Page 31 of The Triple Play

OLIVIA

When I blink open my eyes, I’m confused by the sounds of the cabin, and for a few minutes, my brain struggles to clear the fog of sleep and remember why I’m hearing murmured voices and laughter.

Right. The storm, the tree blocking my car from getting out, and Griffin and Denver showing up to rescue me and needing to staying the night. They took the loft bed, and I’m on the couch.

Which means, if I’m hearing voices, they’ve already come downstairs and would have seen me asleep on the couch.

I can only hope I wasn’t drooling. Or snoring!

That thought chases away the last dregs of sleep in a hurry.

I unzip my sleeping bag and pry myself out of the warmth. Any heat from the fire last night that had collected in the loft has long since dissipated, and it’s cold enough to make me shiver when my socked feet hit the wooden floor. I slide on my shoes and my fleece sweater, pull my hair up in a ponytail, and take a deep, steadying breath.

Sensing my wakeful state at last, Trip comes bounding over to me with an excited yip. I crouch down to give him some love.

“Where did you end up sleeping last night?” I say quietly, but apparently, not quiet enough.

“Not sure when he joined us, but we woke up to find him wedged in between us.” Denver chuckles, wandering over with a cup of steaming coffee, and hands it to me. I only ever drink coffee when I’m working in the field, preferring chai tea the rest of the time.

“Thank you,” I murmur, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

“He’s quite the bed hog,” Denver continues. “I was all set to shove Griff off the edge when I realized it was the dog, not him, taking up all the room.”

“Sorry about that, he’s used to sharing a bed with only me, not two huge men.” I duck my head, focusing on the dog instead. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

“Oh, he’s already eaten,” Griffin calls out from the kitchen area where he’s stirring something on the camp stove. “I wasn’t sure how much to give him, so I just did one scoop.”

I blink slowly. “Wow, um, thanks,” I say, too stunned by his thoughtfulness to be any more articulate. Not only did he feed my dog, but he was careful not to overfeed him. That warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach is back. Coffee in hand, I move over to Griffin and peek in the pot, where oatmeal is bubbling away. “Looks like the dog food isn’t the only thing you found.”

He gives me a gentle smile over his shoulder. “Hope it’s cool we raided your food bins again. We didn’t bring any provisions.”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “Thank you for cooking. And making coffee. And feeding my dog.” I chew on my lip. “Seems like I’m going to owe you both big time.”

Denver’s hands land on my shoulders, startling me. “Nah, you don’t owe us anything, Pix. We’re the ones eating your food, drinking your coffee, and taking your bed.”

I turn around, but his hands remain where they are. I like it. “Gosh, you’re right, I am doing so much for you. Hmm, when you put it like that, it seems you’re the ones who owe me.” I tap my chin with a finger. “However will you repay me?”

Griffin lowers a bowl of grey-coloured mush in between Denver and I. “By feeding you some more of your own food, of course.”

The guys settle in at the table with their own bowls of oatmeal.

“We checked in with our headquarters already. The storm has passed, but it’s a mess out there. They need us back in town to help out as soon as possible. So once we’re done eating, we’ll get out of here, okay?” Griffin asks.

“Yup, sounds good,” I reply.

As we finish eating, Denver shares stories of some crazy rescues they’ve done in the past. Including one of their more recent ones when Griffin had to rappel down a cliff to rescue an injured climber.

“But stuff like that is rare over here,” Griffin interjects. “Honestly, we do a lot more flood response and sometimes searches for missing hikers who get lost. There just aren’t the conditions here on the island that would lead to more intense situations.”

“Yeah, no avalanches, thank god,” Denver adds. “The teams are a lot busier in the summer with forest fires and such, but we’re busy with the Thunder.”

“So how does that work?” I ask. “I always assumed search and rescue was volunteer, not paid work. They just hire you for the winter?”

“Pretty much.” Griffin nods. “We’ve done it the last seven years.”

“Eight for me,” Denver interrupts. “I signed up the same year I joined the Thunder, and Griff followed the next year. The fact that we had extra training in avalanche safety already and were experienced climbers and skiers helped. By having a pair of regular staff, they’re able to rely on less volunteers, which helps in our area. There’s not many people willing to do what we do.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But how do you get paid?”