Stranger Ranger: An Opposites Attract Romance (Park Ranger Book 2)

by Smartypants Romance

  Once we’re inside, she stands in the middle of the room like a doe in a field. Alert and uneasy, she’s watching me, waiting for me to say or do something.

  “Do you want to sit?” She points at her chair.

  “Sure.” I place the bag down on the table first. “Are you going to stand?”

  “No.” Shaking her head, she takes a seat on the far corner of the couch.

  “We need to clear up a few misconceptions.”

  “I apologized.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it.” I give her a small smile. My earlier anger is already fading. “How much do you remember about our interaction on the trail?”

  She grimaces. “Not a lot. Sorry.”

  “Do you recall any conversation, or the accusations you made?”

  Her fingers play with the end of her ponytail while she stares out her window. “I’m guessing I asked you what you were doing off trail with a pig in the rain.”

  “All of the above. You also said you knew I was committing, and I quote, ‘nefarious deeds’ within the park.”

  Folding her legs beneath her, she faces me. “Sounds like me.”

  “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Griffin says you were foraging for mushrooms. Nothing illegal if you keep within the limits.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Yes, but I still have questions.” She lifts her shoulders.

  “So do I. Given the circumstances, I think I get to go first.”

  With a sheepish smile, she says, “That’s fair.”

  “Did you tell Ranger Lee you suspected I had drugs in my possession?”

  “No.”

  “Hinted at it?”

  “He may have interpreted my words to infer I meant illegal substances, but I never said those words directly.” Glancing out the window, she worries her bottom lip with her teeth.

  I untangle her sentence in my head. “I’m not a drug dealer nor do I use drugs. The last thing I need is folks around here gossiping about me being either of the above. There are people who want to see me fail because they expect the worst.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I get that.”

  Her meek reaction causes me to catch my tone. I sound stern, cold. “I’m not angry.”

  “Are you sure?” A dry laugh follows her question.

  “I am. I swear.” I change the subject before we get into a full-blown discussion of my past and this conversation becomes an NA meeting. “Back to the foraging—believe it or not—I’ve studied the Code of Federal Regulations. I’m fully aware of the rules and statutes.”

  “Impressive.” I can tell she’s being honest and not sarcastic by the light in her eyes. Ranger Baum is a type-A rule-lover.

  “I knew you’d like it. Within the document, near about page seven, there is a specific line about not foraging near motorways or nature trails. See the contradiction? I’m allowed to forage, but not within 200 feet of a trail, and I’m supposed to stay on the trail.”

  Her brow furrows. “That isn’t very clear.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Leaves room for interpretation.” She leans forward.

  “It does. Now, in my mind, I place wild cultivation underneath the umbrella of foraging. Am I plowing and planting seeds? No. Am I introducing invasive species like kudzu that will choke out the native plants? Nope. Am I clear-cutting forests to turn into lumber at the local mill? No.”

  “You lost me.”

  “If we’re going to move forward as friends, or whatever, I think I need to explain a few things.”

  “Like why you went hiking with a pack full of apples?”

  “I didn’t bring them with me.”

  She unfolds her legs and plants them on the floor.

  “There’s a wild apple orchard not too far from the Cooper Road ranger station. Planted before the park existed.”

  “No there isn’t. I’d know if there were.” Her chin lifts with her certainty.

  “We can make a bet if you like losin’.”

  “I think I know the park where I’m a ranger.”

  “And I know there’s an old, fallow orchard that’s still producing fruit near the Cooper trail. I’ve been picking them all season to make cider.”

  “You know I can’t support illegally obtained apples.” She digs in, arms crossed.

  There’s something wrong with me because I find her obstinance a turn on. “Not illegal.”

  “According to section 2.6 of the code, those apples are protected from commercial usage.”

  “Actually, they’re not, because they’re not mentioned.”

  “You have no right to use them for commercial gain.”

  “Didn’t say I was.”

  “The federal—”

  I cut her off. “The federal government is comprised of the people for the people, yes? Acting on behalf of citizen taxpayers, correct? Feel free to nod in agreement.”

  She glares instead.

  “I’m a citizen. I also pay my taxes—local, state, and federal. I’m not stealing rocks or plants or archeological treasures. The apples aren’t a native species, nor are they technically on national park land.”

  “They could be feeding the bears, deer, squirrels, or birds. Even the wild boar.”

  “All true, and I leave enough behind for all of them to enjoy. Anything on the ground belongs to them.”

  She squints at me in judgment. “You must’ve been on the debate team in high school.”

  A bark of a laugh escapes my mouth. “Not even close.”

  Keeping her eyes narrowed, she twists her mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I wasn’t exactly studious in school. Not a real joiner or team player.”

  “Hmm. Your talents were wasted. You should’ve been a lawyer.”

  I snort. “Maybe I only like arguing for argument’s sake.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything more pointless.” Her ire colors her cheeks a nice shade of pink.

  “Like fighting about apples?” I chuckle.

  She flops back into the cushions on the couch. “You win.”

  “Want to see what’s in the bag?”

  She sits up as I remove the two green, glass bottles from the brown paper.

  “It’s a hard cider I’ve been brewing. I think this batch has the perfect combination of tart, sweet and alcohol level.”

  “Home-brewed alcohol? Like moonshine?” she asks, her fascination clear on her face.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no still involved.”

  With a shy smile, she accepts the bottle I hold out to her.

  “Not going to try my cider?” I focus on unscrewing the cap on my own bottle instead of her face. “I promise it’s not poisoned.”

  Hesitantly, she takes a sip.

  As I watch her lips press against the opening, I feel a familiar stirring in my body. My dick thickens.

  After swallowing, she smacks her lips. “It’s both crisp and refreshing.”

  Her tongue licks the corners of her mouth, which doesn’t help the intensifying situation in my jeans.

  She waves her hand in front of my face.“What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug and take a sip of the cider.

  “Tomorrow you can show me the location of this supposed orchard.”

  “I can?” I lift my eyebrows in doubt. When I came over here to talk to her, my plan was to use the apples and the cider to deter her from further snooping and thus protect the filbert grove. I didn’t anticipate her wanting to see the orchard for herself.

  “You will.”

  “Will I? I think my schedule is packed, mostly with semi-legal and wicked activities. Not sure I can fit in another appointment.”

  Her stern look returns. I like it more than I’ll ever admit.

  “Okay. Quit plotting my death.” Turning my palms toward her in surrender, I laugh. “I’m kidding. What day do you want to lose the bet?”

  “Tom
orrow morning work for you? We can meet at the trailhead.”

  I nod, allowing a slow, satisfied grin to spread across my face. “I’ll be there by 7:30.”

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because when you lose, I know what I’m asking for.”

  “I never agreed to your bet. I don’t gamble.” Her jaw locks tight. Stubborn.

  Instead of infuriated, I’m charmed.

  I give her a grin. “Technicalities.”

  My smile fails to disarm her. “Are you always this infuriating?”

  If she only knew. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “What’s the general consensus?”

  “I’m a charming asshole. Some people even agree I’m good-looking.”

  The bright pink on her cheeks deepens. If she were a cartoon character, I’d expect flames to burst from her head.

  “Insufferable,” she mutters.

  “Heard that one too. I prefer inscrutable, if I get a vote.” My mouth slides into a smile.

  “For the record, we don’t have a bet. This is an ongoing investigation.”

  “Acting as law enforcement now? I thought you ran the educational programs.” I tease. “I thought we came to an agreement. I’m not your enemy.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “Not in words, but the way you acted says otherwise.”

  “I take my job seriously. I have a duty to protect the park from damage.” Her eyes challenge me.

  I almost expect her to suggest pistols at dawn. “And I respect the hell out of that.”

  We sit in silence for a minute or two, each of us lost in our thoughts. I make up my mind to be straight with her.

  “Daphne?” I lean forward in the chair and rest my elbows on my knees.

  “Yes?”

  “While I enjoy sparring with you, I’d like to call a truce.” What I mean is more of a capitulation. “I don’t like most folks and try to avoid having to spend time around them. Normally, I don’t give a fuck what people think or say about me. I can’t control whatever stories they make up to fit their own agendas or world views. You’re different. For some reason, it bothers me if you think poorly of me.” My sincerity makes me feel vulnerable, something I try to avoid.

  She places her bottle on the floor near her feet. “I don’t. I promise.”

  I want to believe her.

  Our eyes lock, and I see nothing but genuine truth in her expression.

  Not used to this new openness, I stand to leave. “7:30 then?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” She rises from the couch at the same time I reach for her bottle on the floor.

  The action brings us within a foot of each other, and we both freeze. I don’t think either of us is breathing.

  I’ve already laid my cards on the table. What am I waiting for? Cupping her face with one hand, my fingers thread through her thick, dark hair near her ear. I pause for a moment, drinking in the softness of her skin and the freckles across her cheeks.

  “You thought I was going to kiss you in the woods,” I whisper.

  Eyes on mine, she nods, lips parted, waiting.

  “I didn’t think you were serious.” I wait a beat for her to respond, to tell me she didn’t mean it.

  She swallows but doesn’t speak.

  As I used the hand still tangled in her hair to tip her head back, my mouth brushes against hers.

  The lightest touch flips a switch inside me and I pull her closer, wanting more contact.

  A soft moan escapes her lips and she melts against me, her hands gripping my jacket before slipping underneath to my T-shirt.

  I didn’t know how much I craved her touch until this moment.

  I didn’t know how much she could affect me with a single kiss.

  Chapter Twenty

  Daphne

  If you’d told me this morning when I woke up that I’d be kissing Odin Hill, demigod farmer before the sun set, I’d have laughed right in your face.

  I might’ve even called you crazy.

  Now I’d say you’re an oracle.

  The way his large hands grip and pull me close, how he moans when our tongues slide against each other—it all combines to make me feel like an irresistible siren.

  I want him to crash his ship on my shore and never leave.

  Who needs a job, or food, or even air when Odin’s mouth is sending sparks of lightning through my body?

  Unfortunately, my lungs disagree, and I find myself breathless. He must feel the same because his chest rises and falls rapidly against my breasts. Breaking away from my mouth, his lips trail along my jaw and down my neck. His beard tickles as he traces kisses along my skin. Lifting his head, he brings his gaze to meet mine.

  “Daphne … ” He whispers my name like a prayer, sweeping his thumb against my cheek.

  His ability to form an actual word is impressive. All my brain can come up with is a long wow with a bunch of extra syllables and vowels. Thankfully, I don’t make this sound out loud.

  I feel cherished, honored by his touch. It takes some restraint to resist yanking his mouth back to mine and devouring him.

  With a groan, he releases me and drags a hand through his hair. His long exhalation is slow and controlled, as if he’s trying to regain his composure.

  That’s a terrible idea when all I want is for him to continue ravishing me.

  Someone knocks on my door, breaking us out of our lust-filled bubble.

  “Go away,” I yell. Whoever is out there is dead to me. “I’m not home.”

  Odin chuckles before leaning down to give me a chaste peck. “I think you’ve given yourself away. Should’ve kept quiet and maybe they’d have believed you.”

  Dammit.

  “Daphne? It’s Gaia. Are you okay?”

  This is not the moment for a friendly chat with my boss. I stare at the unlocked door and wait for her to open it.

  “I’m fine. Just out of the shower. Can I come find you in a couple minutes?”

  “Sure. Nothing urgent. Wanted to see if you’d like to grab dinner.”

  I don’t know if I do. Staring at Odin, I silently hope he’ll shake his head no or give me some sign I’ll be busy for the rest of the evening.

  He gives me nothing, standing stock-still.

  “Okay. I’ll be ready soon,” I tell Gaia through the closed door.

  Odin’s shoulders slump a tiny fraction, and I immediately feel like I’ve made the wrong choice.

  “I could tell her no,” I tell him quietly at the same time he murmurs, “Or you could have dinner with me.”

  We both chuckle.

  His hand tugs through his waves. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I like Gaia, but I’m going to have to cancel. “I’ll text her.”

  “Okay. Do you want my address? You’ll need to use the maps app on your phone because the road is hard to find. I’ve driven by it in the dark and it’s my own house.”

  “Um … you mean dinner at your house?”

  “Changed your mind?”

  “No. I just don’t have a car anymore, remember?” I form my hands into claws and growl in a bad impression of a bear.

  He laughs. “Right, of course. You can ride with me, then I’ll bring you home after.”

  Or I could stay the night. Should I sneak my toothbrush into my purse? Wait, I don’t even have a purse. I could put it in my pocket. No, too visible. My bra might work, but what if we’re making out and he goes for my breasts and discovers my toothbrush? That would be weird.

  This is why women carry purses. Bringing a backpack to dinner is strange.

  “Daphne?” His voice breaks through my inner panic.

  “Sorry.” I glance down and see the olive green of my work pants. “I’d like to shower and change first.”

  “Sure. I can wait outside again.” He steps through the door before I say anything more.

  I want to tell him to stay out of sight, but I realize I don’t know how long he sat on my porch earlier or who saw hi
m. My instinct is to hide him from my coworkers, though why would it matter if they know I’m hanging out with him? Am I embarrassed to be seen with Odin? I should probably examine that impulse another time.

  Wondering if I have time for a quick shower, I quickly jog to my bedroom. Deciding I do, I gather a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck out of my dresser. Nothing says let’s make out again like a well-covered neck. I replace the sweater with a V-neck white tee. Clean underwear and the one lacy bralette I own go on top of the pile of clothes in my arms. If this were a movie, I’d have a matching set of lingerie to slip into. However, this is real life. If I squint, the pink lace matches the floral pattern on my underwear, and does it really matter anyway? Do men care? Also, am I being presumptuous to imagine Odin seeing my undergarments?

  I can’t believe we went from opposite sides of a fight to betting on the existence of an orchard to kissing in less than hour. I’ve never wanted to rip a man’s clothes off from a single kiss. Most of my previous experiences have been … nice with a certain warm up period of getting to know each other, almost methodical in their predictability. Not Odin’s kiss. He’s a match and my body is kindling. Whoosh! Engulfed in lust in less than a minute.

  With my head still spinning, I have no idea what to anticipate. We could be married in a week or not speaking by Thanksgiving.

  Marriage. Ha!

  Reminds me I need to return Isaac’s text to congratulate him. With school visits, bear attacks, allergies, and playing amateur detective, I haven’t had time to reply.

  My shower is speedy. I don’t have time to wash my hair or shave any bits—good thing I took care of all the important grooming yesterday.

  I’m done and dressed in record time. With a sigh, I leave my toothbrush in its cup on the bathroom counter.

  When we were teenagers, Isaac used to tell me the best way to be happy was to have low or zero expectations. At the time, I thought he was being dramatic and kind of depressing. Dreams and goals were what I clung to as we navigated our way into adulthood.

  Again and again over the years, I’ve learned the truth of his advice.

  Outside, I find Odin sitting on the steps, chatting with Gaia.