Epilogue
When I wake up, the sky outside my window is dark. I’m about to roll over and go back to sleep when I realize the space in the bed beside me is empty.
This isn’t uncommon, but a sluggish memory tells me this night is different from the others.
Rubbing my palm over my face to press some wakefulness into my eyes, I push away my tiredness and heave out of the bed.
Halfway down the stairs, I spy the light glowing from the kitchen and smell a savory scent.
“We got a raccoon problem,” I grumble, leaning a shoulder against the kitchen doorway and meeting a sheepish set of blue eyes.
“Did I wake you up?” Robin sits, perched on the kitchen counter. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”
I grunt, my attention moving to the preheating oven.
“I was hungry,” Robin adds.
“You nervous?” I ask.
She shrugs. Then nods.
Tomorrow is her first day running Green Valley Aviation on her own.
I could point out that she’s basically been running the place for the past two months. I could also remind her that Malcolm hasn’t left town, so if she needs him for anything, he’s only a call away. And I could outline all the ways she’s an amazing mechanic and businesswoman.
But I’ve been saying those things all week, and she still can’t sleep the night through.
One thing seems to help though. I stalk into the kitchen, grab her thighs, and pull her to the edge of the counter. Robin grins and flings her arms around my shoulders, legs around my hips, and grinds her center against my quickly hardening dick.
“Are you going to fuck me to sleep, Bear?”
I press kisses down her neck, making sure to rub my beard against her skin. “If that’s what it takes.”
She gasps a laugh and pounds on my shoulder. “I don’t want to be a chore.”
I grumble and clutch her ass, holding her flush against me as my other hand pushes up the loose material of one of my T-shirts.
“You being Arthur?” I ask, my breath hot on her collarbone as I kiss my way down to her tight nipple.
“Maybe. I thought Arthur might be braver about tomorrow.”
I pause, my lips brushing her nipple, and gaze up at the woman I love. “You make me brave.”
Her eyes soften, then close on a moan as I suck her tight peak, then, hell, the entire tit into my mouth.
Fucking glorious.
I tongue my woman on the kitchen counter and dry-hump her until she’s frantically pulling at my briefs and begging for more. Under the shirt, she only has on panties, and I push the crotch to the side so I can slide deep into her tight grip.
We’re both panting and on the edge when the oven timer goes off, but Robin just mutters, “Let it burn,” and for some reason, her choosing me over her middle-of-the-night snack is super fucking hot, and I come with a deep groan.
When I straighten, I see her feverish eyes and flushed skin and know I’m not done. Dropping to my knees, I suck her clit, my beard damp with her heady arousal and my own release.
“Arthur, hell, I love you. I love you so much!” she shouts the last bit as her pussy clenches around the two fingers I slipped into her, just so I could feel her come.
I never want to miss that.
We catch our breath and share a pizza that’s only slightly too crispy, and when the food is gone, I give my little raccoon a piggyback ride up to bed.
Robin falls asleep almost immediately, arms wrapped around me, smile on her face.
But I do my best to press away exhaustion for as long as I can, simply enjoying the knowledge that I have perfection, warm and sated beside me.
I’m in my office when the mail arrives.
In an extremely handsome package, I might add. Arthur saunters through the door, smirk on his mouth. I can tell he’s mentally replaying our middle-of-the-night hookup as he stares at me across my desk.
Meanwhile, I consider if it would make me a terrible new business owner to lock the door and tear that USPS polo off his broad chest.
Probably shouldn’t. Not on day one at least.
“First day as the boss,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the doorway. His deep voice is a soothing drawl through my hearing aid, which I decided to wear to work for now as I adjust to my new role. “How’s it going?”
“No major screwups. The cat is contained.” I point to Jumpseat, where she’s napping on the windowsill.
Malcolm decided she should stay here, claiming this is her home. Besides, he’ll see her plenty, as he’s still working part-time on special projects.
“And I had a surprise visitor.”
When Arthur quirks a brow, I push up from my desk, circling around to grab his hand, feeling like a kid at show-and-tell. I tug him through the entrance and out to the hangar, where the unexpected arrival is holding court.
Okay “holding court” is a stretch. Mainly, Jeremiah stands by his P-51 Mustang and answers the occasional question Shelly asks him before they bend over the engine again.
“You hire some new mechanics?” Arthur waves at my future stepdad, who nods in our direction.
My mom sent me a picture of the ring a few weeks back.
She’s really doing it. Getting hitched. I’m both shocked and happy. Nicole Dunn has never walked down the aisle in her life. Jeremiah must be something special.
I know what that kind of man is like. I grin up at Arthur.
“Nah. But I told Shelly I’d let her know if anything interesting came into the shop, and that”—I point to the P-51 Mustang—“is a droolworthy piece of aviation. It has a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine that they stopped manufacturing after the 1950s.” And Jeremiah let me take off the outer covering so we could take a peek. “Guess Cletus couldn’t keep away either.”
I point out the Winston, who’s currently lugging a large box through the open hangar door. Our small assembly watches the bearded man as he sets the container down, opens it, and pulls out a strange-looking device. The piece of tech kind of resembles a camera.
“Is that box lined with lead?” Shelly asks her brother-in-law.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. Then, he pulls out a bulky vest and slips it on. The material reminds me of the apron a dental hygienist lays over me when I get my teeth photographed.
“Is that a 3D X-ray camera?” Jeremiah asks, head tilted in curiosity.
“Possibly.” Cletus glances between the engine and Shelly. “Best you stand over there.” He points to a spot a good ten feet from the Mustang. “Don’t want Beau to get his briefs in a twist.”
In my few trips to the Winston Brothers Auto Shop, I’ve found Cletus Winston to be odd, a damn good mechanic, and harmless.
I think. He’s never harmed me or mine at least.
Shelly doesn’t argue with her brother-in-law, but instead walks a decent distance across the hangar and waves for Jeremiah to follow her away from Cletus and his possibly radiation-producing machine.
When my future stepdad joins her at the safe distance, she gets back to asking Jeremiah more aircraft questions. He answers each query easily with a contented smile.
The more I’m around Jeremiah, the more I like him. Arthur and I got to spend a good amount of time in his company when he arranged for one of his larger, more luxurious jets to fly the two of us, my mom, and Sherman Kraut to India two months ago. I met Arthur’s mom’s side of the family, which was a bunch that could rival the Krauts for rowdiness, though there weren’t any brawls that I saw. Nani is probably the best cook I’d ever encountered—even better than Arthur—and as she fed me endless dishes, I could tell she was extremely smug about her role in talking some sense into her grandson. She kept asking when the wedding would be.
Arthur would grin, meet my eyes, and give her a simple, “Soon.”
Because we both know now that it’s inevitable.
We’re soulmates after all.
“Come on.” I tug on Arthur’s hand again, aware that the inner mechanics of a plane engine don’t hold his attention like they do mine. Besides, he’ll have time to catch up with Jeremiah over dinner tonight.
“Where we going now?”
“To commemorate history.”
In the office, Benny is working on inventory.
“Hey, Benny. Need to borrow you for a minute.”
“You got it, boss.”
My cheeks warm at the title and the enthusiastic way he said it. Nice to know that none of the guys resent me for taking over the company. In fact, they threw me a congrats party.
Outside, I direct Arthur to stand by the front window of the shop, where the logo of Green Valley Aviation is clearly painted on the window. Jumpseat naps on the inside of the glass, right under the word Aviation.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I hand it off to Benny. “Take a few shots.”
Then, I’m back at Arthur’s side, arm around his waist, grinning wide. When I glance up, I spy his attention on me.
“Look at the camera.” I poke him in the belly. “And try out a smile. No grumpy Bear today.”
But instead of following my instructions, Arthur bends down and cups the back of my head so he can kiss me deep.
And I find I don’t mind one bit.
In fact, that’s the picture that ends up hanging above my desk.
A shameless shot of me and my two loves.
Want more Green Valley? Read on for a sneak peek of Happy Trail from the Park Ranger series by Daisy Prescott!
Do you love romantic comedies? Then check out these other books by Smartypants Romance:
Stud Muffin-- She got arrested...again. And he”s the former MMA champ who”s going to help her get her life back.
Shelf Awareness-- She”s a librarian who caught her husband cheating, and he”s the nice guy she can”t resist.
Weight Expectations-- He”s the bad boy in the office, and she”s most definitely not looking for love.
Heart Smart-- He”s a jerk with a capital J, and she”s the co-worker determined to fix his bad
Sneak Peek of Happy Trail by Daisy Prescott
Mid-October
Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Cades Cove, Tennessee
“Yo, bro.” Jenni’s chirpy voice greets me when I answer my phone and I am immediately wary.
“Hey.” I drawl the word out to stall the inevitability of finding out why she’s calling me in the middle of a Tuesday morning. “What’s up?”
“Mom call you yet?”
“No, why?” As soon as I ask, I know. “Ah, thanks for the heads-up.”
“Jay.” Mimicking my drawl, she stretches out my name like she always does when she wants something from me. When we were little and she couldn’t really pronounce her J’s, my name was one never-ending A. It was adorable and annoying. My older sister is still both.
“No.”
“Why not?” she whines.
“I have to work,” I grumble.
“Six months is plenty of notice to ask for time off.”
“April is when the AT hikers begin coming through the park and it’s the start of the busy season with campers and school visits. Plus, all the spring bird migrations will be happening, not to mention, fawning season for the local deer. And the bears will be out of hibernation.”
Muffled laughter reaches my ear.
“What’s so funny? I’m presenting facts.”
She mumbles something I can’t understand and more laughter follows.
“Your facts are excuses. The birds and fawns will all be fine if you aren’t there. Nature doesn’t need you to babysit. The birds and the bees have been perfectly all right for many years without your help. Obaasan isn’t getting any younger, and the trip from Kyoto to Nashville is too long for her.”
Ah, there it is—the guilt. My mother and sister are masters. If guilt were a martial art, they’d both have a black belt.
She continues, unabated and building steam. “It would mean a lot to both Mom and Obaasan for us to both be there next year. You know how much Mom loves it when her family is all together, and she can show off her son, the doctor.”
My laugh gets caught in my throat. “Always fun to remind them I’m not the right kind of doctor.”
“You’ve saved lives before as a ranger. Kind of the same thing.”
We both know it isn’t, not in a family of lawyers and corporate titans.
“You’re the favorite,” I remind her. “Everyone loves and dotes on you. Meanwhile, Uncle Ken pretends to pat the top of my head and I hear the cousins calling me hāfu or gaijin like I don’t know what they mean.”
“They’re just teasing you.”
“Right.” I sigh. “Then why don’t they call you hāfu?”
“How do you know they never do?” Her loud snort reverberates against my ear.
She makes a good point, but it doesn’t sway me.
“I’m sure the aunties place bets on my marriage prospects and the fertility of my uterus. I’m thirty-two.” She switches her voice to sound like an old woman, or a witch, saying, “Well past my prime. What man will want a shriveled-up, old prune?”
I groan. “Ugh. Can you not put that image in my head, please?”
“Which part? My anatomy or the dried, raisin-like quality of my over-the-hill womb?” She barely contains her giggling.
“The latter. And you’re not old.”
“Mom was twenty-two when she married Dad, twenty-three when she had me, twenty-five when you were born. Widowed at thirty-five.” Her voice trails off the way it always does when she brings up our father, wistful and apologetic.
My brain flips through flashes of the day he died, but I tamp down the memories.
In four years, I’ll be the same age. No wife or kids, no family of my own. I have a neat stack of diplomas and a closet full of uniforms to show for my life. Maudlin isn’t an emotion I enjoy, so I switch the subject back to visiting our grandmother in Japan.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll think about it.”
“Ask for the time off,” Jenni implores. “It will be fun. We can escape the disapproving glances together, take the fast train to Tokyo for a night of okonomiyaki and karaoke. Who can say no to either of those?”
She knows my weakness for good street food. Why does putting something on a stick make it taste better? Same goes for fair food. My stomach rumbles at the thought of a corn dog. I skipped breakfast and am now regretting it.
“I’ll think about it,” I repeat, not making promises I don’t plan on keeping.
“Fine. I’ll tell Mom you’re ninety percent sure you’ll make it. She’ll be thrilled. Gotta go. Bye.”
“Jenni!”
She doesn’t hear me because she’s already ended the call.
Shaking my phone in frustration, I curse under my breath.
“What about time off in April?” Gaia asks from behind me. “Sorry—it’s hard to not listen to your conversation in this tiny office.”
“Nothing.” I spin my chair to face her, my knees barely avoiding bumping hers in the tight space between our desks. “My sister is bugging me about a family reunion.”
“Are you close with your family?”
“Not outside of my mom and sister. Mom’s family lives far away, and we don’t see them much. I barely know them.” I never talk about personal stuff at work. Not sure if it’s a matter of being private or avoiding the awkward questions and comments.
“Yeah, I get that. At least you have your sister. My parents each have four siblings. Big families are like living inside a circus run by the monkeys.”
The image makes me chuckle.
“Sure, laugh, but I have three cousins named Bobby. Not Robert or Bob. Bobby. They all go by Bobby. Grown men, too, which should tell you everything you need to know about my family.” She rolls her hazel eyes toward the ceiling. “Speaking of annoying idiots, Griffin is telling people it’s skunk season again.”
“Someone needs to take away his press privileges,” I suggest.
“He’s forbidden from speaking to journalists or writing releases, but found a way around the ban by calling into Cletus Winston’s podcast.”
“Thought Cletus banned him after he showed up at the studio uninvited back when Dr. Runous was out of town.”
Gaia rubs her temples as if she might be able to erase The Great Skunk Makeup fiasco from memory.
“Send him into the backcountry to check on the Appalachian Trail hikers. Keep him out of cell phone range.” I tug on my beard to fight my laughter.
The dark, coarse hair is in need of a trim and I could use a haircut soon. No one is complaining, though probably because there’s no one in my life who cares if my whiskers are too long or my hair brushes my collar. Rangers have a dress code when it comes to our uniforms, but as long as we’re not scaring the kids, personal grooming is left up to us.
“Trying to get out of your turn?” She gives me a knowing arch of her eyebrow.
“Nah. I love escaping the confines of this cage.”
I’m not cut out to spend my life working in an office, lab, or classroom. Anything with four walls, a floor, and a ceiling is a box. No, thanks. I’m much happier with the sky overhead and dirt beneath my boots.
“Guess we’ll find out at the staff meeting. You ready?” Gaia stands and picks up a clipboard.
We all call her Guy out of laziness and because she’s the only female ranger amongst our motley crew. It’s become a lame inside joke. She’s the most senior staff member, right after our boss Ed.
We join the others in the staff lounge and go over the week’s schedule.
“We’re getting reports of a sizable storm heading this way from the Gulf. Could bring some nasty rain and wind. The last of the hikers should be coming through soon and we’ll need to set up patrols of the trail to make sure everyone is safe and healthy.” Ranger Ed pushes his glasses up his nose. In his late fifties, he still has the air of the high school biology teacher he was for twenty years before joining the Park Service.
I refill my thermos of coffee. “Thank goodness. Feels like this year’s been cursed with accidents and weird idiosyncrasies. Will be nice when the snow comes and we don’t have to worry about the ATs until spring.”
Guy nods. “Still have the day hikers and leaf peepers to worry about, at least for another month or so. Of course, if the snow shows up early, people will lose interest in finding themselves in nature.”
After a busy summer and September, we’re tired. The college kids who work with us during their break have left, and so we’re down to full-time staff only. Burned out, all five of us are ready for the quiet of the coming winter and a much-deserved break.
“Who wants to take the first patrol?” Griffin asks from his spot on the hideous plaid that has been in headquarters longer than any of us. Totally possible the sofa is original to the building.
“I will. I could use some time in the mountains.” I sip the semi-burnt coffee before adding half-and-half from the carton in the fridge. It’s godawful, but it’s still better than the concoction involving molasses and vinegar Cletus Winston used to drink when he visited his brother Jethro.
Since Ranger Winston’s retired, we rarely see either brother unless they’re visiting Dr. Runous, who’s married to their sister. Green Valley’s a small town, and there are enough Winstons around the area to make it practically impossible to not know at least one or two of them. Despite what the local gossips say, they’re good people.
Ed’s still talking and I realize he’s focused on me. Having no idea what he’s said, I sip my coffee and nod as I pretend to know what I’m agreeing with.
He gives me a pointed look. “Plan for an overnight trip, but bring enough supplies for a couple of days in case the storm hits early. Head north toward Clingmans Dome.”
“Roger that. I’ll pack up tonight and start tomorrow.” Looking forward to the time outdoors, I begin a mental list of supplies I’ll need to restock before heading out.
“Don’t forget a bear can.” Griffin reminds me. “Cooler weather means they’ll be more active. Whatever you do, don’t pack honey. Or a picnic basket.”
Then he laughs at his lame joke. At least one person finds him funny.
“I don’t get it,” Guy says.
Griffin’s grin falters. “Are you kidding? Yogi Bear? Come on. It’s only the greatest cartoon about rangers ever. Jay? Ed? Help me out here.”
Ignoring Griffin, I nod at Ed. “Gotcha. I’ll grab a canister from here in the morning.”
Next day,I’m packed and ready. The bear can and my bivy tent take up most of the space in my bag, but I don’t need a change of clothes for the quick trip. Bedroll strapped to the bottom of my day pack, food and water, warm socks and a fleece, and I’m set to go.
After checking in with the team, I verify my radio is charged and working before heading into the woods.
For the first few hours of the hike, I’m alone on the trail. No signs of bear tracks. Birds chirp in the colorful canopy of leaves and wind whistles through the mountains under a blue sky.
This is why I love being a ranger in the Great Smoky Mountains: peace, quiet, and an endless vista of nothing but trees and mountains. No houses, businesses, or even a church steeple. This feels like America before the settlers and colonies. I can lose myself in the idea that I’ve traveled back in time to a land without McDonald’s and Walmart. There’s no such thing as a strip mall, let alone strip-mining to mar the perfect landscape.
I climb up through the dense woods to an elevation that affords me a view of the surrounding valleys. Pausing to drink from my water bottle, I hear the sound of human voices approaching from around a bend in the trail.
The Appalachian Trail hikers have a certain look to them at this point in their journey. Unlike the fresh and eager spring starters, the southbound summer hikers have almost two thousand miles behind them. They’re in the home stretch by the time they hit Tennessee and can practically taste the victory awaiting them just over a hundred miles from here in Georgia at the official end of the trail.
Two thin, wiry, young guys with long, scraggly beards and shaggy, dark hair come into view. Large packs and gear strapped to their backs, they both use hiking poles to navigate the uneven surface of the trail.
“Morning.” I greet them with a friendly smile.
“Ah, a sight for sore thighs.” One of them chuckles at his joke. “A ranger by any other name wouldn’t smell so sweet.”
Did I mention these hikers get a little odd after months of walking?
“How are you gentlemen doing? Need any assistance?” Scanning for any visible signs of injuries, I note neither appears to have a limp or obvious bandages, nor are they too thin or visibly disoriented. No sign of illness either.
Before saying more, both take long drinks from the straws of their camel-style water bags.
“We’re doing good.” The younger of the two gives me a thumbs-up.
“Where’d you start?” I ask.
“Katahdin in May,” he replies, subtly shifting his shoulders to adjust his pack.
I catch the flash of the red thru-hikers tag.
“Whoa. You’re hardcore.” Hiking in either direction isn’t easy, but beginning in the snow-covered mountains of Maine in spring is considered the more challenging route.
“First time hiking the AT?” I ask, using the abbreviation favored by most hikers.
The one with a red bandana holding his hair back answers. “Yep. We graduated from Bowdoin College and headed out the next week.”
“You’ve made good time,” I tell them, the compliment sincere. Given it takes most hikers five months or more to complete the trail, this is impressive.
“Once we decided to do the AT, we trained with hikes in the White Mountains for a year,” his friend explains, removing his baseball cap to swipe his brow with the back of his hand.
The morning started off cool, but the sun is stronger at this altitude and heats up the day, despite the tree cover.
We chat for a minute or two more before they get restless, eager to continue with their trek.
As we part, I ask, “Pass any other hikers today?”
“We stayed at a hut north of Clingmans Dome night before last with three others. You’ll probably encounter them at some point. Two older men and a woman,” Baseball Cap replies.
“Everyone healthy?” The more information I can get from these two, the better prepared I’ll be if there’s an issue up ahead.
I’m hopeful the three hikers behind these two will be down from the highest elevation before the storm hits. It’s rare, but snow isn’t out of the question below five thousand feet. The Park Service would all feel better if the AT folks spent a night or two off the trail if the storm’s going to be as bad as predicted.
“For the most part. One of them has a cough, but doesn’t seem serious,” Bandana tells me.
“Good to know. Thanks.” I twist the cap back on my bottle and tuck it in the side pocket of my pack. “Ranger station is about eight miles ahead. If you need anything, stop in and we can assist you. You’re welcome to weather the storm in the valley with us.”
After a quick goodbye, we head in opposite directions.
I don’t encounter any more hikers for another couple of hours. Turns out, the guy with the cough is a man in his fifties with buzzed, silver hair and the thin physique of someone who’s been on the trail for months.
He’s happy to chat for a few minutes and I get the sense he’s a real talker. He hacks a few times and I’m concerned he’s on the verge of bronchitis or pneumonia, especially given how common respiratory infections are among hikers once the weather cools.
“You might want to check in at the station for your cough. We’re not far from Green Valley and you can see a doc in town,” I suggest. “Storm’s coming in and you don’t want to get caught in the bad weather.”
He thanks me and promises he’ll think about seeing the doctor. “By the way, there’s a young woman hiking solo. She said she was taking an extra day back at Clingmans Dome. Be sure you find her. She’s not traveling with a cell phone and won’t get the weather warning unless she hears it from another hiker or ranger.”
Great.Nothing like being at the highest altitude of the whole damn trail when there’s a major storm blowing up the east coast and we’re the bull’s-eye.
For the record, I’m not being a sexist asshole about a woman hiking the AT solo. Plenty of women complete the trail every year, but I’ve met enough of the male hikers to know it isn’t easy to be a woman on the AT.
What annoys me is the lack of cell phone in case of emergency, especially this late in the season when other thru-hikers are few and far between. Unless she runs into day visitors, she’s not going to meet up with anyone heading in the opposite direction.
Rescuing a damsel in distress is something best left to fairy tales.
I’m a national park ranger, not some Prince Charming, who swoops in on his noble steed to save the princess and falls in love at first sight.