Rescued

"Got another one for you, Mike!" my rescuer said, as he yanked open the ranger station's screen door. "A damsel—alone, lost, and a bit worse for wear."

As I limped into the log-cabin office, a handsome ranger rose from a chair behind a desk and smiled at me with concern and said, "Not badly hurt, I hope."

"It's nothing," I said, my face flaming.

I felt totally embarrassed that I'd been lost in Evergreen National Forest Preserve, far off the trail I was supposed to be hiking. "Just a little gash on my leg."

Smokey—that's the only name the kindly, grizzly old man who'd found me had offered—said, "Spotted her wandering 'bout three miles north of here on Harper's Ridge, long way from Wolf Trail. Figured it was closer to bring her here rather than all the way back to the park, what with it being so late in the afternoon."

With that Smokey said he had to be "gittin' back," and I slumped into a chair just inside the ranger's front door.

"Smokey's quite an old-timer," the ranger said. "He's got a place just north of the preserve. Loves the wilderness. He brings in a lost person once or twice a season." Then, "Let's look at your leg. You should've been wearing jeans. Not shorts," he added a bit reproachfully, I thought.

"I know," I said, sticking out my leg as he knelt down to inspect the gash on my right calf. "I tripped, fell, tumbled down a big hill, and crashed into a boulder."

"Lucky you didn't break something."

The ranger's warm hands carefully rotated my leg back and forth. My heart thumped and I swallowed. Be cool, Brittany!

"Nasty gash," he said. "Won't require stitches, though. Just a good cleaning to prevent infection and then proper bandaging. Name's Mike McFadden."

"Brittany Howell."

Then he stood up and looked down at me. As my heart thumped again, I realized just how handsome he was, arms and face perfectly tanned from the summer sun, blue eyes soft and kind.

"I can fix you up in no time," he said, and raked a hand through his blond hair. "Then take you down to Jubilee Park. You got a car parked there? What in the world were you doing hiking by yourself?"

He didn't wait for an answer to either question.

He marched to the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, gave it to me, and then reached for a first aid kit from a shelf above the fridge. I drank, and the refreshingly cold water swirling in my belly seemed to revive me. As Mike worked on my wound, I debated about revealing why I'd hiked alone. Finally, I decided to tell him—I needed to tell someone, if only a stranger. I should've told Smokey, too.

"Look," I said, wincing as he swabbed my wound with something that stung like crazy. "I know I shouldn't have been hiking alone—this is a long, complicated story."

"I've got time," Mike said.

I grabbed a deep breath. Exhaled. "Six years ago my high school held its graduation party in Jubilee Park. My boyfriend Trent and I sneaked away and hiked Wolf Trail all the way to Lookout Point. He carved our initials into the trunk of a dead tree and the word Forever."

"Lot of young kids in love do that."

I bit my bottom lip. "Trent was in ROTC in high school. He served three tours in Afghanistan. We were to be married, but he didn't come home from his fourth tour." Tears burned my eyes now. "For the last two years, his death has been eating a hole in my heart. I hiked to Lookout Point today to finally say goodbye to Trent, and I felt a great relief. Like we were letting each other go." My voice trailed off, and I brushed my tears away.

"And I'll bet when you were coming back down the trail, you were so distracted you got lost."

Happy that Mike understood, I smiled a little. "Exactly."

His gentle treatment and bandaging of my calf completed, he stood. "Great to see you smile, Brittany. Nice dimples."

Heat rushed to my face.

"Umm...I get relieved at five," he said. "There's a dirt road from here to the park. I can drop you off in my Jeep."

"That would be wonderful."

Then Mike cleared his throat. While his feet shuffled, his gaze swept over me, and my heart thumped again.

"I'd be glad to show you around the preserve sometime," he said. "Lot of changes you might not be aware of."

His offer lifting my spirits, I realized my being rescued was going to result in a lot of changes for me, too. Big ones. This time, a big, big smile crept across my face. "All right," I said. "I can't wait."

The End

Same Page

"There's a condo for sale in a complex I used to live in," my friend Monica told me over the phone. "Another friend of mine just vacated. The place hasn't been listed yet. I think you'll like it." She paused a moment. "And the benefits."

"What's that mean?"

She laughed. I could almost see the smirk on her face. "You'll see—"

I wrote down the address and thanked Monica.

The next morning I took off work, found Crystal Creek Estates, and knocked on the superintendent's office door.

"Come in!" a deep male voice called.

When I entered, the man finished his work at the computer and swiveled his chair around to face me. Dressed in jeans and a blue polo shirt, he said, "Good morning." He smiled slowly, deep dimples creasing his lean cheeks.

My heart did a crazy flip-flop, completely unexpected. It had been a long time since I'd seen a man so attractive. Get a grip!, Katie.

Managing to avoid stammering, I said, "I'm here about the condo—two bedrooms. I'm Katherine Wells."

"Tyler O'Neill," he said. "Monica sent you?"

I nodded.

"Well," he said, "let me show you around."

While we strolled over to the unit, I explained to Mr. O'Neill that I was sending my son, Jason, off to college this fall, and I'd decided the big home I'd lived in happily all these years with Jason and his dad—who had died ten years ago—was simply two big for me to maintain any longer. I needed a two-bedroom condo so that when my offspring came home from college on holidays and during the summer he'd have his own space.

"This is perfect," I told Mr. O'Neill as he showed me around the place.

"Obviously," he said, "you're free to completely redo the rooms, paint them whatever color you like, make your own new curtains, if you like."

"I can do that."

I explained that I owned my own craft shop, Yours Truly. Though I featured crafts of all kinds, I specialized in handmade quilts and Afghans, and I could easily make curtains. "But I'm lousy painter," I said.

"No problem. I've painted two-thirds of the units in this complex."

"You're hired," I said, happy with my good fortune

That evening I called Monica. "I'm going to buy the place," I told her.

"Gorgeous, isn't he?"

I admitted Tyler O'Neill—dark hair and eyes, a slow smile warm and friendly—actually took my breath away.

Monica said, "He was divorced long ago. He was a fireman—his wife felt he didn't make enough money. He's retired from the department." Monica's husband is a fireman, too.

The next day in Mr. O'Neill's office, I filled out forms and signed papers. "I hope you'll like it here," he said after we finished, his tone genuinely sincere.

"I'm sure I'll get along, but I hate giving up my home."

"I understand," he said.  Then, "Um...you might want to paint before you move your things in. The work will be much easier."

And so that's how Tyler O'Neill and I ended up haunting hardware stores for a couple of nights, selecting paint and finding the best prices. By this time I was calling him Ty, he was calling me Katie, and I realized that I felt a deep attraction to him, the kind I hadn't felt in a long time. But what about him? Could it possibly be?

Near the end of the month, when the painting was finished and my furniture moved into my new place, I said, "You've got to come to dinner tonight. Help me celebrate my first night in my new home."

"I'd love to."

That night, I made pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, tossed salad, and homemade apple pie. He brought a bottle of champagne. He ate like a lumberjack. Later, when we sat in the living room on the couch, listening to music by candlelight, he said, "This place is going to make you a wonderful home."

"You're an artist with a paint brush," I told him.

"But you selected the colors, and they blend perfectly."

I smiled at him. When he smiled back, his dark eyes soft, I felt myself filling up with amazing warmth. "All I need now is new curtains."

"Is that all?" he asked.

My gaze caught his. "Maybe something else..."

I blushed but halted before I added, And a man.  I surely didn't want make a fool of myself.

But the way his eyes penetrated mine, I felt as if he were reading my mind. His hand rose and gently touched my cheek. Then he kissed me for the first time. Our lips lingered softly, my heart quivered, and I knew for sure we were on the same page. Exactly.

The End

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Fourth of July Kisses

Cole's kiss was a zinger—a toe-curling kiss that melted my heart and set of an alarm in my brain. Danger!

I must admit, though, I allowed myself to savor the kiss for maybe one whole minute—all right, maybe two minutes—before I gently placed my hand on his chest and eased him away.

"What was that?"

I asked, hardly able to breathe, heat rushing to my face.

A sheepish grin crept across his face. "I've wanted to kiss you since we met. Tonight I decided I'd get it over with."

"I thought we said we knew better."

"But we're only human. I am, at least."

"We said we'd be friends. Date on special occasions. Like tonight."

"I'm sorry..." he said.

That's when I kissed him back, my heart thudding against my chest—I'm human, too.

When we broke the kiss, he grinned again. "There...our curiosity's been satisfied. I kissed you, you kissed me. We don't have to do that again."

"Amen," I said.

We began ambling back along Mystic Lake's sandy beach toward the Starlight Ballroom, where all of us company employees were enjoying our annual Fourth of July barbecue and fireworks later. Darkness had settled in. Blazing stars and a brilliant full moon already cast a silver glow over the water.

Inside, the ballroom, as I made my way to the restroom, my best friend Carrie Wilson cornered me. "Gone a long time, weren't you, Kiley?" she said, and smirked. Married to a wonderful husband and raising two marvelous kids, Carrie possessed the marriage I'd dreamed of having when I married Roger three years ago.

"It was getting warm in here," I said. "And noisy. We decided to take a walk along the beach before the fireworks started."

"And—?"

"And nothing."

"Your cheeks are flushed. Maybe you created your own fireworks."

I looked away, another blast of heat rushing to my face. Maybe I was still a little dazed from kissing Cole.

"I've seen how you two look at each other," Carrie said, smirking again. "His flashing eyes, his dimpled chin—I know you're attracted to him. He's fun, he's thoughtful, he works hard—what's the problem?"

"The problem is he's divorced, too. Over two years ago. Same as me. We both married because we thought we were in love. A foolish mistake. We've agreed on that."

"That doesn't mean you can't fall in love again."

"It means we're happy just as we are—unattached. Just friends. And not friends with benefits, either."

"You're in denial, girlfriend."

Later, when I found Cole outside, we drifted along with the other party-goes to the beach where we sat on a blanket in the sand. Across the narrow lake, the city of West Haven set off its fireworks. As I sat close to Cole, enjoying his nearness and warmth, I watched in awe as the sky exploded with streaming rainbows of color.

When the fireworks ended and Cole picked up our blanket, shook the sand off, and folded it, I wondered if two kisses were enough to change our minds about love. Maybe change our lives forever.

Could two kisses be that potent?

We plodded through the sand toward the parking lot. Cole's hand snuggled itself around mine. My heart jumped—we never held hands. "How long have we had this arrangement?" he asked.

"Not that long," I said. "Um...maybe three months."

"Do you think it's working?"

"Perfectly, until you—"

"Kissed you?" he said.

"But I kissed you back."

"I know. That was greatly appreciated."

"So it's not all your fault," I said, sheepishly. "Still, we made a pact, remember?"

He nodded.

"We even shook hands on it," I pointed out. "No fooling around. Not even holding hands. Especially no kissing."

"Right."

While others hurried by us, we stopped under a tree, alone. "So what happens to us now?" he asked.

"We obviously can't trust ourselves."

I backed up against the tree. As he moved closer to me, my heart thudded. "Does that mean—?"

He didn't finish, but I knew what he was asking. Is it over between us? I gulped. I hated the thought. "I like you a bunch, Cole. Really, I—"

His forefinger sealed my lips. "Then let this moment be our personal Declaration of Independence against old fears," he sad. "We toss them out. We relax and face each moment as it comes."

I blew out a long breath. I liked the idea. Loved it! in fact. Raising my head, I gazed at him and smiled. The moonlight glimmering through the tree's leaves dappled his face.

"All right," I said.

"I suggest we seal this new pact not with a handshake but with our own brand of Fourth of July fireworks.

Again, I knew what he was thinking.

Our third Fourth of July kiss was more of a zinger than the first two. This one, under the tree in the moonlight, positively sizzled.

The End

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