Kind of like wildfires. They didn't care if you had vacation days planned or a hot date. When they sparked, you showed up. That was the code I lived by—show up, do the job, keep people safe. Everything else was secondary.
"Tell me more about your crew in Foxfire Valley," Lila said, interrupting my thoughts. "You mentioned them before."
"They're like family," I replied. "Been working with most of them for years now. We're a tight unit—have to be in our line of work."
"And what exactly does a search and rescue pilot do during fire season?"
I glanced at her, surprised by the genuine curiosity in her voice. "We fly missions to monitor fire spread, drop fire retardant, transport firefighters, and sometimes extract people from dangerous situations. Search and rescue when hikers get stranded or injured in remote areas. Emergency medical transport when needed."
"Sounds dangerous."
"It can be." I shrugged. "But someone has to do it."
"And that someone has to be you?"
The question hung between us. It wasn't the first time someone had asked me that, but something about the way she said it—slightly challenging, slightly curious—made me want to give her a real answer.
"I'm good at it," I said finally. "And I know the terrain better than most. Grew up there, know every canyon and ridgeline like the back of my hand. Makes a difference when visibility is low and you're trying to find someone before they become a statistic."
She studied me for a moment, as if reassessing her first impression. "Fair enough."
"What about you?" I asked. "Why wine sales? Seems like a pretty specific career choice."
"Because I'm good at it," she echoed my words with a small smile. "I can tell you the soil composition of every major vineyard in California and how it affects the flavor profile. I can pair a wine with a meal that will make you rethink your entire relationship with food. And I never forget a vintage."
"Impressive," I admitted. "So it's not just about working at Sunset Vines with your brother?"
Her expression cooled immediately. "I'm creating my own path."
Sensitive subject. Noted.
The miles rolled by as the landscape gradually shifted from desert to something a little greener. My phone shuffled to a Zac Brown Band song, and I hummed along absently.
"Do you have anything other than country?" Lila asked, eyeing my phone with thinly veiled disdain.
"Driver picks the music," I replied. "Passenger shuts her pretty mouth."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. "Pretty, huh?"
I'd walked right into that one. "Figure of speech."
"Uh-huh."
I reached for a bag of beef jerky in the center console, tearing it open with my teeth while keeping one hand on the wheel. Lila watched the maneuver with an expression that fell somewhere between impressed and horrified.
"Want some?" I offered, holding the bag toward her.
She peered inside like I was offering her roadkill. "What is that, exactly?"
"Teriyaki beef jerky. Road trip essential."
"Pass." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small container of almonds. "I prefer snacks that don't double as shoe leather."
"Suit yourself." I took an exaggerated bite, chewing loudly enough to make her wince. "More for me."
"Do you always eat like a caveman, or is this a special performance for my benefit?"
"Special performance," I grinned. "I'm usually much worse."
