Page 9 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

FOSTER

I tossed another dart at the board across my office, smirking when it hit just to the left of the smiling doctor’s face.

The photo, snagged from a hospital website after weeks of obsessing about the stranger from Hawaii, didn’t do Tommy Marian justice.

It didn’t capture the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed or how his face had flushed when I’d kissed him outside the pool bar.

It also didn’t capture the way I’d felt after not only learning he was straight but then witnessing him with his arm around his fucking fiancée the following day.

I huffed out a noise of incredulity. Even now, six months later, I couldn’t believe his audacity.

To send me a note thanking me for the conversation and the kiss… while on the eve of his very own wedding? Who did that?

Assholes, that’s who.

He was no better than Matthew, who’d not only slept with my best deputy but also convinced the guy to move to New York with him and get a job with the NYPD. The loss of the deputy had angered me more than the loss of a faithless lover.

I threw another dart, and this one stuck right between Dr. Marian’s eyes.

Served him right.

I was angry at Tommy Marian. Angry at him for pinning me with those twinkly hazel eyes. For clearly wanting to have his cake and eat it, too. For luring me down the dangerous path of letting myself want someone again, when he was so epically unavailable.

I closed my eyes and silently cursed myself for thinking about him yet again.

The man was an asshole. A married asshole. And no matter how it had felt at the time, he would never be mine.

A bead of sweat rolled down my back as the ancient ceiling fan spun lazily overhead.

Sometimes July in Wyoming meant scorching days and warm nights, even here in Majestic, where the elevation usually kept things cooler.

I’d stripped down to my undershirt hours ago, the uniform shirt hanging on the back of my door.

“You ever gonna tell me who that pretty doctor is on your dartboard?” My cousin and best friend, Waylon Fletcher, leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Because if you got bad medical news and are keeping secrets from me…”

I plucked the darts from the board and returned to my desk. “Nope.”

“Better not be.” He eyed me skeptically. “Your mom called. Said you bailed on dinner with Dr. Moore last night. Supposedly, that’s the third setup you’ve ditched in two months.”

I groaned. “Thought I was agreeing to have dinner with my mom. Instead, she bails and sticks me with the new dentist, who, by the way, wears enough cologne to choke a moose.” I shuffled some papers, giving myself something to focus on besides Way’s knowing look.

“Soon as I saw him sitting there, I hightailed it home and told her to come clean to the guy that I had no interest in her setup schemes. How’d you find out about it anyway?

” As our small town’s mayor with the world’s gossipiest assistant, I wasn’t really surprised so much as annoyed.

“She cornered me at the grocery store.” Way shook his head, amused. “Said, and I quote, ‘That boy needs someone to warm his bed besides that ridiculous dog of his.’”

“Chick is not ridiculous,” I defended, though I couldn’t help the slight smile. My hound dog puppy, all floppy ears and oversized paws at six months old, perked her head up from her bed in the corner and wagged her tail. “She’s just… enthusiastic.”

Way moved over and squatted down to give her a head scratch. “She ate my hat last week. You’d better be glad it wasn’t my favorite.”

“She was teething.”

He stood back up and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the door frame again. “Your mom’s worried about you, Foster. We all are. You haven’t been the same since you got back from Hawaii.”

The mention of Hawaii wiped the smile from my face. I turned back to my computer. “I’m fine,” I insisted, the lie bitter in my mouth. “Just busy. ”

Way didn’t look convinced, but he knew better than to push. “Whatever you say. Speaking of busy, another hiker lost their way up near Dead River Canyon. Cole said to tell you the search team’s assembling.”

Relief washed over me. Action. Something I was good at. I stood up and grabbed my shirt, calling out for my dispatcher. “Cole, tell Hanson to meet me at the trailhead in twenty.” I turned back to Way. “Sorry, duty calls.”

Way paused before leaving. His forehead crinkled in concern. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to talk about whatever happened. You’ve been grumbling like a bear with a thorn in his paw for months. Whatever the story is behind Dr. Did-You-Wrong over there, consider it might be time to move on.”

I kept my eyes on my shirt front as I finished fastening the buttons.

As much as I usually shared with Way, this time, I was keeping my shit close to the vest. Way had gone to Vegas a couple of years back and struck the jackpot, bringing home a hot, rich husband as easily as playing the slots.

The last thing I needed was relationship advice from a man who had it all.

“Nothing happened,” I insisted.

Except, of course, something had happened. Something I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried.

I’d gone to Hawaii and fallen—instantly, ridiculously, and apparently irre-fucking-versibly —for a man I couldn’t have and who didn’t deserve me. Like getting struck with Cupid’s dart when the tip had been soaked in poison.

Six months ago, I’d been sure I’d get over it. But now?

Jesus, now I felt like Tommy Marian with his stupid hazel eyes, his soft fucking smile, and his awful-wonderful way of really listening when I talked had weaseled his way under my skin and burrowed so deeply into the very core of me, even my white-hot anger at his betrayal couldn’t burn him out.

And believe me, I’d tried.

The good news was there was plenty of work this summer to keep me distracted. Tourists like this one were bound and determined to get themselves in trouble on our watch. Lost hikers were as reliable in summer as hot dogs and hamburgers.

I made my way out of the office and hopped in my vehicle, thankful for the distraction.

My phone buzzed just as my deputy and I were finishing up the rescue of a middle-aged man from Virginia who’d wandered off-trail and twisted his ankle.

“Blake,” I answered, tucking the phone against my shoulder so I could help load the guy into the ambulance. My uniform shirt was plastered to my back with sweat, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the station for a shower.

“Sheriff,” a woman’s voice said. “This is Captain Reynolds with Wyoming Search and Rescue.”

“Ma’am,” I said, instantly alert.

Usually, when the state SAR director called, it was to coordinate a response to a larger operation, which meant things were about to get real complicated, real fast. So I was surprised when she continued, “How would you feel about a special assignment?”

I signaled to my deputy that I was stepping away before trudging through the dusty parking area toward my truck. “What kind of assignment?”

“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 if it was temporary. Hell, especially because 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?”