Page 1 of Ranger's Secret

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DELANEY

There's one rule I swore I'd never break.Never touch your best friend's brother.Well, I broke it spectacularly last summer at Maya's birthday party. But I'm pretending it never happened, which should count for something.

Except right now, staring across the overcast clearing at Colville National Forest, I'm remembering exactly why that rule exists in the first place. Maya's brother, Jagger, stands with his back to me, pointing out something on a trail map to the park coordinator. Even from here, I can see the way his biceps strain against his ranger uniform sleeves. He’s always been muscular, but this is different. He’s broader, more filled out, carved into something harder. His sandy brown hair is short but messier now, like he forgot to care and somehow got hotter for it. When he turns slightly, I catch the scruff covering his jaw where he used to be clean-shaven.

My stomach drops, a sudden freefall I can’t stop.

This is supposed to be my brilliant career move. Landing the Trailbound Outfitters account by showing I can walk the walk, not just write killer ad copy about outdoor brands. Two weeks volunteering with the forest ranger program, getting authenticexperience, proving to the client that Morrison & Associates understands their mission of adventure and conservation better than Sterling Creative. It all comes down to me versus some guy named Brett from the competing agency who keeps shooting me these intense stares, trying to psych me out. Honestly, he just looks constipated.

The client made it clear: whichever agency can prove they truly "get" the Trailbound spirit will win the account. And with it, the promotion I've been killing myself for all year. I need this win. I've earned it through late nights, working weekends, and turning down every social invite for the past six months.

This isn’t supposed to be a reunion with the man I’ve spent eleven months avoiding after he kissed me.

I’ve worked hard to erase him, to scrub him from my thoughts. After that kiss, he texted me three times. I deleted them all without reading past the first few words. Then came the phone call six months ago. No message, maybe even a butt dial. I ignored that too. When Maya invited me to a family party, I suddenly developed a mysterious stomach bug.

The memory of that kiss crashes over me. Jagger backing me against the bathroom wall after he'd pulled me inside and locked the door. The taste of mint on his lips. Months, maybe years, of restraint snapped in a single moment. My knees buckled. I actually went weak, the way romance heroines always do. I melted into him, my body boneless, helpless against the pull of him.

"You even taste like trouble," he'd growled against my mouth before biting down on my bottom lip, his hand sliding up to wrap around my throat. The sound that escaped me was so needy I barely recognized it. And it had the nerve to be for him.

Then Maya had called my name from the party, and reality crashed back in. I'd pushed him away, mumbled some excuse, and spent the next eleven months pretending it never happened.

"Delaney!" Sarah, the program coordinator, waves me over with enthusiasm that makes me want to hide behind the nearest tree. "Come meet your leader!"

No. No no no. This isn't happening. But my feet are already moving, carrying me across the clearing like I'm walking to my execution. The other volunteers, a mix of genuine outdoorsy types and obvious fish-out-of-water types, cluster around as Sarah makes introductions. At least I'm not the only one who looks like I'd rather be anywhere else. One woman is already swatting at imaginary bugs.

"Everyone, this is Jagger Maddox, our head ranger. He'll be guiding you through the program."

Jagger turns. His eyes sweep over the group and land on me like a sniper's scope. Eyes that see everything. Eyes that are currently glaring at me with the enthusiasm of someone who just found a skunk in their tent.

He wasn't supposed to be here. I know he's a ranger, but Maya said he was assigned to some forest in Idaho. I never bothered to ask which one because I try not to talk about him at all around Maya. So how did he end up here? He wasn't listed on the park website when I checked. And I definitely checked. Twice.

I steel myself. I've got a client to win over and a promotion to secure, and I refuse to let my complicated feelings about nature boy and his stupid perfect biceps mess up everything.

"Welcome to Colville National Forest," he says, his voice exactly as deep and rough as when he growled against my lips. "You'll be working on trail maintenance, wildlife monitoring, and visitor education over the next two weeks. Any questions?"

A woman next to me raises her hand. "What kind of wildlife might we see?"

"Whitetail and mule deer, elk, moose, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and black bear. Occasionally a grizzly." His toneis matter-of-fact, like he's reading from a grocery list. "Standard precautions apply. Stay with the group, never approach or feed any animals."

"What about those stories of people going missing out here?" someone else asks.

Jagger's eyes find mine again, and the look he gives me is pure ice. "Some people ignore the rules and pay for it."

Heat floods my cheeks. The way he's looking at me, it's like I'm being personally scolded for existing. Which is rich, considering he's the one who kissed me.

"The key," he continues, still holding my gaze, "is following instructions. Paying close attention to everything I say out here and following every order."

He’s really emphasizing that last part. Is he seriously insinuating I don't follow rules? The only rule I've broken is kissing him, and that was his doing. I cock my head and give him a confused look, and he glares at me before turning away abruptly.

"All right!" Sarah claps her hands together, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "Let's head to the trails and get started!"

The group forges ahead, buzzing about trail conditions and team bonding. I hang back, blending into the crowd, doing my best impression ofjust happy to be herewhile avoiding all eye contact with Jagger.

"Holt." His voice slices through the chatter. "You're with me. Up front."

A few heads swivel my way. Brett-from-Sterling gives me a smug little side-eye and mutters, "Teacher's pet," like we're in sixth grade and not out here pretending to be wilderness warriors.

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