Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Nothing.” Heat crept up my neck. “Just thinking through medical scenarios.”
Something flickered in his eyes—heat, awareness, maybe even concern. “Mm.”
I shifted in my seat, grateful for the noise of the bus engine covering our conversation. “Can we…”
He lowered his eyebrows and leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “What do you need?”
His kindness and concern washed over me. For a split second, I wondered what it would have been like if Kari had asked me the same question in Hawaii when I’d expressed my confusion and anxiety over the wedding. I got the feeling Foster would help me in any way I needed.
Any way, that is, except giving me a real chance at something more than a summer fling.
“To go back to the way things were,” I said, almost silently. “I’m sorry I fucked it up.”
Foster leaned back and met my eyes. “Not sure that’s what you really want.”
“It is,” I said quickly before inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “It’s not. But it’s our only option.”
That was a lie, of course. I believed if two people wanted it badly enough, they could find a way to make it happen. I’d heard many stories of my uncles doing it when they’d found someone worth fighting for.
But I also knew Foster and I had only been… whatever it was… for a couple of weeks. Expecting him to even consider changing his life for me—or mine for him—was absurd.
He studied me for a moment. “You sure?”
I took a breath and forced a grin. “Yes, please.”
He rolled his eyes and nodded before turning back to answer a student’s question, but I caught the way his gaze lingered on my mouth for just a second too long in the process.
We were so fucked.
The training exercise was supposed to be straightforward—a multi-team rescue scenario involving a hiker who’d fallen down a soft shoulder into rocks and trees, sustaining multiple injuries. SAR would locate and access the victim, medical would provide treatment and stabilization, and swift-water would handle extraction across a creek that had been swollen by recent rains.
What we hadn’t counted on was just how much more challenging Mother Nature would make it for our students.
The first rumble of thunder came just as Foster’s team had established a route up the embankment for the patient. I glanced up at the sky, noting the way the clouds had darkened from gray to an ominous green-black.
“How long do we have?” I called to Trace, who was monitoring weather reports on his radio. Had these been untrained amateurs in a beginner course, we would have aborted the drill at the first sign of bad weather, but in this case, with advanced students, drilling in real-world weather challenges was a gift we couldn’t have asked for.
“Maybe twenty minutes before it hits,” he replied, frowning at the device. “Lightning risk is high. Foster’s team needs to—”
The SAR lead on Foster’s team opened her mouth when Foster shouted, “I’m calling a halt for all nonessential personnel. Take emergency cover now!”
His words were punctuated by a flash of lightning that seemed to split the sky in half, followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it made everyone duck.
“Shelter!” Trace bellowed. “Everyone to the overhang, and I mean everyone!”
The next few minutes were controlled chaos as thirty-plus people scrambled toward a stone ledge jutting out of the mountain about a hundred yards away and the small cave nestled beneath it. The first fat raindrops were already spattering the ground as we reached the designated shelter—a cramped space meant to hold maybe fifteen people in an emergency.
“This is cozy,” Cody muttered as we all pressed inside.
He wasn’t wrong. The cave had a reinforced entrance, which was why the SAR team had selected it as our emergency shelter. Unfortunately, with our entire group crammed inside, there was barely room to breathe. I found myself wedged against the far wall with Foster pressed against my side, his warmth seeping through my shirt.
“Everyone accounted for?” Foster called, doing a quick headcount across the stack of various backpacks and equipment scattered on the floor in the middle of the circle.
“All here,” Foster’s team lead called from near the cave entrance. “Weather’s expected to clear in sixty to ninety.”
An hour or two. In a space the size of a walk-in closet. With Foster’s thigh pressed against mine and the scent of pine, sweat, and whatever soap he used fogging up my brain.
This was either going to be the best hour of my life or the longest slow burn of all time.
Lightning cracked overhead, followed instantly by a boom so loud the cave floor trembled beneath us. A few of the younger students flinched, and I saw Foster shift into calming mode without missing a beat.
“It’s just noise,” he said gently to a woman from Oregon who’d gone pale. “Stone and earth are your best friends in a storm. This cave’s solid. We’re safe.”