Season, Unforgettable

Chapter One

The winter will ask what we did all summer.

Northern Minnesota

Present Day

A triangle of light slanted through the branches of the pines and hardwoods. Following a narrow path in the dense belly of the woods, Season set a slow pace, her hands clasping the camera hanging around her neck. One never knew when a scampering critter or even one of the native birds might provide the perfect photograph for her portfolio.

She'd die; well not truly die, but almost, to snap a Ruby-throated hummingbird in the middle of aerial dives. Although they nested in wooded areas on the margins of the forest, she'd be more likely to find one in Duna's massive wildflower garden or even his crabapple orchard. She reminded herself small birds weren't on her priority list today but birds of prey were, specifically the bald eagle.

For years, she'd watched the white-headed predator soar above the tree line. 'He's headed for the tall swamp grass along the banks of the lake,' her grandfather would say. 'Off to make a nest of sticks at the top of a tree with his mate.' Her knowledge of the land surrounding their cottage could fit into a thimble compared to Duna's. He wasn't learned, not in a bookish way. In fact, she doubted he went beyond the eighth grade in school. Didn't matter; he was still the smartest man she knew. Her grandfather's understanding of God's universe had been passed down for generations from his Romani ancestors—nomads, whose very survival depended on constant awareness of the terrain and the creatures inhabiting it. This included man.

In the stillness of the forest, she often thought about her parents. For five years after the plane crash, she cursed God for ripping two vibrant loved ones from her young life. But sometime in the last five, Duna had convinced her to count her blessings, be thankful for every breath, every day. Romani people believed one should live their life as if today was their last. 'Tomorrow is not promised to any of us, gehl,' Duna often said and followed it up with, 'There is only this moment.' And so, she had tried to live every day as if it was her last. Somewhere between age fifteen and twenty, she'd come to terms with their untimely deaths, and her suffocating anger.

First, the birds went silent and then the bushes rustled to her right. A guttural growl sent raw fear pedaling through her veins. Had she flushed out a bear, worse, a mama bear protecting her cub? Her hands went to the straps around her neck, a foolish instinct that overrode the alarm bells roaring in her head. She slipped the camera over her shoulder, her hands shaking like leaves caught up in an eddy. When the scrub brush parted, a mountain lion strolled onto the trail. The alarm bells morphed into paralyzing fear. Holy crap, what is a mountain lion doing in this neck of the woods?

Gold-flecked eyes met green. With their gazes locked, both assessing the beast before them, an infinity of time passed. Should she retreat or remain as still as the oak trees surrounding her? The cat made the first move. He sniffed the air as if trying to identify her scent, his front paws digging into the forest floor beneath him. She'd never outrun him and climbing a tree would be suicide. Cats could skim tree bark faster than a scalded ghost could disappear. She retreated and forgot about the sturdy branch she hopped over moments ago. Her heel slipped on the wet birch bark, knocking her legs out from under her. Hitting the ground with a solid thud, she clutched her abdomen and gasped for precious air.

Her mother's face rose behind her closed eyes. Oh, shit, have you come to welcome me? This can't be happening…Dear God, don't let it be happening.

A hoarse whisper over her shoulder broke through her heartfelt pleadings. "Don't move. Not. One. Muscle."

The stranger jumped over her head, the taut muscles of his naked back and broad shoulders blocking her line of vision to the phantom of death. He held a long, sturdy bough in his hand, clasping it in the middle with both hands. Between his stance and his confidence, she almost believed he could do some serious damage should the beast decide to lunge. Oh, how she wanted to believe it.

Another element leaped into the scene in a blur of unbridled speed and motion. She released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding when the cat's long tail disappeared into a thicket of dense bracken with the monstrous canine in hot pursuit.

Her savior turned to face her. "Are you all right?"

Patting down her legs and torso, the words stuck in her throat. "I-I think so." When her hands moved to her neck, she remembered her camera and scanned the ground around her. "My cam—"

"Shattered, I'm afraid." He nodded to the left. "Looks like it hit that thick branch when you fell."

"Crap. I saved for a year to buy it."

He extended a hand. "Here, let's see if any part of you is shattered."

With a moan and a grunt, she pulled herself up. And then drank in his beauty, like Hollywood leading actor beauty. A head taller than her, his dark hair glistened beneath a shaft of sunlight. His eyes were blue, dark midnight blue, the same shade as the cotton shirt tied around his waist. His mouth was generous, his lips full and sensual. Below that kissable mouth, a scruffy stubble shadowed his chiseled jaw.

After scanning her top to bottom, he cocked his head to the side. "Well, what do you think?"

Oh, God, how long had she been gawking at him? He'd asked her a question after easing her to her feet. Something about broken. No shattered, he wanted to know if anything besides the camera was shattered when she fell. "Nothing broken. I'm fine, thank you."

His smile dazzled her. "You're welcome."

A dog barked in the distance. "Is that your dog?"

"Yes, Rook. Good thing I brought him along today."

"Do you think he's all right?"

"Oh, yeah, he's fine. He's got that mountain lion treed, won't come back until I whistle for him."

Still rattled, she put a hand to her forehead and took in her surroundings. "But…how-how did you find—?"

"Rook must have picked up the cat's scent. He took off on a dead run and when he didn't return, I decided to check it out." This time his smile creased the corners of his eyes. "I'm glad I, that is, we, found you."

"Yeah, me too."

"So it goes without saying you were out here taking pictures. You a photographer?"

"One day, I hope. Right now, a student at the local college." She looked over his shoulder in the direction of the persistent barking. "Must have crossed over from the Badlands."

A quizzical expression crossed his face.

"The mountain lion. I've never seen one in the woods before, but the DNR said they'd tracked one in Minnesota last year…a young male passing through on his way to Canada."

"You live nearby then?"

"Yes." She tipped her head backwards. "Duna, my grandfather, and I, live about a mile in that direction." Her breathing had finally returned to normal, enough to emit a chuckle. "You're standing on Scrimshaw land, sir."

"Rann Brogan, please call me Rann. I think we should be on a first name basis after that, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, I do." She shivered and then plucked her broken camera from the ground. "I think it's fair to say I might not be standing on Scrimshaw land if you and Rook hadn't come along." She turned to leave, calling out over her shoulder. "Thank you, Rann Brogan."

"Hey, wait!"

Pivoting around, she faced him again.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"Season."

"Season? You're named after a season? Okay, let me guess." With his thumb and forefinger rubbing the stubble on his chin, he squinted. "Let me see; not Autumn. You don't look like an Autumn. I'm going to guess Wynter, and that's with a y instead of an i."

"Wrong on both counts."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Already did. My name is Season Scrimshaw."

Clutching the busted-beyond-repair camera in her hand, she turned from him and broke into a jog. She wanted confirmation her bones weren't broken and…she had to get away from that sinfully gorgeous man. What was he doing in their woods and half-naked no less? She didn't get her pictures and she almost got killed by a mountain lion. Until a man came out of nowhere and saved her life. There had to be a reason for her mucked up day. Or an omen. Yes, she was right to want to get away from him. Duna always said, 'Be careful, child. Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you.'

Halfway home, the sunlit expanse of the open meadow loomed. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes narrowed and focused like lasers. What in hell? A tripod, land markers and surveying rods? Rage surged up her chest. Her guardian angel didn't just happen to be trekking through the woods with his dog. He was surveying their land. Why? Who did he work for, and why hadn't he told her?

For a brief moment, she thought about tipping over his tripod and tossing his markers into the woods. Waging a battle between right and wrong, anger and gratitude, she kicked the dirt and picked up her pace again. Her Greek god of the forest would soon find out the land wasn't for sale, not for any price this side of heaven.