Page 1 of Pining for the Ranger
Prologue
Terrorrootssodeepit is in the very marrow of my bones. My arms windmill in vain to keep my balance as my feet slide across the wet mossy rocks at the edge of the falls. Not that it will do a damn thing to keep me from going over because I am already past the point of no return as I fall.
A blood-curdling scream tears from me as I tip over the edge. My body rushing toward the frigid water below at an alarming rate, at the same time I seem to be suspended in the air for much longer than it should take to hit the rushing river below.
When my back hits the surface, which feels like concrete from the drop, I suck in as much air as I can. Then I’m being pulled downstream. Tossed around like a pinball in a record setting game.
The current is so strong there’s no way I can fight it. It’s all I can do to hold my breath while I’m pulled under and then gasp for air with each reprieve, which comes when I briefly break the surface intermittently.
Enormous boulders pummel my body as I use the last of my rapidly fading strength in a bid to latch onto anything that might help keep me from continuing to be battered around like a soccer ball in a gold medal match. My fingers and hands, now completely numb from the biting water, are futile in securing a hold.
The numbness overtakes my body completely. I pray with each passing minute I’m carried further downstream there will be someone who can help.
I’ve always believed one should stand on their own two feet and be self sufficient. Life has taught me you can only rely on yourself. Now, as I lose the battle with the turbulent river, I can only hope someone finds me, because this time I can’t save myself.
Chapter One
Boone
The piercing cry of a red hawk fills the air as I slowly glass around the meadow below with my binoculars. Scanning carefully, I look for telltale signs there are wolves in the area. I have seen none so far on the trail. There have been no tracks, fur or scat, indicating they are in the vicinity.
I’m skeptical of the report we got about a sighting in the area. If I didn’t know the guys who called it in so well, I would’ve dismissed it as hikers misidentifying coyotes. But there is no way the men who run Shadow Mountain Escapes would mistake a coyote for a wolf. These men make their living guiding people all over the backcountry of Shadow Mountain. They know every plant and animal there is to be found here.
Seeing nothing which might warrant further investigation, I stow the binoculars in my pack. While it’s open, I grab one of the water bottles, taking a drink, debating on whether I should keep going with my search in this direction another day or head back.
I have the supplies to stay a couple of more nights. Normally I would take any opportunity to spend a night under the stars, but having not seen any signs so far, I think it’s best if I come at the search from a different direction tomorrow.
Decision made to head back, I select a granola bar to munch on from my pack as I head back down the trail. Slinging the green military style pack over my shoulder, I take one last look around the green meadow below me.
My eye catches on a doe as she slowly enters from the treeline. She stops, big ears twitching as she scans for danger. After only a moment, she continues on followed by two speckled fawns. I watch for several minutes as they graze in the dew damp blades of grass, steam rolling off their backs in the morning light. I pull out my phone from the thigh pocket of my tan hiking pants and snap a few pictures of the scene before me.
Seeing her gives me confidence there has been no wolves in the area, at least recently. Leaving them to their morning snack, I open mine as my long strides eat up the distance back to the trailhead. I inhale the scent of pine and damp earth with each breath. The cool spring air warms as the morning wears on and I strip my blue puffer jacket, stashing it in my pack, leaving me in just my green plaid flannel.
My eyes scan the forest around me as I go, looking for anything which may need work. Like checking for signs of the wolf after the report, maintaining trails is one of the many things I do as a forest ranger for the Shadow Mountain Forest District. As someone who loves being out in nature and could never be stuck inside behind a desk all day, this job is perfect.
But just as I couldn’t do office work, there are many who could never do the work required for this job. There is a lot of physical labor involved in all types of weather. Something I don’t only not mind but enjoy. Being out in the woods is where I feel most atpeace. I count my blessings every day I get paid to call this my office.
A few miles down the trail, the roar of Jasper Falls grows louder. The photograph worthy falls are a draw for hikers, but only the more experienced can usually achieve the entire trek in. I continue past the spur for the falls, knowing I’ll get sidetracked if I take the detour.
The footpath follows the swirling river swollen with the spring runoff and recent rains for the next mile or so. Just as they part ways, a flash of color on the bank catches my eye through the branches of pines.
Assessing the best route through the thickening brush to check it out, I head back up the trail a hundred feet to the rough animal trail through it. Pushing my way through, ducking under limbs, I make it to the bank where I climb over the rocks down to where I saw the flash of purple.
I stop short when there on the small beach lies a body half in the water. Steeling myself for what I might find, I close the distance to it before kneeling down and gently rolling it over. My heart stutters at the angelic face revealed. Even the mud and bruises can’t hide the beauty of the woman before me.
My fingers brush aside the mass of dark locks tangled with twigs and debris to search for a pulse on her neck. Relief runs through me at the steady throb I find. I put my cheek next to her nose and am surprised to feel the soft puffs of breath there. My eyes scan her shapely body for any obvious signs of injury. Seeing none, I pick her up and set her away from the water’s edge.
I rush to gather up fuel to start a fire. I have no idea how long she has been in the water, but there is no doubt she is probably hypothermic by now and needs to be warmed up immediately.
Piling the twigs and pine needles together before sliding my pack off, I dig through to the matches inside. As soon as they arein my hand, I pull one out, striking it on the side of the container. Once lit, I hold it to the pile, dropping it when the fuel is aflame. Then add more twigs to build the fire.
While the fire takes off, I pull my sleeping bag out of my pack, laying it out before turning to the woman who is still unconscious. I set about stripping off her wet clothing. First taking off the worn brown hiking boots, then I unzip and pull off her purple coat before working on her black hiking pants. Last, I peel her teal thermal henley over her head. Her clothing and boots are high quality and have seen some use, telling me this woman has experience in the outdoors.
I place her in the sleeping bag while I add more limbs to the fire, which is now producing more heat. Taking her clothes, I wring them out and lay them near the fire to dry. Then I strip down to my boxers and climb into the sleeping bag with her. It’s a tight fit, but I’m finally able to wrestle the damn thing mostly closed.
I rest my head on my clothes, wrapping my arms around the soft body pressed into me intimately from shoulders to feet. It’s all I can do to stifle the groan at all the silky soft, albeit chilled skin. If there ever was a time to ignore my baser needs, it’s now, but there’s no denying how perfectly this woman fits in my arms.
Chapter Two
