Page 24 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

Heat crept up my neck. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I said, based on his medical history and current medications, where would you expect to find him?”

I forced myself to focus on the papers in front of me, but I remained acutely aware of Foster’s presence across the field. The confident way he moved, the respect his students showed him, the occasional burst of laughter from his team that made me want to be part of their inner circle.

Concentrate, Marian.

“Okay,” I said, studying the medication list again. “Diabetic, recently post-surgical, probably in pain, and possibly not thinking clearly. He’s going to seek shelter somewhere comfortable—not necessarily the most logical hiding spot, but somewhere that feels safe.”

“Like where?” Cody asked.

I thought about it, remembering my own experiences with post-surgical patients. “Somewhere enclosed but not claustrophobic. Somewhere he can sit or lie down comfortably. Maybe somewhere that reminds him of home.”

Twenty minutes later, both teams converged on a small wooden shelter near the base of Miller’s Point—Foster’s team arriving thirty seconds ahead of us, but my team carrying a more comprehensive treatment plan for the “victim” we found inside.

“Only a doctor,” Foster muttered as we debriefed later, “would win a rescue challenge by diagnosing a sprained ankle from a half-eaten Clif bar wrapper. ”

“Clinical deduction based on years of treating post-surgical patients with complications,” I protested, grinning.

“Show-off,” Foster said, but there was no heat in it. If anything, he looked impressed.

“Sore loser,” I shot back.

“I’m not sore. My team got there first.”

“But did your team correctly identify the secondary injury and implement proper pain management protocols?”

Foster’s students were watching our exchange with barely concealed delight, like they were witnessing something entertaining unfold. Sierra elbowed me and grinned.

“You two are ridiculous,” she said. “You bicker like my parents.”

Foster’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned to address both teams with exaggerated formality. “Excellent work today, everyone. Yellow Team wins on technical points?—”

My team gave a deafening cheer.

“— but my Blue Team maintains our superior tracking abilities.”

Blue Team chuckled and fist-bumped one another.

“Diplomatic,” I said with a laugh.

Foster shrugged. “I’m a peacekeeper by nature.”

“You’re a competitive asshole by nature.”

“Says the man who diagnosed a sprained ankle from trash!”

And just like that, we were bickering again, our students laughing around us like this was the best entertainment they’d had all week.

Maybe it was.

The campfire that night glowed like a beacon in the meadow behind the main building. Most of the students had drifted off early, exhausted from the day’s competitions and anticipating tomorrow’s early start, leaving just a handful of instructors scattered around the crackling flames.

I’d claimed a spot on one of the log benches, close enough to the fire to feel its warmth but far enough back to see the stars emerging overhead. The night air carried the scent of woodsmoke and pine, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called through the darkness.

Foster appeared at my elbow with a flask and two cups. “Bourbon, Dr. Marian?”

“God, yes.”

He settled beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his thigh against mine. The flask made its way around our small circle—Trace, Robyn, Monroe, Tevita, and a couple of others—but somehow, it kept coming back to rest between Foster and me.

“Alright,” Trace said, poking at the fire with a long stick. “Time for ridiculous rescue stories. It’s a SERA fireside tradition. I’ll start.”

He launched into a tale about a tourist who’d gotten “lost” just to meet the famous country singer who happened to be vacationing in the area, complete with staged ankle injury and a suspiciously well-stocked emergency kit.

I recognized the story since it was about my uncle, Jude, but I enjoyed hearing Trace tell it with all the embellishments that had been added over the years.

The stories got progressively more absurd as the bourbon flowed.

Robyn told us about a search and rescue operation that turned into an impromptu engagement when the lost hiker’s boyfriend proposed at the rescue site.

Another instructor shared the saga of a park ranger’s pet iguana with a talent for opening first aid kits.

“Your turn, Tommy,” Foster said, nudging my shoulder.

I took a sip of bourbon, feeling its warmth spread through my chest. “River rescue in North Carolina during my wilderness rotation. Got called out for a possible drowning, but when we got there, we found this guy with a broken arm, sitting on a rock in the middle of the river and raving about something at the top of his lungs. By the time we figured out he was upset about a fucking goat—which, by the way, sounds an awful lot like fucking boat —said goat had consumed half our medical supplies.”

“A goat ate your med kit?” Robyn asked, incredulous.

Foster chuckled beside me. “Please tell me you at least got the guy off the rock.”

I rolled my eyes. “Eventually. But not before the goat bit the laces off my boot, and I had to improvise with a vine just to get back to the trailhead.”

His laughter was big and warm like the man himself. Magnetic. Addictive.

Our eyes met, and something passed between us—easy and comfortable and charged with possibility. This felt right . Sitting here, trading stories, the bourbon making everything hazy around the edges while the stars wheeled overhead.

Like kismet , Ella would have teased.

“Your turn, Sheriff,” I said. “And it better be good.”

Foster shifted, his shoulder brushing mine. “Search and rescue call last summer. Elderly tourist from Florida, supposedly lost on the Upper Maude switchback. We mobilized half the department, called in volunteers, spent six hours combing the wilderness…”

“Uh-oh,” Tevita groaned.

“And?” Trace prompted, already grinning.

“Found him at the Love Muffin—our local cafe—browbeating the owner, who happens to be my mother, and asking detailed questions about my relationship status.”

The laughter that erupted from our group was loud enough to echo off the surrounding trees. Even Robyn nearly fell off her log.

“He got lost on purpose?” I asked while silently thinking, Can’t blame the guy .

“Oh, it gets better. Turns out he’d read an article about me in some tourism magazine—‘Eligible Bachelor Sheriff Saves Lives and Hearts’ or some shit like that. He figured a rescue scenario was the perfect meet-cute opportunity.”

Trace hooted.

“Awww. Please tell me you let him down gently,” Robyn said.

Foster grinned. “I introduced him to a local judge, who happened to be single and looking. He and Judge Whiteplume are on a monthlong motorcycle trip in Colorado right now. ”

“You hopeless romantic,” I said, before I could stop myself.

Something shifted in Foster’s expression, the easy humor replaced by something more serious. “Maybe.”

The conversation continued around us, but I found myself increasingly aware of Foster’s presence beside me. The way his fingers drummed against his thigh. The occasional brush of his arm against mine when he reached for the flask. The way the firelight caught the amber flecks in his hair.

Eventually, the other instructors began drifting away, murmuring about early mornings and evaluation reports. Soon, it was just Foster and me, the fire burning lower, the bourbon making everything feel soft and possible.

“You were kind of amazing today, you know,” I said quietly, bumping his knee with mine.

Foster ducked his head, but he didn’t pull away. “Experience.”

“Maybe.” I studied his profile in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

“But the way you read that terrain, predicted exactly where someone in distress would go… that’s not just training.

That’s instinct. And the way the students look at you—they don’t just respect you, they trust you completely. ”

“It’s a good group.”

“It is. But you make them better.”

Foster was quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re good at this, too, you know. Better than good. These students would follow you anywhere.”

The compliment hit me squarely in the chest, warm and unexpected. No one in New York had seen me like that, but here…

Here, I felt like myself again.

Spending the summer in Montana had definitely been the right choice.

I leaned back on my hands, tilting my head to study the stars scattered across the mountain sky. The Milky Way stretched overhead like a river of light, clearer than I’d ever seen it from the city.

“I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” I said. “How quiet. How…” I searched for the word. “Clean everything feels.”

Foster followed my gaze upward. “Living out here, under this sky… it gets in your blood after a while. Makes it hard to imagine being anywhere else.”

Something in his tone made me look at him more closely. There was a wistfulness there, a longing that spoke to something deep in my chest.

“Foster,” I started, then stopped. What was I going to say? That I wished I could stay? Give up everything I’d worked for on the off chance things might work between us?

It was crazy. It was impractical. It was exactly the kind of romantic notion that my rational, achievement-oriented brain should have dismissed immediately.

But sitting there in the firelight, the taste of bourbon on my tongue and the memory of today’s perfect partnership still fresh in my mind, it didn’t feel crazy at all.

It felt real. It felt true .

“Just… thanks,” I said finally. “For today. For experiencing this with me. ”

Foster’s smile was soft and genuine. “Thanks for making it interesting.”

We sat in comfortable silence after that, watching the fire burn down to embers while the night settled around us. Eventually, the cold drove us back toward the cabins, but I found myself walking slowly, reluctant to break the spell of the evening.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was running toward something or away from something else. I felt like I was currently, even if just for a short time, exactly where I was supposed to be.

And if I was honest with myself, that had everything to do with the man walking beside me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he belonged under these stars in ways I was only beginning to understand.