Storm (Ridgeline Station #1)

Colin

I was blinded as the inky black sky filled with light, taking over everything and leaving a corona at the center of my vision. My ears were next to be assaulted as the thunder didn’t so much roll as explode right in my ear.

“Woah!” the driver crowed merrily, somehow keeping the truck steady despite not being able to see any better than me, and yelling because he had to be just as deaf. “Mother Nature with the flashbang!”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear them so I could keep an eye on the road.

Not that it mattered; the storm was so fierce you couldn’t see beyond the headlights, and they were pretty bright.

The Pacific Northwest wasn’t exactly known for being dry, but I hadn’t heard they had storms like hurricanes either.

“You’re enjoying this,” I told him, not sure if that should terrify or mystify me.

“What?” the driver called back.

“You’re enjoying this!” I yelled.

His grin was wide and a little unstable. “Ain’t nothing but a little rain, never hurt nobody!”

Somehow I thought the weather begged to differ, but at least I knew he was terrifying and worthy of respect.

Anyone who could navigate back roads in the middle of a monsoon and still enjoy themselves was worthy of both.

Me? I would rather get to the station, my new home for the next few months, in one piece.

So I was apparently going to have to let the crazy man at the wheel enjoy himself and hope he was content to get his adrenaline rush from just driving.

Search and Rescue wasn’t something you picked up casually, and you certainly couldn’t just stroll up to an office and slap an application down either.

I knew the potential danger when I’d gone through the process, training, certifications, and other hoops they required.

It had taken months, and even then, I’d had to wait until they had somewhere to put me.

Then the call came. Olympic Peninsula, they’d said. I said I’d love Washington; they’d laughed, and I’d laughed with them.

I wasn’t laughing as much now.

“Oof,” I said as we hit something, hopefully a pothole, that sent the truck bouncing and my stomach spinning. “Shit!”

The next flash of lightning didn’t just fill the sky; it came right down to earth.

I had only seen lightning strike things on screen before, and in the miserable, terrifying darkness, it was different.

The tree it struck glowed as its bark exploded and sent the tree, probably older than most cities, tumbling down with a cracking roar I could hear over the howl of the wind and despite the explosion of thunder.

“Hang on!” the driver barked, the crazed look in his eyes gone; suddenly all business as the truck roared forward.

I was sure I was going to die; my heart leaped into my throat, my gut down to my toes, and my bladder didn’t know if it wanted to hang on for dear life or release everything.

The tree slammed to the ground next to the truck as we passed, narrowly missing the passenger side where I sat clutching my bag.

The truck jerked at the last second, pulled away expertly by the insane but apparently incredibly capable man beside me.

“Ooh wee,” he called, and when I looked, I could see sweat on his forehead. Either that, or the rain had got through his cracked window while he’d been whipping the truck back and forth. “How’s that for an introduction?”

“Gonna be honest, not a great first impression,” I said shakily. “Definitely not going to be recommending this to anyone, sorry about the one star.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “First time?”

“Driving headlong through a huge storm? Or should I say being driven headlong through it by someone whose sanity is in question? Yeah, I’d call this a first,” I told him.

Normally I tried for more tact, but when life gave you a near-death experience, you could be forgiven for forgetting your manners.

That made him cackle. “Well, you’re making jokes and it doesn’t smell like you shit your pants, so I’d say you’re going to be just fine. You know, if we don’t get crushed on the way, you’re the guy who’s supposed to be patching people up, right?”

Technically, all Search and Rescue were trained in first aid.

You needed some knowledge when you were going out into the wild to find and rescue people.

For whatever reason, though, Ridgeline Station had decided it needed a few specialists on board.

When I asked, they shrugged and told me that the station captain might answer that for me.

Not would, might. I didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I called back to him, because that was my specialty.

I’d worked in the medical field since I was eighteen, which was when I joined the Navy and ended up ‘accidentally’ being a corpsman.

Accidental because I hadn’t had a plan for my life, which was how it went when you grew up not believing there was a reason to have one.

Then you found yourself going from corpsman to EMT for five years after you decided government work wasn’t exactly your thing, and then somehow you found your way into… . “Pothole fixer.”

“Careful,” he said, giving the wheel another twitch to avoid…something in the road. “Keep that up and I might just ask ya for dinner.”

I eyed him, realizing the storm had quieted down enough that I didn’t have to scream to be heard. Yell, yes, but not scream. “Marine?”

His head snapped toward me, and he grinned. “You could tell?”

I sighed. “Ugh, infantry.”

He cackled. “You’re a Doc, doc!”

Yep, definitely infantry.

I grunted as we hit a bump in the road. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight?”

Okay, so old enough to be both stupid and capable; good, good.

“Glad to see you’re so confident in your age,” I muttered with a shake of my head, gripping the door when the truck gave another lurch. “Hopefully, you’re a little more confident in the truck.”

“She’ll get us through,” he assured me, patting the dashboard with an affectionate grin. “She’s good and ready.”

What was it about my gender and affection for their vehicles?

It would never make sense to me. Then again, I’d watched them do the same thing with their weapons.

My mother had always insisted there was something inherently wrong with men by virtue of the ‘stunted’ y chromosome rather than the ‘complete’ x one.

Attempts to point out that was not how genetics worked had landed on deaf ears, however, so I was left to wonder if it was because men were just weird.

Still, over the next twenty minutes, the truck did, in fact, get us to our destination without further issue.

The weather had eased, if only slightly.

The rain was still coming down in a thick sheet that made it impossible to see for more than a few yards, and the wind was still strong.

At least it no longer felt like Mother Nature had taken issue with us personally, and I could grab my bags out of the back of the truck and follow the driver.

Only to be met with a door that my eager guide bumped with his shoulder and grunted; the door to not move. “Aww, I hate this door.”

“Is it locked?” I asked in confusion, because what the hell would be out here that they felt the need to lock the door? The place was in the middle of nowhere, for God’s sake, who could they possibly be trying to keep out?

“Bolted,” he grunted, giving it a harder bump, then sighed. “I keep telling them they need to replace the stupid thing, but noooo, it’s better to bolt the door so it doesn’t fly open during storms instead of getting a new one.”

“Budgeting problems?”

“That, or Xander is a penny-pinching asshole, and…uh, don’t tell him I said that.”

“Good thing I don’t even know your name,” I said, peering above the door and raising a brow. I pointed toward the window, which, absurdly, was partially open. “That’s open. Unless there’s another way in.”

“It would take us forever to get there,” he grunted, squinting and looking down at himself. “Hmm, never tried that before, but it's probably a bad idea.”

I looked him over and snorted, realizing what his problem was. “You do have linebacker shoulders.”

“You don’t, though,” he said with a grin. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I said with a sigh. It was probably a lot smarter to find another entrance, but if my escort didn’t want to go traipsing through the storm, then I probably didn’t either. “I don’t feel like hopping around, so you’ll have to boost me.”

“Sure,” he said, amused by the idea and getting into position. Only to look surprised when I positioned myself to go up. “You’re going in head first?”

“As opposed to?”

“I mean, if you go through the window like that, you’re gonna be diving toward the floor.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I’d say your funeral, but if our stitcher ends up getting a concussion on the first day, Xander will bust at least one of my kneecaps.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then let’s hope my concussion isn’t too bad so I still have the brain cells left to deal with your kneecap.”

“You sure know how to make someone feel confident,” he said sarcastically, but to his credit, when I stepped forward, putting my foot in his hands and lurching upward, he lifted me without hesitation.

Grabbing the top of the window, I looked down and saw it was positioned over concrete steps that led up into the building and down as well.

It would hurt like hell if I screwed up and landed on my face, but I gripped the top of the frame and twisted so my back was to the window.

My grip was steady and held as I pulled myself through with a grunt.

It wasn’t exactly a maneuver I was used to pulling off, but I held myself aloft as I pulled my legs through with me, my heels bumping the frame.

Now I was inside, I lowered myself down and released my hold so my feet landed on a threadbare rug that looked like it had once been patterned with a vase of flowers.

Snorting at the strangely homey touch, I grabbed the bar and, stepping back, opened the door.

“Jake,” he proclaimed as he grinned.