All Fired Up (Green Valley Heroes #7)

Epilogue

HUNTER

Six Months Later

“ A little to the left.”

Madeline’s mom directs me toward the opposite wall and I pick up the full-length standing mirror, moving it over until she tells me to stop.

“Actually . . . I like it where it was before.”

“Mom.” Madeline groans from her spot at the closet, where she’s unzipping a garment bag and hanging everything up. “He’s not your lackey. You were supposed to decide where everything goes before we helped you move.”

Behind her back, Vera mimics her daughter, and I hold in my laughter. That would not go over well.

“Babe, it’s fine,” I tell her. “We have all afternoon.”

“Yeah, but we still have to get my stuff out of the house, too. We only have a week left.”

She acts like she has a ton of stuff left to move, when we both know she’s pretty much been living at my house already for months.

“Yes, dear.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, trying to look severe, but she can’t hide the way her lips tip up at the corners. “Don’t yes dear me. Am I the only one taking this seriously?”

“Yes, dear,” Vera and I say in unison, and everyone busts out laughing.

Vera hugs her daughter tightly around the shoulders. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll get it all done. Especially with your strapping young man here.”

She crosses the room to squeeze my arm. I’d take it as flirting if I didn’t know she acts that way with everyone.

“I’m going to check on the stew,” she says. “Your aunt’s so excited to have me cook for her all the time.”

She sounds genuinely excited to move in here, which has me breathing a sigh of relief. Madeline was worried about being on the short end of a long guilt trip regarding her mom having to move, but she hasn’t run into as many problems as she thought she would. And luckily, the house sold within a month of putting it on the market. We’re only waiting on the final closing now.

Which means Madeline can finally officially move in with me.

Not that much will change, but I want her to feel fully comfortable in her new home and not like she’s a guest. Thankfully, she says she loves everything just as I have it, so there are no plans for major redecoration, but I’m still prepared to do anything she wants.

Madeline finishes hanging the clothes and walks over to me, smoothing her hands down the front of my shirt. I’ll never tire of her touching me so comfortably. The only time she doesn’t do it is when we’re on a firefighting call together. She says we should be professional , even when I need to reassure myself she’s okay. She mostly stays away from the main action, preferring to help with the pumps and hoses, but you never know what could happen.

“Have you heard back from your mom?” she whispers, probably not wanting Vera to catch wind of it.

I shake my head. It’s been radio silence since that blowup at my house six months ago, although I did find out Dad’s still in jail. I guess they never got the bail money, and he’d likely have to serve time anyway if it was a serious drug offense.

I invited my mom over for dinner recently, wanting to extend an olive branch after we’ve both had a long time to cool off, but she hasn’t responded. I thought she might be over it by now, but maybe not. I’ve done my part, though.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wrapping her arms around my middle to hug me tight.

“It’s fine. It was a long shot, anyway.”

She looks up at me, probably to act all therapist the way she does sometimes, but is interrupted by the text alert on her phone.

“Oh, Adelaide said she was going to send me an idea for the guest bedroom since we’re moving my old bed in there.” She taps at her screen, then rolls her eyes. “Oh my God, look at this.”

She turns her phone toward me, where a little girl’s princess unicorn fever dream room is on the screen, with liberal use of pink glitter and rainbows.

“Hey, I might still have some of that glitter I pranked you with. We could use it for this.”

She playfully smacks my arm. “You do that and I’m not moving in.”

A grin crosses my face. “Fair enough. We’ll save it for a future kid’s room or something.”

She leans back, confusion on her face. “What?”

I shrug. “You know, in the future. We’ll eventually have to turn the guest bedroom into a nursery if we have kids.”

Her mouth opens, then shuts. Opens . . . then shuts again.

It’s rare I can turn her speechless, but that’s not always a good thing.

“Have you not thought about that?” I ask tentatively.

“You have?” she responds, not answering my question.

“Yeah.”

She steps back, an air of alarm over her. “We’ve only been dating six months.”

My first thought is concern that we’re on vastly different steps on the relationship timeline before I dismiss it. She loves me. She’s committed to me. The same as I am to her.

“So? I’m not saying let’s try for a baby right now. I want us to get married before that.”

Her eyes widen further. “You’ve thought about us getting married?”

“Have you not?” I ask again, feeling like a broken record.

“Yeah, I have,” she admits. “But I didn’t think you had.”

“Baby.” I cup her face, drawing her in close to press a kiss to her lips. “You and me are forever. The when’s not so important, only that it happens at some point.”

She nods, her eyes still wide, but she smiles, too. That beautiful smile that still knocks me out. “Okay,” she says shakily. “But let’s focus on getting the rest of my stuff in your house first. And then, sometime in the future, we can talk about...”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to, especially with that look of love on her face.

“I love you,” I whisper, kissing her again.

“Love you more,” she whispers back, stepping into my arms again to kiss me deeply.

And as long as I have her, that’s all I need.

Want more Green Valley? Read on for a sneak peek of Happy Trail from the Park Ranger series by Daisy Prescott!

Do you love heartfelt small town romance? Then check out these other books by Smartypants Romance!

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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.