On top of the guilt and embarrassment, all day I’ve ignored the unwelcome tickle at the back of my throat and my runny nose. Even now that it’s more like a faucet with a drip, I keep reaffirming to myself that I’m fine.
The power of positive thinking compels whatever allergens are afoot to listen to my command.
I refuse to give in to this nonsense. It’s Friday and I have big plans this weekend to do nothing after my shifts.
I sneeze three times into my elbow.
“You sound like you’re sick,” Griffin comments from the other side of our shared wall.
“The air must be dry in the office today.”
“It’s been raining all week—can’t imagine the humidity in here is all that much lower than outside given we don’t have the AC running and the heat isn’t cranked.” His explanation is so logical and not at all what I want to hear. “Also, dry air won’t explain away your congestion.”
“I’m fine.” My rough voice says otherwise.
“Who’s sick?” Gaia walks out of her office.
“Daphne,” Griffin declares as he stands.
“It’s nothing. Just allergies. Dust. Or mold, from all the rain.” I play off of Griffin’s comment.
My boss narrows her eyes at me. “You should go home.”
“I’m—” My nose twitches as I resist the urge to sneeze. I lose the fight and cover my mouth with my arm.
“You sound the opposite of healthy.” Protecting her face with her ranger hat, Gaia takes several steps away. “Home. Now.”
“It’s allergies. Not contagious.”
“Right,” Griffin murmurs, dragging out the i in exaggerated doubt.
“Why don’t you believe me?” My nose is stuffy and drippy.
All I need is some tissues and a Benadryl. Normally I don’t take it while working because it can make me loopy or sleepy, or loopy then sleepy. I only use it if I know I have the capacity to nap.
“It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” he replies, “but your voice sounds like you’ve been smoking menthols for five decades.”
Gaia lowers her hat to say, “He’s right. Pack up and go to bed.”
“For allergies?” I sniffle.
“Didn’t you have a school visit this week? You know kids—probably caught a cold from one of them.” Over the brim, Gaia’s eyes bore into mine. She doesn’t bother to move her hat when she says, “Go home.”
“Fine,” I mumble. “I’m going. I’m going.”
I sound pitiful even to myself.
“I’ll drop off tea and soup later,” Gaia offers. “Do you have any cold or flu medications?”
Opening my desk drawer, I sift through pens and paperclips until I find my emergency supply of pink pills. Showing it to my colleagues, I declare, “I’ll be okay. No need to buy out the drugstore.”
To prove I’m being responsible, I pop two of the packets open and swallow the capsules dry. I immediately regret this and take a long drink of water from the stainless bottle I keep on my desk.
Both annoyed and congested, I tug on my jacket and place my own hat on my head. I could stay and argue with them, but a cup of tea and curling up under a blanket does sound good. Before I leave, I stuff some extra tissues in my pockets.
“Off you go.” Gaia shoos me away with her hat.
After promising to take care of myself, I head out the door for the short walk to my cabin.
The rain has finally stopped, leaving behind wide puddles and squishy mud along the path. I avoid the deeper water by walking along the edge of the road that loops from the ranger station into the campground. This route takes me closer to the forest and will add a few minutes to my trip, but that’s better than slipping and getting soaked.
Grumbling to myself, I keep my focus mostly on my footsteps. That’s probably why I don’t notice I’ve passed the turnout for the ranger cabins until I’m at the Cooper Road trailhead.
“Seriously?” I stomp my foot in frustration, splashing my pants with water. “So much for auto-pilot working.”
Turning to switch directions, I spot a large white van parked on the other side of the lot. It’s the only vehicle here. Given the rain and promise of thick mud, there haven’t been too many people on the trails this week.
“I know that van,” I declare to the trees. No one else is around to hear me.
The Be the Light logo is faded and mostly peeled away, only the faint outline of the words still lingers enough to be legible. A cross still decorates the door panel but has been painted over to resemble two carrots.
There’s only one person I know who drives an old church van like this.
I glance around to see if there are signs of him or anyone else nearby. The area is empty. “What’s Odin Hill doing out here in the mud?”
There’s only one way to find out.
The last thing I want to be doing is clomping through the woods, but my instincts tell me he’s up to no good. Catching him in the act is the only way to prove I’m right.
A set of prints indicates someone has recently used the trail, and next to the human tracks are the tidy marks from cloven hooves. They only go in one direction, which means he’s still out there and Patsy’s with him.
Hiking with a pig is weird, but I suspect it’s the least of my worries when it comes to Mr. Hill.
My feet sink and slip in the mud, which quickly covers my boots and splashes the lower half of my pants. Wonderful. Now I have to do laundry. Thanks, Odin.
Past the small ranger cabin, the official trail winds off to the right to continue up the hill, but there’s a gap in the trees and the footprints I’m following cut to the left, going down the slope.
“Of course he doesn’t follow the rules to stay on the marked path. Why would he? He’s vegetable Thor,” I mutter to myself, sniffling as my nose runs. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I extract my pack of tissues. A silver foil packet of allergy meds falls to the ground by my feet.
I think the Benadryl was expired and not potent anymore. I’m definitely not feeling better, so I swallow both of these pills in hopes of drying out my sinuses.
After blowing my nose, I ask, “Where are you and what are you doing?”
Not expecting a reply, I continue on. There is a faint trail through the underbrush, indicating this path has been used enough to prevent regrowth. I’m not as familiar with this area of the park because my work is concentrated around the visitor center. From memory, I know the official trails, but obviously not all the offshoots and spurs.
Water plops from the branches and birdsong filters through the air, but there’s no sign of Odin or Patsy. From my estimate, I’ve been walking for at least ten minutes. I should’ve checked the time before I set out. I also should’ve let someone know I was coming out here. Something happens to me, no one will know where to look.
Great, now I’m imagining getting lost in my own park. Happens all the time to visitors. Easy to get disoriented and think you’re hiking in one direction when you’re actually going in the opposite. Up and down aren’t straight shots with the boulders and streams criss-crossing these mountains.
Stay on the trail is the number one rule, and I’ve broken it.
The path I’m following leaves the trees and takes me to a meadow that’s more of a field. Glancing down, I realize there aren’t any footprints in the mud ahead of me or behind me, only mine.
Uneasy in the fading light, I decide to turn back. Honestly, what am I going to do if I find Odin? Confront him? Arrest him? Put him in handcuffs and …
My mind takes the image and begins conjuring all sorts of scenarios. Odin on his knees. Odin handcuffed to a bed, specifically my bed. Whoa. Apparently, I have a vivid imagination when it comes to the farmer.
Laughing at how quickly my thoughts escalated, I end up coughing.
“You sound sick,” a familiar voice says from a few yards behind me.
It makes me jump and clutch my chest, even though I’m out here looking for him.
�
�How’d you get over there?” I ask as I whirl around. Odin is standing between me and the way home.
He’s wearing a felt hat with a wide brim like he’s a young wizard on an epic quest, a younger, hotter version of Gandalf. He’s friggin’ Gandalf the Blond.
His posture is nonchalant like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s completely infuriating. Patsy lifts her head and her pink snout twitches as she sniffs the air. The two of them are a pair … of something. I can’t think of the right word right now, but they’re something.
With a lazy smile, he responds, “Walked.”
“What are you doing out here?” Sniffling, I cross my arms and wish my nose would stop running.
A big splat of water falls on his floppy hat, darkening the dull green felt. One drop turns into dozens and then hundreds as the clouds decide this is the perfect moment to release more rain.
Because of course what this day needs is for me to get soaked.
He tips his head back to stare at the sky before letting his gaze land on me. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Are you lost?”
Affronted by his question, I scoff. “Are you?”
Too late, I realize I basically sound like one of the middle school kids I encounter so often. At least I didn’t say I know you are, but what am I?
Thank God for small mercies.
“Not sure about you, but I’m going to get out of this weather.” He clicks his tongue, and Patsy lifts her head from where she was sniffing the ground. “Care to walk back to the lot with us?”
“Why are you being nice?” I ask, not moving.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” He cocks his head and peers at me from under his hat brim.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat my earlier question.
“Enjoying the great outdoors before the rain came back.” He points to the sky. “Or I was.”
His hat is even darker than it was a few minutes ago. Streaks and spots of water cover his gray jacket.
A crack of thunder makes both Patsy and me jump.
“Probably smart for us not to be standing in this field.” He turns to go, not waiting to see if I follow.
Of course I do, because there’s only one way to get back to the main trail.
Back in the woods, the rain softly drips from the branches onto us, the moss, and soft earth. It’s quieter here too. Patsy’s snorts and my congested breaths are the only sounds other than the occasional snap of a twig or boot scraping over stone. It’s almost peaceful—or would be—if I could forget the reason I’m out here.
The walk back seems to take longer than I remember, and the going is mostly uphill. Unable to keep up, I slowly fall behind the two of them. Normally I have no issues with inclines. I’m fit as a fiddle, whatever that means.
Realizing I’m parched, I wish I’d thought to bring my water bottle. If only I’d known I would spontaneously decide to go on a long hike. I’m also exhausted. Resting for a minute sounds like the best possible idea, so I find a log and take a seat.
My butt lands on the rough bark, and I groan like an old lady. “Oof.”
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I search for a fresh tissue as my nose begins to tingle with an impending sneeze. When it arrives, I swear it comes from my toes.
“Gesundheit.” Odin steps closer and hands me a tissue.
“Thanks,” I mutter and accept his gift without tilting my head back to look at him. “I’m fine.” After I answer, I realize he didn’t ask me if I was getting sick. “I have allergies.”
“All this rain brings out the mold spores.” He sways back on his feet.
“Um, sure.” I have no idea what I’m allergic to. Never been tested.
“Should probably get you home.”
“Or I could sit here until some dwarves find me and take me to their cottage.”
He dips his chin but remains quiet.
“You know, like Snow White?” I explain.
“I’m familiar with the fairy tale,” he says flatly.
Every word from him is slow, measured, like the effort of speaking to me is taxing on him in some way.
Since he’s not pulling his weight on his side of this sparkling conversation, I continue down the path of my previous thoughts. “Then again, I’m not very good at domestic duties and the dwarves would probably kick me to the curb when I burned their supper.”
He chuckles. “You should really get out of the rain.”
I press the toe of my boot into the mud. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
“Are you going to stay here all day?” He squats down so our eyes finally meet.
“Maybe.”
“Stubborn much?” He laughs.
“I was tired. I sat down to rest.” Feeling a pout coming on, I cross my arms.
With a small but earnest smile, he says, “I can see that.”
Patsy lets out a louder harrumph and nuzzles the ground near the fallen log. She paws at the soft earth and then digs her nose into the mud.
“What is she doing?” I lean to one side, trying to see what has caught her interest.
“Hold still.” Odin’s voice has switched from amused concern to direct and a bit bossy.
Still crouching, he leans forward, closer and closer until I can feel his breath gently brush across my skin.
Oh my dear sweet lord.
He’s going to kiss me.
Odin Hill is making a move. Here in the woods during a rain storm, unexpected and out of nowhere, and I am not ready. Not at all.
And yet, I’ve dreamed of this moment happening. In fact, it’s actually happened in my dreams more than once.
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Do I want this? How could I not want this?
Odin Hill. The man. The demigod.
My mind flips out and short-circuits into white noise.
My body takes over as I close my eyes and lick my lips on instinct, anticipating the press of his mouth against mine.
Chapter Fourteen
Odin
Patsy’s still sniffing and pawing the ground like she’s found a treasure, but I’m too distracted by Daphne and the faint aroma of skunk spray lingering in the air.
Daphne’s closed her eyes and tipped her head back as if she’s waiting to be kissed.
By me.
Stranger things have happened in my life, but this moment definitely hits somewhere in the top twenty.
Patsy gives up her quest with a disappointed huff and tugs on her leash to get going.
Neither Daphne nor I have moved.
I take in the tiny freckles across her nose and cheekbones and the way the fine hairs along her forehead curl slightly, how her dark brows fade into points near her temples. Her skin is bright and clear without a trace of makeup, but her lips are a soft rose. Natural color or lipstick? My guess is the former.
A short, exasperated exhalation startles me from my musings.
She opens one eye while scrunching the other tight. “If you’re going to kiss me, quit taking so long.”
Patsy gives another tug and I lose my balance, landing on my ass. The fabric of my pants quickly turns damp from mud or water, or both.
“What? No, I wasn’t going to kiss you.” I bounce up and brush off the wet seat of my jeans.
First, she’s interrogating me, and then I find her almost asleep on a log. Now she thinks I’m making a move on her?
Her expression falls. “No, of course not.”
She can’t possibly be interested, not with the way she acts all suspicious and awkward around me. I recognize her behavior, been experiencing it my whole life—Odin, the hillbilly.
Given her hot-and-cold and downright odd behavior, I think Daphne might be drunk, possibly high. She’s been sneezing and blowing her nose, so she might be sick.
I also suspect the log she’s sitting on has recently been marked by a skunk, which I don’t think she realizes given her congestion.
“Come on, we need to get you home.” I hold o
ut my hand but notice my palm is covered with mud. Rubbing both hands on my jeans, I attempt to clean away the dirt. The action is pointless and only serves to smear soil deeper into both skin and fabric.
Reluctantly, she stands, unsteady. “Well? Let’s go.”
She steps around Patsy and me and continues up the slope.
I swear the rain falls harder the closer we get back to the trailhead. After her initial quick pace, Daphne’s dragging her feet again. A wild look has settled in her eyes, and I’m not sure she’s even aware of where she is or who she’s with.
“What’s my name?” Holding out my slightly cleaner hand, I offer support over an uneven scramble of rocks.
“Vegetable Thor,” she mumbles with slumped shoulders.
I laugh. “Close enough.”
She refuses my gesture of goodwill and stomps past me. “Whatever. I know you’re committing nefarious deeds on federal land. You’re a bad man, Odin Hill.”
“Is that so?” I follow after her and grab her elbow when her boot slips in deep mud.
“I’m on to you, bub.” Jabbing her finger into my arm, she frowns. “Stupid vegetables.”
This woman makes no sense. One minute she’s accusing me of being a criminal, and the next she’s petting my bicep like a baby animal.
“Let’s get you inside and warmed up. You’re going to wind up sick if you stay out here any longer.” Reluctantly, I remove her hand from my bicep and use it to pull her along.
“Not sick,” she mumble-whispers.
“What?”
“I have allergies. That’s why I’m outside.”
Now I’m completely confused. “Some strange cure you read about online?”
“No, I sneezed and Gaia sent me home.”
“Did you get lost?”
She stares up at the heavy dark clouds. “We already covered this. No.”
“Then how did you end up in the woods?” She’s not making sense, but I get the feeling I should keep her talking if I want to make sure she makes it back to her place safely. If she can talk, she can walk. I really don’t want to have to carry her and hold Patsy’s leash.
Stranger Ranger: An Opposites Attract Romance (Park Ranger Book 2) Page 10