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“Try a new hobby, they said. It’ll be fun, they said,” Bucky grumbles as his campfire hisses each time a raindrop hits the hot logs.
It’s a demoralizing morning, gloomy and chilly after a miserable night spent huddling alone in his two-person tent as a deluge engulfed the campsite. Alpine, his two-year-old white cat, doesn’t count as a second person, but she made her presence known by digging her claws into his chest as she kneaded his t-shirt trying to get comfortable. She doesn’t normally sleep on his chest, but she refused to stay on the tent floor the night before as a quarter inch of water soaked everything that wasn’t elevated.
After a few hours of wet, cold, clammy sleep, all Bucky wants is a hot cup of coffee and something to stop the ache of hunger in his empty stomach. At first, he tried his camp stove since he assumed the firewood he’d purchased the day before would be wet, but he’d forgotten to get a propane replacement in his flurry to pack and head to the state park where he’d spent so many happy days with his family during childhood. This experience is nothing like those halcyon, sun-filled days with his parents and sister. Apparently, he’s forgotten all the lessons he learned about roughing it in the two decades since he’s been here. Besides, Alpine isn’t much help setting up a tent.
He's just about to set the kettle on the grill he placed over the fire when the logs shift and fall. When they do, the grill falls into the pit and sends up a plume of sparks that scares the crap out of him. Alpine yowls as a burning ember lands on her fur, and he drops the kettle on his foot as he rushes to make sure she’s not hurt. Cursing loudly, Bucky clutches a squirming Alpine to his chest. He’ll have to treat the scratches she gives him until she calms and growls at him as she curls into the crook of his arm.
“Morning! Looks like you’re having a time of it.”
Jumping at the sound of the cheerful greeting, Bucky whirls and trips over the foot of the picnic table provided by the campground. As he tries to maintain his balance, he smacks his hip against the edge of the table and bites his bottom lip. The only reason he doesn’t fall directly on his face—and Alpine—is because massive hands grab and steady him. Blinking as he looks up, Bucky stares into the eyes of a bear of a man—one with sparkling blue eyes, a full beard, and the broadest shoulders Bucky’s ever seen.
“Easy there. Don’t want to hurt yourself or your furry little friend.”
To Bucky’s disbelief, hunky park ranger Steve—at least according to his nametag—completely ignores Alpine’s feral hissing and scratches her under the chin before flashing a wide smile at Bucky. When he steps back, Bucky finally gets a look at his entire length—all long legs, lean torso, and tiny waist that make Steve look like a triangle. Gulping at the sight, Bucky grabs Alpine’s leash, clips it onto her collar, and lets her jump to the ground. With another series of growling hisses, she hides under the picnic table as far away from Bucky as possible.
“Th-thanks,” he gulps and immediately regrets being born. He’s 33 years old. He should be able to speak to a stranger, even one as stunning as Steve.
“No problem. Just checking on all the campers this morning. How’d you weather the storm last night?”
“Pun intended?” Bucky asks since that’s the only thing he can think of that doesn’t sound like he’s whining. He’s rewarded with a laugh that warms him to his toes.
Shaking his head, Ranger Steve grins, and it’s a beautiful sight. “No pun intended, but I like your sense of humor. Plenty of other people have been pretty grumpy after spending the night in a soggy tent.”
“Can’t really say that I blame them.”
“No, I can’t really either, but I hate for anyone to have a bad impression of this place. It’s one of the most peaceful, beautiful places in New York. Shame if anyone missed it because of a storm.”
“Right. Yes. Totally agree,” Bucky rushes to respond, even though he’s been seriously considering pulling the plug and packing up the car since the middle of last night. He fully intended to stay for five days when he arrived, but it’s been a miserable start to his stay. Somehow, though, Ranger Steve’s visit this morning has thrown a wrench in his plans to ditch the trip and head back to the city.
As if reading his mind, Ranger Steve asks, “How long are you staying with us? I hope long enough to get dry. Being wet isn’t much fun.”
Without thinking, Bucky blurts, “Better than the alternative. Dry means chafing. Oh, God…”
Flushing deeply, Bucky tries not to sink into the muddy earth beneath his feet. He did not just tell the most gorgeous human he’s seen in ages—a perfect stranger—that he enjoys being lubed. Except, he’s sure he did. Because Ranger Steve’s face is a perfect mask of shock, amusement, and…is that interest?
“Fair,” he finally sputters after barking a laugh that echoes through the entire campground. “That’s completely fair. Dry can be…problematic. Not that I usually tell people about it, but you know. I always keep lotion on hand.”
Bucky’s eyes widen, and he inadvertently takes a step forward. Giving Bucky an overt look from head to foot, Ranger Steve offers a smile that lights up the gloomy morning and flips Bucky’s stomach. Pulling out a pad, Ranger Steve jots something on a piece of paper and hands it to Bucky. It’s a name and phone number—Steve Rogers, which Bucky assumes is Ranger Steve’s last name.
“It’s nice to meet you, uh…”
“Bucky! My name is Bucky,” he sputters and holds out a hand to shake.
Steve’s palm engulfs his, and a jolt of electricity shudders through Bucky’s chilled, aching body. He can’t wait to get back to his big, fluffy bed in Brooklyn, but he’d also really like to have someone join him there.
“Bucky,” Steve repeats as if he’s reading Bucky’s mind. “It’s great to meet you, Bucky. I’m giving a talk tonight around 7:30. If you’re interested in local flora and fauna, you should come. Afterward, I like to sit around a campfire. Drink a beer. Have a good conversation…or something.”
Swallowing hard, Bucky nods slowly because it’s as obvious as it is day what Steve’s “something” is. If Bucky wants a shot with this hunk, he has it tonight.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll be there,” Bucky says softly. “I like fire, beer, conversation, and…things.”
Smiling widely, Steve raises his hand as he backs away from Bucky’s campsite. “Looking forward to it, Bucky. You might want to leave your cat here. Wouldn’t want to get distracted during our time together.”
“Right, yes. Of course.”
At that, Steve turns and heads to another campsite to greet the guests there. When he turns, Bucky gets a look at the most perfectly rounded ass he’s ever seen. Groaning at the thought of getting his hands on it, Bucky turns back to his fire. Somehow, the misery of the past twelve hours doesn’t matter at all. Instead, he’s only got about ten hours until he gets to spend some time alone with Steve, and that’s worth every sleepless, wet, hard night Bucky can imagine.