by Irene Hannon
Pressing the auto lock on her key chain, she followed the sidewalk to the low-slung, wood-shingled visitor center tucked among the giant redwoods, ticking off her agenda in her mind. She’d scope out the place, gather up some brochures and trail maps and get the lowdown on park highlights from someone knowledgeable about Prairie Creek. Then she’d tool down the ten-mile-long Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway for an up-close view of the towering trees.
Poking her head into the right wing of the structure, she gave the small, deserted museum a quick scan and retreated. On the other side of the building, she found a small gift shop and bookstore as well as an unstaffed information desk.
Taking the Ranger on Duty sign at face value, she wandered over to peruse the trail map displayed on a bulletin board, leaning close for a better look as she waited for a staff member to show up.
Three minutes later, a familiar resonant baritone voice with the hint of a Southern accent spoke behind her. “Can I help you?”
She swung around. Sure enough, it was her landlord. At least she thought it was her landlord. But the gray shirt, dark green slacks and distinctive flat-brimmed beige hat threw her.
Clint Nolan was a park ranger?
Her gaze flicked to the nametag on the left pocket flap of his shirt.
Yeah, he was.
Given his muscles and toned physique, she’d guessed his occupation involved physical labor. But a ranger hadn’t been on the list of professions she’d considered. Genevieve or Lindsey at the Mercantile could have cleared up the mystery, of course, if she’d been able to think of a casual way to introduce the topic—and if she hadn’t been afraid such a query would suggest she had a personal interest in the man.
Which of course she didn’t.
Now she had her answer, anyway.
“This is a surprise.” Clint stayed where he was, hovering on the threshold, his expression guarded...and curious.
“Yeah. For me, too.” She tucked her fingers in the front pockets of her jeans and gave him a once-over. How come his shoulders seemed broader in his uniform shirt? And he looked taller, too. Was he wearing boots?
As she started to check out that theory, he spoke again.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
She jerked her chin back up, and her cheeks warmed. He’d asked her that once already, hadn’t he?
“Yes. I’m, uh, checking out the area attractions so I know what to recommend to our guests. This park is an obvious choice, but I wanted to talk to someone about which trails to suggest, flora and fauna to watch for, safety concerns. That kind of thing.”
He eased past her in the cramped space to circle around behind the information desk, leaving a subtle woodsy, masculine scene in his wake.
Her pulse spiked.
Rats.
The last thing she needed was an appealing landlord. The proximity of their living quarters could cause problems—like tempting her to violate her no-strings rule.
She needed to quash this. Fast.
As Clint pulled out a trail map and opened it on the counter between them, she did her best to focus on his comments about Fern Canyon, Gold Bluffs Beach, Roosevelt elk, whale watching and the Rhododendron Trail. But he didn’t grab her full attention until he mentioned mountain lions.
“There are mountain lions in the park?” She stared at him.
“Yes. Along with plenty of other wildlife. This is their home.”
“Does that mean hiking is dangerous?”
“Not usually. But once in a great while, if a lion is sick or hungry, it will attack humans. It happened here a few years before I became a ranger. If your guests are worried, we do offer interpretive talks and guided walks in season. And here are a few brochures with tips for wildlife encounters.” He pulled a handful from beneath the desk and passed them over. “I wouldn’t discourage people from exploring on their own, though. Hiking in the redwoods is an amazing experience.”
“Okay.” She’d have to think about this one. On Maui, the only danger she’d had to warn guests about was jellyfish. “So can you recommend some popular trails in the easy, moderate and difficult range?” She tucked the brochures in her shoulder tote.
“Sure. Brown Creek is a moderate trail.” He indicated it on the map. “If you really want to get a feel for what that means, though, it would be helpful to do some hiking yourself.” He shot her an appraising look, and she read the challenge in his eyes.
It did not sit well.
“I was about to go check out reports of a downed tree on that trail. You’re welcome to come along. Your sport shoes will handle the terrain with no problem.” He folded up the map, watching her.
She eyed him. First the rustic remark about his apartment. Now this...dare. Did he think she was a pansy because of her high-end resort job?
No matter the basis for his opinion, it might be fun to throw him for a loop.
With a smile, she picked up the gauntlet. “Okay.”
The slightly arched brow above his left eye was the only visible sign she’d succeeded in her attempt to confound him.
“It’s an easy path to follow, so if you get tired you can always turn back without fear of getting lost.” He handed her a trail map.
“Good to know. But I’ve got a fair amount of stamina.” She tucked the map in the pocket of her jeans. “Shall I meet you at the trailhead?”
“We can take a park vehicle. Give me two minutes to round up someone to watch the desk.”
“No problem. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”
As she turned away, Clint pulled out his cell. That was when Kristen noticed the gun on his belt. First an ax, now a sidearm. Maybe the man had an oversupply of testosterone.
Then again, in a forest where mountain lions roamed, he might not be a bad guy to have around.
Besides, she was looking forward to showing him she didn’t neatly fit into whatever stereotype he’d assigned to her.
As for why she cared what he thought—she’d leave that question for another day.
Chapter Four
Clint grabbed his jacket from a hook in the staff area of the visitor center and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Kristen Andrews was full of surprises. Take those sport shoes. She didn’t seem the type to appear in public in such plebeian footwear. And jeans didn’t fit his image of her, either. Oh, sure, designer jeans, maybe. The kind women like her wore with fancy boots or high heels. But he wouldn’t have expected her to go for the off-the-rack, rough-and-ready style she was modeling today. Those were the kind people who wanted to do more than look pretty wore.
Still, she did look pretty.
And a little less like Lisa in that rugged attire. Which was a plus.
Wasn’t it?
Unsure of that answer, he exited the ranger station and followed the path toward the parking lot. Pre-season, there were plenty of open spaces. He spotted Kristen immediately, behind what appeared to be a spanking-new silver Accord. Another surprise. She drove a workhorse car, not a fancy BMW like...
He cut off that thought—cold.
Once he had a clear view of her, however, he stopped abruptly and stared.
She had one foot propped on the bumper while she laced up a hiking boot that was definitely not spanking new.
Huh.
Lisa’s idea of a hike had been a trek through the mall to Neiman Marcus.
Given her well-broken-in boots, no wonder Kristen had agreed to accompany him.
She looked up as he approached, and he had no trouble interpreting her smug “gotcha” smile. “I’m about set.” She pulled the bow taut, then reached into the trunk and retrieved a daypack.
As she pulled it out, he realized he’d left his own backpack in the ranger station.
That was a first.
But he wasn’t about to retrace his steps to retrieve it. That would only confirm she’d discombobulated him.
“You’re very prepared.” He fished his keys out of his pocket.
“I try to be.” She closed her trunk and gave him a steady look. “For all contingencies. I wasn’t sure I’d hike today, but since you’ve offered to be my guide, why not? Where’s your car?”
He gestured toward an SUV bearing the logo of the California Department of Parks and Recreation. She flicked a look at the USNPS leather band on his hat.
“Do you work for the National Park Service or for California?”
Impressive. Few people caught that distinction.
“The National Park Service. There are several state parks within Redwood National Park, and they’re managed cooperatively by the two organizations. Ready?” He gestured toward the SUV.
She slung her daypack over one shoulder and took off toward the vehicle. He followed, intending to open the door for her. But she’d circled the vehicle and was already climbing in as he rounded the hood.
He got the message.
Kristen Andrews was an independent woman. She didn’t need his help.
Fine. No problem.
Correcting his course, he circled back to the driver side, pulled open the door and took his place behind the wheel.
“How far is this trail?” She snapped her seat belt closed.
“A couple of miles. Have you ever been to the redwoods?”
“No.”
“Then get set. You’re in for a treat. The scenic parkway is well named.”
She settled back without comment.
But a few minutes later, as the narrow road began to wind through the soaring giants, she leaned forward in her seat.
“Oh, my.” The words came out in a hushed, almost reverent whisper as she eyeballed the girth of the massive trunks, then craned her neck, trying to see the tops. “This is amazing! I love how the sunlight slants through the branches. And everything is so green and lush! It feels...primeval.”
So she appreciated the wonders of nature. Another point in her favor—not that he was keeping score.
“This is an old-growth area. There are close to three hundred groves like this in the park. The parkway is a great introduction to the redwoods, but nothing beats walking among them, as you’ll soon discover.”
Quiet fell in the SUV as she continued to gape at the trees.
Once at the Brown Creek trailhead, he pulled off the road and parked. Before he could offer to get her door, she was out of the car, head tipped back, scanning the distant treetops.
He slid out, locked the vehicle and joined her as she shrugged into her daypack. “Would you like me to carry that?”
She adjusted it and settled the straps on her shoulders. “No, thanks. I’m used to it.”
How come he wasn’t surprised?
“I take it you’ve done some hiking.”
“A fair amount. A lot of our guests enjoy exploring the natural beauty around the Mattson resorts, and I can offer better recommendations if I experience the sights personally.”
“Was there much hiking on Maui?” He gestured toward the trail, and she preceded him down the needle-carpeted path, setting an impressive pace.
“More than you might think. Hiking the summit of Haleakala Crater is awesome. And farther afield, the Na Pali Coast on Kauai and Molokai’s Kalaupapa trail are fabulous.”
Okay. The lady had totally suckered him. Two of those trails were in national parks, and he’d read enough about all three to know they were very strenuous—the equivalent of a black ski run, minimum.
“Do all concierges take their jobs so seriously?”
Her throaty chuckle floated back to him. “No. But this isn’t work to me. I like the outdoors. I always have. Lucky thing, since I spent most of my youth helping my parents run their small lakeside resort in Wisconsin.” She pulled up short and pointed to the ground on the side of the trail. “What’s that?”
Still digesting the new information she’d offered, he closed the distance between them and checked out the six-inch-long, neon-yellow creature.
“A banana slug. They’re common here.”
“Boy, he’s a bright little guy.” She dropped to one knee and bent down to get up close and personal with the slug. “Hmm. He has antennas.” She ran a finger gently down the length of the body. “And he’s slippery.”
The elegant concierge from Inn at The Point had touched a slug.
One by one, Clint’s preconceived notions about her were crumbling. No way on earth would Lisa have gotten close to a slimy creature like this, let alone touched one.
Kristen stood again and started forward, following the narrow, descending path through a profusion of giant ferns.
“Wow. This is just like Jurassic Park. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran into a dinosaur.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle. “No chance of that, although part of the movie was filmed here. But how about a marbled murrelet? It’s not as rare as a dinosaur, but it is a threatened species. This is your lucky day. I don’t often spot them.”
Stopping, she glanced around and lowered her voice. “That’s a bird, right? Where is it?”
He moved beside her and bent close, pointing to the small, black-beaked bird with a black crown and back. “In the tree at two o’clock. Twelve feet up.”
She lifted her head, following the direction of his finger. Her soft hair brushed his chin, and the distinctive fragrance he’d noticed the day she’d checked out his apartment enveloped him. Then, he’d termed it exotic. Now it struck him more as interesting—and appealing.
His pulse did an odd hesitation step.
“Oh, I see it!”
As she spoke, the bird took wing and disappeared—giving him an excellent excuse to step back...and regroup.
She eyed him. “You know a lot about this area, but you’re not a native, are you?”
“No. I spent most of my life in South Carolina.”
“Aha! I knew I detected a slight Southern accent.” She turned and resumed walking. “So what brought you out here?”
He followed more slowly, choosing his words with care. He hadn’t shared his real reason for relocating with anyone in Starfish Bay, and he didn’t intend to start now. “I wanted a change of pace, and I’ve always loved the outdoors. We took a family vacation out here when I was a kid, and I fell in love with the redwoods. I always said I’d come back. Three years ago I made good on that vow.”
It was his standard answer. One everyone he’d recited it to had accepted at face value.
Until now.
“That’s a dramatic change, moving all the way across the country. What about the life you left behind?”
He gave himself a few seconds to formulate a noncommittal answer. “It was time to make a change.”
She didn’t respond at once. If he was lucky, she’d take the hint and let the subject of his past drop.
“So did you work for the National Park Service back there, too?”
Obviously this wasn’t his lucky day.
“No.” He clenched his fists. Flexed his fingers. Kept breathing. “I was a police officer.”
She shot a look over her shoulder at his gun. “Is that what you do here, as a ranger? Enforce the law?”
“For the most part I do interpretation and education. Law enforcement is secondary.”
“How come?”
This was getting stickier by the minute.
“I used my criminal justice degree for ten years. I figured I better switch gears before my forestry and marine biology degrees got dusty.”
She stopped and swiveled toward him. “You have three degrees?”
At her incredulous question, he stopped, too, keeping a s
afe distance between them. Why had he told her that? He hadn’t mentioned his academic credentials to any of the Starfish Bay residents he’d known for three years, and he’d just met this woman a few weeks ago.
But that was a puzzle he’d have to tackle later. Right now, he needed to employ some diversionary tactics.
“I double majored in criminal justice and forestry in college. I worked on the marine biology degree in my spare time. Like I said, I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors.”
“I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s no effort to do something you love.” He gestured down the trail. “Let’s keep moving. I need to check out that tree.”
For the next twenty-five minutes, Kristen kept up a steady pace—up, down, ducking under and around trees...it didn’t matter. Her speed never varied. She only slowed when he called her attention to various points of interest, including the rhododendrons that were about to burst into bloom. His new tenant was in great condition.
Must be the yoga.
When they at last arrived at the downed tree, Kristen spotted it first as she rounded a curve. It was hard to miss, considering it was blocking the trail.
“Oh my word. It’s a giant.” She slowed as she approached the massive trunk. “That is so sad. What on earth made it fall over?” She ran her fingers reverently over the furrowed bark.
“A combination of wet soil and strong winds, probably. It may have been leaning, too, which would have left it more susceptible to uprooting.” He gestured toward the huge exposed root structure in the distance, down the long expanse of trunk. “Redwoods don’t have large, anchoring taproots. To compensate, they send out surface roots that interlock with the roots of their neighbors. That connection to other trees gives them stability. But it didn’t save this one.”
“How old do you think it was?”
“Seven hundred years, give or take a few decades.” He inspected the blocked trail. “We’ll have to send out a crew to cut a pass-through here tomorrow. This is one of the most popular trails, and the summer vacation crowd is about to descend. Are you ready to start back?”
She hesitated, her hand still on the tree. “I feel like we should have a moment of silence or something. The end of a seven-hundred-year life is significant.” She gestured toward a plank bench they’d passed a few dozen feet back up the path, tucked in among the giant ferns. “Could we sit there for a few minutes? I brought some water and snacks.”
