The Forest Ranger's Return. Leigh Bale

pay it again. He just wished he could have kept both his legs in the process. But Dal had long ago reconciled himself to the fact that life would never be the same. Not for him and Julie. Not ever again.

      * * *

      Julie stared at the tall man’s broad shoulders as he hopped across the stream and returned to the main road. Her breath stuttered as she watched him move as gracefully as a man with two solid legs. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she never would have believed Dal Savatch was an amputee.

      She never should have decided to jog in the grassy fields, but she’d wanted to see what kinds of vegetation grew along the creek bed. To see what kinds of fish swam in the stream. And to assess if the area was being overgrazed. As the new forest ranger, it was her job.

      She’d been concentrating on her task when she’d looked up at the road paralleling the creek and seen the most handsome man running toward her. Through the thick branches of willows, she’d caught glimpses of his rugged face. The blunt shape of his jaw. The determined lines carved around his mouth. The muscular torso and strong arms moving with his fast stride.

      Dal Savatch. The love of her life. Or, at least, that was what she’d thought when she was fifteen. Before her parents had been killed in a horrible car crash. Before she’d been yanked out of her home and slapped into foster care.

      When the vegetation had given way, she’d seen Dal’s legs. The curving prosthesis he wore where his left leg should have been. An amputee, running smooth and fast along a dirt road that even challenged Julie’s experienced stride.

      Before she could catch herself, she’d stepped in a hole and gone down. Road rash never hurt as much as it did when someone else witnessed your fall. Her shocked attention had been on the man, not the rough terrain in front of her. Now she felt like a fool. She had twisted her ankle hard and she blinked to clear the sudden tears of pain, highly aware of the man who’d crossed the stream and come to her rescue.

      Oh, Dal. What he must have suffered in losing his leg. It hurt her to see him like this. To think of the pain he must have gone through. She wasn’t surprised he’d overcome such adversity. Dal never was a quitter. Never gave up on anything he wanted.

      Never stopped writing or calling her, until she’d moved so often his letters could no longer find her.

      Julie groaned, conscious of the rings of sweat on her jogging shirt. Reaching up, she patted her damp hair and regretted not putting on any makeup that morning. Dal had just gotten a good look at her, but he didn’t recognize her. Didn’t remember the sweet kiss they’d shared on the front porch of her childhood home the very night her parents had died.

      Oh, well. Maybe it was for the best. At the age of thirty-five, Julie had long ago given up on marriage and family. She was what her last foster mom had called an old maid. But she couldn’t help that she loved her career and liked being alone.

      Most of the time.

      Having lost her parents, she’d decided not to regret what she’d never really known. And yet, there were times when she’d seen other women in the grocery store, pushing their kids around in shopping carts. Hugging their husbands. Their laughter ringing through the air. And then a pang of regret would rip through Julie’s heart, reminding her of what she’d never have for her very own.

      A family. Someone who loved and needed her. Someone who cared if she lived or died.

      She settled her back against the strong tree trunk and waited for Dal. The throbbing in her ankle had eased by the time the sound of an engine filled the air. She wrenched her head around. An old blue pickup truck rumbled down the dirt road, heading toward her. Dal sat in the driver’s seat wearing a battered cowboy hat. He looked her way, a worried frown tugging at his handsome mouth and brows.

      Worried for her?

      He pulled the truck over and stepped out. A graceful movement that left her impressed by his mastery of the prosthesis. An embarrassing reminder that she was the one needing his assistance, not the other way around.

      He rushed over to help her stand. Glancing up, her gaze locked with his. His features hadn’t changed much since they were kids, but he’d grown taller and filled out in the shoulders, chest and arms.

      As she stared into his hazel eyes, several pounding moments followed when he let down his guard. And in those few seconds, she read a lot in those brown-green depths. She saw the hurt he kept locked inside. The solemn sadness. The uncertainty. But no recognition. Then his eyes clouded over. A guarded look that told her he’d do the right thing no matter what, but he was scared.

      Of her.

      A foolish notion, surely. She was imagining things.

      As he helped her hobble over to the passenger side of his truck, she tried not to lean against his solid warmth. Tried not to add any extra burden to his missing leg.

      “I’m strong. You can lean on me.” He spoke low, his gentle tone encouraging her to trust him.

      She almost breathed a huge sigh of relief. For so long, she’d depended on no one but herself. She’d wanted to stay close to Dal, but with her orphaned status, her life had spiraled out of her control. Their separation was for the best.

      She should act normal around this anything-but-normal man. After all, she didn’t know him anymore. They were basically strangers. But in her mind, she couldn’t help thinking that she’d never met another man like him, with or without legs.

      Pulling the door open, he helped her inside and waited patiently while she snapped on her seat belt. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her arms.

      His gaze lowered to her ankle and his expression softened. “It doesn’t look too swollen.”

      “No, it’ll be fine.” And she knew the words were true. If Dal could recover from losing a leg, then she could surely survive a wrenched ankle.

      He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. The cab of the truck smelled of peppermint. An old vehicle with a leather bench seat. A classic truck that must be at least fifty years old. She couldn’t help wondering about his life and the man he’d become. Did he still like pistachio ice cream? Was he still a whiz at calculus? Was he married with kids of his own?

      She longed to ask, but didn’t dare. Guilt nibbled at her conscience for the anguish she must have caused when she’d stopped writing to him. It was better to forget.

      She watched with detached interest as he got in and started the engine. He shifted the gears and drove slow and steady over the dirt road leading into town.

      “Nice truck,” she said.

      “Thanks.”

      “What year?”

      “Nineteen-sixty. I rebuilt the engine myself. It’s therapeutic.”

      “I really appreciate your help,” she said, feeling out of place. Feeling as if she should remind him of who she was. But what good would that do? Chatting about a past she’d rather forget wouldn’t be much fun. Above all else, she didn’t want his pity. She just wanted to forget what she’d been through.

      “How long have you been running?” he asked, staring straight ahead as he used his right foot to press the gas and brake pedals, as needed.

      “Since I was fifteen, when my parents died and I went into foster care.” She hadn’t meant to give him such a big reminder. The words had just slipped out before she could call them back. But this disconcerting man had caught her off guard. She couldn’t help wondering if the clues would remind him of who she was. She didn’t want to talk about her life, a habit she’d acquired over the years to protect herself from being hurt again. With good reason.

      “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

      “How about you? When did you start running?”

      “I guess I’ve always been a runner,” he said. “First in high school when I played football and ran track, then as a marine.