The Road to Paradise Page 9

  “You’re right, of course. Thank you for checking on me.” She scooped up her shoes and stockings.

  He turned away as she put herself to rights, even though the image of her shapely legs was forever imprinted on his brain.

  Keep free from Margie’s charms? He settled the knapsack on his shoulder. It just might be entirely too late for that.

  June 23, 1927

  Ford sank into the desk chair, setting his mug of coffee beside the tall stack of district reports. He’d spent days looking over the papers and trying to put the information into bite-sized pieces for the superintendent. He still hadn’t filed last month’s paperwork. Ford flipped through the fussy descriptions of each area’s activities. Every man seemed set on impressing Ford by recording ridiculous amounts of data—weather statistics, wildlife counts, hours spent on patrol duties, trails cleared.

  Ford skimmed past the numbers and tried to concentrate on what Harry would want to see. The people factor, he called it. The figures spelled it out. Visitation was up in all corners of the park, even with the snow lingering late into the season. The dispatches pointed to an increasing number of vehicles, more demand for campsites, clashes between people and wildlife, and plenty of traffic tickets written. All those facts meant one thing—Ford chained to his typewriter.

  He stretched his arms over his head, missing the days of being a simple trail ranger. Now his job demanded endless meetings, reports, managing a staff spread over three hundred and fifty square miles, and the relentless task of hiring crews to maintain both the road and telephone network. Ford hadn’t set foot on the trail since climbing the ridge with Carson and Margie two weeks ago.

  He’d promised to take Margie to Indian Henry’s Hunting Ground, but perhaps he should assign someone else to escort her. She could even ride one of the guided horse tours from the National Park Inn. It seemed a shame for her to miss out just because he was swamped with other duties. Ford swiped a palm across his weary eyes. Who was he kidding? He wanted to see the delight on her face as she first set foot in the magical place.

  Ford jabbed at the typewriter keys, picking out one letter at a time. He glanced up at the window, sunshine illuminating the mountain’s white dome. He’d gotten an early start in the hopes of finishing this distasteful job today, but the morning beckoned. It would be a crime to spend the day cooped up indoors.

  A man keeps his promises. Ford glanced at the desk. Filing reports should be reserved for overcast days, of which this park had plenty. He swung his coat off the hook, jammed his arms in the sleeves, and hurried out before he had a chance to reconsider.

  A polished midnight blue automobile sat in front of the National Park Inn, its hood topped by a silver ornament shaped like a springing greyhound. Ford stopped to admire the auto’s lines, though why any man would drop hard-earned dollars on such a useless vehicle was beyond him. Even the tires were deluxe, the gleaming white rubber standing out against the dark ground. There’d be no way to keep them free of mud, especially here in the Northwest.

  He hurried past, aiming for the new Community Building by the campground. Jennings and Margie had spent the last few days organizing plant identification cards for a display at the Paradise ranger station.

  Jennings bent over the collection, fanned out across a long table. “Hey, boss. Checking up on me, or taking a new interest in the naturalist programs?”

  Ford picked up one of the colored note cards, studying the flattened flower sample. “I was wondering how Miss Lane was fitting in. Are you finding work to keep her busy?”

  A smile spread across the man’s face. “Ford, she’s a firecracker. She knows every plant and creature from here to Paradise. The visitors adore her.” He fiddled with his tie. “Frankly, I’m not sure why you need me.”

  “She’s here as a favor to Harry. You’re in charge of programs. Just fit her in where you can.”

  Margie appeared from the kitchen area, her arms filled with mounted plant samples. “Ranger Jennings, about this saxifrage.” She stopped midstep. “Oh, I didn’t know you were here, Ford—Ranger Brayden. I was just updating some of the displays. I found a few identification errors.”

  “More?” Jennings turned to Ford and shrugged. “As I said, she’s extremely knowledgeable.”

  “Book knowledge. But she’s a little short of practical experience.” Ford cleared his throat. “It’s time to fix that. I was planning on patrolling up to Indian Henry’s today. I’ve had reports of a bear harassing campers for handouts. I thought Margie might like to tag along.”

  Margie’s nose wrinkled. “Ranger Carson was feeding a black bear at the Longmire camp last night to entertain the children. He had it begging on hind legs. Quite degrading, if you ask me.”

  “He thinks it’s funny. But when they start knocking down tents, it stops being humorous.” He glanced at Jennings. “Do you mind working on your own for the rest of the day?”

  Jennings tipped his head, a twinkle lighting his green eyes. “Patrolling with the chief? Quite an honor, Miss Lane.”

  A prickle crept down Ford’s back. Was he so obvious? “Unless you’re busy.”

  She bit her lip, glancing down at the plant cards. “I probably shouldn’t leave all this work for Ranger Jennings.”

  “Go.” Jennings sighed and reached for the stack. “Someone should be out enjoying this fine weather.”

  Her brows drew together. “Why don’t you come along? We could get some new specimens to replace some of these aging ones.”

  “No, I want to get these up to Paradise. It’ll be a busy weekend.”

  Ford snapped him a quick nod. He liked Jennings, but this hike would be more pleasant with two. He held the door for Margie as they stepped out onto the porch. “Do you need anything before we go?”

  She glanced down at her skirt. “Perhaps I should change into my trousers and sturdier boots. And I’d like to get my journal.”

  “I’ll walk you to your cabin.” Ford kept his hat under his arm as they walked. “I suppose I should have given you more warning.”

  “I’m a little surprised. Surely you’d prefer to patrol with one of the men.”

  “Sometimes it’s nice to share things you love with someone new.” The words flew from his mouth before he could reel them back. I didn’t just say that. What a sap.

  A smile danced across Margie’s lips. “I know exactly what you mean.” She reached for the doorknob, her hair bouncing as she tossed her head. “I’ll be out in a twinkling.”

  A twinkling? He watched her disappear into the ramshackle cabin, unsettled by his flood of emotions. For years he’d preferred hiking alone, but now all he could think about was seeing Indian Henry’s through Margie’s eyes. What had changed? With her penchant for stopping, he’d probably be ready to hog-tie the woman and toss her over his shoulder by mile two. And yet he volunteered for this task.

  She’d bewitched him. That’s all there was to it. He scrubbed a hand across his face to hide any eagerness. No sense looking like a silly schoolboy.

  Minutes later, she popped back outside. “Shall we?” Hefting a massive knapsack, Margie resembled an explorer ready to head out on a major scientific expedition.

  He moved to take her pack. “This is a day hike, not an African safari. What do you have in there?”

  She pressed the bag to her chest, stepping out of his reach. “Just a few books. A pair of binoculars. That sort of thing. I can carry it.”

  With a shrug, he headed up the path leading to the National Park Inn, the muddy path squelching under his boots. “I’ll ask them to prepare us a box lunch. Since the trailhead is right across the road, we should be on our way in a few minutes.” An awkward silence followed. Shouldn’t she be prattling on about something? He glanced over his shoulder.

  Margie stood stock-still ten paces back, staring at the small parking area.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She pointed with a trembling finger. “How long has that vehicle been parked there?”

  H
e glanced at the automobile. “I noticed it on my way over. I’m not sure if the owner spent the night or arrived this morning. Does it matter?”

  Margie clutched at her load. “Not at all.” Her voice wavered. “On second thought, this pack is rather heavy. I think I will leave a few books and grab a muffler instead. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll meet you at the trailhead.” She edged back toward the cabin.

  “All right.” He watched her disappear into the cottage. Removing some of the weight from her sack was wise, but the change in her demeanor was unmistakable. Ford turned and studied the unusual vehicle. Perhaps he should figure out why.

  Margie’s thoughts scattered as she pressed her door closed and huddled in the dark cabin. Philip’s automobile was the last thing she’d expected to see this morning. She yanked open the pack and rifled through the supplies she’d stowed just moments before. If only she could step back in time a few minutes, just to be free of this wild fluttering in her chest. Having Ford show up at the Community Building had seemed an answer to prayer. Ever since the day at Rampart Ridge, she’d been hoping for an opportunity to talk to him about her faith.

  “Sometimes it’s nice to share things you love with someone new.” The truth of his words echoed in her ears.

  A whole day of hiking—the perfect time to tiptoe into the deep places of his heart and plant a few seeds of faith. After that? Her heart jumped. No, she couldn’t allow herself to go there. This was about the man’s soul, not his love life. And definitely not hers.

  She hadn’t planned on Philip Carmichael showing up uninvited.

  She angled the shutters up an inch, peering toward the parking area. She couldn’t let Philip cast a shadow of gloom over this day or chance him ruining their outing. Pulling the long red muffler from its hook, she wrapped the knitted garment twice around her neck, pulling it up over her chin. She exchanged the small toque for her cloche, drawing the felt hat down low over her eyes and ears. On this warm day, she might perish from heat exhaustion, but it was imperative she reach the trailhead unseen.

  Once Philip realized he wouldn’t find her at Longmire, he’d leave. Certainly he wouldn’t follow her into the woods—not in his Italian leather loafers.

  Margie dumped the books out onto the bed, limiting herself to one plant and one animal guide, her journal, flower press, and the binoculars. She wedged the items in next to her first-aid kit and extra sweater. Strapping the canteen over the top, she shouldered the knapsack and took a deep breath. She checked her bundled reflection in her tiny hand mirror, ensuring that only the tip of her nose peeped out between the hat and scarf. By skirting around the far side of the Inn, she could arrive at the meeting spot before anyone had a chance to interfere.

  After locking the door behind her, Margie scurried down the walkway, darting through the trees like a snowshoe hare. A hundred yards or so and she’d be under the protection of her beloved forest. She could hide in the sanctuary of its shadows until Ford arrived.

  Where did he say he had to go?

  She paused in her flight, heart pausing midbeat.

  The National Park Inn.

  Ford tucked the lunch into his pack, imagining a pleasant late-afternoon meal in the high meadows. Nothing worked up an appetite like hiking, and no one made a better sandwich than the chef at the Inn. Ford hoped Margie, accustomed to fancy restaurants, would still appreciate ham and cheese on bread, especially if the view provided the seasoning. He hoisted the pack onto his shoulder and turned to leave, sidestepping a well-dressed man in the lobby.

  “Ranger Brayden, such a pleasure to see you on this fine morning. I thought you’d be out wrestling mountain lions or some such heroic activity.”

  Philip Carmichael’s sly grin sent Ford’s stomach sliding south. The gaudy vehicle—of course. “Mr. Carmichael, I’m surprised to see you back at the park so soon. I guess Miss Lane’s presentation made a positive impression on you?”

  The man laughed as he straightened his tie. “You could say that. I had breakfast with your superintendent, and now I’m on my way up to Paradise to speak with Mr. Johansson and some others from the Rainier National Park Company.”

  Ford’s chest tightened. What sort of business did Carmichael have with Harry and Luke? “Sounds like a busy day.”

  Carmichael ran a gloved palm across his shirtfront. “A profitable day.” He glanced about the lobby. “I thought perhaps I’d ask Margaret if she wished to join us at the Paradise Inn. She seems to have such a fondness for the place.”

  Ford shoved the pack further behind his arm. “I’m afraid Miss Lane is indisposed today. She’s—she’s out on the trail.”

  “I should have guessed. Ever since she read Thoreau as a child, nature has been her siren song.” He shook his head, lines forming on either side of his mouth. “I once found her stripped to her shift, lying in a field of wildflowers. Now there’s an image one doesn’t soon forget.”

  “I can imagine.” Though he was really trying not to.

  “She quoted some nonsense about pondering the creation, but I realized the truth of the situation. Margaret is a flower—at heart, if nowhere else. Not one of these mountain weeds of course, but a rose destined to provide inexplicable beauty to the finest garden.” Carmichael’s gaze was unflinching. “And I intend for her to decorate mine.”

  Acid burned in Ford’s throat. “I believe her interests lie elsewhere.”

  Carmichael’s brows shot upward. “What would you know of her interests? Margaret and I have been close since we were children.” He stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them. “She’s developed a strange fixation on this place, but if it’s a mountain she wants, a mountain she shall have. I can certainly afford it.”

  A laugh burst from Ford’s chest. This man harbored grand delusions. “In case you’re unaware, the mountain isn’t for sale. National parks belong to everyone.”

  The businessman’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think.”

  Twenty minutes later, Margie strode down the path, the ferns catching at her legs as she brushed past. Why was Philip in Longmire? It had been bad enough seeing him at Paradise, but now he was practically on her doorstep.

  “Where’s the fire?” Ford’s voice trailed some distance behind her. “I didn’t realize you were this eager to get to Indian Henry’s.”

  She slowed, glancing back as the ranger’s long-legged stride brought him alongside in a matter of moments. It’s not like he’d been taxed by the pace. Ford’s easy grin melted the tension from her neck and shoulders. She needed to leave all her concerns about Philip behind. Ford had said nothing of encountering him at the Inn. Now with enough distance, perhaps she could pull this day away from the cliff-edge of disaster.

  Margie forced a smile. “No fire, but I don’t want to keep you out too long. I’m sure you have other work to do.”

  He buttoned his jacket as they walked side by side on the narrow trail. “Truth be told, I’m relieved to be away from the desk and those unending reports. It’s duller than watching moss grow on the trees. Writing them isn’t so bad, but I fear I’m all thumbs with a typewriter.”

  “The superintendent should provide you a secretary.”

  “We’re expected to do for ourselves up here.” He shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t suppose you type, do you?”

  She hoisted the pack a little higher. “I’m fair. Do you need help? I’d be happy to assist you.” If Philip was still lurking about Longmire upon her return, it might be best to stay out of sight, anyway. “In your office?”

  “Yes.” A smile spread across his features. “Are you certain? If we worked together, maybe I could get caught up.”

  She couldn’t resist studying his profile against the serene forest backdrop. Ford’s bearing had changed the moment they started hiking, as if he’d cast off every last burden at the trailhead. His steps seemed light, and a boyish sparkle lit his eyes. His broad shoulders appeared uncommonly loose and relaxed. She could almost imagine running her fingers over the
muscles of his arm, kneading away any remaining tension.

  Warmth flooded Margie’s veins. How he’d laugh if he knew her thoughts. No matter how her heart yearned, he was still her supervisor and was unlikely to view her other than as someone working for him. She touched her flushed cheeks. “You are taking time away to give me the grand tour, after all. The least I can do is type a few reports.”

  Margie focused on her feet just in time to manage a quick hop and skip over a greenish-yellow banana slug. She couldn’t bear to crush the innocent creature under her boot, but bumping into Ford’s arm had not been part of the plan.

  Ford reached to steady her, the warmth of his touch obvious through her sleeve—or perhaps that was just her imagination. Margie veered to her own side of the trail, no longer trusting her runaway thoughts.

  Ford cleared his throat, running the same hand over his jaw. “This outing is no sacrifice, trust me. I used to spend most of my time out in the woods. I never realized how much I’d miss it when I took over for Dad.”

  The place obviously teemed with memories. “You must live every day in his shadow.”

  “In some ways. Huge boots to fill.” He shoved his hat back and stared up at the forest canopy.

  “I believe you’re blazing your own trail. The men respect you. You must be doing a fine job.”

  “I’m younger and less experienced than many of the crew. Harry took a big chance promoting me like he did. I’d worked enough years, but served only one season as a district ranger.” He exhaled a long breath. “His decision was motivated by sentiment, and we all knew it.”

  Margie tucked her hand into her coat pocket, fighting the urge to take Ford’s arm. “I’ve sensed no animosity or jealousy toward you from anyone. I don’t believe they begrudge you your post.”

  “I hope you’re right. I’d hate anyone talking nepotism—not that I’d blame them.” He shrugged. “I almost turned down the job, but Harry convinced me that taking the position would ease the staff through the transition and their—their grief.” He grimaced, glancing down.