Page 14 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not taking a bed while my guest sleeps on the floor." The statement has the weight of an immovable principle behind it. "And because I said so."
God, he’s infuriating. Infuriating and principled and hot as sin. And, since my fantasies have hijacked my mind, I love the way he said that.Because I said so.Damn, light a match and let me burn.
“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted.” His lips twitch. The ghost of a smile, and it hits harder than a full grin from anyone else.
He unrolls a sleeping bag by the woodstove like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like giving up his bed is no big deal.
But it is.
It’s a massive deal, and I feel that deal in every beat of my suddenly traitorous heart.
"Caleb, seriously?—"
"It's decided." He cuts me off with a finality that brooks no argument. "Bathroom's yours if you want it."
I retreat to prepare for bed, borrowing a t-shirt he's grudgingly offered as sleepwear. When I return to the main room, he's dimmed the lights, leaving only the glow from the woodstove to illuminate the space.
"Goodnight, then." I hover awkwardly, still uncomfortable with the arrangement.
"Night." He's already in the sleeping bag, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
In the back room, I crawl into his bed and pull the covers up, his scent wrapping around me. Clean laundry, pine, woodsmoke… and something darker. Something dangerous.
Despite the cot's narrowness, it's reasonably comfortable, certainly better thanthe floor. Still, guilt needles me at the thought of Caleb's tall frame confined to a sleeping bag while I take his bed.
I lie there for hours, listening to the rain, the fire, and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
And wondering why the most infuriating man I’ve ever met is also the one I most want to touch.
Chapter 5
Sunlight pierces the small window,falling across my face. Into my eyes. No rest for the weary, not that I’ve been excessively active. For a moment, I lie still, orienting myself once again to this unfamiliar space. The ranger station. Angel's Peak.
Caleb.
The events of yesterday filter through my consciousness—the tree fall, the rain, the awkward dinner that somehow bridged a fraction of the distance between us. I stretch, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles, before padding to the door and peering into the main room.
Caleb stands at the kitchenette with his back to me, the sleeping bag already rolled and stowed. His hair is damp from a shower, the dark strands curling slightly at his nape. Something about this unguarded moment makes my chest tighten inexplicably.
"Morning." My voice sounds too loud in the quiet cabin.
He turns, coffee mug in hand. "Storm's passed. Temporarily."
I move to the window, greedy for the view after beingconfined by yesterday's rain. Sunlight bathes the mountainside, transforming raindrops into diamonds on pine needles and turning puddles into mirrors reflecting the impossibly blue sky. The forest looks newborn, vibrant greens intensified by their recent washing.
"Beautiful." The word escapes on a breath, more to myself than to Caleb.
"Best time in the mountains. Right after a storm." He joins me at the window, maintaining a careful distance. "Everything washed clean."
I glance at him, surprised by the almost poetic observation from this taciturn man. "Exactly."
He clears his throat, retreating from this brief moment of shared appreciation. "Need to check the wildlife shelters. Make sure they weathered the storm."
"Wildlife shelters?"
