Page 16 of The Blaze Between Us

"Roger that. 1700 hours for check-in or we dispatch Max. Over."

"That's affirmative. Brock out." I clip the radio back to my belt, noticing Tasha's impressed expression.

"Very official," she comments. "I feel like I'm in a movie."

"Standard wilderness protocol," I explain. "Cell service is spotty up here even in good weather. During storms, it's practically non-existent."

"Good thing you came prepared," she says, and there's genuine appreciation in her voice.

"Always," I reply, focusing on everything except how the emergency blanket has slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the curve where her neck meets her collarbone.

The rain continues its relentless drumming on the roof, though the gaps between thunder claps are growing longer, suggesting the storm is indeed moving away.

"I think we're past the worst of it," I announce, standing to get a better look outside. "Still raining, but the lightning danger has passed."

"Can we make a break for it?" Tasha asks, sounding both relieved and apprehensive.

"If you're up for it. The trail's going to be treacherous, but we can manage if we're careful."

She nods, beginning to fold the emergency blanket. "I'm ready when you are. I don't want to make your firefighter friend come looking for us on an ATV."

"Max would love the excuse," I say with a short laugh. "He lives for dramatic rescues. But let's try to spare him the trouble."

We pack up quickly, and I survey the shelter again to ensure we're leaving nothing behind. Tasha stands near the entrance, peering out at the wet forest.

"Stay close," I instruct as we step out into the rain. "The trail's going to be slick."

We begin our descent, moving cautiously over ground that has transformed from a well-maintained hiking path into a muddy obstacle course. Water has carved small channels down the steeper sections, creating miniature streams that make footing unpredictable.

"Take your time," I remind Tasha, who's following a few steps behind me. "No rush."

"Easy for you to say," she replies, her voice strained with concentration. "You look like you could navigate this blindfolded."

"Years of practice," I say over my shoulder. "And plenty of falls along the way."

We continue in silence; the only sounds our footsteps and the persistent patter of rain through the trees. I can also hear Tasha's movements behind me, her fast breathing and theoccasional soft exclamation when she encounters a particularly slippery spot.

About halfway down the trail, we reach a steeper section where water has washed away much of the loose soil, exposing roots and rocks that now protrude like Nature's idea of an obstacle course. I pause, assessing the safest route.

"This part's tricky," I warn, turning to face Tasha. "Watch where I step and try to follow the same path."

She nods, her expression serious. I begin navigating the section, deliberately placing each foot to create the safest possible path for her to follow. When I reach the bottom of the steep portion, I turn to watch her progress.

She's following my footsteps precisely, her concentration evident in the slight furrow between her brows. She moves slowly, testing each foothold before committing her weight.

"You're doing great," I encourage as she nears the bottom. "Just two more steps."

Perhaps it's my words breaking her concentration or simply bad luck, but her right foot suddenly slips on a mud-slicked root. She pitches forward with a startled cry, arms flailing as she tries to catch herself. I lunge forward, but I'm not quite quick enough to prevent her fall.

She lands hard, a pained gasp escaping her as her ankle twists beneath her.

"Tasha!" I'm at her side instantly, "Don't move. Let me check you."

"I'm okay," she insists, though her face has gone pale. "Just clumsy."

"Let me be the judge of that," I say firmly, kneeling beside her in the mud. "Where does it hurt?"

"Right ankle," she admits, grimacing as she tries to shift position. "I felt it twist."

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