Falling for the Forest Ranger. Leigh Bale

liner and shadow. Her pale skin showed a healthy glow, her high cheekbones dusted with a hint of blush.

      Gary Drummond, the watershed specialist sitting next to Tanner, whistled low beneath his breath. “That’s the new marine biologist? I think I’m gonna like her.”

      “Yeah, me, too,” agreed Ron Parker, one of Tanner’s fishery biologists.

      Both men were married, but you didn’t have to be single to appreciate an attractive woman. Tanner admitted silently to himself they were both right. What a looker!

      As she shook the forest supervisor’s hand and smiled, Tanner remembered the color of her eyes. A vivid shade of blue.

      Tanner tried to imagine this feminine woman dressed in hip waders, toddling out into the middle of a stream to take water samples. How could she be the new marine biologist? Where did she think the fish lived? In a high-rise office building?

      Not likely.

      Right now, Tanner was afraid to breathe too deeply for fear of soiling her pristine business suit. All the other marine biologists he’d ever met before wore blue jeans, tennis shoes or boots, a plain shirt they didn’t care about getting dirty and not a hint of makeup, much less a carefully styled hairdo. Of course, he’d never worked with a female marine biologist before.

      Until today.

      A series of business meetings that morning might account for her professional attire. But why would the National Marine Fisheries Service send this little scrap of lace to the wilds of Idaho to work? Tanner wondered if she even knew how to swim, much less how to help solve their fishery problems. He wasn’t about to play nursemaid to a marine biologist who might be afraid of rumpling her silk blouse.

      “Hey, everyone. This is Zoë Lawton.” Chuck Daniels, the forest supervisor and Tanner’s boss, smiled expectantly as he made the introductions.

      “Hi, there,” Gary called with a wave of his hand.

      “Glad to meet you.” Ron grinned like a fool.

      Tanner just nodded, biting his tongue to keep from speaking. He didn’t trust his voice right now. Instead, he mechanically stood and held out his hand, highly conscious of her soft, manicured fingers as they tightened around his...and the moment she met his gaze and recognized him, too.

      “Oh!” she said.

      Just Oh! Nothing more.

      “Do you two know each other?” Chuck asked, glancing between them.

      Tanner spoke up fast. “No, we don’t.”

      Zoë. Even her name sounded exotic. And too fragile to be traipsing around the untamed Idaho river systems. Her name suited her. Sweet and feminine. But those weren’t the traits she’d need once he took her up on the mountain to view the various creeks and streams connecting to Bingham River. Tanner wasn’t certain, but he figured if a bear attacked her, she could use one of her spiked heels as a weapon. That was just about the only useful, practical aspect he could spot in her outfit.

      “But we’ve met before.” Zoë withdrew her hand and gave him an uncertain smile. “I’m sorry again for what happened. I haven’t heard from you, so I guess you haven’t changed your mind about letting me pay for the damage.”

      “That’s right.” He turned and moved around the room, taking a seat on the opposite side of the wide oak table.

      She smelled even better than she looked. Like bottled springtime.

      As the Fisheries and Wildlife staff officer, Tanner had been assigned the task of giving this woman a tour of Bingham River and its tributaries. Which would take all summer long. He had to cooperate with her in any way he could.

      What rotten luck.

      “Why don’t we get started?” Tanner glanced at Ron, trying not to sound irritable. The fact that Ron gave him a worried look told Tanner that he’d failed in that endeavor.

      “Right.” Ron grabbed the overhead clicker. With a punch of his finger, he brought up the first slide to the PowerPoint presentation he’d been asked to prepare. A brief overview of the Steelhead National Forest and the fishery problems they were dealing with.

      “Will you get the lights, Chuck?” Tanner called over his shoulder.

      A click sounded and the room went dim. Tanner focused on the screen at the front of the table, glad to have an excuse to take his eyes off Zoë.

      The first slide showed a brilliant picture of Bingham River, the rushing waters bordered by willows, sedges and Kentucky bluegrass.

      With each slide, Ron narrated in an overly loud voice. “The elevations of Bingham River range from nine hundred to over five thousand feet. The river and its tributaries are home to numerous animal species, but our focus today will be on the steelhead, bull trout and Chinook salmon. All these fish are on the endangered-species list.”

      “Don’t you have a serious problem with the sockeye, too?” Zoë asked.

      Ron’s expression wilted along with his confidence. “Um, yes, and sockeye, too. But the only population of sockeye is located at Redfish Lake in the upper Salmon River basin.”

      “Yes, I’d heard that. But I’m hoping we can work on introducing them to the Bingham River arena.”

      Tanner interceded, trying not to sound defensive. “We’re already working on that. In fact, Ron’s done some great work with the Sawtooth Hatchery to help establish the sockeye in Bingham River by using Clear Lake at its head.”

      Ron showed a broad smile of gratitude for the praise.

      “I see. And how many hatcheries do you have?” Zoë asked.

      “There are twenty-one salmon and steelhead hatcheries owned or operated by the Service.”

      The Service was short for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

      “Okay, good. Thank you.” Zoë turned her serene gaze back to the screen, not seeming ruffled in the least. In fact, she seemed genuinely interested in what they were saying.

      And that’s when Tanner had an inkling that she wasn’t here as some sort of practical joke. She was just doing her job. He’d seen her résumé, which indicated an educated, qualified professional. Maybe he should reserve judgment until he saw what she was capable of.

      A picture of Grand Coulee Dam flashed across the screen. A monolith of concrete and steel, the dam stood 550 feet tall. “Large hydroelectric dams and floodgates along the Columbia River have completely blocked the water, so fish can’t swim upstream to spawn.”

      The biologist brought up another slide of the now-abandoned Moses Mine, located ninety miles outside of town. “Tailings from copper mines have poisoned the creeks. It’s taken thousands of dollars and decades of work to clean up the mess, and we still don’t have it cleaned up. Every time we have another flooding rain, it just brings the poisons back into the creekbeds.”

      Ron pressed the button again. Another slide of dozens of salmon lying dead across a local farmer’s potato field appeared. “Water diversion for irrigation causes numerous problems. Without screens, fish get lost and bypass the canal, ending up in irrigation ditches with nowhere to go. Irrigation usage lowers the water level in creeks, so fish can’t swim upstream. With less water, the temperature increases to critical levels. Pollutants become more concentrated. All these things kill off fish fry and smolt by the thousands.”

      Zoë shook her head, her lips pursed in disgust.

      A slide showing a barren mountain once populated by tall ponderosa pine flickered overhead and Ron continued his dialogue. “Many logging operations have been allowed to overharvest trees in some areas, causing massive erosion into the streams.”

      Ron’s last slide showed several red Angus cows standing in the middle of a stream while their owner sat on his horse on the edge of the bank and looked on. “Ranchers allow their cattle to roam freely