Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Careful!” Jay’s voice calls out, close by. “What are you doing?”

  In triumph, I grasp the feather.

  Right before I slide into the water.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jay

  One second Snowbird is lying on a boulder. The next she’s sliding headfirst into the shallow creek like she’s diving into a lake for a swim in the summer instead of potentially knocking herself out on a rock and drowning.

  “Snowbird!” I shout, already running toward the boulder, the nickname sounding ridiculous to my ears given the gravity of this situation.

  I caused this by startling her. I should have waited longer to let her know I’d followed her.

  My conversation with Guy ended shortly after Snowbird went outside, and I expected her to come back inside within a few minutes. When she didn’t, I tracked her footprints through the snow to here.

  I reach the muddy bank as she scrambles to right herself in the creek bed. On her hands and knees, water drips down her face as she sputters for breath.

  “Are you okay?” Without thinking, I step into the water to help her. I hiss when the frigid temperature wraps around my shins, immediately numbing my skin.

  “I was fine until you scared me.” Her foot slips as she attempts to stand.

  We’re in about half a foot of depth, the bottom covered mostly with rocks, polished smoothed by the current. In other words, they’re slippery as hell. Carefully stepping my way closer to her, I nearly fall twice.

  She’s upright when I get to her. My fear for her safety comes out as frustration when I ask, “What the hell were you doing?”

  “I was having a quiet moment, communing with nature, thank you very much.” She shivers, her teeth chattering.

  “Let’s get out of here before you get full-blown hypothermia.” I touch her elbow. “Give me your hand.” When she doesn’t budge, I add in a pleasant, but pleading tone, “Please.”

  Shaking now from the chill, she grips my hand and allows me to pull her closer to the bank. My foot slips on a rock and I tip forward. Her weight provides a counterbalance, keeping me from taking a faceplant of my own. Unfortunately, I still stumble enough to get my pants wet up to mid-thigh. I can no longer feel anything below the knee.

  Once we’re back on solid, albeit snow-covered, ground, I visually inspect her for cuts and bleeding. She holds her right hand curled tight against her chest, definitely favoring it like she might have fractured her wrist. “Did you hit your head? Is anything broken?”

  She dismisses my concern with a shake of her head. “I’m fi-fine.”

  Her teeth chatter to the point that I can hear them.

  “No, you’re not. What’s wrong with your right arm?” I’m stripping off my jacket to wrap around her shoulders. We need to get back inside to the fire as quickly as possible.

  Extending her clenched fist, her arms shake with tremors. Slowly unfurling her fingers, she reveals a crushed blue feather. “I saw this in the water and was reaching for it.”

  A quick glance doesn’t give me much information, but I blurt out the first thought in my head. “Could be from a cerulean, not the Black-throated Warbler.”

  I know I’ve said the wrong thing as soon as the words leave my mouth. Logically, I’m right, and a feather doesn’t mean there are warblers close by. It could’ve come from anywhere or floated downstream from miles away.

  Her eyelids close and she exhales audibly through her nose, reminding me of a bull about to charge.

  “I’m probably wrong.” I gently lift it off of her palm and straighten the crooked shaft. “Definitely from a Black-throated Blue.”

  I’m lying. There isn’t enough black on it and I’m ninety-percent confident it’s a wing feather from a cerulean. I don’t want to disappoint her, though. What’s the harm in a little white lie?

  “You think?” She takes the feather back, returning it to her jacket pocket, her hands shaking from the cold. Her entire body trembles.

  With a nod, I avoid extending my fib. “Let’s get you back inside. Want me to carry you?”

  She balks. “No, I, I’m fi-fine.”

  “Not buying it.” Before she can protest, I bend to get my arms behind her knees and scoop her into my arms.

  With a yelp, she tries to wiggle herself down at first. “Jay, I can walk.”

  “I know—so can I.” To prove my point, I stride through the woods.

  Teeth still clicking together and her body shivering, she rests her head on my shoulder with her arms looped around my neck.

  I accept the small victory with a silent cheer. She’s so stubborn. Then again, so am I.

  We don’t talk on the short hike to the cabin. I mull over why I lied to her about the feather. Was it because she was hopeful and I didn’t want to disappoint her? Or was it because she was half-frozen and I didn’t need to stand there and argue with her? Either way, I don’t feel good about the dishonesty even though my life is one big half-truth.

  Keeping it simple is the first rule in deception. Don’t overcomplicate the story or you’ll be more likely to get caught. Learned that lesson when I was a kid and didn’t want people to know I’m half Japanese.

  Silly now, but back in high school, I was focused on fitting in and surviving. Anything different was weaponized and used against you by other kids at school. Divorce. Sibling’s reputation. Where you lived. What kind of cars your parents drove. If you had the right kind of video game console or sneakers. Being an outsider only made navigating the school politics harder.

  At least in my experience. I’d like to think—or better yet, believe people are inherently good. I want to believe this with my heart, soul, and body.

  However, I’ve seen too much racism and bigotry to ever fully believe in equality. I’m sure Snowbird is lovely, but I don’t know her well enough to reveal my background. A few of her comments reveal she assumes I’m white like her.

  I loathe the word and concept of “passing” but I’m not fool enough to believe my looks haven’t helped me. Growing up, my sister bore the weight of her difference on the surface. I carried mine bundled in fear of being found out and labeled, not proud. Most kids yearn to fit in and belong. I was no different.

  “Don’t carry me over the threshold,” Snowbird instructs. “Too weird. Drop me on the ground anywhere before you get to the door. Here is fine. Or here.” She continues pointing out drop zones as I walk up the porch stairs.

  “How about here?” I release my support of her knees and her legs dip to the ground.

  “Thanks for the lift.” She manages to speak without stuttering from cold. However, despite being wrapped around my neck and shoulders, I know her fingers are still icicles.

  “You’re welcome.” The words come out a whisper as we stare at each other. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too,” she whispers back. “Thank you.”

  Standing on her toes, resting her hands on my chest, she plants a kiss on my mouth.

  Her lips are cold but soft. Acting on primal instinct, my body takes over, sucking her full bottom lip into my mouth. I could drown in her kiss.

  When her cold fingers slip into my hair and she presses herself against me, I’m reminded of why we’re out here. Holding her by the upper arms, I push her away.

  “We shouldn’t,” I tell her, firm.

  “Why not?” She blinks up at me, hurt in her eyes.

  “You’re in shock and clearly not thinking straight.” The excuse sounds lame to my ears.

  “I’m fine. I keep telling you and you don’t believe me.” Contradicting her defense, she tucks her hands into her soggy jacket sleeves and hops from foot to foot

  “Inside, now.” Still concerned about frostbite and hypothermia, my words come out harsher than I intend. “Please.”

  “Well, since you said please.” Snowbird glares at me.

  Her dawdling drives me to frustration. “You lose a toe, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

  “Seriously
?” Staring down at her soaked shoes, she points and flexes her feet.

  With only the best intentions, I give her a gentle shove through the open door. “Get out of your clothes and socks.”

  Apparently, I have to be gruff and mean for her to listen to me. What does that say about the kind of men she dates?

  “Hey, you used my line!” she pouts.

  “You’re still shivering and in wet clothes.” My patience is running out at a quick pace.

  “Fine.” Unzipping her jacket, she removes it first. Next, come her shoes and socks. I gather the discarded articles to lay out in front of the fire. “I’ll keep my back turned.”

  “You don’t have to,” she practically purrs.

  “Yes, I do. I’m trying to remain a gentleman.” Normally this isn’t a challenge for me, but Snowbird is pushing my buttons. She isn’t being coy about it either.

  Busying myself with stoking the fire, I try to ignore the shuffling and soft cursing behind me.

  “Brrr,” she mutters. “It’s cold in here.”

  I tell myself not to picture her naked. So naturally, my mind promptly does the opposite. Minds are funny. They like to ignore the word not.

  “Are you dressed yet? You should also get inside your sleeping bag.”

  “I’m not shivering anymore. I’ll be fine.”

  “Snowbird, please just do what I ask. Which one of us is the trained EMT?” I don’t bother to keep the exasperation out of my voice.

  “Since it isn’t me, I’m guessing it’s you.” Behind me, I hear the long pull of a zipper, followed by a strange thumping sound.

  She stands beside me, fully enclosed in her sleeping bag with only her face peeking out.

  I laugh. “You look like a blue Teletubby.”

  “More like a friendly worm. I don’t even have use of my arms.” She wiggles around in a shimmy.

  “Are you warm?” I smirk down at her.

  “Yes.” She sighs. “Much better.”

  “Good. I’ll make some tea. Or would you rather have soup?”

  “Tea is fine—with Pop-Tarts on the side.” She grins, but it fades quickly. “Sorry I kissed you.”

  “No need to apologize.” I rest my hand on the back of my neck, feeling rotten for rejecting her.

  “I promise to never do it again. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Her eyes flit between mine.

  The word never settles heavy on my chest. I’m not even sure why I stopped the kiss. Do I really think she’s in shock? No. Does my reasoning have anything to do with the stories about her ex? Maybe. This isn’t her real life. Any event on this hike is only a blip in her adventure. She’s passing through, and in a day or two, she’ll be gone.

  Some men might take advantage of the situation, enjoy a quick, semi-anonymous romp. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I’ve never been that guy. I like to know the real names of the women I sleep with.

  Cranky, I dismiss her apology. “It’s fine. Sit by the fire.”

  “You’re bossy when you slip into ranger mode.” With a sigh, she shuffles closer to the fireplace and then sits on the crate. Or almost sits on it—she falls off to the side because she lands too close to the edge. Quickly recovering, she unzips the top of the bag. “I can’t breathe.”

  Finally settled, she sips tea and munches on a pastry.

  Relief softens the defensive quills that appear when I’m worried, stressed, or threatened. She’s fine and doesn’t seem to have any lingering injuries.

  “What made you decide to become a ranger?” she asks, sitting above me as I rest on the floor.

  “I’ve always loved the woods and the national parks. I like science. Seemed like an obvious choice. Not a ton of jobs out there for ornithologists other than research or teaching, and dealing with college students sounds like my own personal hell.”

  “Too much peopling?”

  I nod. “Way too much.”

  “I get that.”

  “What about you? What do you do for work?” I ask because I’m curious. She’s given me so little information about herself.

  “Guess.”

  “Teacher?”

  “Ack, no. I’m not a saint, and you definitely need to be one to work in the classroom.”

  “My mother falls into the same category, in terms of teaching. Though I don’t think she’s an actual sainted angel because she’s my mother.”

  Her musical laugh floats around the room. “Thanks for clarifying.”

  I wait for her to tell me about her job.

  “No more guesses?” she asks

  “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “Always.”

  “Okay, you’re a game show hostess. No? How about home organizer? App designer?”

  Each guess is met with a shake of her head.

  “How about you tell me?” I prod.

  “None of the above. I’m gainfully unemployed.”

  “I figured since you’ve been hiking for five months. What did you do before?”

  “It’s a long list, but a lot of different things. There wasn’t a lot of pressure in my family for me to have a career. My mother didn’t. My grandmothers didn’t. Get married. Have kids. Support my husband. Do charity work. That’s about it. So in college, I studied documentary filmmaking. I’ve been a grant writer for an NGO. Fundraiser. Blogger. Nothing seems to stick.” She frowns. “Obviously true for relationships too.”

  “You sound like my sister. I think I’m probably the freak to have decided what I wanted to do when I was thirteen and never deviated.”

  “Is your sister a mess?”

  “No, and I doubt you are either.” I try to reassure her while wondering why she thinks of herself this way. To me, she comes off as smart and strong-willed, not some lost lamb without a clue. “The fact you’re on the AT means you can do hard things.”

  “Is she gainfully employed?”

  “Yes, she works for a small fashion company up in Nashville.” I finish my tea. “What kind of work will you look for when you get home?”

  “I have no idea. It usually finds me. I stumble into jobs the way some people walk into walls. One minute I’m minding my own business, and then boom, I have a job. Not sure why, but that’s how it happens. Kind of like relationships.”

  She shrugs off the randomness of this pattern. “I think I’m thoroughly thawed out. Can I remove my bag now?”

  “Sure. You don’t seem to have any issues.”

  “Then you’re not looking close enough.” She laughs at her statement. “You’ll need to turn around again unless you want to check out my ass.”

  “Huh?” I lose my train of thought.

  “I’m not wearing any pants. Figured I’d warm up quicker without them. Skin-to-skin but just mine.”

  Groaning, I close my eyes in an attempt to erase the images in my head. Doesn’t work.

  “Everything okay, Ranger Jay?” Her tone is concerned but also self-satisfied.

  “Fine. Go put on the rest of your clothes, Snowbird.”

  “Interesting,” she whispers to herself as she retreats across the small room.

  I ignore her as best as I can.

  She’s sneaky, dangerous, slowly slipping past my guards and defenses, and worming her way into the place I allow few people to enter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olive

  Jay is very sweet after he scared me, saved me from freezing to death, and then rejected me.

  It’s only a partial exaggeration about dying, given his concern about me catching hypothermia from a quick plunge into a shallow stream. In reality, my form was closer to a belly flop, and I was barely submerged before scrambling out of the water. I was always going to be fine.

  Speaking of fine, being carried back to the cabin in his remarkably strong arms is definitely a highlight of this week and possibly the entire trail.

  This must be why romance books in grocery stores always have the hero sweeping the heroine off her feet—because it works wonders on the lib
ido. Evidently, it makes the man irresistible, causing the woman to lose all sense and sensibilities.

  I kissed the ranger.

  And while he kissed me back, it’s painfully obvious the dear man doesn’t think of me as anything more than a professional duty.

  Which would be okay if he weren’t so handsome, smart, and charming.

  And if his kiss wasn’t seared on my memory for life.

  He’s not the first to reject me. If my past is any indication, he won’t be the last.

  When it comes to men and freezing creeks, I tend to fall hard and fast. Luckily, I’m also good at compartmentalizing my feelings and moving on.

  After another semi-edible meal from the pack pantry, we’re spending the time before sleep arguing about all the other ways to die in the park.

  Besides hypothermia.

  And mortification from rejection.

  “You’re more likely to die in a car accident or by drowning in the parks than getting mauled by a bear.” He stares me down, challenging me to argue with his facts.

  I purse my lips. “Sounds like propaganda to reassure nervous visitors. Wild animals are notoriously vicious killers. We’ve all seen the nature videos.”

  He sighs. “You’ve spent how many months walking the trail? And how many bears have you actually seen in person?”

  “Two.”

  “Close up?” The way he cocks his head is both arrogant and charming.

  “At the time, I thought the first bear was a boulder in the distance and the other I could only see by zooming in on the picture Tye took with his phone. That one also looked like a black rock.”

  “So, you’re saying no.”

  “Okay, from a far distance. We saw a giant moose in Maine and there were also a few mountain goats with murder in their weird sideways pupils.”

  “Actual mountain goats?” His eyes narrow. “Pretty confident those aren’t native to anywhere east of the Rockies.”