Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  In contrast to the snow-covered ground from October, the spring conditions make the narrow path easy to follow. I spot the stone chimney first, followed by the steeply pitched roof extending over the narrow porch.

  Wildflowers bloom in the mossy earth around the little building.

  A “NO TRESPASSING” sign sits propped in one of the grungy windows, and a thicker padlock secures the door.

  Rubbing through the grime with my sleeve, I peer inside. Everything looks exactly how we left it. Still no moonshine.

  I pull out my phone and snap a photo.

  Once I’m on the trail leading me down to the valley, nerves take residence in my belly, beating their tiny wings at the knowledge I’m less than ten miles from seeing him again.

  No risk, no reward, I tell myself.

  Unlike the riot of color in the Smokies in October, April is all about green. A lot of the trees aren’t back in leaf yet, but the ground is saturated with spring grass and wildflowers. Wisps of blue clouds cling to the tops of the mountains like trails of woodsmoke. I feel like I’m hiking through a fairy tale. Any moment now a fawn and squirrels will join me as I march into the valley.

  Crickets chirp and birds tweet all around. Always scanning for flashes of blue feathers, I have trouble keeping my eyes on the trail, stumbling a few times because I’m not looking at my feet.

  Finally, there he is, looking handsome and dapper in his blue and black feathers. My Black-throated Blue Warbler.

  “Hello, handsome.” I wave at him. He doesn’t notice me but lets out his familiar call before flying away.

  Today is a very good day.

  I’m home.

  The thought makes me laugh. Me? At home in these mountains? A place I’ve spent months walking through but have never lived in. My inner New Yorker scoffs at the idea. The skeptic in me blames the thought on exhaustion. The liar in me declares the feeling has nothing to do with my unresolved feelings for Jay.

  Ignoring all of them, my soul says yes, this is where we belong.

  Two miles from the ranger station, I slow my pace as doubt and insecurity settle into my chest. I should’ve let him know I was finishing my hike. What if he doesn’t want to see me? I should’ve reserved clean clothes so I don’t show up smelling like roadkill from a week of living on the trail. What if he’s moved on? He could have a girlfriend. Or a wife. Some people fall in love and get married right away.

  Stopping myself from spiraling into a champion-level round of the what-if game, I decide I’m going to head directly to the ranger station.

  But first, I’m going to enjoy the joy of an indoor bathroom.

  Detouring to the one-story building housing the campground restrooms, I’m practically giddy. Hello running water, my old friend.

  Inside, I dump my bag by the door and then take care of the usual protocol. Spare a quick glance in the mirror, something I don’t normally do while I’m on the trail. Which I’m not anymore, so I guess it’s okay.

  The toilet flushes in another stall.

  “Yikes,” I whisper, observing myself flinching at the sight of my reflection. I have a smear of dirt on my forehead, a scrape on my chin, and what were once braids have turned into matching birds nests on my shoulders. “You can’t show up looking like a hot mess.”

  A woman in a ranger uniform steps up to the sink next to me.

  “Olive?” her reflection asks mine.

  My hands still wet with soap, I reply with a smile, “Hi, Gaia.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, not sounding happy to see me. In fact, she frowns, the exact opposite of the smile I gave her. “Does Jay know?”

  “I’m going to surprise him.”

  And now my very brilliant idea seems like the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.

  “He’s not here.” She presses the button on the dryer, the noise so loud I can barely hear her.

  “Sorry?” I ask when she finishes drying her hands, hoping for clarification.

  “I said he’s not here.” Not exactly helpful.

  “Can you elaborate? Is he in the backcountry? Or out of the park?”

  “He’s out of the country. In Japan.”

  My stomach sinks at her words.

  Without prompting, she continues, “He took two weeks of vacation.”

  I repeat the information back to her.

  “That’s what I said. He’s in Japan for two weeks.” She frowns. “Maybe you should have given him a heads-up you were coming back.”

  “I wanted to surprise him,” I mumble, wiping my hands on my pants.

  She shrugs. “Bad timing, I guess.”

  This isn’t the happy ending I’ve been imagining. Defeated and exhausted, I hoist my bag onto one shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know. Guess I’ll …”

  I let the words drift off. I don’t have a contingency plan.

  In my fantasy, I was going to show up here and he’d welcome me with open arms. He’d kiss me again, birds would sing, and we’d start our happily ever after.

  With my free hand, I cover my face. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Sorry, you were mumbling—can you repeat your last sentence?”

  Removing my palm from my mouth, I mumble, “I’m an idiot.”

  A grin breaks out on her face. “I thought that was what you said.”

  Remembering how defensive she was about Jay, I’m guessing she’s taking delight in this moment.

  “Come on,” she says, stepping around me. “Let’s find you a campsite.”

  “Why?” Confused, I follow her.

  She stops walking to answer me. “I figure you’ll want to hang around until Jay comes back. Or do you have somewhere else to be?”

  Standing with my mouth open, I slowly process her words. “But you said he’s gone for two weeks.”

  “You’re not willing to hang and wait that long for him? Doesn’t sound like too much of a commitment to make for the man you love.”

  “I didn’t say I love him,” I protest.

  Leveling me with a strong look, she asks, “Then what are you doing back here, Olive? Passing through on your hike?”

  Damn, she’s intimidating.

  “I finished the AT.”

  “Congratulations.” She gives me a high five before returning her face to its resting serious expression. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m here to figure it out.”

  “Well, you have a few days to do just that.”

  When she starts walking again, I jog to keep up with her. True to her word, she leads me to the camp office, where I register for a site.

  Before Gaia leaves, she tells me, “If you need anything or get bored, swing by the ranger station. You’re welcome to hang out.”

  Still uncertain about her motivations, I thank her. It’s possible she hates me. It’s also possible she’s helping me. Either and both could be true.

  Sniffing my t-shirt, I decide laundry will be the first order of business after a shower. The public camp showers aren’t nearly as nice as Jay’s, and I wear my water shoes to avoid catching cooties.

  In the campground, I use the wifi to pull up my flight search app. I type in Knoxville to Tokyo.

  What am I doing?

  I close the app.

  Proving a point? Making a grand gesture?

  I reopen the app.

  Chasing Jay to Japan is crazy. Interrupting his family vacation is presumptuous at best, deranged on the opposite end of the scale.

  I close the app and delete it from my phone.

  Gaia is right—if I’m not willing to wait for him, what am I even doing here?

  Spending two weeks hanging out in the campground is much more rational than twenty hours of flights. Plus, how would I even find him? I doubt Gaia or anyone else would give me his phone number.

  If this is one-sided, I can slink away into the woods.

  Plan of action decided, I celebrate with an ice cream sandwich at the small store.

  There are bikes to rent
for use in the area. I debate peddling into Green Valley to check out the town. I could always hitch a ride there and back.

  “Tomorrow,” I tell myself. There’s no rush. Unlike clocking miles on the trail in order to hit my daily goal, now that I’m here and officially done with the AT, I am free to do whatever I please. Or nothing at all.

  I think I’ll choose the latter option.

  Near the store is a little free library. According to the brass plaque on the door, it’s a gift of the Friends of the Green Valley Library in honor of a Bethany Winston. Inside are at least a dozen assorted books. I’m not surprised to find two copies of Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods tucked among the fiction, along with some non-fiction, children’s books, and a few comics. Bryson’s account of hiking the Appalachian Trail is one of the most famous. I decide to skip it.

  On the bottom shelf are five books of poetry, ranging from Whitman to E. E. Cummings. Not what I expected to find in a campground. I end up selecting a romance about a highwayman with a pretty yellow cover. Uncertain about my own happily ever after, reading about one might give me hope.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jay

  My sister insists on driving me back to Cades Cove from Knoxville. We arrived yesterday and immediately crashed. Jet lag means I have no idea what time or day it is. I can’t wait to get home and sleep.

  Jenni drops me at the station after making me promise to visit soon when I have a Saturday off.

  Inside, I find Guy and Daphne hanging out at the counter.

  When she spots me, Guy’s eyes widen into saucers. “Welcome back!”

  Her enthusiasm worries me. Guy is never exuberant. Dry, sarcastic, exasperated? Yes.

  “Wow. Thanks. I missed you too.” Cautiously, I drop my bag by the door. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, nothing interesting.” She presses her lips into an exaggerated frown. “Right, Daphne?”

  My eyes cut to Daphne, who appears as confused as I am.

  “Uh,” is all she manages before she sneezes. “Sorry. Allergies.”

  Guy’s head is tipped in the direction of the back office. “Besides spring allergies, we’ve had some rare bird sightings while you’ve been away.”

  “Oh, really?” She has my attention. “What species? The Red-throated Loon? Great Blue Heron? Snow Goose?”

  “Ooh, Griffin was talking about a snowbird recently,” Daphne interjects.

  Guy beams at me. “Oh, right. There was a sighting in the campground.”

  “What kind of snowbird?” I watch Guy’s eyes dart down the hall again. The tempo of my heartbeat increases.

  Guy’s dimples pop out as she presses her lips together tightly. She looks like an unrepentant chipmunk with a mouth full of stolen nuts. With a nod, she answers, “The same one who came through this area last fall.”

  She barely finishes speaking before I’m speeding down the hallway. At the threshold to the office, I pause to collect myself.

  The awful overhead fluorescent light is off and the room is dark, lit only from the fading afternoon sunlight coming in through the window. I pause, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  The woman I can’t get off my mind, the one who occupies far too many of my thoughts while awake and my dreams at night, is curled up in the corner of the old sofa, reading a book. Completely at ease, maybe even a little bored, like she’s waiting for a doctor’s appointment or hanging out at home on a lazy weekend afternoon. She looks like she belongs in this space. A half-empty cup of tea rests on the floor within reaching distance. Obviously, she’s been here a while.

  Unobserved, I indulge in the joy of reacquainting myself with my favorite parts of her. She worries the corner of her fuller bottom lip with her teeth. Long lashes hide her eyes and her long neck is bent as she dips her head to read. Elegant fingers turn the page.

  My eyes follow the winding S curve of her body from shoulders to the narrower tuck of her waist before widening over her hips and thighs. She’s curvier, healthier than she was in the fall. I want to retrace those lines with my hands first, followed by my mouth.

  “You’re here.” Her voice is husky, like she hasn’t used it in a long time. It reminds me of her waking up in the morning, still tipsy from sleep.

  Damn, I’ve missed her voice.

  While I was devouring every detail of her body, I missed the moment she noticed my presence.

  “I am. So are you. Imagine that,” I say, amused because I can’t believe she’s really here. I’ve imagined seeing her again. Over and over again I’ve thought about this moment, the impossibility of being in the same place together again.

  Her dark brows pull together, confusion filling her blue eyes. “You’re supposed to be out of town.”

  “I flew home yesterday.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my uniform pants.

  She untangles her feet and stands.

  Moving across the room in three quick strides, I stop when I’m a few feet away from her. I’m close enough to inhale her clean scent but not to touch her. Inside, I’m battling the urge to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and walk out of here, not stopping until we’re back at my place.

  I don’t know what brought her back or why she’s hanging out in the office like it’s the local library.

  “I’m sorry I left so abruptly.” Her eyes hold traces of her grief.

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I wanted to send a card or call or something to let you know I was thinking of you, but I didn’t have any way to reach you.” I hope my sincerity shows. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you’re close with. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She blinks away tears. Her attention flicks between a spot over my shoulder, her feet, and the window—anywhere but my face. Is she nervous?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, voice rough. I wonder if she can hear the restraint I’m battling.

  She finally meets my eyes, and the same pull from before anchors itself in the center of my chest, sending a current straight to my heart. “I came back for you.”

  Without overthinking, without hesitation, I wind my hands through her braid, gently tugging until her head dips back, angling her chin closer to my lips.

  “Olive,” I whisper, her name holy, sacred. My lips brush against the corner of her mouth. Not a true kiss, but a promise. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

  Leaning away slightly, my hand still in her hair, I search her eyes for reluctance or rejection. If I’ve misread the situation, if I have somehow misunderstood her motivations for being here, I’ll walk away, let her go. I’ve done it once and survived.

  She blinks up at me, her pupils dilated in the dim light and darkening her blue eyes.

  “Why would I do that?” Her voice is barely more than a breath, not loud enough to be a whisper.

  “Because this won’t be just a kiss. Not this time.” I pause, letting my meaning sink in. “If we do this, I’m all in. You need to know before we start anything. This isn’t going to be a one-time thing. At least not for me.”

  Her breath catches and her eyes grow wide. Slowly her lips part and a warm sigh of an exhalation escapes.

  “Just so we’re clear …” I drag a knuckle down her cheek and along her jaw, “I want you. I want this.”

  In response, she shivers beneath my touch. A warm flush of color spreads across her cheeks. With a nod, she steps closer, pressing her body against mine from chest to thigh.

  Her curves, her softness melts against where I’m hard, the planes of muscle in my chest, my abdomen, my cock. My instinct tells me to grind against her, to seek friction to relieve the ache, but I maintain control. Angling my hips away, I’m stopped with her hand low on my waist.

  With both hands, she pulls me flush against her, locking her arms around my back.

  “I came back for you,” she repeats, eyes blazing with desire. The look is familiar, and I realize now it was always there, simmering beneath the uncertainty, visible if I’d only been brave enough to
believe.

  My lips find hers, not a gentle caress, with intention.

  A soft sigh breaks the silence, a moan of relief.

  She’s kissing me back, her mouth opening for me. I slide my tongue inside, seeking hers, wanting to taste and devour her.

  Her hands move from my back, up over my arms to tangle in my hair, first at the nape of my neck and then near my temples. I lose myself in her, surrounded by her scent and her warmth.

  Voices drift into the office through the open door. If anyone were to walk down the hall now, we’d be busted. The last thing I want is to stop kissing Olive. Second to last, is being interrupted by one of my fellow rangers.

  And then I remember the office door has a lock.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Olive

  Jay has a feral look in his eyes when he closes the office door and turns the lock.

  “Here? Now?” My voice squeaks. “Where?”

  His eyes dart from the ancient sofa over to the desk and then to the wood-paneled wall, lingering on the shelf with the taxidermy skunk who stares down at us.

  “No,” he says, firmly. Resolved. His eyes return to their normal state of being pretty, but not untamable. “Not here. Not for our first time together. Nothing wrong with hard and fast, but I want to savor this moment. What I want to do requires privacy, which we won’t have here.”

  Part of me is disappointed, but I’m also relieved.

  I wasn’t expecting him to reappear today. I need to gather my thoughts around the fact that he’s here.

  And he wants me.

  I took a short hike this morning to hand out coffee to the AT hikers like I do most days. It’s not a lot, but I know how much hot coffee is appreciated. A few miles up and back is easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sweat. With no one to mind, I also haven’t washed my hair in … I try to remember by counting on my fingers. It’s been three days.

  I could use a shower and fresh clothes, though the clothes are optional because I’m planning to be naked. With Jay.