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)
The gesture was so thoughtful it made my chest ache.
“Thanks,” I’d mumbled, wrapping my hands around the warmth.
He’d nodded curtly and gone back to checking his gear, his hands moving with calm competence.
It turned out Professional Foster was somehow even more devastating than the man who’d kissed me breathless under Hawaiian palms.
I got dressed as quickly as I could and made my way out into the lingering chill of the Montana morning, needing a Foster-less minute to get my brain engaged and my pulse under control.
Despite the early hour, the SERA campus was already buzzing with instructors and students moving with purpose—some heading to breakfast, others coming back from the gym, chatting with coffees outside their cabins, or practicing harnessing techniques on the helo pad before the day heated up.
On the far side of the facility was a neatly arranged grid of clean-lined, single-story buildings that housed the classrooms, offices, dining hall, equipment garages, and the main building. Beyond, hiking trails of varying difficulties led through the foothills onto Slingshot Mountain, where the snow-dusted mountain caps were pink-tinged in the morning light.
I sucked in a deep lungful of air and felt my shoulders sink down from my ears. There was something about the air here, or maybe the call of the birds, or the way the sky stretched out so big and vast, that was both comforting and inspiring. I felt settled… and also like anything was possible.
A much calmer Tommy Marian walked into the yard outside the main building an hour later and found thirty students gathered around Trace. As our leader explained today’s mission—the first rescue drill—they buzzed with nervous energy, all of them eager to learn, to impress, and to get out on the mountain.
“Alright, listen up,” Trace began. “Everyone should already know which team they’ve been assigned to and which instructor will be overseeing your team for this first rotation.”
Thirty heads nodded.
I caught Foster’s eye across the yard, and we shared an amused look at their eagerness before he remembered looking was unprofessional, or whatever the fuck, and resolutely looked away.
“You’ll be searching for a missing kayaker,” Trace continued, “who didn’t make it to their pickup point. Thirty-two-year-old blonde female, last seen at Hellgate Narrows near the Blacktail Overlook. She’s known to paddle a blue Pyranha Scorch with purple accents. That means this is possibly a swift-water rescue.” He nodded to Tevita, the instructor who specialized in swift-water rescues. “Group Four will be taking point on this, with the other teams providing support. Understood? Good. Everyone, gear up. You have ten minutes for prep and loading before we head to the river.”
My group immediately huddled together to discuss the best approach. “Okay, Group Two, what are we thinking for medical supplies?” I asked.
One of the group, a SAR drone operator from Maryland named Omar, frowned. “We’ve gotta port it all in, so do we wanna take a standard med kit? Or maybe pare it down a bit?”
Sierra Vaughn, an experienced EMT from Asheville, tugged open the flap of a large dry bag. “Opposite, I think. We don’t know what shape the kayaker will be in, so we have to assume the worst—blunt trauma, hypothermia, maybe even spinal involvement. I say we load up a hypowrap kit, airway adjuncts, and at least two thermal blankets.”
I nodded. “Sierra’s exactly right. Don’t count on routine when prepping for emergency response. The most important lesson in wilderness medicine: triple-check your supplies before leaving base. Once you’re out there, what you have is what you have.”
Cody, a high-mountain ranger from Rainier, nodded. “Been there. You gotta be resourceful.”
Omar flushed. “Shit. I should’ve known that.”
“Nah.” I nudged him lightly with my elbow. “If you were already an expert on everything, you wouldn’t be here. Wait until it’s time to work with drones, and you’ll find that some people on your team have the hand-eye coordination of a rhinoceros.” I mimicked moving a joystick in quick, jerky movements.
“That’ll be me.” Sierra sighed grimly. “He’s talking about me.”
Everyone laughed, and Omar brightened.
While the team finished loading up our gear, I couldn’t help glancing over at Foster and his team… because apparently, my eyes were magnets, and Foster Blake was one large, sexy, muscular metal filing. His students had jumped into action, too, pulling out radios and topo maps of the area and asking Foster for access to the person who’d reported the woman missing.
“Jasper Lloyd,” Foster said, calling out a name from his roster. One of his students snapped his head up in surprise. “You’re on point for nav once we hit the river. Just like we talked about yesterday, yeah?”
“Whoa, no.” Jasper shook his head. “I’m an EMT who relies heavily on the apps, if I’m being honest. No sense of direction. Let Kofi do it. He’s—”
“I asked you. And I trust you to do it.” Foster gave the man the full weight of his attention, and even from this distance, it made me shiver, remembering how it felt to be the center of his focus. “You’re here to learn SAR, right? You can’t search if you’re shit at nav, so let’s go.”