Page 105 of Nothing But Air

He’d carried it for four days, waiting for the right moment to drop to one knee and ask Meg to spend forever with him. But proposing in the cramped ranger office with its burnt-coffee smell? She deserved better. A sunset. A waterfall. Definitely not his anxious pacing.

Later. He’d find the right moment later.

“Here.” Nimue’s voice pulled him back. She stood at the large topographical map on the south wall, one finger tracing the web of drainages and trails. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, and her brown eyes held that sharp, calculating look that meant she was running scenarios. They had all been up manning the radios, all of them refusing sleep. “If we sent a team from this access point at first light”—she tapped a junction near Thunder River—“they could intercept both groups in about seven hours.”

Meg moved closer to the map, her dark waves pulled back in a messy ponytail. He stepped up beside them. “That’s assuming the weather holds. If this storm moves in earlier than expected, half these trails will be running water within an hour.”

If their helicopter weren’t down, he’d just make the trip. But this wasn’t dire enough to call in outside SAR resources. Not yet. A down radio wasn’t an emergency. Standard protocol said wait, monitor, prepare.

“We could go in from this approach.” He pointed to the trailhead he’d hiked a dozen times with Teague. “Cut across here, drop down this drainage?—”

“We?” Meg’s voice stopped him cold.

She turned, and those striking blue eyes pinned him in place. “You’re not going anywhere, hotshot.”

“I can hike. The doctor said?—”

“Hello.” She pointed to herself. “A doctor is standing right here. The surgeon said light activity. Walking around the station. Not a sixteen-hour forced march carrying a full pack.” She stepped closer, poked his chest.

“I’m fine.” The words tasted like a lie. “I can manage.”

“Noah.” Nimue’s voice was gentler but no less firm. “You’re three weeks out from surgery. You can’t do this kind of hike yet.”

The word yet should have offered comfort. It didn’t.

“Then what do you suggest?” His voice came out sharper than he intended. Easy. Breathe. “We just sit here and wait? Hope they’re okay?”

Meg’s jaw tightened. Nimue said nothing.

The silence pressed against him.

Noah stared at Nimue. “In June, when you and Liam were in trouble, Teague said he could feel it in his bones. I trusted his instincts. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here.” He swallowed. “Now you have to trust mine. Something is wrong out there. They’re counting on us.”

“And they’d want you to be smart about this.” Meg crossed her arms—doctor mode, the one that didn’t take arguments. “Not tear something open trying to be a hero.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero. I’m trying to do my job.”

“Your job right now is to heal.” Her voice rose. “You push too hard, you tear those internal stitches—then what? You’re bleeding out in the middle of the canyon with no way to get help? How does that help anyone?”

She was right. He hated that she was right.

Nimue moved closer, her voice dropping. The freckles across her nose stood out against her olive-toned skin. “Internal bleeding in the backcountry isn’t fun. I know.”

The memory flickered—Nimue, half-conscious when they found her and Liam in the darkness.

“That was different?—”

“It wasn’t.” Her eyes held his. “And you know it. You’re not ready. None of us want to admit it, but it’s true.”

“So we do nothing?” He gestured at the map. “Just stand here and hope?”

“We pray and wait for more information.” Meg’s voice softened. “We monitor the weather, prepare contingency plans, and when—if—we need to send a team, we send people who can actually make the hike.”

“I’m capable?—”

“You’re not.”

The words landed hard.