Page 9 of No Hope of Rescue

“Here,” he said after a moment. He was holding out my own canteen—a flannel with the worn face of a palomino. The one I still had from high school.

More embarrassment.

I looked up at him as he opened the lid, and with one hand on the back of my head, gently tipped water into my mouth.

“Thanks,” I said before wiping my mouth with a hand.

“No need to thank me. Thank Carter here. He spotted you first.”

The belayer. I turned and caught his glance. OMG. If all the blood hadn’t left my head, I would have blushed. Two guys rescuing me were two guys too many.

Carter, who was busy coiling the lines, grinned and waved. He was tall and cut, with legs the size of tree trunks. I had yet to get a good look at Brock, though. As I sat up straight, he squatted next to me and took off his helmet. Then he stood and started to do the same with his climbing belt.

I didn’t know where to look. His face: tanned with a stubble of beard showing dark against his jaw. His hair: wavy and brown, trimmed around his ears but longer on top as it fell in waves. His chest and back: muscles moving under his clothing, stretching the material easily. His butt: hard, perfectly formed, and outlined by the straps to the belt.

I kept staring, even when he tossed the belt to the ground.

He was gorgeous. When he turned around and knelt next to me again, my breath caught. It was his eyes that proved gut clenching: liquid caramel. I’d never seen eyes that color before. Light brown and soft, in juxtaposition to everything else about him. Those brown eyes revealed a suppleness, a softness, an accessibility, and the effect? Immediate.

I glanced again at Carter—the two were clearly brothers—also built, same mop of dark hair, a few years younger. Not as broad as Brock, who was all hard angles and ripped muscles, he was also incredibly good-looking.

Oh my God, how cliché. I probably looked like hell. I was sweating like I’d just been rescued from it.

“Ready to test those legs?” Brock asked.

“Hey,” Carter said. “Picture first.” He held up a camera—a real camera—and despite myself, I had to grin. I’m sure I looked like hell.

“You get one shot,” I said as Brock put an arm across my shoulders and brought us closer together.

The shutter clicked. Carter listened to my one-shot request. Brock’s arm dropped, and he pulled me to my feet.

“Listen, I am so embarrassed,” I said, dusting off my pants with my other hand.

“Hey, all that happened is you got a little ahead of yourself. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

In this case, his generosity was appreciated, and I took the excuse. He was a skilled climber and knew I had no business turning bouldering into freeclimbing. I wasn’t experienced enough, and today proved that.

Rather than dwell, Brock did what it turned out he always does—he kept pushing forward. After it was clear that only my pride was hurt, he invited me to join the two of them on a climb up End of an Era. It’s in a quiet part of the park. Just walking there along the trails, the large red formations jutting up into the delicate blue of the sky, felt surreal. The two men joked, while I remained quiet.

I knew what he was doing. Brock was making sure I was climbing back on the horse.

By the end of the day, we scaled one more peak, and we were sitting on the tailgate of their truck, a gold half-ton Ford pickup, drinking beer out of cans. The sun was hot on my skin. I was a little burned, muscles sore, but I was in love.

It wasn’t until Brock left to go chat with one of the rangers for a moment that Carter leaned over and said, “You need to know he’s engaged.”

I nearly choked on my swig of beer.

“What?”

Carter sighed. “Sorry. Just thought I’d mention it.”

Immediately, my face turned red. I know it did because it was hot to the touch.

There was nothing to do but laugh, but I felt numb, exposed, ridiculous. I managed, “That obvious?”

Carter tipped the can in my direction. “He has this effect on a lot of people. Women. And some men. Don’t worry about it. He has no idea.”

After that, I shut myself off from Brock. I just kinda closed down. I became a smokejumper too, and then, after a crazy night in a bar a year later, Brock rewarded my drunken efforts at organizing by asking me to join his fledgling search and rescue team. I said yes.