Falling for the Forest Ranger

This day just kept getting worse.

A tall man stood a few feet away where he’d been placing his own groceries into the back of the truck. In her brief perusal, Zoë caught a glimpse of his firm mouth, piercing brown eyes and a glacial stare that could have coated Death Valley in ice.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to,” Jonah wailed.

The culprit stooped beneath the truck, scrambling to pick up two of the oranges. His sparkling blue eyes were filled with remorse. To add insult to injury, he pushed the shopping cart out of his way, gouging another mark across the left front fender of the truck.

“Jonah, stop already!” Zoë clasped her son’s hand and pulled him away so he couldn’t do any more damage.

“I just wanna help,” the boy said.

“I think you’ve helped enough.” The man’s deep voice sounded low and angry, like rumbling thunder. He stalked over to stand in front of them, placing his hands on his lean hips as he perused the scratches with an irritated scowl.

Not brown. His eyes were amber, with a dark coppery ring around each of the irises.

Looking up, Jonah’s chin trembled. “I’m real sorry, Mister. I didn’t mean to.”

For a fleeting moment, Zoë saw a flicker of compassion in the man’s eyes. Then he raked his fingers through his short, dark hair, showing his frustration. “I just bought this truck three weeks ago.”

His growled words showed his annoyance but seemed to be for himself alone. A passing comment that made Zoë feel even worse. If some little kid banged a shopping cart into her new truck, she wouldn’t be happy about it, either.

Zoë pasted her most apologetic smile on her face and met the man’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m going to pay for this. I’ll take care of the damage.”

He turned and she caught the scent of his spicy cologne, mingled with spearmint. A short lock of sable-brown hair fell over his high forehead, just above one arched brow. Though Zoë was tall for a woman, she had to look up to meet his eyes. Strong, athletic shoulders covered by a black ribbed T-shirt blocked her view of Jonah. The man braced his legs, his muscular thighs sheathed in worn blue jeans. Scuffed cowboy boots topped it all off. A completely masculine man.

And highly annoyed.

As she gathered up the contents of her purse, Zoë wished she’d changed her soiled shirt and faded denims for a clean set of clothes before heading to the grocery store. Having just arrived in town three days earlier, her time had been spent setting up summer child care for Jonah and straightening up the three-bedroom house she’d rented along the bench bordering Bingham River. In spite of the morning rain and May breeze sweeping through the valley, a rivulet of perspiration dampened the back of her neck. She’d worked hard today and felt grungy and exhausted. There’d been no time to fix her hair or apply makeup. Now she felt mortified to be seen looking like a street urchin with a hooligan child. She brushed a hand over her short hair, self-conscious about her bedraggled appearance.

“Just forget about it,” the man said with a rasping voice.

“What?” Zoë took Jonah’s hand and blinked, trying to concentrate on something besides the man’s full mouth and blunt chin.

“I said, let it go. The damage isn’t worth bothering with. Besides, every work truck worth a dime has a few good scratches on it.” He gave her a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Did he mean it or was he just trying to get rid of her? Jonah wriggled against her side and she released his hand, thinking he’d stay put this time. She was wrong. He hurried over and clasped the edge of the truck, jumping up to peer over the side. The rubber soles of his tennis shoes squeaked as he braced his toes against the man’s truck to get traction.

“Jonah! Come away from there.” She glanced at the man, her cheeks burning like road flares. Now was not a good time for her son to misbehave.

“I just wanted to see what’s inside,” Jonah said.

“Nothing but sacks of groceries.” The man heaved a disgruntled sigh and shook his head at the boy.

“He’s normally a well-mannered child. He usually minds me.” Zoë rushed to reassure the man, wondering why it mattered so much to her. She hated the thought of this handsome stranger believing she couldn’t control her own son.

“I can see that.” He pursed his lips, looking skeptical.

“He’s just a bit excited. You see, we just moved to town, and he’s been helping me get settled in our new home.”

“Yeah, hyper kids act that way sometimes.”

She stiffened, fighting off bristles of anger. Calling her son hyper pinched a nerve in Zoë’s composure. “Jonah’s not hyper. He’s just curious and energetic.”

A miniature replica of his deceased father, Jonah was now kicking the tires. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. She certainly wouldn’t tolerate anyone assigning him a derogatory label.

The man looked doubtful, but she wasn’t about to carry this conversation any further. He had a right to be upset, after all.

She dug into her purse, searching for a pen and paper. “I want to pay for the damage. It’s the least I can do.”

He held up a hand, his expression darkening. “Don’t bother. Right now, I just want to get my ice cream home and in the freezer before it melts.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Zoë thought about her own perishables wilting in her shopping cart. She also wanted to get home, if only to get Jonah into a place where he could run around and burn off some energy. With the boy bouncing around the house, she doubted there’d be much relaxation until bedtime. Rather than try to cook dinner, she’d pick up hamburgers at the drive-through on the way. Since their move, Jonah had been wound as tight as a top. If only she could bottle and sell her son’s energy, she’d be filthy rich.

“Hey, do you like fish?” Jonah pointed at the rear bumper of the man’s truck. Zoë craned her neck to see a blue sticker with two Pacific salmon on it that read Save Our Salmon.

The man didn’t move but responded impatiently, “Yeah, I like fish just fine.”

Jonah flashed a wide grin. “My mom does, too. She knows everything about fish.”

The man eyed Zoë as a dubious smile creased the corners of his mouth. “I’ll just bet she does. You got a goldfish at home, do you?”

“Yep. How’d you know that?” Jonah screwed his face up in curiosity.

“Just a lucky guess.”

“My name’s Jonah, like Jonah and the whale. Mom’s told me the Bible story over and over. Jonah was disbedient to the Lord, so he got swallowed up into the whale’s belly. Only when he pented did the Lord cause the whale to throw him up.”

Zoë stared at her son, stunned by his version of the tale. “Dis-o-be-di-ent and re-pen-ted.” She enunciated the words slowly for her child.

The man coughed, a suppressed smile twitching his lips. “I’ve never heard the story told in quite that way.”

“I’ve never been fishing before,” Jonah continued. “My daddy died when I was just a baby. Mom promised to take me someday soon, once she learns how.”

Zoë shifted her weight, wishing Jonah wouldn’t spill their entire life out for a stranger. But she’d raised him to be honest, so she shouldn’t be surprised by his candor.

A disbelieving laugh slipped from the man’s corded throat. “You’d better be prepared to hook your own worms. Most women are squeamish about that.”

“Not Mom. She can do anything.”

Jonah’s spoken confidence touched Zoë’s heart. How she loved her little boy. His enthusiasm for life affirmed for her that there was so much good around her. After Derek, her husband, had died five years earlier, she’d wondered if she’d ever be happy again. But Jonah served as a constant reminder of how much she still had to live for.

“I’ll just bet she can.” The man’s gaze traveled the length of her, as if sizing her up. His disbelieving expression told her what he really thought about her. Which made her feel incompetent and silly. And she wasn’t. Not at all.

As a National Marine Fisheries biologist for the federal government, she’d worked hard in a male-dominated field to earn her graduate degree and advance in her career. With Derek’s death, she’d been forced to expand her earning base to provide a living for her eleven-month-old baby. With a day job, night classes and a little boy to raise, she’d worked hard to get where she was today. She was used to people, mostly men, telling her she couldn’t succeed, but she’d learned to ignore them. Her knowledge certainly wasn’t limited to goldfish in a bowl, but she wasn’t about to expound on her training and experience in this parking lot.

Not with an irate stranger.

* * *