Page 39 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
“This way.” His voice is low, steady. He leads us onto a different trail, heading up toward a rocky outcropping. “About two miles. Gets steep.”
I fall in behind him, watching the way he moves—confident, sure-footed, every muscle working beneath his shirt. He owns this landscape, and I want to know what it feels like to be ownedby him, even for a heartbeat.
“How’d you find this place?” I ask, needing to hear his voice, needing to keep the connection alive.
“Kim showed me.” He says her name without flinching, glancing back to check on me. “She mapped every eagle nest in the range. Taught me how to read the signs.”
“And you kept up her work,” I say it softly, but it lands between us like a secret.
He pauses at a fallen log, offering his hand. His grip is warm, calloused, steadying me as I climb over. The contact is brief, but it leaves a trail of fire up my arm. For a moment, I imagine those hands pinning me again, rough and gentle all at once.
“The eagles mate for life,” he says, voice roughening. “Same pair, same nest, year after year.”
“Unless something happens to one of them.”
He nods, pushing aside a low branch, holding it for me. “Kim tracked one male for six seasons. His mate disappeared in the third winter. He never took another. Just kept the nest alone until he stopped coming back.”
His words are scientific, but the ache beneath them is unmistakable. I study his profile, the hard line of his jaw, the sadness that lingers in his eyes. He’s talking about more than eagles.
The trail narrows, winding higher. Wind stirs the pines, the calls of birds echoing through the trees. We climb in silence, breath and heartbeat the only sounds between us.
A sudden movement in the brush snaps us both to attention. Caleb raises a hand, instantly alert. We freeze as a young deer steps into the open, trembling. Its leg is tangled in fishing line, blood welling around the cruel plastic.
“Poor thing.” My heart twists. “Can we help?”
Caleb’s gaze sharpens, assessing. “Maybe. If we move slow, don’t spook it.” He crouches, his voice dropping into a low,soothing hum—no words, just sound, gentle and commanding at once. The deer’s trembling eases, just a little.
“I need to get behind it. Can you keep its attention? Move to the right, talk to it. Softly.”
I nod, pulse thudding, and do as he says. The deer’s wild eyes track me, but it doesn’t bolt. I murmur nonsense, the gentlest words I can find, and Caleb moves—silent, controlled, every motion calculated to calm, not frighten.
In a blur, he’s behind the fawn, hands steady, strong but careful as he restrains it. “Fishing line. My front pocket—multitool.”
I scramble to obey, fingers trembling as I find the tool and snap out the tiny scissors. Together, we work—him holding the animal, me cutting the line, both of us moving as one. The fawn trembles, but doesn’t fight, trusting us somehow.
When the last strand falls away, Caleb checks the wound, hands gentle as he applies antiseptic. The deer’s breathing slows, eyes wide and dark.
“Will it be okay?” My voice is barely a whisper as I stroke the fawn’s neck.
“Should heal clean.” He eases his grip, slow and patient, letting the animal decide when to go. “Young enough to recover.”
The deer hesitates, then bounds away, white tail flashing. We stay kneeling, close enough to touch, the air between us charged with something raw and bright.
“That was amazing.” I turn to him, grinning, unable to hide my awe. “How did you know what to do?”
“Wildlife rescue training.” He stands, offering his hand again, pulling me up with effortless strength. “Part of the job.”
But there’s something different in his eyes—a softness, a pride, a deep, unguarded satisfaction. In this moment, I see the man beneath the armor:fierce, protective, quietly aching for connection. I see how he cares, not just for wounded animals, but for every fragile thing that crosses his path—including me.
And somehow, that gentleness is just as intoxicating as his hunger. Maybe even more.
We continue our climb, the air between us humming with the afterglow of rescue and the promise of something more.
Conversation flows easily, with each step and shared discovery. Caleb points out wildflowers, lichen, the faint claw marks of a bear on a tree trunk—his knowledge is deep, but it’s the way he speaks about this place that surprises me.
There’s reverence in his voice, a quiet devotion that turns every fact into something intimate. He’s not just reciting information; he’s sharing a part of himself, letting me see the fierce tenderness that lives beneath his rough exterior.
The trail opens onto a rocky shelf, and the view punches the breath from my lungs. Peaks serrate the horizon, valleys spill out in endless green, and a river threads silver far below. The Colorado sky stretches blue and bottomless overhead, so vast it feels like it could swallow us whole.
