “I don’t want you to have to do it all.”

  “I know. You’re a modern man who believes in all that equality stuff.”

  “Can you imagine how my mother and grandmother would have reacted if I didn’t?”

  “My family’s the same way. Only their approach is more strident.”

  “Meeting them is going to be interesting.” He’d keep talking because otherwise they might wind up on the floor with their clothes flung about.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  In other words, their relationship was so new the shine was all there. Hell, he didn’t have to have that pointed out to him. Just ask his cock what new felt like. “How was your day?” he asked.

  “Okay.” She drew out the word. “I had a brief but interesting conversation with Hunter.” She frowned, making him wonder if she hadn’t intended to say what she had. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about all the things he must know about the area, him and the other Salish. He’s like this great Google search I haven’t begun.”

  He should let her return to tending to the garlic, but what she’d said about his brother was spot on.

  “I learned a great deal from his grandfather, but it pales in comparison to what’s inside Hunter’s head and in his blood. He’s the one who spent three nights alone waiting for his spirit to speak to him. I went on my own search, but it wasn’t the same because I’m not Native American.”

  “Can women do that? I’d love to have a spirit.”

  Touched by the passion in her voice, he hugged her. “I don’t see why not.”

  “I’ll ask Hunter. Hopefully he won’t laugh at me.”

  “He won’t. So that was the highlight of your day?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I did get out for a couple of hours, but it wasn’t long enough for what I wanted to accomplish.” She sniffed and pulled back. “Break time, unfortunately. Otherwise dinner’s going to be a bust, a burned bust.”

  As she returned to the kitchen, giving him a great view of her swaying buttocks and small waist, he noted she’d moved a couple of chairs and a small table to the window overlooking his woods. He’d wondered if seeing so much of nothing in the way of civilization might intimidate her but apparently not. This view was why he’d bought the house and why he imagined his children weaving through the trees to the lake with fishing poles over their shoulders. As soon as they learned how to walk, he’d make sure they were at home in the wilderness. He didn’t want his children getting lost, ever.

  It wouldn’t happen, never! Thanks to his determination, they’d learn the vital signs such as noting where moss grew on trees. As long as they could locate north, they’d always be oriented. He’d show them what to look for and smell when it came to determining whether water was safe to drink, how to tell the difference between wind that smelled of snow and a breeze that didn’t.

  They might never learn how to get around on a subway, but it didn’t matter because his sons and daughters wouldn’t grow up in a city. He and the woman who was their mother would have zero interest in an urban existence but, by damn, they’d share the love she and he had for these forests. Those children would listen intently as
he showed them how to identify prints made by various animals. When they were old enough to understand how vital silence was, he’d take them into the Missions. Together they’d locate where grizzlies gave birth.

  “What are you thinking about?” Amber asked as she placed iced tea glasses on the table between the two chairs.

  Children. Babies. “You like this, don’t you?” He indicated the view.

  “Why do you think we’re here instead of at my perfectly good place? This scene is always changing. I can hardly wait to watch it snow from this very spot.” She patted the empty chair.

  “Don’t rush winter.”

  She grinned. “That isn’t the first time you’ve said that. Hold on. Dinner coming up.”

  She returned with two steaming plates filled with rice, a mess of vegetables, and what he figured was chicken.

  “I mostly followed a recipe,” she said. “Because I wasn’t sure whether you like spinach, I called your mother.”

  “You did?”

  “Shouldn’t I have?” Looking concerned, she perched on the edge of her chair. “Too much too soon?”

  He figured what she was getting at. She was afraid she was taking what was still developing between them and trying to weave it into something deeper. Making more of them than he was ready for.

  As he filled his fork, he took care not to study her too intently. They’d been together—what, less than two weeks?—but had keys to each other’s places. He’d installed the dead lock and one of her nightgowns was at the foot of his bed. They’d psychoanalyzed her family and the so-called sperm donor responsible for his existence. What was next? Him telling her about his dreams for his children?

  Staying naked and together all weekend? Listening to the sounds she made when she climaxed and the feel of her fingers, warm and strong, around his cock?

  Admitting his sisters had nearly died thanks to him?

  “Talking to Mom is fine,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” With the word he felt a little more certain—more eager to see where this thing between them was going. “It’s probably better you talked to her instead of Grandma.”