Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Ah, like an old person who spends the winter in Florida?”

  “That’s me.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Snowbird.” He yawns and his heavy-lidded eyes blink up at me. “Sorry, you’re not boring me. It’s been a long day.”

  I let out an echo of his yawn. “We should go to sleep. It’s probably late. Hiking out of here in the snow tomorrow is going to be rough.”

  “Depends on how deep it gets overnight. Could be stuck here another day.”

  I grumble about being delayed.

  “Better than dead.” He yawns again and then stretches out like a cat.

  “I’d think you’d want to get back to your station instead of being trapped here another day with me.” Guess I’m still not over him using that word.

  “I’m enjoying hanging out with you. I love hearing about AT adventures. I’ve only ever hiked the sections around here, so I’m living vicariously through you.”

  It hits me then: we’ve spent the majority of our time together talking about me—or more accurately, me talking about myself. I know very little about Ranger Daniels. He has a mom and a sister. He’s been to Japan. What I know barely fills a small nutshell.

  I make a promise to myself to turn the tables on him in the morning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Olive

  I’m not sure how we got here. Not the cabin itself; I know that part. I mean this place where there’s a thick blanket of sexual tension wrapped tightly around us.

  Just two lost souls spending the night in a murder cabin.

  Jay’s been friendly and kind. None of his actions have indicated anything more than professional courtesy mixed with genuinely-nice-guy friendliness.

  I’m the one without boundaries and apparently zero respect for his. The things escaping my mouth and the constant stream of dirty thoughts aren’t my usual norm. Evidently, the storm has turned me into a pubescent boy.

  I’m more than mildly horrified by my behavior. Can’t even blame alcohol or drugs for lowering my inhibitions and erasing my filters.

  After we get out of here, I’ll send him a nicely worded apology letter and a box of cookies from the local bakery. Least I can do considering I ate both of his last night. He offered and I was too rude to decline the second.

  Jay’s still asleep next to me. Curled on his side, he faces the door, a first line of defense should an intruder wander inside. Protective even in his sleep.

  And me? I’m spooning him, invading his personal space even while unconscious.

  I should remove my face from the middle of his back. Undrape my arm from his waist. Uncoil my knees from the shadow of his.

  If I had a shred of decency, I would shift to allow enough space between us for the Holy Spirit, Jesus and at least half the apostles.

  Do I scoot away? No, no I don’t.

  Obviously, my decency disappeared with my filter. Both are probably loitering inside a hiker box somewhere.

  Jay is so warm, a human heater, and he’s a better pillow than the floor or my smelly jacket wrapped around my dry, but even smellier clothes from yesterday.

  In the dim light of morning, our once robust fire smolders over glowing embers, the ideal kind for toasting marshmallows to caramelized perfection.

  At the thought of delicious, gooey goodness, my stomach rumbles loudly. In the silence of the cabin, the sound echoes, magnified into a roar.

  Jay’s breathing pauses.

  Is he awake?

  Did my stomach monster penetrate his sleep?

  Should I move?

  Unable to answer the first two questions, I take action on the last by slowly lifting my arm a few inches and angling my body away from his. I have no idea what time it is. Feels early.

  One of us should get more sleep. If I can peel myself away, I might be able to sneak outside for a morning pee without disturbing him.

  A large warm hand grips my wrist, catching me mid retreat. My breath hitches with guilt about getting caught so close to him

  “Don’t go,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep. “Stay.”

  He must be dreaming, likely of a girlfriend who isn’t me. A guy like Ranger Daniels must have a girlfriend, or a wife. He’s too good not to. There’s no ring, but some men don’t wear them.

  Oh no.

  I’m big-spooning another woman’s man, which makes me the actual worst.

  “I’m sorry.” I apologize and roll to my back. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  Without moving, his rough-hewn morning voice whispers, “You’re the snowbird, aren’t you? Unless someone else snuck in here while we slept.”

  “No, it’s me. I’m sorry for invading your space.” I sit up and gaze down at his profile.

  Without opening his eyes, he softly says, “Fire died down and it’s cold in here. You were just seeking comfort and warmth. Natural instinct.”

  “You’re not mad?” I brush my hair out of my face. Most of it has slipped out of the braids and is a tangled mess.

  “At your subconscious?”

  “What if I did it deliberately?”

  “Did you?” He squints up at me.

  “No.” I confirm this with a shake of my head.

  He shifts to a sitting position next to me, his sleeping bag tucked around his legs and half his torso. Close enough to the hearth, he reaches for the fire-poker and jabs the ash-coated remains.

  I notice he ditched his pants at some point in the night. The black band of his boxers peeks out when he leans forward and his bag slips. His t-shirt stretches over his back muscles and shoulders.

  Opposing sensations take over my body. Hot and cold at the same time. The chill in the air creeping in, the warmth heating my cheeks from all the dirty thoughts I’m having about the park ranger.

  Shivering, I tug my own sleeping bag under my arms and then hop to standing. With my back to him, I hope he can’t see my flushed skin. “It’s freezing in here.” We’re down to our last couple of logs and I add both on top of the embers. “I’ll go outside and get more wood.”

  “Snowbird?” he asks from his spot on the floor.

  I don’t turn, instead busying myself with hop-walking to my pack. “It’s okay. You collected it last night, I can supply the morning wood.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I mean wood this morning.”

  Hearing a low chuckle and shuffling behind me, I know Jay is now standing.

  “I’ll do it,” he volunteers, probably desperate to put some distance between us.

  “No, it’s fine.” I swear he ghosts a hand down my arm.

  His breath warms the back of my neck from his proximity. “How about we both go? Make one trip instead of two?”

  He’s too nice. All I want to do is corrupt him. Make him fall in love with me.

  “Uh, nature’s calling.” I hop from foot to foot as if talking about it makes the pressure on my bladder worse.

  “Same. We can take opposite sides of the cabin and meet back at the woodpile when we’re done?” He dips his head, searching my eyes. “Should give us both enough privacy.”

  He’s already pulling his jacket on before I get my shoes laced.

  “Let’s see how bad it is outside.” Opening the door, he reveals a winter wonderland.

  “It’s beautiful.” I inhale the crisp, bitter air.

  A smooth plane of snow extends from the second porch step. Drifts of white powder create deep pockets near the bases of the trees. Narrow trunks and branches bend and arch under the weight of a multiple of inches of snow.

  The wind has lessened but still whistles through the woods, blowing and twisting the snow in its path. Tiny pellets of precipitation fall from the heavy, gray clouds.

  It’s full-on winter out here. I wouldn’t be surprised to see reindeer and talking snowmen decorating the fir trees.

  “How long were we asleep?” I ask, attempting to cover my dread with humor.

  His mouth forms a tight line. “This doesn’t bode well for us getting out of here this morning.�
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  “Maybe it looks worse than it is?” I step past him and onto the porch. A loud crack followed by a thump draws my attention to the right, where a large branch crashes into the powder, sending up a plume of white. “That can’t be good,” I whisper.

  “The trees are still in leaf, which means their branches are full of sap. The extra weight of the snow is too much to bear. I’m guessing there are a lot of downed branches and trees between here and the station. Trails could be completely impassable.”

  “Not reassuring, Ranger Jay.”

  “Stating the facts. This is the reason we close the backcountry during the winter.”

  I want to point out that the calendar still shows October. Winter is more than two months away. However, I keep my thoughts to myself. For once.

  “Don’t stray far.” His tone shifts from friendly to annoyed. Passing me, he steps into the deep snow off of the porch. It comes midway up his shins. “I’ll bring in the wood since you don’t have boots.”

  He stomps his way to the left side of the cabin and then disappears.

  Really wishing I had a penis, I find privacy behind a tree. Thinking about frostbite and delicate areas, I finish and stand. My feet are already cold. The trail-runners that have served me well aren’t made for snow They’re already wet and provide zero insulation.

  Retracing my steps in my existing footprints back to the porch, I debate going inside or helping Jay. Carrying a load of wood is the least I can do to help make a bad situation less awful.

  He’s trapped out here because of me.

  “Marco,” I call out from the corner of the cabin to give him a warning.

  “Polo,” he answers from nearby.

  “I’m ignoring your instructions to go inside.”

  “I can see.” His head pops above the messy, snow-covered pile of wood against the side of the cabin.

  “Put me to work.” I follow the large wells in the snow left by his boots. His stride is longer than mine and I have to extend my legs to match his footprints.

  “I can manage.” He still sounds annoyed. Or resigned. Both.

  “I’m here. Load me up.” I extend my arms in front of me.

  “You’re stubborn.” His mouth curves into a small, brief smile.

  “So are you,” I say with a half-grin of my own. “Look at us finding things in common.”

  He stacks three medium logs and a few slender branches into a neat pile on my forearms. “Can you manage?”

  With a nod, I turn to walk back to the porch. Laden with more weight, following his path is even more difficult, but I do my best.

  Inside, I dump the wood in a pile and quickly remove my shoes.

  “How are your toes?” Jay asks, dropping his own armful of logs on top of mine.

  “Fine,” I lie. “Dandy even.”

  He scowls. “Don’t suppose you have boots in the bottom of your bag.”

  Sitting on the floor, I peel off my damp socks and replace them with the dry pair.

  “Too heavy. I had a pair but I ditched them back in Massachusetts for hiking shoes.”

  He frowns. Again. “Would be better if you had boots.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to snow in October. Blame Mother Nature.”

  “You should always be prepared.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a Boy Scout.” I quirk an eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t, but common sense says you should prepare for the worst scenario.” He crosses his arms.

  I mirror his pose. “Why are you yelling at me about something I can’t change?”

  “I’m not yelling.” It’s true. His voice is low, serious. Bothered.

  “Next time I’m in the backcountry and a freak storm hits, I’ll be sure to thank you for the twenty pounds of extra gear I packed. Just in case. Boots, ice pick, crampons. A Dutch oven on the off chance I want to make chili or bake a cake.” I list random things I’ve spotted in shelter boxes.

  “Okay, who’s arguing now?” He uncrosses his arms and shakes them out. “I apologize for sounding harsh.”

  “Accepted.” I extend my hand. “Let’s agree to not play the what-if game.”

  He stares at my fingers before meeting my eyes. “Not familiar with it.”

  “Something my sister and I made up. The simple explanation is we agree to avoid hypotheticals. Should-haves. Ifs. Maybes. For example, I should’ve foreseen the possibility of deep snow in Tennessee in October. If I had only heeded the warnings about the storm, maybe we wouldn’t be stuck here. You get the idea?”

  “I do.” He shakes on it. “We’ll play the hand we’ve been dealt. No point in exploring alternate timelines.”

  With a nod, I give him a happy grin. “Agreed.”

  My stomach monster grumbles again. I attempt to quiet it by pressing my hand to my abdomen.

  “Hungry?” he asks. “I don’t imagine you have bacon and a waffle iron in your bag of tricks.”

  “Stop. I’d murder for Belgian waffles right now.”

  He steps away and holds up his hands facing me. “Whoa. That escalated quickly.”

  “Figuratively speaking. Although, I really have nothing to lose. I’m already the black sheep of my family and probably disowned after this crazy trip.”

  “Not comforting, Snowbird. For all I know, ‘family,’”—he makes air quotes around the word—“is code for cellmates. You could be a felon on the run.”

  The idea makes me laugh. “I can think of better places to hide out. Brazil. Lake Cuomo. The beaches of Thailand. Or Australia. Huge country, really far away. I could blend in easier, and they breed Hemsworths there.”

  He snaps his fingers to draw my attention. “I think you’re playing the what-if game.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” I mentally wave goodbye to my imaginary life surrounded by minor Hemsworths. I might have a small obsession. “To answer your question, no, I’m not a felon. Got one or two parking tickets in college. Not an issue now because I never drive.”

  “Ever?”

  I smile at his surprise. “City girl. No need for a car when there’s car service or Lyft or public transportation. Or you know, walking.”

  “I imagine you’ve had your fill.”

  “True. I should probably travel by roller skates or scooter while enjoying the joy of pavement and gentle inclines.”

  “Should?” He arches a brow.

  I slap my forehead. “Dammit.”

  He chuckles and then rolls his lips together like he wants to resist finding me funny.

  “Now that I no longer have to worry about you shanking me with your spork over the lack of waffles, what should we have for breakfast? I still have my delicious and nutritionally balanced protein bars.” He holds up the evidence.

  “I think we should save those for when we’re really desperate.” Like a game show hostess, I gesture at the floor where my stuff is scattered. “I have more Pop-Tarts, and tea. Or, if you like none of the flavor or kick from real coffee, this stuff is for you.” I toe a pile of instant coffee packets.

  “Sounds great,” he says flatly.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  We filter and then boil water on my pocket rocket stove. Sitting on my sleeping pad near the fire, hot English breakfast tea in my water bottle, I say a little thanks of gratitude for being safe, warm, and dry.

  Jay drinks his coffee out of the pot like he’s in Paris sipping a bowl of cafe au lait. From our conversation last night, I didn’t get the feeling he’s seen a lot of the world outside of Tennessee and his trip to Japan. I’m curious and want to know more about the reticent ranger.

  Prepare yourself for twenty questions, Ranger Daniels.

  “Did you grow up around here?” I ask.

  “Not in these mountains, no.”

  “Funny.” I gently kick him with my socked foot. “I meant in Tennessee or North Carolina. The general area.”

  “I spent most of my childhood in the suburbs of Knoxville.”

  “Was it nice?”

 
He shrugs. “It was all right. I don’t have anything to compare it to, so I guess it was fine. And you? Is your family from New York?”

  He’s a master at shifting the conversation away from himself. I play along for the moment.

  “My parents moved there before getting married and having kids, so I guess so. Neither of them grew up there. Their families are spread out all over the country.” Vague but true.

  “Both my mom and sister still live in Tennessee. Jenni is in Nashville.”

  “Is that far from here? I’m terrible with distance if I can’t count it in blocks or subway stops.”

  “A few hours’ drive. Far enough but still close.” He sips from his giant coffee.

  “What about the rest of your family? You didn’t mention your dad.”

  “He died when I was eleven.” He says the words like he’s talking about a random historical figure, not his own father. “Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry.” I’d assumed divorce and feel terrible for bringing up a tender subject.

  “It’s okay. Happened a long time ago. I’ve lived twice as long without a father as I did with him alive.” He stares at the fire.

  “Must be tough.” Brilliant observation, Olive.

  “It was. My mom isn’t from around here. I mean Tennessee and North Carolina.” He smiles, echoing my definition from earlier. “No family close by to support her with two kids on her own.”

  “She didn’t want to move closer to her parents?”

  “Wasn’t an option.” His blunt tone cuts off further questions.

  Observing him, I sip my tea for a minute. “She must be so strong to raise you and your sister all by herself.”

  “You have no idea. She’s a music teacher and we didn’t have a lot of extra money on her salary. She taught piano and violin lessons after school and on the weekends, always working to make the money stretch a little farther than should’ve been possible. My father had life insurance, but she never touched it. Saved every penny for our college funds so we wouldn’t have student loans.”

  His admiration for his mom is heartwarming. “She sounds remarkable.”