Page 20 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
“SERA up in Legacy, Montana, just lost their Search and Rescue director. They’ve requested you as a temporary instructor for this summer’s cohort. It’s an eight-week intensive starting this weekend.”
SERA, Slingshot Emergency Rescue Academy, was one of the world’s best wilderness emergency training programs. The academy offered courses in SAR, wilderness medicine, aerial insertion and extraction, wildfire management, swift-water rescue, along with any other kind of outdoor emergency response you could think of that wasn’t ocean-based.
The man who ran the academy, Trace Bishop, was a legend in tracking, someone I’d once worked with on a complex search and rescue op in the Tetons.
Still, I hesitated. “What happened to Desi Warren? She’s been running SAR at SERA since it started several years ago. She okay?”
The captain sighed. “I personally am not a fan of marriage, but apparently, she feels differently. Married another SERA instructor. The guy’s family is in Chile, so she’s got a job lined up in Patagonia, starting immediately,” Reynolds continued. “Which left SERA down two instructors. They want you to fill her spot to give them time to find a permanent replacement.”
My heart leapt a little at the chance to work with Trace again, even for a little while. He was the best SAR guy I knew, and his program was top-notch.
The chance to work at SERA was a dream come true, even ifit was temporary. Hell,especiallybecause it was temporary since there was no way I could leave Majestic permanently.
“I’d have to find someone to run the sheriff’s office during our busy season,” I said, allowing reality to deflate the dream for a moment.
She scoffed. “If only you had contacts in Wyoming law enforcement. Jesus, Sheriff. Do you want it or not? I told Trace I’d help him find someone, and you were his first choice, but I’ve got fifteen people begging me for a shot at this if you’re not interested.”
I debated quickly. Two months away from Majestic meant eight weeks of my mother unable to set me up with every available man in the county. Eight weeks of new challenges and exciting work instead of writing up speeding tickets for all the vehicles coming out of Yellowstone and brooding over a stranger I’d spent a few hours with six months ago. There wasn’t much to debate.
“Count me in,” I said before I could overthink it. “Send me the details.”
When I got back to the office, my lead deputy was already there, filling out the rescue paperwork. I settled in across from Hanson and grabbed my half of the forms.
“Reynolds called,” I said. “They need me up at SERA for the summer.”
Hanson looked up, eyebrows raised. “SERA? No shit? That program’s amazing. Maybe this is what you need. Get out of town for a bit, stop throwing darts at Doctor Dreamboat.”
I ignored him. “You’re in charge while I’m gone. I’ll get you some more help, but try not to let the town burn down.”
“No promises.” He grinned. “When do you leave?”
“Friday.” I glanced at the calendar. Two days to get ready.
“Taking the pup?” he asked, nodding down at the lanky dog currently sprawled out on her back with her paws curled in the air. The hiker we’d rescued had school-age boys who’d run her around at the trailhead, resulting in a rare moment of napping hound right now.
I sighed. “Yeah, good practice for her.” And good company for me, even though I knew she’d be a handful.
That night at my cabin, I went through my usual routine—dinner alone, training with Chick in the yard, a beer while finishing up a few reports. The evening was warm enough that we stayed outside longer than usual, with Chickie chasing fireflies in the growing twilight.
“Come on, goofball,” I finally called. “Time to go in.”
Chickie bounded up the porch steps, all gangly legs and wagging tail, then stopped to shake vigorously, sending dirt and grass flying everywhere.
“Thanks for that,” I muttered but couldn’t help smiling as I ruffled her ears. For all her chaos, she was alright. I’d gotten her as a puppy despite knowing better, and she was just as all over the place as I’d imagined. It was going to take forever to train her up right.
Yet another thing to blame Tommy Marian for.
Inside, I opened the fridge to grab a beer and frowned at the meager contents. Maybe SERA’s dining hall would offer me a chance to escape my usual slim pickings.
When I went to grab a clean shirt for tomorrow, my hands froze over the dresser.
I’d started calling the second drawer from the top the “T-shirt Drawer of Shame” in my head because it held the one thing I should have thrown away months ago—the T-shirt Tommy had given me that night in Hawaii.
I stood there, fingers twitching, knowing I should just shut the drawer and go to bed. Instead, I pulled it out, ran my thumb over the soft, worn fabric.
The memories hit me like physical blows. Tommy’s smile as he’d handed it to me. Waking up to his note and the bourbon he’d sent to my room. Finding him in the hotel lobby with a fucking fiancée and a hundred pairs of eyes staring at me. The regret and confusion on his face when I’d walked out of his life for good. My desperate rush to leave Hawaii immediately so I could start to forget everything about Dr. Thomas Marian. And all the nights since, whether in the shower or sprawled naked on my bed with my cock in my hand, when remembering Tommy was the only fucking thing that brought me any relief.
I shoved the shirt back in the drawer and slammed it shut. Chickie whined from her bed in the corner, sensing my mood shift.
