Chapter Two
Griffin
I wasn't typically a sucker for a damsel in distress. In fact, I'd made it a point to avoid other people's problems whenever possible. Life was simpler that way—focus on the job, take care of my crew, and keep emotional entanglements to a minimum. It had worked well for me so far.
So why the hell was Lila King sitting in my passenger seat, looking like she was plotting my murder with every mile marker we passed?
She'd been scrolling through her phone for the past twenty minutes, probably calculating exactly how much this detour was costing her perfectly planned life. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "your car would've died whether I came along or not."
Her head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
"You're sitting there looking like I personally sabotaged your engine." I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel her glare boring into the side of my head. "Just saying, this isn't actually my fault."
"I never said it was."
"You didn't have to. Your face did all the talking."
She huffed and turned to look out the window. "I don't like unexpected complications."
"Life is an unexpected complication, princess."
"Don't call me princess."
I bit back a smile. Getting under her skin was surprisingly satisfying. "Just making conversation."
The desert stretched endlessly on either side of us, heat waves shimmering off the asphalt.
My truck's AC was working overtime, but I'd always found something oddly comforting about the stark landscape.
No pretense, no bullshit—just survival in its purest form.
Nature didn't care about your plans or your feelings. It just was.
Kind of like wildfires. They didn't care if you had vacation days planned or a hot date. When they sparked, you showed up. That was the code I lived by—show up, do the job, keep people safe. Everything else was secondary.
"Tell me more about your crew in Foxfire Valley," Lila said, interrupting my thoughts. "You mentioned them before."
"They're like family," I replied. "Been working with most of them for years now. We're a tight unit—have to be in our line of work."
"And what exactly does a search and rescue pilot do during fire season?"
I glanced at her, surprised by the genuine curiosity in her voice.
"We fly missions to monitor fire spread, drop fire retardant, transport firefighters, and sometimes extract people from dangerous situations.
Search and rescue when hikers get stranded or injured in remote areas.
Emergency medical transport when needed. "
"Sounds dangerous."
"It can be." I shrugged. "But someone has to do it."
"And that someone has to be you?"
The question hung between us. It wasn't the first time someone had asked me that, but something about the way she said it—slightly challenging, slightly curious—made me want to give her a real answer.
"I'm good at it," I said finally. "And I know the terrain better than most. Grew up there, know every canyon and ridgeline like the back of my hand. Makes a difference when visibility is low and you're trying to find someone before they become a statistic."
She studied me for a moment, as if reassessing her first impression. "Fair enough."
"What about you?" I asked. "Why wine sales? Seems like a pretty specific career choice."
"Because I'm good at it," she echoed my words with a small smile.
"I can tell you the soil composition of every major vineyard in California and how it affects the flavor profile.
I can pair a wine with a meal that will make you rethink your entire relationship with food. And I never forget a vintage."
"Impressive," I admitted. "So it's not just about working at Sunset Vines with your brother?"
Her expression cooled immediately. "I'm creating my own path."
Sensitive subject. Noted.
The miles rolled by as the landscape gradually shifted from desert to something a little greener. My phone shuffled to a Zac Brown Band song, and I hummed along absently.
"Do you have anything other than country?" Lila asked, eyeing my phone with thinly veiled disdain.
"Driver picks the music," I replied. "Passenger shuts her pretty mouth."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. "Pretty, huh?"
I'd walked right into that one. "Figure of speech."
"Uh-huh."
I reached for a bag of beef jerky in the center console, tearing it open with my teeth while keeping one hand on the wheel. Lila watched the maneuver with an expression that fell somewhere between impressed and horrified.
"Want some?" I offered, holding the bag toward her.
She peered inside like I was offering her roadkill. "What is that, exactly?"
"Teriyaki beef jerky. Road trip essential."
"Pass." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small container of almonds. "I prefer snacks that don't double as shoe leather."
"Suit yourself." I took an exaggerated bite, chewing loudly enough to make her wince. "More for me."
"Do you always eat like a caveman, or is this a special performance for my benefit?"
"Special performance," I grinned. "I'm usually much worse."
She laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound that transformed her face. For a moment, the tightly wound wine expert disappeared, replaced by a woman who might actually know how to have fun. It was... intriguing.
"So what's the plan?" she asked, sobering. "How long to Foxfire Valley?"
"About five more hours, give or take. We'll stop for gas in about an hour."
"And after we get there?"
"I need to deliver some equipment to my crew, check in with my captain, and then we can head to Oakcrest Bay first thing in the morning."
"Morning?" Her voice rose slightly. "I need to be there tomorrow afternoon."
"And you will be. Oakcrest Bay is only about four hours from Foxfire Valley. We'll leave by 8 AM, get you there with plenty of time to spare before your big meeting at Sparkling Oak."
She chewed her lower lip, clearly running calculations in her head. "I guess that works."
"You don't have much choice," I reminded her. "Unless you want to rent a car in Foxfire Valley and drive yourself, which would be more expensive and probably take longer."
"I know," she sighed. "I just don't like deviating from the plan."
"I never would have guessed."
She shot me a look. "Are you always this sarcastic, or is this a special performance for my benefit?"
I laughed at having my own words thrown back at me. "Touché."
We fell into a more comfortable silence after that.
The beef jerky disappeared gradually, and even Lila seemed to relax slightly, her posture less rigid as she watched the landscape roll by.
She had a profile worth studying—delicate features with a determined jaw, long lashes that cast shadows on her cheeks when she looked down at her phone.
Definitely pretty. But the kind of pretty that came with complications I didn't need.
When we stopped for gas, Lila disappeared into the convenience store and returned with an armful of water bottles, protein bars, and—to my surprise—a bag of Doritos.
"Shoe leather and corn chips," she said, tossing the bag at me. "Balanced diet."
"I'm touched," I pressed a hand to my chest in mock sincerity. "You do care."
"Don't get used to it. I just figure a sugar crash is the last thing I need from my chauffeur."
"Chauffeur? I prefer 'knight in shining pickup truck.'"
She rolled her eyes again, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. We were making progress.
Back on the road, the conversation flowed more easily.
She asked about Foxfire Valley, and I told her about the strange mix of casinos, wedding chapels, and fire stations that made up the town.
She seemed genuinely interested, asking smart questions about fire prevention strategies and the local economy.
In turn, I asked about her wine expertise, and she lit up like someone had flipped a switch.
Her hands moved animatedly as she explained the difference between California and French winemaking philosophies, her voice taking on a rich, passionate quality that made me wonder if this was how she'd sound in bed.
That thought ambushed me from nowhere, and I forced it away. Bad territory. Very bad territory.
"You're not listening," she accused, narrowing her eyes.
"I'm multitasking," I replied smoothly. "Driving and being educated about—what was it again? Tannins?"
"Terroir," she corrected. "The environmental factors that affect the character of wine. Soil, climate, terrain."
"Right. Dirt and weather. Got it."
She made an exasperated sound. "It's a lot more complex than that."
"I'm sure it is. Just like firefighting is more complex than 'water puts out fire.'"
That got her attention. "Touché. Again."
The afternoon wore on, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon.
Lila had pulled out a small notebook at some point and was jotting things down, occasionally mumbling to herself.
When I glanced over, I could see neat, precise handwriting filling the page, along with what looked like a detailed timeline.
"Are you... replanning your entire trip right now?"
She didn't look up. "I'm adapting. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when plans change? Roll with it?"
"Yeah, but most people don't need a flowchart to roll."
"This is how I process," she said defensively. "Not everyone flies by the seat of their pants."
"And not everyone needs a minute-by-minute itinerary to function."
She looked up then, her expression challenging. "What would you know about my itinerary?"
"I saw that fancy planner blowing away in the desert," I reminded her. "Color-coded tabs, highlighted sections. That thing probably had bathroom breaks scheduled down to the minute."
"It's called being prepared."
"It's called being uptight."
"I am not uptight!" she insisted, voice rising enough to make me grin. "I just like to know what's coming."
"Because you need to control everything."
"Because I've learned that when I don't plan ahead, bad things happen."
There was something in her tone—a raw edge that hinted at experiences I knew nothing about. It made me pause, the teasing remarks dying on my tongue.
"Fair enough," I said quietly.
She seemed surprised by my concession, studying me with those dark eyes that saw more than I was comfortable with. For a moment, I had the unsettling feeling that she could see straight through the bullshit to the parts of me I kept carefully guarded.
The mood shift was subtle but unmistakable. A new awareness hung in the air between us, neither of us quite willing to address it.
As dusk approached, I kept an eye out for a decent place to stop for the night. We'd made good time, but we were still a solid three hours from Foxfire Valley, and driving mountain roads in the dark wasn't ideal.
"We should stop soon," I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "There's a motel up ahead with a decent diner attached. We can grab dinner, get some sleep, and hit the road early tomorrow."
Lila nodded, but I could see her mentally readjusting her plans again. The woman really didn't like surprises.
The motel appeared on the horizon, a single-story structure with a neon "VACANCY" sign glowing in the twilight. It wasn't fancy, but it was clean and reliable—I'd stayed there before on trips back and forth to Southern California.
The office was small, with wood-paneled walls and the persistent smell of lemon cleaner. A gray-haired woman sat behind the counter, reading a paperback with a shirtless cowboy on the cover. She looked up as we entered, her gaze moving between us with open curiosity.
"Evening," I said, approaching the counter. "We need two rooms for the night."
She smiled apologetically. "Sorry, hon. Only got one room left. Tour bus full of seniors broke down about ten miles east, and they took everything else."
Lila made a small, strangled sound beside me. I glanced at her, then back at the clerk.
"What size bed?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"King," the woman replied, looking amused now. "Plenty of room for both of you."
Lila stepped forward, her professional smile firmly in place. "Is there another motel nearby?"
"Not for another sixty miles, and Bert over there isn't nearly as clean as we are." She nodded toward the window, where we could see another neon sign flickering in the distance.
I looked at Lila, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Her expression cycled through several emotions before settling on resignation.
"Fine," she said tightly. "We'll take it."
The clerk's smile widened as she pushed the registration form toward me. "Cash or card?"
"I've got it," I said, pulling out my wallet.
"I can pay for my half," Lila protested.
"Consider it part of the rescue package," I replied, handing over my credit card. "Knight in shining pickup truck, remember?"
She looked like she wanted to argue but held her tongue. The clerk handed me a key—an actual metal key, not a key card—with a plastic tag attached.
"Room 14, end of the row," she said. "Diner's open till 9. Breakfast starts at 6."
"Thanks," I replied, pocketing the key.
As we walked back to the truck to grab our bags, I could feel tension radiating off Lila in waves. She'd been adamant about not being a damsel in distress, but fate seemed determined to put her in situations where she needed rescuing.
I unlocked the room and stepped inside, flipping on the light. It was basic but clean—king bed dominating the space, small table with two chairs by the window, dated TV on the dresser, and a bathroom that looked recently renovated.
Lila followed me in, setting her bag carefully on the small luggage rack.
"I can sleep on the floor," I offered, trying to ease the awkwardness.
She glanced at the bed, then at me. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a king-sized bed. We're both adults. We can share without making it weird."
"You sure about that?"
"Positive," she said, though she didn't sound quite as confident as her words suggested. "Just... stay on your side."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, mimicking a salute.
She rolled her eyes—it was becoming her signature move around me—and disappeared into the bathroom with her toiletry bag. I heard the lock click firmly into place.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. This was not how I'd planned to spend my night. But as I listened to the water running in the bathroom and pictured Lila's stubborn, beautiful face, I couldn't quite bring myself to regret the detour.
Life was an unexpected complication. Sometimes, those complications were worth the trouble.