The Single Dad's Guarded Heart

“Before I forget,” she said, oddly feeling easier in his presence, “Don Morrison at the parts house mentioned that he wasn’t able to scare up everything you need. He said there’s no single supplier who stocks everything for your generator. He suggests you consider purchasing a newer model.”

The big man slid the heaviest crate from the plane. “I’ll have to remind Don that the powers that be in D.C. seem to think forest rangers should be able to live totally off the land.” His grin flickered. “Third time they’ve cut Parks Department funds so they can give more to the military.”

“You’re speaking to a very recently discharged navy flyer who cursed those same powers in Washington every time we had to scrounge for parts to keep our choppers aloft.”

“If you bounced the navy’s aircraft around the way you did the Piper when you landed, I understand why they broke.”

Gone was the fleeting goodwill she’d felt over his sympathy for Mick. “Look, buster, I assure you the navy regarded my flying skills very highly. I can fly anything with wings, I’ll have you know.”

Wylie merely grunted, presumably under the weight of the box.

Dean Ames, who’d stood patiently by while the adults traded insults, pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “Da…ad! Jo Beth and me could’ve gone to the swing and been back.”

Wylie raised a black eyebrow as if deferring the decision to Marlee before he continued over to the other crates.

“Oh, go on,” she said, removing the last item from the hold. “Jo Beth, I’ll call you when I’m ready to fire up the plane. It won’t be long,” she warned.

Even before her last word was out, the kids had darted up the trail into a thick stand of timber. Straining, Marlee could see the ranger’s cabin…and a window box overflowing with colorful marigolds? A trailing vine awash in red blooms? She gawked, which slowed her progress and allowed Ames to catch her off guard when he pulled at the crate in her hands.

“Hey, watch it,” she grumbled, trying to yank the box back. “Mick said part of our service is loading and unloading a customer’s freight. Which leaves said customer free to check the contents of a delivery,” she added pointedly.

“Well and good, but you aren’t Mick.”

“Ranger, I’m not a weakling,” she called after him. “A few months ago I was swooping into enemy territory and carrying shot-up soldiers to my chopper.”

Wylie offered no response. After dropping his load at the end of the runway, he returned for the bill of lading she’d retrieved from the cockpit, then silently strode to the crates and sliced open the first one with a wicked-looking knife Marlee hadn’t seen; it had been strapped to his boot.

She shuddered at the sight, but her attention quickly moved to the rippling of muscles beneath the ranger’s khaki shirt. Something about him reminded her of Navy SEALs she’d run into. A go-to-hell cockiness. Her gaze moved from his broad back to the tanned hands pawing through shredded paper. If indeed the man had Chinook blood as Mick claimed, Ames’s skin was probably the same smooth bronze all over. Marlee ran her tongue over dry lips as the simple image slammed desire into her stomach.

She caught herself up short, feeling heat flood her cheeks. What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? For years she’d worked mostly with men, and she’d never fantasized about what they looked like under their shirts.

Pushing aside her inappropriate thoughts, she joined Ames. “Does it all look okay? According to Morrison, a turbine you want should be in next week. The pump he wasn’t sure about. He said he’d call you, or us, when he tracks one down.”

A short nod was the only response Marlee got. “Uh, since you don’t need me until you’re ready to sign the invoice, I’ll just walk up the trail and get my daughter.” She jerked a thumb in that direction, but then realized he wasn’t listening.

Wylie felt her leave his space. He didn’t want to, but he stopped checking his order and watched her go. The scent of whatever fragrance she wore lingered. He sniffed, trying to identify it. He couldn’t. But it was something feminine. Nice. Compelling.

He didn’t consider himself the total recluse he was rumored to be. After all, he got together three or four times a year with his fellow rangers and their families. Mainly to catch up on everything that happened in other sectors of the sprawling national park—but also to give Dean an opportunity to play with other kids.

Wylie rarely looked twice at the women at those gatherings. Not even when one or another friend introduced him to a new, single female ranger. And there had been several who’d joined up since Shirl hightailed it. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall if any of them had worn such a tantalizing perfume. On second thought, he decided, he’d remember if they had.

In the distance, he heard the woman, Marlee, call for her daughter. Muttering under his breath, Wylie dived into his task. He didn’t glance up again until the sound of feet shuffling through pine and fir needles on the trail interrupted him. Marlee Stein’s worried expression yanked Wylie right out of admiring the picture she made. “Something wrong?”

“I found the tire swing. The kids aren’t there. I called for Jo Beth, but got no response. My daughter’s not used to being in the woods. She could easily get turned around.”

“Dean probably took her out to the animal pens.” Wylie, who’d been down on one knee checking the largest of the crates, stood and brushed off the needles stuck to his khaki pants.

“Animal pens?” Marlee’s face paled. “Oh, I suppose you keep hunting dogs?”

“Our pens house wild creatures that Dean and I have rescued.”

Marlee raked a hand through her hair. “Wild—oh, Mick said something about that. Isn’t that dangerous? Jo Beth’s a city girl. Where are the pens?”

“It’s a fair walk. I’ll take you.”

“How far?”

“We keep the environment as close to normal for the animals as we can,” he said in explanation. “So when they heal, it’s easier to release them back into their natural habitat.” He led the way to a junction in the trail Marlee hadn’t seen on her trek to the swing.

She had a hard time keeping pace with the ranger’s long stride. Suddenly he stopped. Slightly winded, Marlee caught up.

He parted the dense foliage. “That’s where they got off to, all right. I can hear Dean explaining how he stumbled across Boxer after a rancher shot its mother.”

“Boxer?”

“A griz cub. Yea big.” Wylie shaped his hands to the approximate size of one of the smaller crates.

“Griz, as in grizzly bear?” Her pitch rose, along with her anxiety level.

He nodded and Marlee found herself noticing how deep they were in the forest, enough so that every ray of sunlight was blocked. She prided herself on having a good sense of direction, but now realized she hadn’t paid attention to their route. She was at this man’s mercy and it unnerved her. That and the nonchalant way Wylie Ames discussed grizzlies and gun-toting ranchers.

Marlee bit her lip. “I don’t hear voices.” Closer to the runway, birds chirped and squirrels chattered, but here, surrounded by undergrowth, it seemed uncannily silent.

The ranger placed both little fingers to his lips and rent the air with a shrill whistle. Moments later he repeated the call.

As if Ames had flushed out small varmints, Marlee heard scuttling in the brush. Then an answering whistle sounded, quite some distance off. Very soon, though, childish giggles followed. And in no time, two bright heads burst out of a thicket. One sandy red, the other toffee-brown. Relief unfurled in Marlee’s stomach.

Dean Ames stared curiously at his dad. When the girl traipsing at his heels stumbled on a knobby tree root, the boy instinctively reached back and kept Jo Beth from falling. “Did you want us, Dad?”

Marlee rushed over and pulled Jo Beth tight against her legs as if to shield her from any threat. The woman’s frightened expression gave Wylie an idea of what he was dealing with.

“Son, you told us you were going to the swing. You shouldn’t have gone to the animal pens without telling anyone.”

Dean screwed up his nose as he squinted at his dad. “Where else would I be?”

“Mrs. Stein had no idea. You worried her.”

The freckle-faced boy gaped at Marlee. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I told Jo Beth about my pets and she asked to see them.”

“Mama,” the girl broke in. “Dean’s got his very own bear. The kind we saw at the zoo at home, only littler. Boxer got hurt, but Dean and his daddy are making him better.”

“That’s…commendable,” Marlee said with a quaver in her voice. “Tell Dean goodbye, Jo Beth. We have an order to deliver to Glenroe’s Lodge.”

“You’re going into the backcountry? Dean, run to the house and get Mary’s pie tins.” He turned to face Marlee. “Last time Mick came out, Mary Glenroe sent along a couple of fresh apple pies. Can you tell her thank you?”

“And tell her she can send us more pies,” the boy said.

“Dean, that would be ill-mannered.”