Page 24 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger (Angel’s Peak #5)

The forest service truck jostles along the recently cleared road, each turn taking me further from the cabin. Further from Caleb.

Hamilton chatters about the storm damage, pointing out places where landslides nearly took out entire sections of the route. I respond with appropriate noises of interest, but my mind remains back at the cabin, replaying our goodbye that wasn't really a goodbye at all.

"You okay back there?" Marty catches my eye in the rearview mirror. "Looking a little green. Road's still rough in spots."

"I'm fine." I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Just... processing the last week."

"Must've been intense." Hamilton twists in her seat to face me. "Stuck with the mountain hermit for all that time."

"Mountain hermit?" The description doesn't fit the complex man I've come to know.

"That's what some of the team calls Donovan." She grins, apparently unaware of the complicated emotions churning through me. "Nice guy, don't get me wrong, but he keeps to himself. Been that way since he transferred here after..." She trails off, clearly unsure how much I know about Caleb's past.

"After the Carson Ridge fire," I finish for her, surprising her with my knowledge. "He told me about it."

Marty’s eyebrows rise, visible in the mirror. "He did? Wow. Took me two years of working with him before he mentioned Kim's name."

The casual revelation that Caleb shared something with me he rarely discusses with colleagues adds another layer to the ache spreading through my chest.

I turn to the window, watching the trees flash by, each one taking me closer to my regular life and further from the unexpected detour that's shaken its foundation.

"There's your campsite coming up." Hamilton points ahead where blue tents are visible through the trees. "Blue Spruce Campground. All your stuff they could save should still be there—rangers secured the sites during evacuation."

My rental car sits where I left it, seemingly ages ago though barely a week has passed. The sight of it—this connection to my normal life—should bring relief. Instead, it feels like a stranger's vehicle, belonging to a version of myself I'm no longer certain exists.

Marty helps unload my gear, setting it beside my car while Hamilton checks that the campsite has been properly maintained in my absence. I go through the motions of thanking them, assuring them I'm fine to continue alone, all while feeling increasingly hollow inside.

As they prepare to leave, Hamilton hands me a card. "If you're ever back in Angel's Peak, give us a call. Would love to see those eagle shots when they're published."

"I will." I tuck the card into my pocket, knowing I'll keep it even as I doubt I'll make that call. Returning would be too painful if...

I shake off the thought, waving as they drive away before turning to my campsite and rental car.

First things first—assess the damage, reorganize, and figure out next steps.

The routine of packing proper equipment helps ground me, giving purpose to movements that might otherwise falter under emotional weight.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, the signal fully restored now that I'm back in range of civilization. Messages flood in, most prominently from my agent: "CALL IMMEDIATELY re: Nat Geo. Deadline tomorrow!"

Reality crashes back, demanding decisions I’ve momentarily pushed aside in the emotional fog of leaving Caleb.

The Australia assignment—six months documenting endangered eagles on the other side of the world.

A career-defining opportunity that perfectly aligns with my father's legacy. The very definition of perfect timing.

So why does it feel so wrong?

I start the car, needing to reach the motel in Angel's Peak where I can shower properly and sort through my thoughts.

As I navigate the winding forest road, memories of the past week play through my mind—Caleb's reluctant hospitality that first stormy night, our gradual building of trust, and the surprising depth of connection that developed in such a short time.

And the sex. Especially the night—and day—when Caleb unleashed the darkness inside of him, treating me to some of the best sex I’ve ever had.

The town appears through the trees, a picturesque mountain community of wooden buildings and hanging flower baskets. I check into Mable’s Guest House, a rustic but clean B&B with reliable Wi-Fi—my lifeline back to my regular existence.

After the longest shower of my life, washing away a week of minimal bathing with limited water, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone .

The National Geographic number glows on the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button.

One call and I commit to six months in Australia.

One call and I leave Angel's Peak behind.

One call, and I leave Caleb firmly in the past.

What's stopping me? This is exactly the kind of opportunity I've worked my entire career to earn.

Instead of making the call, I open my camera and scroll through the images from the past week. The majestic eagle in perfect flight. The fox family playing near their den. The mountain vistas in shifting weather.

And Caleb.

Caleb kneeling beside injured wildlife, tending them with gentle hands.

Caleb explaining forest conservation with rare animation.

Caleb gazing at the mountains with quiet reverence for the wilderness he protects.

I stop at an image captured without his knowledge—his profile against the setting sun as he explained the eagle's nesting habits. Something in his expression, the rare contentment visible in the softened lines of his face, pierces me anew.

My phone rings, startling me from reverie. My agent's name flashes on the screen.

"Harper! Finally!" David's voice bursts through the speaker. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for days!"

"Stranded in a storm. No signal." I clear my throat, trying to sound more professional than I feel. "I got your messages about National Geographic."

"Are you sitting down? Six months in Australia, full expenses, exclusive rights to your eagle series, and prime placement in their endangered predators issue. It's the break we've been waiting for."

"I know." My voice sounds distant. "It's an incredible opportunity."

"Incredible? It's career-defining. They need your answer by tomorrow. The paperwork is in your email—just sign and return, and you're booked on a flight to Sydney next week."

"Next week," I repeat, the timeline suddenly very real.

"Is there a problem?" David's tone shifts from excitement to concern. "Harper? You sound off."

"No problem." I force enthusiasm I don't feel. "Just processing. It's a big commitment."

"Six months flies by in this business. You'll be back before you know it, with a major international credit to your name and connections that will set you up for life."

"Right." I stare at Caleb's image on my camera screen. "Let me review the paperwork. I'll call you in the morning with my decision."

"Decision? Harper, there's nothing to decide. This is a yes, obviously." Confusion colors his voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just need to... think." I end the call before he can protest further, dropping the phone onto the bed beside me.

Hours later, I've reviewed the contract multiple times without absorbing the details. My thoughts remain entangled, torn between professional opportunities and personal connections.

The rational choice is clear—take the assignment, advance my career, continue the nomadic existence that has defined my adult life.

Why does the thought of leaving Angel's Peak—leaving Caleb—feel like tearing out something essential?