Page 20 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger (Angel’s Peak #5)

Sleep eludes me long after Caleb returns from his "perimeter check"—an obvious excuse to escape the cabin and the conversation we're both avoiding. He slips into bed beside me, maintaining a careful inch of space between our bodies, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching.

The distance feels vast after days of gradually closing the gap.

Morning arrives with weak sunlight filtering through fog-shrouded windows. Caleb is already gone; his side of the bed is cold, with a note on the kitchen counter informing me that he’s checking trail conditions and will be back by midday.

The terse message reads like something from our first days together, formal and impersonal.

I make coffee and toast, moving through the now-familiar kitchen with an ache of premature nostalgia. My phone, which was charged overnight, now shows no signal again. The brief connection last evening was apparently a temporary fluke rather than restored service.

The emails about the National Geographic opportunity remain partially downloaded, crucial details missing. I need more information before making any decisions. After a moment's hesitation, I turn to Caleb's desk where his satellite connection equipment sits.

"Sorry for the invasion of privacy," I mutter, powering up the system.

The connection is slow but functional, allowing my emails to fully download.

The National Geographic offer unfolds in my inbox, even more impressive than the partial details suggested.

They want my golden eagle photographs as the centerpiece of their endangered apex predators issue, alongside commissioned work documenting threatened eagles in Australia.

Six months on the remote western coast of Australia, capturing nesting behaviors of the endangered white-bellied sea eagle and wedge-tailed eagle. Literally, the otherside of the world from Caleb.

It’s a dream assignment. The kind photographers build entire careers hoping to receive.

The deadline to accept stares back at me from the screen—48 hours from now. If I agree, they expect me in Sydney by next week for preliminary meetings before heading to the field sites.

I sit back, my mind racing. Six months in Australia.

Half a world away from Colorado.

From Angel's Peak.

From Caleb.

The satellite connection blinks out before I can send a response, the system automatically powering down on its timer. Perhaps it's for the best—I need time to think and decide what I truly want, rather than reacting to a professional opportunity out of habit.

I busy myself cleaning the already tidy cabin, my restless energy finding an outlet in unnecessary organization. When Caleb's boots sound on the porch steps, I've swept, dusted, and rearranged his spice shelf into alphabetical order—a service he'll likely find more annoying than helpful.

The door swings open, bringing a gust of pine-scented air and Caleb's tall frame. His expression remains carefully neutral, but his eyes seek mine immediately. A flash of something unguarded crosses his features before the mask returns.

"Hey." He hangs his jacket by the door. "Roads should be clear by late afternoon. You'll be able to head out tomorrow morning."

"That's... good." The words feel hollow in my mouth. I should tell him about Australia now, and lay all the cards on the table. Instead, I ask, "How were the trails?"

"Passable." He moves to the kitchenette, maintaining distance between us. "Ridge route is completely clear. There’s good visibility today."

"The eagle nesting site?"

He nods, something softening in his expression. "Perfect conditions. If you wanted one last try for your shot..."

"Really?" Hope flares despite my conflicted emotions.

"We need to leave soon to catch the right light." He glances at his watch. "I packed lunch, just in case you wanted to go."

The gesture touches me. Despite knowing I'm leaving, he's still thinking about my project and my father's legacy.

"I'd like that. Very much."

We prepare quickly, falling into the now-familiar routine of packing gear and hiking supplies. The effortlessness of our movements makes the emotional distance more painful by contrast. This could have been us, working in tandem, existing in the same rhythm.

If circumstances were different.

If I wasn’t leaving.

Am I?

The hike passes in relative silence, neither of us willing to broach the topics hovering between us. Instead, Caleb points out signs of wildlife I would have missed—tracks in softened earth, marks on tree bark, subtle indications of the forest returning to normal after the storms.

The trail climbs steadily, eventually opening onto the magnificent vista I remember from our previous visit.

Today, the air is exceptionally clear, and visibility extends for miles across valleys.

The ridges glow emerald in the midday sun, and the cliff face where the eagle’s nest stands in perfect relief against the blue sky.

"Perfect timing." Caleb gestures toward the distant nest. "Female's been hunting. She should return soon."

I unpack my camera equipment, mount the telephoto lens, and adjust the settings for the conditions. Caleb spreads a small tarp on the still-damp ground, creating a dry place to sit as we wait.

The silence between us has shifted from tense to contemplative. We’re both lost in our thoughts as we scan the horizon. When his hand finds mine on the rock between us, the contact startles me—the first he's initiated since last night's revelations.

"Whatever you decide," he says quietly, eyes still on the distant peaks, "I'm glad you got stranded in my cabin."

The simple honesty steals my breath. Before I can respond, his posture straightens, and his head tilts upward. "Three o'clock. Coming in from the south."

I follow his gaze, camera raised instinctively.

Through the telephoto lens, I spot it—the magnificent golden eagle soaring on thermal currents, its wings extended in a majestic span, sunlight burnishing its feathers to a living bronze.

It circles slowly, riding invisible air currents with effortless grace.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, tracking the bird's movement through my viewfinder.

"She's heading for the nest." Caleb's voice remains low, mindful of carrying sound despite our distance. "Probably bringing food for the mate."

Sure enough, the eagle banks toward the cliff face, something clutched in her mighty talons. I adjust focus, finger hovering over the shutter release, waiting for the perfect moment.

The eagle approaches the nest with wings extended for landing, sunlight catching every detail of its magnificent plumage, the power in its form, the intensity of its focus. Time seems to slow as I find the composition I've been seeking for days—no, the one my father sought for years.

The essence of this apex predator captured in a single, perfect frame.

I press the shutter, and the camera's rapid fire captures a sequence of her landing. I've got it—the shot my father never managed to get, the one that eluded him through decades of patient watching.

"Got it?" Caleb asks, watching my face rather than the eagle.

"Yes." Emotion thickens my voice. "The perfect shot. Exactly what Dad was looking for all those years."

His hand squeezes mine, understanding the significance without need for explanation. "He'd be proud."

I lower the camera, and unexpected tears blur my vision. "Project complete." The words emerge bittersweet, accomplishment tangled with the realization that my purpose for being in Angel's Peak is fulfilled.

We sit in silence, watching the eagles interact at the distant nest, sharing food and performing the small rituals of mated pairs.

The domesticity of these fierce predators strikes me with unexpected poignancy—they mate for life.

Return to the same nest year after year, maintaining bonds that transcend seasons.

"You're very quiet." Caleb's observation breaks my reverie.

"Just thinking." I review the shots on my camera's display, confirming what I already know—I have exactly what I need, what my father wanted. "Mission accomplished, I guess."

"You don't sound happy about it."

"It's complicated." I meet his eyes, finding concern there alongside wariness.

"Because of the National Geographic assignment?"

"You knew?" His directness catches me off guard.

"I saw the email flash on your phone when I checked the satellite system this morning. Just the subject line. I wasn’t snooping. Australia, right?"

Heat rises to my cheeks. "I was going to tell you. I just... needed to process it first."

"Six months is a significant commitment." His expression remains carefully neutral. "Good opportunity."

"It's more than good. It's career-defining." I set the camera aside, turning to face him. "Eagles in Australia—continuing exactly the kind of work my father did, but for the most prestigious nature publication in the world. Officially on assignment for National Geographic. It’s everything I’ve hoped for. More than I ever thought I’d… "

"It sounds perfect for you." His voice holds genuine approval, not the bitterness I half-expected. "When do you leave?"

"Next week. If I accept." I look down at our still-joined hands, his larger one enveloping mine on the sun-warmed stone. "I haven't given them an answer yet."

"What's holding you back?" The question pierces straight to the heart of my conflict.

"You know what’s holding me back." I meet his eyes, refusing to pretend we don't both understand what's developed between us.

"Harper... we've known each other for a matter of days." A faint line appears between his brows.

“I’m aware of the timeline.” Defensive edges creep into my voice. “That doesn’t make it less real.”

His hand stills, tension creeping into the space between us. “I’m not saying it’s not real. I’m saying it’s fast. Intense circumstances… they can blur the lines. Make everything feel sharper, deeper.”