Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Well, they were goats and I was in the mountains,” I say, sheepishly avoiding his eyes.

  “Good thing they were domestic goats. There was an unfortunate death by mountain goat about a decade ago out west.”

  My mouth pops open as I stare at him.

  He bobs his head, serious. “I wish I were kidding. Isolated incident in the Olympic Mountains, and no one knows what provoked the goat. Luckily he didn’t become a serial killer.”

  “Serial killing goats—I knew it.” Smugness rarely looks good on anyone, but I think I wear it well.

  “The whole taste-for-blood issue? Once an animal kills, they’ll kill again.”

  From his blank expression, I can’t tell if he’s serious, but I go with it. “Ted Bundy goats.”

  Watching the Netflix film during a zero day at a motel probably wasn’t the smartest idea. I only have myself, Zac Efron, and my childhood obsession with High School Musical to blame.

  “Not limited to goats. Mostly bears, the occasional moose, or mountain lion.” Ignoring my disturbing line of thinking, Jay continues giving me nuggets of factual information. His tone remains level-headed and unamused by my detour into psychopathic ruminants.

  He’s unflappable and it fascinates me how he’s apparently immune to my charms. I must be off my flirty game. Or he’s just not interested.

  “You know a lot of random facts about death and dying in the park system.” I arch an eyebrow. “Standard operating procedure to inform your guests of their odds of not making it out alive?”

  “Part of the job, ma’am.” He tips an invisible hat brim. “People who visit the park want to know these things. Most common question is about the odds of a bear attack.”

  “Then why do we need bear cans and bear bags?” Check and mate.

  “Who doesn’t like a tasty snack? Blame your fellow humans.” The way he says it makes it seem like he’s defending the bears.

  “You’ve never had any issues in the park?” I keep pushing, wanting him to be on my side.

  “A few years ago, a Sienna Diaz movie filmed here and we were in charge of bear control. Moved several of them out of the area for the duration of the shoot, more for the insurance than a real fear of attack. Hollywood.” He shrugs. “Normally, we don’t get so fancy around here.”

  “I think I remember reading about her falling in love with a park ranger and getting married. Guy had a funny name. Like Arlo or Judah. Jebediah? Something biblical. Although from what I remember of the pictures in People, the only thing Old Testament about him was the beard.” I remember the guy was hot in a natural, God-given way. Nothing metro about his sexual.

  Kind of like Jay.

  I doubt he owns two face serums and three hair products like Tye. His light brown hair brushes his collar and his beard could use a trim, but he doesn’t look scraggly.

  Not at all. Jay is ruggedly handsome.

  “You’re talking about Jethro,” he corrects me.

  Because of course he’s named Jethro.

  “No last name?”

  “Winston.”

  “Rings a bell. Is he still a ranger?” I ask, purely out of curiosity, not because I’m going to go after another woman’s man. How many hot rangers are there up here in the Smokies anyway?

  “Not anymore.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  I repeat his words from last night. “Hard to make a relationship work when you’re from two different worlds unless one of you is willing to sacrifice everything.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olive

  We’re up early with the sun the next morning to hike out of here.

  My body gravitated to his again in my sleep, but this time he was the big spoon. Not mad about it at all.

  Jay radios our plans to his station so they don’t send out a search party.

  The snow has shrunk as it’s melted, which bodes well for us successfully getting down the mountains to the valley where the main ranger station for this area of the park is located.

  In spite of us waking early, we’re still walking in the late afternoon as dusk approaches. What should’ve been four or five hours of hiking has turned into seven due to storm damage and obstacles on the trail.

  Jay assures me we’ll be fine and regales me with fun nature facts to keep me from worrying. Or to horrify me. The jury is still out on his true motivations.

  Still no sign of my Black-throated Blue Warbler, but I’m optimistic they’re around. I asked him to tell me more about birds, and he’s all in with the information. All. In.

  “Unlike us, birds can see UV colors because they have four cones in their eyes versus our three.”

  “I actually knew that. Peterson talks about avian anatomy.” I give myself a mental thumbs-up.

  Walking slightly behind me, he continues, “There’s more. Were you aware rodent urine shows up on the UV spectrum?”

  “I was not.”

  I’m not sure what he wants me to do with this information other than to imagine birds spotting all of the bodily fluids, animal and human, along the AT. Must resemble a Jackson Pollack painting. The horror.

  “Owls and other birds of prey are able to spot rodents by following their pee trails.”

  He must be a hit at dinner parties.

  “Ew. What a relief we don’t have permanent blacklight vision. I’m happier not knowing everything I see is covered in urine and …” I want to say semen, but instead edit myself to say, “Other things.”

  Strangely enough, this isn’t the weirdest conversation I’ve had while hiking.

  Daylight is fading when we come across a pasture surrounded by simple split-rail fencing.

  “We can cut through here and shave forty-five minutes off our time.” Without hesitation about getting shot for trespassing, Jay ducks under the top rail and then extends his hand back for me to use as support.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask, studying the dim twilight for movement. With blue mist thick this time of day, it’s almost impossible to see anything farther away than a few yards. Since it’s not truly dark out, my headlamp doesn’t provide any help whatsoever other than to make me look like a miner or cool archeologist.

  “Trust me, the point of these fences is to keep animals out of the fields so they don’t eat the crops. We’re fine. Remember my list of deadly hazards? We’re more likely to be killed in an automotive accident. Do you see any cars out here?” His reassurance fails to have the desired effect on me.

  “If you say so.” I grip his palm and slip under the top rail without snagging my pack.

  Across the open space, something makes a low, moaning sound.

  “What was that?” I ask, pausing near the fence with my hand on the lichen-covered post. “Bear? Bobcat? Bull?”

  Jay also stops, cocking his head as he listens. “Could be the wind.”

  I scoff. “If the wind has a deviated septum and a head cold.”

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “Seems very specific.”

  I shrug. “A lot of girls in my class developed a deviated septum around ninth or tenth grade.”

  He stares at me, confused.

  “Rhinoplasty was a phase.” I point to the bridge of my own nose. “It’s the gateway to plastic surgery. Saying you have a deviated septum makes it sound like it’s medically necessary when in reality, it’s a matter of vanity.”

  He blinks and then nods. “Interesting.”

  Is it though? “I think you’re humoring me.”

  “Did you?” He points at the center of his face.

  “No.”

  “I don’t think I know anyone who has had plastic surgery except maybe Kevin Mane after he broke his nose on my fist.” He shrugs and flashes a sheepish grin.

  I gasp and press my hand to my heart. “Ranger Daniels punched someone?”

  “More than once. I had a problem with fighting when I was younger.”

  Trying and failing to picture him as a bad boy b
ruiser, I squint up at his face. Jay with a split lip and a purple bruise on his cheek might be kind of hot, especially if he were fighting to defend me.

  There’s obviously something wrong with me. Maybe I hit my head harder than I realized when I fell yesterday.

  The low, animal sound repeats.

  I freeze and whisper, “Is it getting closer?”

  “The wind?” Jay asks, but his attention is also focused across the field.

  “Can we drop the pretense of not being trapped on the wrong side of the fence with whatever bloodthirsty beast is making such a sound?” I squint into the distance, hoping narrowing my eyes will give me super strength vision.

  It doesn’t. I step behind Ranger Daniels for protection.

  “What are you doing?” He twists his neck to look down at me.

  “Hiding. I believe you took an oath to protect and serve.”

  “Pfft. You’re confusing me with a police officer. I’m here to engage, educate, and empower.” He moves so he’s beside me.

  “You carry a gun, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes. Do you see a holster now?”

  I scan his hips and shake my head, allowing my eyes to linger on the tight fit of his uniform pants over his strong thighs and the thick belt at his narrow waist. Ranger Daniels is packing heat, but not of the pistol variety.

  Is it hot in here, or is it just me?

  A distinct braying reaches my ears.

  “Is that a donkey?” I tip my head.

  “What would a donkey be doing up here? Makes no sense.”

  “Ask him. Or her.” I point at the gray beast moving toward us. “I’m a city girl, but I’m pretty sure that’s an ass.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Jay removes his hat.

  Maybe he plans to shoo away our attacker with it?

  The gray form ambles toward us, letting out a loud bray and revealing large teeth.

  “Should we be worried?” I’m standing behind Jay again.

  “About a donkey? They’re mostly docile. He’s probably just curious.” Shifting his attention forward, he addresses our new friend. “Hey there. Where’d you come from?”

  The donkey halts.

  “See? He’s fine. Probably thinks we’re bringing treats.”

  “And what will he do when he realizes we’re showing up to his house empty-handed?” I’m half mocking. In my world, not bringing a hostess gift is an unthinkable breach of etiquette. I have no idea about the social decorum for equines.

  “Let’s go.” Jay encourages me forward with a sweep of his hat.

  We take several steps and the donkey does the same without breaking eye contact, like we’re about to duel. There’s definitely a challenge, a mild threat in the eyes of our new foe.

  “Should we slowly retreat to the fence?” I whisper at Jay’s back.

  “Nah, we’re fine.”

  “Maybe he’s a guard donkey.” I slide a glance over my shoulder toward safety. We’re a dozen or so yards away, but it isn’t too late to make a quick escape.

  Jay’s eyes meet mine. “You know guard donkeys aren’t a thing.”

  “I’m a stranger in a strange land—anything’s possible.” I wait until he faces forward to stick my tongue out at him.

  He’s shaking his head and clearly not paying attention to me anymore as he stomps across the squishy field.

  Left with no choice, I follow after him.

  My boot slips in the mud, or donkey poop—it’s impossible to tell the difference. I squawk and flail my arms as I tumble forward in an awkward motion resembling the mating dance of an emu.

  The donkey’s ears prick up before flattening against his head.

  “Uh oh,” I murmur as I straighten up.

  “It’s fine,” Jay says for the dozenth time.

  Only he’s wrong.

  Our new friend trots for a few beats and then charges toward us as fast as his (or her) short legs can go.

  Ranger Daniels doesn’t move. Probably frozen in shock.

  However, I take off in a sprint, which is not easy given my large pack and the muddy, uneven ground sucking at my shoes.

  With no idea how big this pasture is, I run in the opposite direction of where we entered. Donkeys are pack animals, not race horses, but I have no clue about their sprinting endurance. If only I had carrots or sugar cubes I could throw at it as a distraction.

  Running is a bad idea, and pointless, as emphasized by the steady thump of hooves behind me.

  With a glance over my shoulder, I realize Jay is standing stock-still, observing the chase.

  “Why aren’t you running?” My voice is breathless, the words choppy.

  One thing I’ve learned on the trail is to not run from bears. Does that apply to other animals too? What does Jay know that I don’t?

  He chuckles. The man actually laughs while I’m being chased by a murderous beast that’s clearly crazed with bloodlust.

  “The better question is why are you?” he shouts, amusement shading his question.

  I’m not going to stop to prove his point. Too risky.

  The old adage about not having to outrun a lion, only outpacing the other guy comes to mind. As long as this hell horse is chasing me, Jay knows he’s safe.

  Clever asshole.

  A large tree stands in the field up ahead and behind it is what appears to be another fence. Only a few more yards until safety.

  Panting, sweat beading on my brow and on my back where the pack rests, I zigzag around the tree and throw myself at the fence, hoping I’ll slide under like a baseball player diving for home.

  The muddy grass gives more resistance than I’d hoped. I don’t so much glide to safety as stumble and flop.

  Braying, the donkey clomps to a stop behind me as I scramble under the top rail to freedom.

  Once I’m on the other side, I lie back, a turtle resting on my pack. Out of breath but alive, I lift my muddy fist in triumph.

  “You’re on your own now, Ranger,” I shout.

  In my awkward position, it’s difficult to lift my head to search for him in the field. Shoving myself up on my elbows, I make eye contact with the donkey, who is stretching his head over the fence.

  “Not today, Satan.” I wag my finger at him.

  “I hope you don’t mean me.” Grinning, Jay pats the donkey on his head the same way you would with a dog, giving it a scratch by the ears. “Or this sweet guy.”

  They’re both adorable, which only makes everything worse.

  “I hate you both,” I mumble, rolling to the side in an attempt to stand. From my spot on the ground, I have a good angle for watching Jay slip under the fence and walk toward me. It’s a very nice vantage point.

  “Can I help you?” His hand appears directly in front of my face, blocking my view.

  “I’ve got it.” I switch to hands and knees to shove myself to a vertical position.

  “You have a little something here.” Jay gestures at his own cheek.

  With a glance at my dirty fingers, I decide to use my jacket sleeve to wipe my face. Bad idea. It’s also filthy. Taking notice of my body from the neck down, I realize all of me is splattered with mud. Grass sticks to my leggings like I’m a scarecrow losing my stuffing.

  By the time I finish my inspection, Jay bends over with laughter.

  “I hate to tell you, but it’s worse on your back.” He tries to make a straight face, willing the corners of his mouth downward.

  He fails.

  With all the pent-up adrenaline rushing through my body, I shove him.

  Like that story of a mother who lifts a car off of her toddler, my strength is superhuman.

  Jay stumbles, catches his foot in the mud, and tumbles back, landing on his ass in a puddle.

  I’m not sorry at all.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jay

  We made it through the pasture without being trampled by the donkey or running into its owner, who might not be pleased about us traipsing through his fields.

>   I shouldn’t have laughed at Snowbird’s antics, or how muddy she got herself. Wasn’t polite or kind to find amusement in the misfortune of others.

  I’m certainly not amused now with my ass in a puddle.

  Didn’t see that coming.

  “Now who’s laughing?” she asks, smug and clearly pleased with herself.

  “You pushed me.” My mouth drops open with surprise.

  “Turnabout. Fair play. All’s fair in love and war and muddy fields.” She extends a hand to help me up.

  I accept the gesture. “Thanks. You’re not forgiven.”

  “Then we’re even.” Wiping her hand on her leggings, she frowns. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t all mud.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I take a long step away from her. “I preferred it when you fell in the stream. At least you were clean afterward.”

  “How soon until I can take a shower?”

  “We’re about half an hour from the campground.”

  She lifts her gaze to the misty sky. “Thank heavens.”

  “Unless we run into a gang of alpacas looking for trouble.”

  “Can we not talk about the thousand ways to die in a national park again? I’d like a quiet moment to dream about my shower and the real food I’m going to eat for dinner.”

  For the short duration of our hike, I keep myself from sharing more random facts about the Smokies. Normally, I’m not the kind of guy who prances around, displaying my knowledge like brightly colored plumage to impress human females.

  Snowbird is obviously not impressed.

  Not surprising.

  There is more than one reason I’m perpetually single.

  The campground is a welcome sight when we round the last curve of the trail. Tents and RVs occupy every visible spot.

  Snowbird’s expression morphs from excited to disappointed as we walk through the rows of occupied campsites, headed in the direction of the ranger station.

  “Looks full.” She worries the strap on her pack.

  “I’m guessing a lot of people rode out the bad weather here rather than be on the road, but there’s no way we’re fully booked. I’m sure we’ll find you a spot.” I reassure her even though I’m surprised at how crowded the campground is.