Page 75 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"I’d love that." Caleb can’t contain his excitement. "Boy or girl, I couldn’t be happier."
"Speaking of which." I take a bite of the omelet, humming appreciation. "The conservation board called yesterday while you were in town. They've approved funding for the expanded survey."
Pride flashes in his eyes. "They'd be fools not to. Your first year's documentation has already led to three new protected areas."
The Achievement in Conservation Photography award sitting on our mantle validates his assessment. The series of images I captured over the past year—from golden eagles to nearly invisible lynx, from spring wildflower explosions to winter's pristine stillness—has resonated beyond our expectations, bringing national attention to Angel's Peak's ecological significance.
"It's not just the photographs." I reach for his hand across the table. "Your ecological context makes them meaningful. The conservation workshops you've developed have turned awareness into action."
He shrugs, still uncomfortable with praise despite the remarkable evolution of the past year. The reclusive ranger has become a respected educator, splitting his time between fieldwork and teaching local students about forest stewardship. The walls he maintained for so long have gradually lowered, allowing his natural passion for this wilderness to inspire others.
"The school group yesterday asked when you'd be coming back." He changes the subject, but the pleased flush coloring his cheeks betrays his satisfaction. "Apparently, my explanations of wildlife photography techniques don't compare to the real thing."
"Next week, after the doctor's appointment." I rest a handon my belly. "While I can still move without waddling too obviously."
"You don't waddle." His straight-faced delivery makes me laugh.
"Liar. Very sweet liar." I rise to clear our plates, dropping a kiss on his head as I pass. "But I appreciate the effort."
"Almost forgot." He catches my hand, keeping me close. "Happy anniversary."
The simple words send warmth cascading through me. One year since I officially moved into the cabin. One year of building this life that neither of us had imagined possible when a storm first threw us together.
"I have something planned." His eyes hold mischief rarely seen by others. "If you're up for a short hike."
"To our spot?" Anticipation quickens my pulse.
The trail to "our spot"—the overlook where I captured the perfect eagle shot and where, later, we made our first tentative commitment to a shared future—has become a familiar path. We travel it in all seasons now: summer's vibrant greenery, autumn's spectacular color transformation, winter's pristine snowscape, and now spring's renewed awakening.
Today, wildflowers carpet the forest floor, trillium and columbine creating patches of color amid unfurling ferns. Caleb walks beside me, pace adjusted to my slower, pregnancy-altered gait, one hand resting protectively at the small of my back on steeper sections.
"Remember how you basically sprinted up this trail the first time?" His teasing carries affection rather than mockery. "Desperate to get your eagle shot before the storm hit."
"And you, grumpy mountain man, kept sighing loudly every time I stopped to photograph something." I nudge his ribs playfully.
"I wasn't grumpy." His protest carriesno conviction. "I was... focused."
"Focused on being grumpy." I capture his mock outrage with a quick camera snap, adding to my extensive collection of "Caleb expressions" that has grown throughout our year together.
The overlook, when we reach it, remains as breathtaking as ever—the vast panorama of mountains stretching to impossible horizons, valleys lush with spring growth, the distant silver thread of rivers catching sunlight. Caleb spreads a blanket on our usual boulder, helping me settle before retrieving something from his backpack.
"I have something for you." He hands me a wrapped package, uncharacteristic nervousness flickering across his features.
The simple brown paper falls away to reveal a handcrafted wooden box. Its surface is inlaid with a delicate pattern of mountain ridges and soaring birds. The craftsmanship showcases his woodworking craft.
"Caleb, it's beautiful." My fingers trace the intricate design, recognizing the distinctive silhouette of a golden eagle among the inlaid birds.
"Open it." He sits beside me, anticipation evident in his posture.
Inside, nestled on velvet lining, lies a leather-bound book. My breath catches as I lift it, recognizing the title embossed in simple gold lettering: "Convergence: A Year in Angel's Peak."
"You made this?" I open the cover with reverent fingers, discovering page after page of my photographs arranged in unexpected pairings—wildlife portraits alongside human moments, macro details of forest flora beside sweeping landscapes, all telling the story of the past year.
"I selected the images." His arm slides around my waist, anchoring me against him. "A professional did the binding. But the concept... I wanted to show how our separate paths became one. How this place brought us together."
I turn pages slowly; each spread revealing thoughtfuljuxtapositions—the golden eagle soaring above the ridge paired with a candid shot of Caleb teaching students beside a similar overlook. A close-up of fox kits playing near their den alongside a stolen shot of Caleb asleep on the couch, peaceful vulnerability evident in both images.
"These are from my personal collection." I recognize photographs never intended for publication—intimate moments captured for my eyes only. "How did you get them?"
