Page 23 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger (Angel’s Peak #5)

"Even with such a short timeline?" A flicker of his earlier wariness returns, softened now by something warmer. Something that wants to believe.

"Maybe because of it." I lower myself back to him, cheek to his chest, letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat pull me under. "No time for masks or games. Just... us. Stripped bare."

His fingers start moving again. Slow. Soothing.

"Kim and I dated for two years before getting engaged. Thought we had it all figured out." Her name doesn’t wound him anymore. It drifts between us like a leaf in the current. " But looking back... I’m not sure we ever had the kind of honesty that happened between us this week."

"Different circumstances," I murmur.

"Maybe." His hand stills on my lower back. A breath stretches between us. "Or maybe this is something else entirely."

We fall silent again, each lost in private thoughts about possibilities and limitations, desires and realities.

His breathing steadies. The heat of his body wraps around me like a cocoon, anchoring me to this impossible moment. I try to memorize it all—his scent, the way his chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, the lazy drag of his fingers along my spine.

Sleep creeps in at the edges, soft and insistent.

"I don't want you to give up your dream." His voice is a low murmur, threading through the haze of almost-sleep. "That National Geographic assignment—it’s everything you’ve worked for."

"I know." My reply is drowsy, slurred by exhaustion and the ache of goodbye.

He’s quiet for a beat.

"But I don’t want to lose you before I’ve properly found you either."

That— that —breaks something open inside me. The vulnerability in it reaches past my slipping consciousness. I want to answer, to offer him something true, something brave—but sleep pulls me under before I can shape the words.

The last thing I feel is his arms tightening around me. Holding on. Just a little longer.

But morning comes too soon.

Pale light filters through the window, illuminating the tangle of sheets and limbs. I wake slowly, reluctantly, letting awareness wash over me in slow, aching waves.

Caleb breathes steadily beside me, one arm draped across my waist, his body warm where it presses into mine. I lie still, letting myself pretend—just for a heartbeat—that this is normal. That we have more mornings like this ahead.

But reality seeps in. The sound of an approaching engine, too steady to be wind or wildlife. A Forest Service vehicle, right on schedule.

Time’s up.

Caleb stirs. His arm tightens around me for one last, instinctive second before he exhales and pulls away.

"Morning." His voice is sleep-rough, deep, and intimate.

"Morning." I don’t move. Not yet. I want to hold on to these last seconds where we’re still an us .

We both know what’s coming. Neither of us says it.

The sound of the engine grows louder, breaking the fragile stillness. Caleb rolls out of bed and runs a hand through his hair, the movement so familiar now it hurts to watch.

"That’ll be your ride."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

We dress in silence, the domesticity suddenly sharp-edged. My sweater smells like woodsmoke. His flannel ends up draped over the chair where I left it last night.

Every motion feels like a goodbye.

I check my gear, pack my bag, and tuck my camera away like it’s the only piece of this place I can take with me. My heart feels heavier than my pack.

Outside, the engine cuts off. Doors slam. Voices call his name. He heads toward the door, pausing with one hand on the knob.

"Ready?"

I nod. It's a lie.

Two rangers wait outside, smiling. A woman with a short buzz cut. A tall man with a salt-and-pepper beard. Their warmth feels almost cruel.

"You must be the stranded photographer. Name’s Hamilton." The woman extends her hand. "Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure."

"Harper Wells." I force a smile, brittle at the edges. "Adventure’s one word for it."

"Marty Shore," the older man introduces himself. "We should be able to get you back to recover your gear. Flooding was pretty severe, but the parking lot remained dry. Your car is good. Can’t say the same about the rest of your gear."

"Well, that’s one good thing. Gear is replaceable. The rental would’ve been a pain to deal with if it had been destroyed."

"You’re not wrong about that." Hamilton loads my gear into their vehicle.

Caleb helps, his expression neutral, his movements efficient. When his eyes meet mine, the weight of everything unsaid presses down like snowfall.

When it’s done, the rangers give us a few minutes under the guise of checking tire pressure. Caleb and I stand before the cabin. The place that held a storm—and something more.

"So."

"So."

We mirror each other. Guarded. Unsure.

"Safe travels," he says. Too formal. Too distant.

"Thanks for the shelter. And everything else."

He nods. Looks away. I wait, praying for something more.

When he looks back, emotion flickers across his face. But the mask returns too fast.

"You should go. Don’t want to hold up the rangers."

"Right."

I turn. Start walking.

Behind me?—

"Harper."

I stop. Don’t turn. Can’t.

"I meant what I said last night. All of it."

Tears sting. I nod. Just once. Then I climb into the truck.

Seatbelt clicks. The engine rumbles.

I look back.

He stands in front of the cabin, still as stone. Watching until the trees swallow the road between us.

I’ve spent my life leaving places behind, but leaving him feels like I’m making the worst mistake of my life.