Page 3 of Protected By the Ranger

I pull into the driveway, the snow crunching under the tires. Shivering, I turn off the engine and sit for a moment, the biting cold making my breath fog up the window.

My bare feet are numb, so I look for something to shield them from the snow. I smile when I find my old Tweety slippers tucked under a bag. They won’t offer much warmth, but they’ll do. I text Sam to let her know I’ve arrived, grab my bag, and step out. The snow wraps around me, but the familiar scent of pine lets me know I’m home.

I dash to the front door and immediately jam the key in the lock, jimmying it to open in a hurry. Despite my best efforts, the lock won’t budge.

“Come on,” I mutter under my breath. Frustration mingles with the bitter cold as I try to pull out the key, only to find the lock completely jammed.

Recalling the back window I used to climb through as a child, I head to the rear of the cabin. Snowflakes sting my skin like icy needles. I grab a rock and hurl it at the window, silently apologizing to Grandpa.

The glass shatters with a loud crash, and I wince at the echo. I pull out the broken shards and, gripping the wooden frame, jumping through the window. As I land, a sharp, searing pain shoots through my heel.

I look down to see a glistening shard of glass embedded in the flesh, having gone through the thin slipper. Blood begins trickling from the cut.

“Fuck me!” I curse, the agony nearly making me collapse.

“Gladly, but how about introductions first?” a commanding voice booms in the room.

The kitchen lights flicker and my heart skips a beat. A tall, rugged man stands in the doorway, gun aimed at me. I gasp, taking in the outline of a chiseled body under his black t-shirt. His shaggy brown hair is tousled, and his square jaw is hidden under a peppery beard. His piercing green eyes, full of curiosity and concern, draw me in despite the danger.

My vision blurs, and my legs feel like jelly. I struggle to stay upright. His eyes widen as he takes in my disheveled state. He eases off the trigger, lowers the gun, and steps towards me.

My body trembles violently, my vision closing in and darkening at the edges. I collapse onto the freezing floor. The last thing I see is the man’s worried face before everything goes black.

Chapter 2

I wake up cocooned in heavy blankets, their warmth comforting my chilled skin. Morning light filters through the curtains. As I shift, a sharp pine in my right foot makes me flinch. I ease it out and see it’s bandaged.

I vaguely recall yesterday and realize I’m at Grandpa’s cabin. I rub my eyes and see I’m still in old clothes, now layered with oversized sweaters.

As I look around, I see that my parents’ bedroom has changed. The thick bed frame with white drapes and handmade quilt on the rocking chair all feel far from my mother’s sense of décor. The room has a distinctly masculine simplicity.

As I struggle to recall a fuzzy memory, footsteps catch my attention. The man from last night enters, wearing a worn blue plaid shirt and jeans, moving with quiet confidence.

His emerald gaze holds mine as he greets me with a, “Good morning.” His voice is deep and rough, sending an unexpected shiver down my body.

I nod back. “Good morning. Where is Ken?” My voice sounds hoarse and weak, and I try to clear it.

“Ken?” the man asks, confusion lacing his tone.

“The caretaker of this cabin.”

“I am the caretaker of this cabin.”

“Oh, did Ken finally decide to retire? About time. First lesson on the new job—don’t aim a gun at the owner.”

He crinkles his brow in doubt, but then a smirk plays at his lips as he shrugs, “I heard glass shattering in the middle of a blizzard and found a stranger breaking into my home. I was a ranger. I call it instinct.”

“What do you mean that this is your home? This is my grandfather’s cabin.” I try to reason, my voice rising with anxiety.

“Maybe it used to be, but since I bought it two months ago, this has been my home.”

I sit up straight now, and the conclusion that I barged into a stranger’s house punches me in the gut. I feel an irrational urge to run out of here.

“Wait a second, bought it from whom?” I stare at him, dreading his answer.

“The process went through an agent, but the listed owner was Sarah King.”

I close my eyes as the ache in my heart overwhelms me. Mom sold the cabin. She’d been saying it for years, but I never believed she would actually sell it. Maybe I had been running from the truth.

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