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The guy wrangled his sons and all three went climbing back up the trail and out of sight, leaving me to contemplate my life choices. I slumped forlornly on my rock chair. The panic was ebbing away, leaving me feeling tired and foolish.
This was a mistake. I should’ve stayed in Seattle.
I waited for who-knew-how-long, a second heartbeat pounding in my ankle that now looked like it had swallowed a softball. Other hikers picked their way around me to and from the Falls, some stopping to wince at my ankle on my behalf.
“That doesn’t look fun,” said one helpful commenter.
“Ouch!” said another.
I bit back a dozen smart-ass remarks and forced a weak smile, wondering how in the hell I was going to get off this trail.
After a short eternity, Rob Reiner 2.0 returned. He introduced himself as Mike and told me the EMTs were on their way.
“Thank you, Mike,” I said, defeated. Not here a day and I’d already needed a man’s help, andhe’dgone to find a bunch more men to rescue me from this ridiculous predicament.
“No problem, sweetheart. Can I do anything else?”
“Mix me a martini? Dry, two olives.”
He chuckled, and he and his sons resumed playing in the water. I suspected they all had their fill of the Falls but were hanging around for my sake.
Because I’m a train wreck. As usual.
Half a century later, five men in dark blue uniforms with FIRE written in bright yellow across the back stomped toward me in their combat boots. The whirring of a helicopter sounded from above.
“How we doing, miss?” asked a gruff, deep voice.
“Never better.”
I brushed my hair off my face to glance up. My eyes widened and for a few blissful moments, my ankle was forgotten.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmured.
A beautiful beast of a man stood over me—six feet of muscle, reeking of cool competence and packaged in a uniform that announcedI save lives for a living.
The firefighter was looking at me expectantly—impatiently—but I was too busy admiring the perfect geometry of his face, all chiseled planes and hard angles. Both hair and eyes were a rich, soft brown, but his gaze was stony and cool. His handsome features amounted to a brick wall—hard, strong, and not letting anything in.
“Yes, hi, I’m your problem child today.”
“Name?”
“Faith Benson.”
He squatted in front of my mud-splattered legs to examine my ankle. “Move your toes for me.”
I did as he said. Commanded, really. “Are you a doctor too?”
“EMT.” He laid two fingers on the top of my foot, feeling for a pulse. “These shoes aren’t appropriate for this trail.”
“I’mpainfullyaware.”
He snorted. “If I had a dollar for every tourist who traipses in here after a rain, utterly unprepared…”
His disdain smacked me back to my reality, and the pain came rushing back with it.
“You have a lovely bedside manner,” I said. “And you don’t look Hawaiian, by the way, so maybe cool it on the dumb tourist talk? This hurts like crazy.”
He grunted in response and turned to his fellow firefighters. They huddled for a moment about what to do with me, one speaking into a walkie-talkie affixed to his shoulder. The helicopter came into sight again—a red mosquito flitting across the blue sky.
