Page 74 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"I love you," I choke out, the truth breaking free after months of denial. "God, I love you."
He stills. Just for a breath. Just long enough for the words to settle between us like a promise.
"I love you, too." Then he kisses me like he's dying and I'm oxygen.
The words break something wide open. Inside both of us. Something that had been locked away, festering.
He flips me with gentle force, bends me over the table. One hand slides into my hair, tightening just enough to make me gasp, to make my back bow.
"You still want my control?" His breath is hot against my ear.
"Yes." No hesitation. No fear.
Then he's inside me again, fucking me until I'm raw with it, ruined and rebuilt in the span of heartbeats. His rhythm is relentless, each thrust driving me higher, closer to that precipice. His fingers find me where we're joined, circling, pressing, demanding my surrender.
"Come for me," he commands, voice wrecked. "Let me feel you."
My release crashes through me like a tsunami, vision blurring at the edges, muscles clenching around him as he follows me over, his body shuddering against mine, within mine.
Until there's nothing left of the months we spentapart—only the now. Only the fire. Only him.
When we collapse in a heap on the floor, tangled in half-shed clothes and breathless kisses, he gathers me into his arms, presses his mouth to my temple where my pulse still races beneath thin skin.
"You came back." Wonder and fear mingle in his voice, as if I might dissolve into mountain mist.
"I came home," I correct him.
Chapter 21
Epilogue:One Year Later
"Hold still, you ridiculous bird." I adjust my telephoto lens, tracking the northern goshawk perched regally on a dead pine. The morning light bathes its sleek feathers in golden warmth, transforming ordinary gray to luminous silver. "Just one more second..."
The bird, predictably, ignores my whispered plea, launching into flight just as I press the shutter. I capture its departure anyway—wings extended, powerful and graceful against the backdrop of endless Colorado sky.
"Got it?" Caleb's voice carries from inside the cabin, followed by the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the open door.
"Got something." I lower my camera, rolling stiff shoulders as I turn toward the sound. "Maybe not the portrait I wanted, but possibly better."
The deck where I stand—a new addition to the once-modest cabin—offers a panoramic view of the valley, morning mist still clinging to distant ridges. Bird feeders hang from the eaves, attracting a colorful array of mountain chickadees andnuthatches that have become regular subjects of my more casual photography.
I gather my equipment, moving carefully to accommodate the pronounced curve of my seven-month pregnant belly. The nursery addition to the cabin is nearly complete, its fresh pine walls visible around the corner of the main structure. Caleb has spent every free weekend for months crafting built-in furniture, installing windows positioned to capture morning light, creating a perfect space for the child we hadn't planned but now can't imagine our lives without.
Inside, the cabin has transformed as much as our lives have. The spartan bachelor quarters I first encountered have evolved into a true home—still neat but lived-in, with my photography equipment sharing space with Caleb's research materials, colorful throws softening practical furniture, walls adorned with framed prints of my work alongside maps of the wilderness we both cherish.
Caleb stands at the stove, spatula in hand, the domesticity of the scene still occasionally surprising me after years of solitary hotel rooms and temporary accommodations.
"Perfect timing." He slides a vegetable omelet onto a plate. "Breakfast is ready."
"Smells amazing." I set my camera on its designated shelf—organization being one of our earliest and most necessary compromises—before joining him at the table.
He places a hand on my rounded belly, wonder still evident in his expression whenever he feels the life growing within me. "How's Junior this morning?"
"Active. Very active." I cover his hand with mine. "Apparently planning to be a soccer player or possibly a kickboxer."
His smile—still capable of accelerating my heartbeat after a year together—warms his entire face. "Takes after his mother. Never stops moving."
"His? What ifhe’sa she?"
