Page 76 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"Your backup drive isn't as securely password-protected as you might think." The admission carries no apology, only quiet satisfaction. "And you're not the only one who can be sneaky with a camera."
Indeed, several images show me unaware of being photographed—focused on adjusting equipment, watching wildlife with unguarded wonder, even one particularly enormous shot of me sleeping, hair wild across the pillow, that makes me laugh out loud.
"Revenge photography?" I raise an eyebrow, unable to summon genuine indignation.
"Documentation." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering against my cheek. "Important scientific record."
As I near the end of the book, one page steals my breath entirely—our ultrasound image, the grainy profile of our child in utero, placed beside a photograph of the golden eagle's nest with barely visible eaglets huddled within. New life, sheltered and precious, in perfect parallel.
The final page holds text rather than images, handwritten in Caleb's precise script:
Some journeys bring us to destinations we never knew we were seeking. Some storms lead to shelters that become homes. Some chance encounters become the photographs we frame our lives around. Thank you for staying when you could have gone. For turningmy sanctuary into our home.
All my love, always, C.
Tears blur my vision, pregnancy hormones amplifying already powerful emotions. "This is the most beautiful gift I've ever received."
His arms encircle me, his chin resting on my shoulder as we gaze together at the panorama before us. "I wanted to mark this year properly. Everything changed when you showed up at my door."
"For the better?" I lean into his embrace, still occasionally needing reassurance that this settled life hasn't diminished him as my traveling one hasn't diminished me.
"Beyond better." His hand splays protectively over our growing child. "I never imagined adding a third ranger to our station quite so soon."
"Ranger?" I twist to see his face. "I thought we were raising a wildlife photographer."
"Clearly both." The compromise comes easily, part of our ongoing playful negotiation about our child's future. "A photographing ranger. Or a ranging photographer."
"We have time to figure it out." I settle against him, contentment seeping through me like the warm spring sunshine. "Though we should probably figure out an actual name before 'Junior' sticks permanently."
"I've been thinking about that." His voice carries the careful consideration he brings to all important matters. "What about Aspen for a girl? Or River for a boy?"
"Nature names." I smile, unsurprised by his preference. "I like them."
"And Kim or James as middle names." He offers this more hesitantly. "After your father and..."
"After two people who loved this wilderness and taught us to see it clearly." I cover his hand with mine, deeply touched by the suggestion. "Perfect."
A shadow passes overhead—large, distinctive in its soaringpattern. We both look up, recognizing the golden eagle that has become so familiar over the past year, its territory encompassing the ridge where we sit.
"Still here." Pride colors Caleb's voice. "The anti-poaching initiatives are working."
"The educational programs help too." I raise my camera instinctively, capturing the magnificent bird against the limitless blue. "Hard to harm what you've learned to love."
We've both found what we needed in this unexpected partnership—for me, a home that doesn't constrain but anchors, allowing my work to gain depth through sustained observation; for Caleb, connection that enhances rather than threatens his devotion to this wilderness, his purpose expanded by sharing it with others.
"I've been thinking." I lower my camera, turning to face him fully. "After the baby comes, once we're settled into a routine... what would you think about expanding the documentation project?"
His eyebrow raises in silent question.
"The Yellowstone ecosystem faces similar pressures. They're looking for a comprehensive visual record combined with community education." Excitement builds as I outline the idea that's been forming for months. "Three weeks there, maybe four times a year. You could develop conservation workshops for their rangers, and I could extend the documentation methodology we've created here. We could take the baby, start their education early."
Rather than hesitation, his face shows thoughtful consideration. "Family field research."
"Exactly." I watch his expression, seeing not reluctance but practical assessment. "We'd maintain a home base here, but expand our impact."
"Our next adventure." His smileconfirms what I already knew—that the man who once feared connection now embraces it as strengthening rather than limiting. "I like it."
As the sun descends toward distant peaks, we gather our things, preparing for the return journey. Caleb carefully repacks the precious book, helping me rise from our stone seat with gentle hands. The trail ahead leads back to our expanded cabin, the nursery awaiting its occupant, and the life we've built from storm and circumstance.
