Page 30 of Fool Me

Travis was forced to stay and took on the role of Interim Incident Commander.

“Now we’re in a better place, and I can step away knowing that the team will be okay.”

His gaze darts to me for a split second before he scans the rest of the room.

“I can’t believe you’re just going to walk away. We had such a good thing going,” Conrad teases.

“It was a bromance for the ages, but I’m certain you’ll survive. My wife wants to travel, and she’s the boss. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’ll divorce my ass if I don’t join her in retirement.”

“Nonsense! Carla loves you,” Cal says from the couch.

“Not as much as she loves that campervan we bought and still haven’t used,” Travis shoots back.

“That’s what she thinks now. She’ll be sick of your ass in a week,” Conrad says.

“A week? I give her a day.” Someone else snorts.

“How long do we get you for?” I ask.

“Until the end of the summer.” He clears his throat with a thick sound and his eyes crinkle at the corners as they canvas the room, stopping on me. “The interview process is long and I want to spend some time with the new IC to ensure a smooth transition. If you’re interested in the role, you should apply. To my knowledge, we will be considering both internal and external candidates.”

The rest of the meeting is housekeeping items, reminders about policies, and prep for the training. When we finally wrap up, Travis says, “Parking is limited at the trailhead; carpool if you can. I need a volunteer to help load up the gear around back.”

I step forward. Loading the gear means riding with Travis, and that gives me twenty minutes on the drive to pick his brain about his replacement.

“How did I know it’d be you, Corbin?” Travis says with a hearty laugh.

We walk through the building, back toward my dad. He nods as we pass, opening the garage door at the back of his office space to load the equipment that’s already set aside for us.

“Like predictability in a search and rescue worker is ever a bad thing.” I scoff.

He nods his head, like he knows exactly what I mean. “The ones that keep me guessing make me jumpy. This work is uncertain enough. I don’t need team members I can’t trust.”

Part of me does a happy dance at what feels like an endorsement while we load the sled and backboard into the truck. Next come the ropes, harnesses, and clips—all organized and neatly sorted, thanks to my dad.

“We both know half the reason you volunteered to help was to pick my brain about the job, so have at it.”

“Tell me more about the process. I want to be as prepared as possible.”

Booming laughter fills the car of the truck before he launches into what feels like an eighty-point explanation of all the steps, including a practical exam, reviewing the candidates’ advanced certifications, and multiple rounds of panel interviews. Hiring this role is a collaborative process. Partner organizations, like the county SAR team and key members of the municipalities we serve, will be consulted. While they don’t make the decision, they are part of the process and are given a chance to voice an opinion because of how close we all work together.

By the time he moves on to the additional training the selected candidate would undergo after being selected, my head is spinning and we’re pulling into the parking lot.

“The application will open up next week. I can’t tell you who else is interested, because that wouldn’t be fair, but there will be external applicants.”

“I hear you loud and clear.”

“No, I’m not sure you do.” He takes his hat off and then settles it back on his head. “Off the record, you can’t let your emotions get the best of you. You’re one of the most level-headed people I know—most of the time. Your past clouding your judgement will only hinder your success here. Stay the trail, don’t let distractions lead you off the path. You’re ready for this, Harlowe. Show them that.”

Damn it, two fatherly speeches in one day from the men I look up to most. What are they trying to do to me?

“I’ll make you proud.”

“Whether you get the job or not, I’m proud of you, Harlowe.”

With that, I reach for the handle, needing the fresh mountain air. The emotions in the cab of the truck are almost more than I can handle.

CHAPTER

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