When the single snap turns into a shuffle, punctuated by a heavy panting, I rotate toward the sound and come face to face with an open-mouthed dog. My eyes widen as I take in this large German Shepherd. It stands tall, its muscular frame alert, eyes sharp and focused. It’s panting, heavily, its breath a disgusting mix of shit and mushy kibble, but its ears are perked and twitching. Every few pants, it hauls in his lolled-out tongue in favor of sniffing the air.
I don’t move. I can’t. My body locks in place, crippling my motivation to peace out.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I shift further around. The damn thing is off leash and wearing a?—
Is that a vest?
“Miss?”
In my peripheral, a man approaches, but I don’t take my eyes off this dog to glance at him. Pretty sure every sign I’ve seen about dogs in national parks has them required to be on a leash, and big ones like this, with a low rumbling growl doused in power—no thank you.
“I don’t do dogs!” I yell out, turning back to face the vast canyon and take another drag of my vape pen to help my thrumming pulse.
“Ma’am?” The man’s voice is authoritative, and I roll my eyes.
I ignore him. This man needs to leash his dog and move on.
Several seconds tick by with no response, and if it weren’t for the eerie silence opposed to the crunch of rock as the man moves on, I’d have stayed seated. Instead, I stand, blowing out another puff before turning to find a national park ranger staring at me.
He’s average height, although I’m fairly petite, so most men have a few inches on me. His muscular legs are wrapped in khaki cargo pants and a black fleece North Face is zipped up to his chin. A National Park Law Enforcement patch is on his jacket opposite the brand logo, and I wince when I spot it. When he barks out a command to the dog in another language, I glance at his face. He’s tan, the sun-warmed kind that comes from long hours outdoors, with abnormally smooth features. His dark hair is buzzed tight along the sides with the top left long enough to push a hand through. A sharp jawline frames and highlights the clean angles of his face, and those eyes … they’re a muddy brown, but rich and earthy, with flecks of amber that sparkle despite his scowling expression.
“I don’t do people either,” I state, reaching down for my backpack and water bottle. In a couple of steps, I move around him, but an arm extends in front of me and my entire world skids to a halt.
No, no. This isn’t happening. He?—
I glance at the trail, searching for someone, then take two steps back.
The ranger’s tawny eyes narrow at me. “Vaping is not allowed in national parks.”
My eyelids flutter as I exhale a sigh of relief. “Yeah, okay, buddy.”
I hate law enforcement. I couldn’t care less if he sings “Kumbaya” with the trees, is one with the rocks, or gets off having moss between his toes.
I move toward the path. Another three miles back to my car doesn’t sound appealing right at the moment. Not sure it matters, though. The damn dog lets out a snarl as I shuffle forward.
“You need to hand over the contraband.”
I snort, looking at the man. “Contraband?” There’s another growl from the mutt heeled at his side. “Muzzle your damn shepherd.”
He straightens, foot propped on a rock, but still, he rolls his shoulders. “He’s a Malinois. Not a German Shepherd.”
“Whatever,” I say, extending my vape pen—er, excuse me,contraband.
Mr. Ranger takes it, then rolls it between his thumb and pointer finger. It’s nothing special. Just your standard boring and black rechargeable I picked up in Utah of all places. The man’s thick eyebrows knit together while he studies it for a few seconds, then he returns it to me.
“Just don’t use this in the park. Consider this your verbal warning. Next time you could be subject to a fine.” He stares at me with his head tilted to the side. His eyes flick to the edge of the rock I was sitting on then down to the canyon below. “You all right up here?”
I internally groan and fiddle with my gold stud nose ring. That draws his attention, and he offers me a tight-lipped smile.
“I’m fine. Was just leaving.” I give him a quick sarcastic salute and almost miss the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth that brightens the light already in his eyes.
“Have a good night, Miss.” He gives another foreign command, and the dog springs to stand at his side, giving me a good look at the olive-green vest with the words POLICE K-9 stamped across it. Instinctively, I keep my eye on him, the dog that is, until I’ve moved around them both and am on the trail down to my car.
Mr. Ranger’s words about having a good night prompt me to pull out my cell phone and check the time. Damn. It’s almost 4:00 p.m.
I’m due at the diner at 6:30 p.m. for a short shift and I can’t be late. Mitch, my boss, originally didn’t have me scheduled for today, but Hannah called in saying her son was sick. I’ll take any extra hours I can get.
