bout of oversentimentality. She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t you be worrying about me. I’m not going exploring. Just getting some shots for my portfolio.”
She took the sack and held it to her nose, catching the warm scent of the rosemary Mrs. Crain used in her pastry. “Mmm. Thanks, Mrs. C., but this won’t make it to my backpack. I’ll have to gobble it up while it’s hot.” She lifted her coffee in salute as she backed out the door of the little bakery.
“White beans and corn bread if you’re back in time for lunch,” Mrs. Crain called as the door closed.
Kyndal climbed in the Jeep that was still running and flipped the heater off. She’d just wanted to take the chill off the October morning, but the coffee coupled with the down vest and thermal top left her toasty.
She shrugged out of the vest as she pulled from the parking lot onto The Trace, the road which cut through the heart of the Land Between the Lakes. The sleepy little Tennessee burg of Dover was ideally located five miles east of the southern entrance to the LBL. What better location for a photographer than a two-hundred-and-sixty-square-mile stretch of government wildlife preserve almost literally at her back door? With Kentucky and Barkley Lakes as its western and eastern boundaries, the LBL was an outdoorsman’s paradise.
She munched on the free quiche as she debated whether or not to spend the five bucks to drive through the Elk and Bison Prairie. Twenty-three dollars was all she had left of this week’s budget, but that should be enough if Mom didn’t call again needing to borrow some.
Twenty miles into the LBL, she threw a kiss at the sign telling her she was in Kentucky. By the time she reached the entrance of the prairie, she’d convinced herself it was not only worth the price but a necessity. How many photographers east of the Mississippi got a chance to shoot elk—and the chance to visit with her favorite ranger—for the bargain price of five dollars?
Rick Warren’s tall form, silhouetted against the early morning sun, brought a smile to her lips. A former marine, he still had that military look: straight posture, broad squared shoulders, blond crew cut…and a gentleman in every way.
Jaci saw it as an omen her husband’s friend from college had taken a job in western Kentucky. She was convinced Rick and Kyndal were a perfect match and had been relentlessly trying to hook them up.
Not that Kyndal would mind a hook-up with the handsome ranger. Under the guise of photographer, she’d become a regular on the hikes he led—The Snake Crawl, The Night Prowl, The Eagle Watch—but it wasn’t until The Owl Outing two weeks ago that she’d been certain he was interested in her…or anything other than deer droppings.
As the only person to show up in the drizzle, she’d shared two hours alone with the hot, but very mannerly, ranger. The evening had been quite chaste, but she and Jaci held out hope. Rick Warren definitely had potential—if she could break through that reserved exterior.
Rick’s smile spread as she approached the guardhouse and rolled her window down. The cool air brought a rosy glow to his cheeks, lending him an additional boyish charm.
“Morning, Ms. Rawlings.” His strong drawl warmed her twice as fast as the coffee had.
“Morning, Ranger Rick.” She watched his dimples deepen at the nickname.
He glanced at his watch. “You’re out early on a Saturday morning.”
“Living in Dover doesn’t give much reason to be out late on Friday night.” She shrugged and gave an overly dramatic sigh. “Getting up early on Saturday’s not too difficult.”
“I know what you mean. In Camden, they roll the sidewalks up at nine.”
Kyndal laughed. “At least Camden’s got sidewalks.”
Rick wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times as his blue-green eyes held hers. “I hear Clarksville leaves its sidewalks out all night on Saturday. Maybe we should have dinner together and check it out.”
“Why, Ranger Rick.” Kyndal tilted her head in question. “That sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.”
“Well, it’s only a date if you accept. If you decline, it was a humiliating attempt at humor.” He coughed, an awkward little sound that sent white puffs of breath into the morning air, and the color of his cheeks intensified.
Kyndal squinted, trying to look serious. “You know, Rick. In spite of our mutual friends and all those hikes we’ve been on, I hardly know you. You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”