Page 43 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
“Yeah. That one.” He looks at me, and something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
“I’ll come with you.” I dare him to refuse.
He just nods, another wall crumbling.
The forest is alive after the storm—every leaf and blade of grass shining, the air sharp and clean.
We walk side by side, our shoulders brushing, and the conversation flows easily and deeply. He shows me the weather station, his passion for the work spilling over into technical explanations and quiet pride. I watch the way his hands move and the way his mouth curves when he’s talking about something he loves.
I want to taste that mouth, feel those hands on my skin, and see what happens when he finally stops holding back.
“You’re still saving lives without running into fires.” I tease him, but my voice is soft, full of admiration.
“Different approach. Same goal.” He glances at me, eyes dark.
He finishes the download and secures the equipment. I wait, heart pounding, hoping he’ll finally close the distance and give in.
“Ready for the next stop?” he asks, voice low and rough, and I see the question in his eyes—see the promise of everything we could be, if only he’ll let himself want it enough.
I nod, pulse thrumming, and follow him deeper into the wild, every step a silent dare:come and get me.
We hike to two more monitoring stations, the rhythm of our day settling into a kind of intimatechoreography. Caleb works with focus and competence, and I find myself anticipating his needs before he asks—handing him tools, steadying equipment, brushing dirt from his shoulder with a touch that lingers longer than necessary.
The miles pass beneath our boots, every step winding the tension between us tighter, every shared laugh or accidental touch another spark in the dry tinder of want.
At the final station, I steady the ladder while he climbs, his body outlined against the sky, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. I can’t help but watch how he moves—confident, strong, and utterly in control.
When he descends, I’m hyperaware of the nearness of his body, the heat radiating from him, the way his fingers brush mine as he closes the equipment case.
“That should do it.” His voice is low, rougher than before. “Last one.”
“Back to the cabin?” My voice is breathier than I intend, hope and hunger tangled in every syllable.
He shakes his head, a glint in his eyes. “One more stop.” He gestures to a narrow, hidden path. “Need to check the creek. Storm might’ve changed the flow.”
The new trail is barely a trail, forcing us to walk close together. Wet leaves and slick mud make every step a gamble, and Caleb’s hand finds my waist more than once, steadying, guiding, each touch sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
His palm lingers, thumb stroking the bare skin exposed above my waistband, casual and possessive.
The sound of rushing water grows louder, the air thick with the scent of rain and moss and something sharper—anticipation, thick as fog. When we reach the creek, it’s transformed: a wild, churning force, swollen and dangerous.
Caleb frowns, pulling out his battered notebook, lips moving silently as he surveys the swollen creek. His focus isabsolute, but I barely register his words. The world narrows to the roar of water, the cold spray misting my cheeks, the wild, living pulse of the current as it churns over rocks and fallen branches.
I edge closer, boots sinking into the spongy earth. The air is sharp and electric, charged with the aftermath of the storm. My heart beats faster, in sync with the rushing water. I should be careful, but the wildness calls to something reckless inside me—the urge to see, feel, and get as close as possible.
A gust of wind lifts my hair, the scent of wet earth and pine filling my lungs. I take another step, boots squelching in the mud. The ground looks solid, but it shifts beneath my weight, a subtle give at first—a warning I ignore.
The next instant, the bank beneath my boot gives way with a sickening, silent lurch. Time slows. My balance tips, arms windmilling, a startled gasp ripping from my throat. The world tilts, the roar of the creek swelling in my ears, the cold spray biting my skin as I pitch forward, weightless for a heartbeat.
Mud slides beneath my feet. There’s nothing but the wild, churning depths below, but then strong hands clamp around my belt, yanking me back from the brink. My body collides with solid muscle, the world righting itself in a dizzying rush as Caleb hauls me against his chest, his grip bruising, desperate, utterly unyielding.
We stumble together, his momentum carrying us several steps back until his spine hits a tree, anchoring us both, his arms locked tight around me.
My breath comes in ragged bursts, my heart thundering in my ears, the afterimage of the drop still burning behind my eyes. Caleb’s chest heaves against my back, the heat of his body searing through my clothes, his hold fierce and unbreakable—a living barrier between me and the wild.
“That was reckless.” His breath ishot against my ear, rough with adrenaline and something darker. His voice vibrates through my bones, more growl than words. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but my voice trembles—whether from the near-miss or the feel of his arms locked around me, I can’t tell.
