The Road to Paradise Read online

  She stretched a trembling hand toward the mountain. “It’s as if you could reach out and touch it. Look how the slopes glisten in the sunlight.”

  He forced himself to look away from her face and instead studied the summit. “Fresh snow.” With the exception of his encounter with Philip Carmichael in Longmire, this day couldn’t get any more perfect. He wouldn’t mention the meeting. She’d find out soon enough, and there was no sense in spoiling her day. Or his. He chuckled as Margie darted across the open space, stopping every few feet to admire a different flowering plant, like a bumblebee hard at work.

  The patrol cabin stood empty. Rather than claiming a spot on the log cabin’s porch, he found a flat rock and sat, opening his pack. Let the woman have her fun. He was famished.

  After a while, Margie wandered over and collapsed next to Ford. “I spotted two marmots just over there.” She gestured to the west. “What a treat. This place is even lovelier than you’d promised. I can’t imagine a better view.”

  Ford handed her a sandwich. “From the summit, perhaps.”

  Margie unfolded the brown paper. “You’d just be looking out across ice and snow.” She nodded at the plant life splayed at their feet. “You’d miss all this.”

  Tilting his head, he studied the small clumps and tufts of greenery studding the ground of the subalpine parkland. “How many samples are you taking home?”

  “I’ve seen six or seven already. Most won’t be in full bloom for a few more weeks yet. I’ll gather some of their early stages and preserve them with my flower press. It might be useful to create a guide on how to recognize plants when they’re not flowering.”

  “Would there be interest in that?”

  She frowned. “Among serious botany-focused individuals such as myself, yes.”

  “There are more like you?”

  Margie offered a coy smile. “A few, perhaps.”

  Still warm from the vigorous hike, Ford shrugged off his jacket. “It’s nice to be up here on a day when the hotel doesn’t have a tour group. We have the place to ourselves.”

  “It would be an idyllic camping spot, I’d imagine.”

  “Too crowded for my tastes. I prefer to find a quiet place deep in the woods. I never understood the desire to camp with a large group of people.”

  “You must know all the best camping locations.” Margie pulled a strawberry from the container and popped it into her mouth.

  Ford opened the box of cookies and offered it to her. “A few, but I keep them under my hat. No sense in having them overrun with city folk.”

  She raised a brow. “Like me?”

  If she had been one of the boys, he’d have invited her camping on the spot. He was never one to turn down a night on the trail. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the foolish thought. No sense in even letting his imagination hike down that twisting path. “Especially not you. You’d want to bring along a whole group of folks and teach them about the ‘glories of wilderness living,’ or some such thing. The next thing you know, Luke Johansson would be building another lodge, and I’d have to move to the Alaska Territory for some peace and quiet.”

  She took a sugar cookie and broke it into bite-sized pieces. “That would be a tragedy. If we continue adding roads and lodges and other amenities, it would steal the serenity. We could end up with nickelodeons and carnival attractions instead of alpine meadows and primeval forests.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say so.” Ford picked up a stone and rolled it between his fingers. “Sometimes I feel I’m fighting an uphill battle to prevent development in the park. I know it belongs to the people, but I can’t help feeling—in a small way—it belongs to me.”

  “It belongs to us all, and that’s why we must fight to protect it from unscrupulous forces that would simply develop the land for the sake of the almighty dollar.”

  His heart rose in his chest. “Exactly. Well said.”

  “I’m glad I meet with your approval, in one area anyway.” Her face softened as she gazed toward the peak.

  Ford studied her brown eyes, rich as the forest soil, a sudden desire to touch her cheek sweeping over him. He never would have expected to find himself dotty over an outspoken woman like Margie, but could he deny it any longer? Ford busied his fingers reknotting the laces on his knee-high boots. He needed to get his heart under control. The senator’s daughter stepping out with a park ranger? No matter his feelings, it was a waste to dream of the impossible.

  “Thank you for bringing me here.” Her smile added to the graceful beauty of her face. “I love seeing God’s creation laid out in front of us. ‘The earth is full of thy riches.’ How anyone can look at this natural order and not see the Maker’s hand, I’ll never comprehend.”

  And there it was again. She was always quick to bring God into everything. Ford took a deep breath, pushing down his irritation. “I hate to disagree, but nature is beautiful because it’s random and unpredictable. Why do you think they call it wilderness? There’s no order to nature. God has nothing to do with it. The stuff men build is ordered and boring. This—this is the opposite.”

  Her smile faded. “I—I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  He felt as if he’d crushed her fragile petals under his boot. “I know it sounds harsh, Margie, but as lovely as it is—the wilderness is a dangerous, unforgiving place. If you don’t take it seriously, you won’t take steps to protect yourself.”

  “It’s not the mountain’s dangers that frighten me.” She gathered the leftovers. “I’ll collect my samples and then we can be on our way. I’m sure you’re eager to return to your reports.”

  He exhaled. “Take all the time you want.”

  Margie’s feet dragged by the time she and Ford approached her cabin, practically every drop of daylight already wrung from the sky. She gritted her teeth and pushed on, determined not to let him see how each step had become a chore. The pain in her big toe suggested the last layer of skin had surrendered its fight and not even a blister remained.

  After a few miles of silent prayer, she’d finally surrendered Ford to God. I tried, Lord, but it’s not up to me, is it? If only You’d whisper in his ear.

  How could she be drawn to a man who held such a different philosophy of life? From here on out, she needed to remain focused on her job, and remember to think of him as only a boss and friend. “I can’t thank you enough for today, Ranger Brayden. I’m sorry you were saddled with such a slow hiker.”

  “We’re not back to titles, are we?” Ford’s smile was evident, even in the dusky shadows. A woodpecker’s hammering carried through the quiet evening air. “I should be thanking you. I’m sorry we saw no bear sign. Maybe the report was a mistake.”

  The familiar scent of crushed pine needles and damp moss welcomed her, the fragrance speaking of her new home. Margie stopped at her door and turned, her face immediately warming at the sight of Ford’s handsome face.

  Squashing her feelings might be more difficult than she’d anticipated. They’d talked and laughed so much—more than she’d ever dreamed—but now she couldn’t think of how to properly conclude their evening. It was more awkward than returning from a romantic outing. At least she didn’t need to worry about a goodnight kiss. “Shall I come to your office in the morning?”

  Ford had been studying the ground, but his head lifted at her question. “My office?”

  “To type your report?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d nearly forgotten.” He nodded, running a quick hand over his shirtfront. “Do you need help with the fire?”

  Her breath caught at the idea of inviting him inside. He’d been in her cabin before, so why did it feel like such a scandalous thought now? “No, no, I think I can manage. You’re a talented instructor. No one will ever know I was a hopeless ignoramus when I first arrived.”

  “We couldn’t have that.” He tipped his hat. “I’m nearby if you need me.”

  “If I find Archibald has invited his friends in for a party?”

  Instead of humo
r, a shadow seemed to deepen around his eyes. “Yes. Or if any…anything else bothers you.”

  “Thank you, Ford. It’s been a perfect day. Nothing could ruin it.” Almost perfect, anyway.

  Ford backed a step and tipped his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She nodded, her throat thickening. What was wrong with her? If only she couldn’t start her own fire. Having the man come inside sounded much more pleasant than entering a cold, dark room alone. She swallowed hard. Mustn’t get carried away. “Good night.”

  Margie twisted the doorknob and pushed herself inside before she could embarrass herself further. He’s your supervisor, not your love interest. When had the distinction become muddied?

  Closing the door, she leaned against it in the darkness, the latched shutters blocking what little light was left in the day. She let the pack thump to the floor, the precious books and specimens forgotten in her weariness. Stumbling to the fireplace, she reached for the box of matches. “As Shakespeare says, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’ ”—Margie whispered the words to the quiet room—“ ‘that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.’ ”

  A rustle in the gloom stopped her in her tracks. Archibald? She struck the match and surveyed the cabin by the small glow.

  “Quoting Romeo and Juliet? I must say, that’s an interesting choice.” Philip Carmichael sat on her bed, hands folded in his lap.

  Ford hurried over to the park headquarters. If Margie was coming first thing, he needed to assess the damage. After climbing the stairs to his loft office, he pressed the light switch. The electric glare illuminated countless unkempt stacks of papers, two unwashed cups, and various other reminders of day-to-day life. He dumped the last dregs of coffee into a long-suffering potted fern perched in the window sill and stashed the mugs on a high shelf. He’d deal with those in the morning. After a second glance, he swept the plant off the sill and stuffed it into a drawer. Knowing the lady’s feelings about botany, it might be better to keep its cringing, yellowed fronds out of sight.

  As he grabbed a handful of papers, he glanced out the window at the night sky. This summer promised to be one of the more interesting seasons he’d encountered since he’d started working in the park ten years ago. Sure, there’d been a couple of minor flirtations with waitresses at the Inn, but no woman had agreed to keep him company on an all-day hike and then inspired a late-evening cleaning spree. He sank into the chair, lowering the stack of papers to his lap. There was no denying Margie Lane had wormed her way into his heart.

  The question was—what would he do about it?

  Just because she’d joined him for a hike didn’t mean she’d be willing to see him socially. The sweetness in her eyes when she said goodnight had quickened his pulse almost to the point where he’d been unable to step away. How would she have reacted if he’d followed his instincts and pulled her into his arms?

  She’d have run home to Seattle. And Ford would be looking for a new job.

  Wooing someone at the park would be a challenge, anyway. It’s not as if he could take her to the pictures or out dancing, like a normal fellow. And every overture he made would be in full view of his staff. The best he could hope for would be long hikes in the woods, picnics by the creek, dinners at the Inn, maybe stealing a kiss by Narada Falls. A prickling sensation crawled up his arms. Would that be Margie’s idea of romance?

  He sighed, dumped the old reports into a box, and then pulled a clean stack of typing paper from the drawer. He needed to get control of his feelings before they walked him right over the edge of a crevasse.

  Margie gripped the burning match, but the light bounced with the trembling of her hand. “What are you doing here?” Her throat squeezed until it nearly choked off her words.

  Philip sat on the mattress’s edge, feet on the floor. “I’m here to see you, of course. A Ranger by the name of Carson pointed me to the right shack. It’s a shame you kept me waiting so long. I must have dozed off.”

  Margie tossed the dying match into the fireplace grate and reached into the box for a second one, her stomach churning. It took three strikes to get it to light, her fingers suddenly damp. She touched it to the lamp’s wick, creating a small bubble of light in the darkening room. “You shouldn’t be in here. What will people think?” She could feel his presence behind her, like the low pressure of an approaching storm front. Crazy she didn’t notice him the moment she crossed the threshold. She must have been too distracted by Ford.

  Ford. He mustn’t know Philip was here. She turned to face her former fiancé, just as he rose to his feet. “You need to go.” She lowered the lamp to the desk so he wouldn’t notice her shaking.

  “What are you concerned about?” His voice curled about her, smooth as silk. “Someone seeing us, or being alone with me? Because it’s not as if we haven’t been alone before.”

  “Not in my bedroom, we haven’t.” She clenched her teeth and backed away as Philip stood, not that there was far to go.

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Is that what you call this? Surely you’d be more comfortable in the Inn. It’s not as if your daddy couldn’t afford it. Why are you staying in this hovel?”

  Margie swallowed her protest. Arguments were pointless with Philip. She’d learned that years ago.

  Philip’s eyes traveled the length of her. “Dressing as a lumberjack these days? Your mother would be proud.” He stopped a few feet away, laying a hand on the mantel. “So, where have you been?”

  A murky chill touched her skin. She rubbed her arms. “I was hiking.”

  “Alone?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was with Ranger Brayden. I believe you met the night of the Paradise dinner.”

  “And I hear he lives right next door. I’m not sure I approve of you living so close to a bachelor.” A slight smile played at the corners of Philip’s lips. “Did the good ranger tell you of my lunch meeting today? He’ll be glad to know it was a rousing success.”

  Margie’s thoughts spun off in different directions. Ford knew Philip was in the park today? “Meeting—what sort of meeting?”

  Philip began stacking wood in the fireplace. “With the superintendent and with the manager of the Paradise Inn.”

  She laid a hand on her hip, fingers digging into her side. “I know you don’t approve of me working here, but you have no business going behind my back with the superintendent.”

  Philip chuckled, a low dry sound. “You give yourself far too much credit, Margaret. You were not the topic of conversation.”

  “Then what?”

  He retrieved a match from his pocket. After a quick strike, he touched it to the crumpled paper and kindling. “It became clear to me on my last visit that the current administration has frittered away its opportunities here.” He stood, his gaze locking on her with an intensity that could melt the mountain’s snowcap. “My dear, you’re looking at the new chairman of the Rainier National Park Company.”

  Margie backed two steps. “Why would you do such a thing? You have no interest in wilderness. You’d just as soon plow everything under.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I never lose, Margaret. If this park is to be my rival, I’m going to ensure I’m the one in control of it.” He strode to the door and pulled it open. “And if I turn a handsome profit in the process…all the better.”

  June 24, 1927

  Ford pushed open the office door. Morning sunshine glared through the smudged windows. Not too bad. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it across the dusty lamp.

  Margie hadn’t shown up to breakfast, and Carmichael’s auto remained parked out front, sending Ford’s mind to a dark place. Had she passed up a meal with the crew to meet her former lover? The idea curdled in his stomach with the coffee and half bowl of oatmeal he’d choked down.

  He sank into the wooden chair. A stack of crisp, white paper awaited Margie’s arrival. Ford ran a finger along the top edge of the typewriter, the suffocating silence stealing away his thoughts. Even the birds had gone qui
et this morning, as if aware of an unwelcome stranger in their midst.

  At ten minutes past the hour, Ford pulled the reports from the file drawer. He might as well start himself. Perhaps Margie had forgotten her promise. Or she’d met up with Carmichael, and he’d talked her into giving up this folly. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out hard, hoping to chase away the unpleasant thought.

  Ford slipped a piece of paper under the roller and twisted the knob, drawing it up under the bail. He never seemed able to secure a sheet straight in the machine. One of these levers would release the machine’s iron-clad grip, but which? He tried each in turn, finally righting the document.

  Ford tapped the space bar several times and pecked out the words “Annual Report” before remembering the title should be centered. “Blast.” Yanking the paper from the device, he crumpled it into a tight ball. He’d forgotten to use the carbon, anyway.

  Pushing up from his seat, he sent the chair skidding across the floor. Perhaps Jennings could give him a hand. He must have learned to type at that college of his. Ford grabbed his coat and hat and hurried down the stairs and outside. He’d spent twenty minutes in the office. That must count for something.

  Margie spilled out the door of the National Park Inn, her eyes narrowed like a cornered wolf. “Ford, wait.” The flowered dress hugged her slim figure.

  The sight sent his heart scudding in his chest. He cleared his throat. “We missed you at breakfast. I was getting concerned.”

  She stopped, taking a moment to button the pink cardigan to her neck. “You should have told me you saw Philip Carmichael yesterday.”

  Ford swallowed, regretting having left his office so soon. “I didn’t want to ruin your day.” He glanced toward the parking area. The garish vehicle was gone.

  “Did he tell you he intended to take over the Rainier National Park Company?” Her chest rose and fell as if she struggled to get enough air.

  “He spouted some nonsense about trying to buy the mountain for you. I thought he was crazy.”