Page 19 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger (Angel’s Peak #5)
“Never thought about it that way.”
“Well, start thinking.” I pull out my laptop, determination settling in my bones. “I know people at National Geographic, environmental journals. They’d kill for this kind of field research—with your photos, your data, your voice.”
“You really think it’s worth that much?” He watches me, something fierce and tender in his gaze.
“I know it is.” I nod, certain.
For a moment, we look at each other, the air thick with the possibility of what he’s built, of what we could become, if only we’re brave enough to claim it.
For the next hour, we work side by side, the air between us thick with unspoken things. I help Caleb organize his research, suggesting journals and conservation groups, showing him how his solitary years on the mountain could ripple out into the world.
At first, he’s wary, reluctant to believe in the value of what he’s done, but as we sift through his notes and photographs, I watch something shift in him—a cautious hope, a flicker of pride.
The possibility that his work might matter beyond these woods, that he might matter, settles between us like a promise.
“You’d have to leave the mountain sometimes,” I tease, nudging his shoulder as we compile a list of contacts. “Speak at conferences. Actually interact with people.”
“Terrifying prospect.” He snorts, but the smile tugging at his mouth is real.
“You’d survive.” I bump his arm again, savoring the easy contact, the way his body leans into mine. “You might even like it.”
“With the right company, maybe.” His gaze lingers on me, heat simmering beneath the banter.
The implication hangs between us, thickening the air. I look away first, heart pounding, suddenly aware of the dangerous ground we’re treading—future tense, possibilities, the kind of hope that hurts.
I’m not sure which of us is more afraid to take the next step.
As dusk settles, Caleb builds a fire in the woodstove, the flicker of flames casting gold across his skin. I chop vegetables, slice smoked trout, and the two of us move around each other in the cramped kitchen as if we’ve done this our entire lives.
Every brush of his hand against my back, every shared glance over the cutting board, feels charged, domestic, yes, but edged with longing, with the ache of wanting more than we’re allowed.
Dinner is simple, but the intimacy of it undoes me. We eat side by side, our knees touching, as conversation drifts from the practical to the personal.
Caleb tells me about his childhood in a mountain town like this one, about learning the woods from his grandfather, about the wild freedom and loneliness of growing up half-feral.
I share stories of my own rootless life—nights spent in tents and airports, the thrill of chasing the next shot, the ache of never belonging anywhere for long.
“Do you ever get tired of moving?” His voice is soft, vibrating against my cheek where I lean against his chest.
“Sometimes.” I trace idle circles on his knee, thinking of all the empty hotel rooms, the endless blur of airport terminals. “But the next assignment is always waiting. It’s what I know.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then his voice softens. “Is it what you want?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything we haven’t said. I open my mouth, but before I can answer, my phone chimes—a sound so foreign after days of isolation that it startles me upright.
“Signal’s back.” I disentangle myself, heart racing, and grab my phone from the charger.
The screen lights up with a flood of notifications—emails, texts, voicemails, all the demands of my real life clamoring for attention.
Five missed calls from my agent, urgent. Updates on the eagle assignment. And?—
“Everything okay?” Caleb’s voice is careful, too neutral.
“My agent,” I manage, scrolling through the messages. “National Geographic wants my eagle series for a special issue. They need confirmation immediately. It’s… huge. Career-defining.”
“That’s good, right?” He tries for encouragement, but I hear the strain in his voice. “Your father’s project, finally getting the recognition it deserves.”
“It’s incredible.” My hands shake as I read the details. “But they need more shots. Different nesting sites, different subspecies. I’d have to be in Arizona. Immediately.”
His face shutters, the warmth of moments ago replaced by a careful blankness. “You should call them back.”
“Caleb—”
“It’s fine.” He stands, jaw tight, putting distance between us. “It’s what you’ve been working for. You should take it.”
Before I can find the words, my phone chimes again. Then again. The world outside this cabin clamors louder, demanding my attention, reminding me of everything I’m supposed to want.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” He grabs his jacket, his voice rough. “Need to check the perimeter before dark anyway.”
The door closes behind him, and just like that, the spell breaks. I’m left alone, staring at the screen, the weight of my choices pressing down.
My life is out there, deadlines, assignments, and a career I’ve built from nothing. I love all of that. Worked hard for it. But all I can think about is the man who just walked out, the heat of his hands still burning on my skin, the ache of wanting more time, more of him.
The longing is unbearable, and with every second that ticks by, the end rushes closer, threatening to tear away this fragile, impossible thing we’ve built.