The Single Dad's Guarded Heart. Roz Denny Fox

she returned to the plane for a third box.

      The kids, still yakking up a storm, had progressed from the passenger side of the Arrow to its nose. A gangly boy with sandy red hair, freckles galore and lake-blue eyes said, “I’m Dean. Is it all right if Jo Beth goes with me to the tire swing my dad hung in our apple tree?”

      Marlee paused to take in the pair of eager faces. This was the most animated she’d seen Jo Beth since before Cole’s death. “Is it far?”

      “Nope. You can see our house from here.” The boy waved a hand toward a cabin visible beyond a forest of trees more diverse than the ones that grew in Whitepine. At a glance Marlee identified spruce, fir, larch, cedar and hemlock. Each emitted its unique scent—aromas Marlee had grown up with, but had forgotten. For too many years, she’d spent her days and nights at sea on the deck of a carrier where she smelled mostly jet fuel mixed with sweat.

      All the same, the old familiar sights and scents settled her jumpy stomach. Jumpy because she’d more than half believed Pappy Jack’s gossip surrounding the supposed disappearance of Wylie Ames’s wife, this outgoing little boy’s mother. But Dean Ames certainly seemed happy and well cared for.

      Marlee shot a surreptitious glance to where she’d left the grumpy father, only to discover he’d collected himself and hovered like a dark gloom over her shoulder.

      “Dean, these folks won’t be here that long. I just need to transfer these last two crates and check the paperwork, and they’ll be off.”

      “But, Dad, you made gumbo and baked bread. And you said we were having company for lunch.”

      Wylie cleared his throat. “I, ah, expected Mick.”

      “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Marlee said drily. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Mick’s sister, Marlee Stein. We spoke on the phone. Twice. I’m making deliveries because Mick had hip surgery on Tuesday. I’ll fly the route until he recovers.”

      Ames pushed mirrored sunglasses into his hair and frowned. “Is Mick okay? I’m sorry as heck. He’s had…what? Four or five operations?” A cloud of sympathy filled eyes Marlee expected to be almost black, but which were a dark gray that didn’t conceal emotions well. His concern for her brother spurred Marlee to loosen up a little.

      “We hope Mick’s new hip will mean his last hospital stay. I saw him yesterday before I picked up your parts. He came through the operation well enough be flirting with a pretty nurse.”

      Unexpectedly, Wylie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as Marlee’s words elicited a knowing masculine grin.

      “Before I forget,” she said, oddly feeling easier in his presence, “Don Morrison at the parts house mentioned that he wasn’t able to scare up everything you need. He said there’s no single supplier who stocks everything for your generator. He suggests you consider purchasing a newer model.”

      The big man slid the heaviest crate from the plane. “I’ll have to remind Don that the powers that be in D.C. seem to think forest rangers should be able to live totally off the land.” His grin flickered. “Third time they’ve cut Parks Department funds so they can give more to the military.”

      “You’re speaking to a very recently discharged navy flyer who cursed those same powers in Washington every time we had to scrounge for parts to keep our choppers aloft.”

      “If you bounced the navy’s aircraft around the way you did the Piper when you landed, I understand why they broke.”

      Gone was the fleeting goodwill she’d felt over his sympathy for Mick. “Look, buster, I assure you the navy regarded my flying skills very highly. I can fly anything with wings, I’ll have you know.”

      Wylie merely grunted, presumably under the weight of the box.

      Dean Ames, who’d stood patiently by while the adults traded insults, pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “Da…ad! Jo Beth and me could’ve gone to the swing and been back.”

      Wylie raised a black eyebrow as if deferring the decision to Marlee before he continued over to the other crates.

      “Oh, go on,” she said, removing the last item from the hold. “Jo Beth, I’ll call you when I’m ready to fire up the plane. It won’t be long,” she warned.

      Even before her last word was out, the kids had darted up the trail into a thick stand of timber. Straining, Marlee could see the ranger’s cabin…and a window box overflowing with colorful marigolds? A trailing vine awash in red blooms? She gawked, which slowed her progress and allowed Ames to catch her off guard when he pulled at the crate in her hands.

      “Hey, watch it,” she grumbled, trying to yank the box back. “Mick said part of our service is loading and unloading a customer’s freight. Which leaves said customer free to check the contents of a delivery,” she added pointedly.

      “Well and good, but you aren’t Mick.”

      “Ranger, I’m not a weakling,” she called after him. “A few months ago I was swooping into enemy territory and carrying shot-up soldiers to my chopper.”

      Wylie offered no response. After dropping his load at the end of the runway, he returned for the bill of lading she’d retrieved from the cockpit, then silently strode to the crates and sliced open the first one with a wicked-looking knife Marlee hadn’t seen; it had been strapped to his boot.

      She shuddered at the sight, but her attention quickly moved to the rippling of muscles beneath the ranger’s khaki shirt. Something about him reminded her of Navy SEALs she’d run into. A go-to-hell cockiness. Her gaze moved from his broad back to the tanned hands pawing through shredded paper. If indeed the man had Chinook blood as Mick claimed, Ames’s skin was probably the same smooth bronze all over. Marlee ran her tongue over dry lips as the simple image slammed desire into her stomach.

      She caught herself up short, feeling heat flood her cheeks. What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? For years she’d worked mostly with men, and she’d never fantasized about what they looked like under their shirts.

      Pushing aside her inappropriate thoughts, she joined Ames. “Does it all look okay? According to Morrison, a turbine you want should be in next week. The pump he wasn’t sure about. He said he’d call you, or us, when he tracks one down.”

      A short nod was the only response Marlee got. “Uh, since you don’t need me until you’re ready to sign the invoice, I’ll just walk up the trail and get my daughter.” She jerked a thumb in that direction, but then realized he wasn’t listening.

      Wylie felt her leave his space. He didn’t want to, but he stopped checking his order and watched her go. The scent of whatever fragrance she wore lingered. He sniffed, trying to identify it. He couldn’t. But it was something feminine. Nice. Compelling.

      He didn’t consider himself the total recluse he was rumored to be. After all, he got together three or four times a year with his fellow rangers and their families. Mainly to catch up on everything that happened in other sectors of the sprawling national park—but also to give Dean an opportunity to play with other kids.

      Wylie rarely looked twice at the women at those gatherings. Not even when one or another friend introduced him to a new, single female ranger. And there had been several who’d joined up since Shirl hightailed it. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall if any of them had worn such a tantalizing perfume. On second thought, he decided, he’d remember if they had.

      In the distance, he heard the woman, Marlee, call for her daughter. Muttering under his breath, Wylie dived into his task. He didn’t glance up again until the sound of feet shuffling through pine and fir needles on the trail interrupted him. Marlee Stein’s worried expression yanked Wylie right out of admiring the picture she made. “Something wrong?”

      “I found the tire swing. The kids aren’t there. I called for Jo Beth, but got no response. My daughter’s not used to being in the woods. She could easily get turned around.”

      “Dean