I shifted on the couch, adjusting to find an angle that wouldn't make my leg scream at me. Three hours of no sleep, three hours of absolute unrest. The same images keep playing in my head: Tent Yabood, the ridiculously s*xy park ranger who had stomped into my life and seemed to refuse to leave my brain.

And when exhaustion finally did drag me under, dreams leapt at my mind, real and vibrant: I ran across a forest floor, the sting of pine biting my nostrils. It smelled like home. I hadn't been into woods since Mom and Dad had died. But most of all, the compulsion to chase, to...