Page 41 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
He finally looks at me, eyes dark and open. “Seemed fitting.” A beat, then he asks, “What about you? Always the wandering photographer?”
I let him change the subject, sensing he’s given all he can for now. “Always loved photography. My dad’s fault. Thewandering came later—after my mom broke down when he left.”
He listens, really listens, as I tell him about the divorce, about the ache of loving someone who always leaves, about my habit of running before anyone can run from me.
He studies me, gaze softening with understanding. “So you keep moving.”
“Harder to lose what you never really claimed.” I try to laugh, but it sounds hollow.
“Does it work?” he asks quietly.
I think of my empty apartment, my half-lived life. “Not really. But it’s a hard habit to break.”
A shadow passes overhead—a hawk, wings wide, riding the thermals. We watch it together, silent, both of us craving a freedom we’ve never found.
Caleb’s voice is gentle, full of insight. “We make choices to protect ourselves, then forget they were choices at all.”
His words settle inside me, true and sharp. Before I can answer, dark clouds gather over the peaks, storm rolling in faster than forecast.
“Storm’s coming.” He stands, already packing up. “We should head back.”
We move quickly down the trail, the wind whipping around us, as the first fat drops of rain splatter against the rocks. By the time the cabin comes into view, thunder is echoing through the valley, the sky a bruised, boiling gray.
We make it inside just as the downpour hits, rain hammering the roof. The temperature drops, the world outside turning wild and cold. Caleb moves through the cabin, checking the windows and feeding the woodstove, his presence filling the space—protective, solid, utterly necessary.
The lights flicker, then die as thunder shakes the walls. Darkness falls, brokenonly by the orange glow of the fire. Caleb lights candles, their golden light pooling in the shadows, turning the cabin into a secret world.
I settle on the rug in front of the stove, stretching my hands toward the heat. Caleb hesitates, then sits beside me, close but not quite touching. The air between us is thick with everything we haven’t said.
“Thank you for today.” I turn to him, firelight painting his face in gold and shadow. “For the overlook. For trusting me.”
He nods, eyes reflecting the flames. “Thank you for listening. Not many people would understand.”
“I think we understand each other better than we expected.”
A log shifts, sparks swirling up the chimney. The flare lights his face—so strong, so guarded, yet tonight I see the man underneath: vulnerable, yearning, afraid to want.
“Today was the first time I’ve spoken about Kim without feeling like I’m drowning.” His voice is low. “First time I brought anyone else to that overlook.”
Something in me softens, aches for him. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He looks at me, eyes dark and hungry, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “That’s the problem. I want to share things with you. Things I haven’t let myself want in years.”
My breath catches. The distance between us shrinks to nothing.
“Is that a problem?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Yes.” His gaze pins me. “Because you’re leaving. Because I built a life around not needing anyone. Because every instinct says I should keep my distance.”
“And yet…” I let the words hang, an invitation, a dare.
“And yet.” He exhales, surrendering. His hand lifts, hesitant, then his calloused fingers trace my cheek, gentle and reverent in the firelight. “I’ve spent three years keeping everyone away,” he murmurs. “But I can’t seem to keep myself away from you.”
The storm rages outside, but in here, it’s just us—heat, longing, the slow, inexorable unraveling of everything we thought we could control.
Chapter 11
Morning light slantsthrough the cabin windows, gold and soft, striping the floor and painting my skin. I surface from sleep slowly, drifting in the warmth left by the woodstove, the hush of rain on the roof, and the solid, unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist.
