Chapter Three #2
“Oh, here’s that book Charles requested.” Granny plucked a hardcover historical thriller from the pile. “I’ll have to give him a call. He’ll probably have Hunter come pick it up for him again.” Granny raised a brow but didn’t make eye contact.
Emma saw the bait. She even saw the gleaming silver hook sticking right out of it. But she couldn’t resist. “Oh, is that right?”
Any thoughts she’d had about streamlining their ordering and inventory management systems flew out of her head.
Hunter had told her that she shouldn’t expect to see him around very often.
But that didn’t stop her from seeing him in every tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man she spotted wandering around town.
Which, to be fair, weren’t that many, but still.
They’d only spent an hour or so together, but she’d enjoyed his company, and goodness knew he wasn’t hard to look at.
Maybe it was just that she’d been with Brock for too long, and she hadn’t taken the opportunity to appreciate any of the other men she’d encountered over the years, but there was something about Hunter.
And Granny knew it.
“Shall I let you know when he thinks he might be stopping by?” Granny asked slyly.
Emma swallowed and turned away in a doomed effort to hide the way her face warmed. “I’m sure anyone can check him out.” The book, that was. Check out the book. Not… other parts of him.
“Mmm-hmm,” Granny agreed. “I’ll put it on the calendar, then. Just in case.”
Really? That was what she was going to use the calendar for?
Mystified as she was by Granny’s priorities, Emma wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to get her on board with a new organization system.
She shot the crafting group a pointed look and untacked said calendar from the wall, waggling it gently in Granny’s direction. She tapped the blank square for today with a pen. “Speaking of which…”
It happened every time, but somehow, it still caught Hunter by surprise. He passed the big old pine near the Peggy’s Pass trailhead marker, and his phone went nuts.
He wanted to ignore it, but he was a good citizen and checked the notifications to see exactly what he’d missed while he’d been in the park’s dead zone.
It was just a couple of goofy text messages from his friend Lucas, one from his dad—who knew to call the station if it was an actual emergency—and a handful of nuisance notifications, so he put the phone away.
He shook his head. Too many hikers had their eyes glued to their screens instead of appreciating the scenery, and he refused to become one of them.
Instead, he continued his route, checking trail markers, making note of places on the path that needed maintenance this fall, and generally keeping an eye peeled for anything out of order.
It was late in the day, but a trio of middle-aged dads were heading out with giant packs on their shoulders, so he stopped to chat, making note of how many were in their party, just in case the station got a call tomorrow.
Bears in these parts were smart, but these folks had the right equipment to keep the big guys out of their food, so they’d probably survive.
He wished them well and checked in with another group just finishing their hike.
Random small talk with strangers wasn’t his favorite part of the job, but it kept folks safe and helped the rangers stay on top of any potential problems on the trail, so it was all right.
Every now and then he got someone who wanted to talk his ear off, but he could shut that down fairly quickly by bringing up the fact that he was on the clock.
Fortunately, most people drawn to the forest were loners like him.
Finishing up his rounds, he made his way back to the station.
George, the other full-time ranger on staff, was just clocking out.
The man was seventy if he was a day, with pale skin and weather spots, but he was a mountain goat who could scale a cliff faster than most folks could climb a flight of stairs.
“All good?” George asked.
New saplings were healthy, trails were clear, maps were stocked, no one was dead. But that was more detail than George was asking for. “All good.”
George nodded and took his leave, and Hunter headed inside.
Alix Larssen, their summer intern from the previous year who’d never gotten around to leaving, looked up.
She was white, with blond hair that she kept buzzed on the sides and longer on top, and despite being a senior in high school, she was almost as cranky as George, which he had to admit he kind of loved about her.
“Hey, boss,” she called before dropping her gaze back to the screen of the clunky old desktop PC that passed for technology here at the ranger station.
“Quit calling me that.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
He rolled his eyes, took off his hat, and hung it on the peg by the door. Raking a hand through his hair, he asked, “Anything eventful happen when I was out?”
“Would have radioed you if it had.”
Apparently, she was fixed on being even more cranky than George today. Fine, that was her business.
He gestured at the monitor she was staring at. “How’re the numbers looking?”
She tilted her hand back and forth in the air. “So-so.”
One of the jobs she’d taken on was keeping track of their visitor count, which had been trending down for the past few years.
There were murmurs about the state cutting back on funding for park maintenance and staff if that didn’t turn around.
He wasn’t concerned yet, but it was something they were keeping an eye on.
Putting it out of his mind for now, he settled in behind his desk to take care of some of his own admin.
Before he could really get started, though, his phone buzzed.
And then it buzzed again. With a sigh, he dragged the thing out of his pocket and tapped on the notifications.
He raised his brow at the three—three!—messages from his dad.
There was the one that had come in earlier, plus two more he must have sent just now.
Part of him wanted to get worked up about it, but surprise surprise, they were just the usual, typo-riddled, all-caps nonsense.
Dad: NEW BOK IN PLS GET
Dad: LAST MESS RECVD?
Dad: R U DED?
That last one actually got a chuckle out of him. He scrubbed a hand down his face and typed back.
Sorry, was out of reception zone.
Like he was literally every day for hours at a time.
Then he focused back on the original point of the message, which was that his father wanted him to go into town and get whatever new spy thriller he’d ordered from the Cozy Nook Bookshop, and…
Normally, he’d be annoyed about that. He’d do it, of course.
His dad hated going into town, and Hunter only mildly disliked it.
But the first thing that came to his mind was the chance to talk to Emma again.
How was she doing? Settling in okay? Had Granny driven her up a wall yet?
Did she still need help hanging curtains, or whatever it was she wanted to do to fancy up the apartment over the shop?