Читать книгу From Out Of The Blue - Nadia Nichols - Страница 9

MITCHELL MCCRAY hated Mondays. For some reason, Monday seemed to be the day most of the emergency calls came in. The groups that had been flown in to base camp a week or two before would almost always have a member in trouble by Monday and be on the radio to the flying service that abandoned them there, asking for assistance. Begging, sometimes in that desperate and disbelieving way, as if the idea of failure had never occurred to them. As if illness or injury or bad weather had never figured in to any of their carefully thought-out plans.

But that wasn’t why he hated Mondays. Mitch hated Mondays because it was written into Wally’s secret code of work ethics: never, ever show up for work on Mondays. And because Wally was the boss, he got away with spending every Monday with Campy, who also had Mondays off and was sexy enough to make any red-blooded man forget that Monday was supposed to be the first day of the work week, not the last day of the weekend.

Therefore, all of Monday’s woes fell on his own shoulders and he never had backup. He also hated Mondays because if there was one day of the week the damn plane malfunctioned it would be on a Monday. Somehow, Wally had infused his own pathetic work ethic into the very rivets of the temperamental flying machine he’d dubbed Babe. What kind of a mechanic/pilot/flying service owner would name a plane after a cartoon pig? Then again, maybe it was a perfect moniker. The old red-and-white Stationair sucked down aviation fuel like a factory-farmed market hog and was about as athletic. It had crash-landed twice, sustained serious structural damage both times and taken additional abuse from several bad hail storms, which was why Wally had been able to buy it so cheap.

Which was also why it was on the ground more often than it was in the air.

In the first two hours of the day, Mitch fielded a radio transmission from a bunch of German climbers who were experiencing second thoughts about one of their companion’s stomach pains. “Ve sinks eet might be heez apindeezeez!” So he assured them he’d be along soon, only to discover, when he tried to fire up Babe, that Wally’s market hog had died at the trough sometime between engine shutdown Sunday night and attempted start-up Monday morning.

Mitch now had to drive all the way into Talkeetna to pick up the part they should have replaced weeks ago, which meant he had to give the German climbers’ rescue over to Polar Express, which meant they’d be the ones to reap the huge gratuity for saving the sick climber from a possibly fatal attack of “apindeezeez” because climbers, especially foreigners, tipped big when they were rescued, which was the only good thing to come out of a Monday.

All of which put him in a very ugly mood when he climbed into his truck and gunned it down the middle of the airstrip toward Pike’s Creek Road, throwing up a rooster tail of gravel and dust and nearly running over Thor, who woke from his fourth boredom nap of the morning just in time to realize he was being left behind. Mitch slammed on the brakes and the big, black wolfish-looking dog leapt effortlessly into the back. He’d ride there all the way to the “big city” and back, yellow eyes staring through the rear sliding window and the windshield, watching intently for moose—a tact that was both his hobby and profession. The brute was good at it, too, especially at night. Whenever he saw one he’d let out a woof that never failed to get the driver’s attention. Thor had saved Mitch’s life many times over. Seeing a dark moose on a dark road in the dark was damn near impossible, and lots of Alaskans had lost their lives because they hadn’t seen it.

He was almost out to the highway when he spotted the little tan-colored sedan with the flat tire. Why the hell anyone would try driving a city car like that on a road like this was beyond him. He slowed down. Who knows? Maybe this was a chance to pick up a few extra bucks and put some gas in the tank. Talkeetna was a long haul if you weren’t a crow, and fuel was damned expensive. He pulled alongside and leaned out his window, sizing up the situation. Rental car. Young slender woman with short dark hair, dressed in blue jeans and a fleece jacket trying to put one of those little scissor jacks under the axle on the opposite side of the car. Couldn’t see what she looked like, but maybe she’d be good-looking enough to turn his day around. A man could always hope.

“Need a hand?” He cut the engine and got out, slamming the truck door behind him. She abandoned her efforts and pushed to her feet to face him as he rounded the front of her car. Recognition struck a hard blow to his solar plexus, stopping him in his tracks. God almighty. K. C. Jones stood in front of him, staring him right in the eye in that proud defiant way, and she was just as dangerously gorgeous as the first time he’d set eyes on her. She’d cut her beautiful long hair, but it was her, all right. He’d thought about her from time to time over the years, more than he liked to think about any woman, but that was because of the way she’d treated him. She was the first woman he’d been intimate with who’d left him without so much as a goodbye.

“I’ll be damned,” he finally managed to say. “You must be one of them fancy naval aviators the government sent north to field-test rental car tires on the Pike’s Creek Road.”

“Hello, Mitch,” she said, cool as the morning. “How are you?”

“Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Been awhile.”

“Yes, it has.” And then she nodded over his shoulder. “Is that your truck?”

He glanced behind him as if there might be some question. Thor was standing on the diamond-plate toolbox that spanned the bed behind the cab, ears at attention and eyes fixed on K. C. Jones. “No. It belongs to Thor. The dog. But he lets me drive it,” he said, wishing the rust spots weren’t so big and numerous. “Good to see you, by the way. What’s it been, four, five years? What brings you this far north?”

She gave him a small smile. “I had some time off and thought I’d see what Alaska looks like without any snow on it.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that you happened to be driving down this particular road when you got a flat?”

“Not exactly. I was coming to see you.” After an awkward pause, during which she had the decency to blush, she added, “I’m sorry, I know you must be busy. You were driving somewhere in a big hurry. I probably should’ve called first but…”

“Not a problem,” Mitch assured her. “I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

“You did? Why?”

“To apologize for not saying goodbye when you left Eielson.” Her blush deepened. Good. At least she hadn’t forgotten that part. “I’m on my way to pick up a part for Babe in Talkeetna. I’ll fix the flat on your rental car, then if you want, I’ll take you out for lunch.”

“The rental doesn’t have a spare,” she said. “I discovered that just before you arrived. But lunch sounds fine. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

Mitch removed her flat tire in minutes, threw it in the back of the truck to drop off at the local gas station, and in minutes they were on their way.

She’d said she wanted to talk and he was kind of curious to find out why she’d shown up from out of the blue after four plus years, especially since she’d never answered his letter, but several miles passed without her saying a word. The silence between them soon became the loudest thing he’d ever heard. He figured it was up to him to jump-start this conversation.

“So, how long have you been in Alaska?”

“I just arrived last night.” She gave him a questioning glance. “Who’s Babe?”

“Babe’s the only plane owned by Wally’s Air Charter at the moment, but I have my eye on another.”

“I heard you left the air force.”

“Yeah. It was time. I started out on the career track, same as you, but I lost my enthusiasm for military life after they tried to court-martial me.” Her eyes bore into him with such a peculiar look, he nearly drove off the highway, but he wrenched the wheel and managed to keep all four tires on the asphalt. “I wrote you right after it was over. The trial was short because they didn’t have much of a case, but when the time came to reenlist, I didn’t. No regrets.”

“I see.” She sat through another endless five-mile silence before asking, “How do you like flying for an air charter?”

“The flying’s great, but business is iffy. Wally’s a good mechanic—he specialized in airframe and power plant in the military—but trying to keep Babe in the air is costing us more than it’s worth. I should be flying out to the mountain to pick up a sick German climber but instead I’m driving to Talkeetna to pick up another airplane part. Which means no groceries this week.”

Six more miles of silence slipped past before she said, “Do you have a family?”

Didn’t everyone? “Yeah. Three brothers, two younger, one older; a baby sister; and my dad. My mother died of cancer a few years back. They all stayed put in Maine. I’m the only escapee.”

This time the silence was brief. “What I meant was, are you married?”

This wasn’t quite the conversation he’d thought they’d be having. “Huh?”

“Wife, kids?”

“Happily divorced for six years, no kids.” Four more miles of silence went by. With the tension screaming around the cab of the truck, he decided they were the longest four miles he’d ever traveled. He was beginning to regret asking her to come along. Why was she here anyway? “You married?” he finally asked.

“No.”

He nodded. “I read about you in the September issue of Air Force magazine. Great article, though I thought it was traitorous that they’d profile a Navy flier. It mentioned the difficulties of juggling motherhood and a career. Since it didn’t include ‘husband’ in the mix, I figured there wasn’t one.”

“You guessed correctly.”

“But you have a kid?”

“A son. His name is Hayden. It’s an old family name.”

“What does Hayden think about his mother being a Navy pilot?”

“Hayden’s relaxed about everything. He’s a pretty cool kid.”

“I guess pretty cool women just naturally have pretty cool kids.”

He thought that might get a smile but she just looked out the window, heaved a small sigh and said, “I was lucky.”

“Somebody else sure was, too.” The words bounced awkwardly around the cab and he cursed himself for uttering them, but it was true. Somebody was. Some Navy guy, probably. Dare he ask? Ah, what the hell. “What does Hayden think about his father?”

“I told him his father died in a plane crash.”

Tragic for them both, but that explained why she wasn’t married. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, hoping his words sounded more sincere than he felt. “So, how long do you have?”

“Pardon?”

Okay, maybe the silence was better than talking. She was glaring at him as if he’d just insulted her. “How long are you here for? A week? Two?”

She faced front again and said, “I don’t have that long. Two weeks, max.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Moosewood Road House.”

“Nice place. They have a decent restaurant.”

“Yes.”

This conversation was going nowhere fast. He was no closer to finding out why she was here than he had been thirty miles ago, and she hadn’t yet bothered to explain why she’d never said goodbye to him after the night they’d shared. He was beginning to wish she hadn’t interrupted his Monday, except that, damn it all, she was just as provocative as she’d been the first time he’d set eyes on her. His hormones were already at attention as he envisioned a passionate night or two tangled up in the sheets with her. So what if she hadn’t said goodbye? Maybe this time he’d be the one who flew off without a word.

Fair was fair, after all. Two could play that kind of game.

KATE REALIZED by the time they reached the tiny town of Talkeetna that she was in way over her head. While Mitch was in the aviation building at the small airport picking up his part, she sat in the truck, wondering if her erratic heartbeat had anything to do with the fevers that came and went or with the man she’d just spent the last hour with. What should she do? He was totally in the dark as to her real reasons for being here. He seemed glad to see her but he didn’t know, nor could she figure out how to tell him, that she’d never read the letter he’d sent.

Court-martial? That didn’t sound good. He obviously didn’t make much money, and his prospects for the future didn’t appear much better. He wasn’t married and had no kids, just a dog named Thor and a boss named Wally who obviously owned the charter service.

How should she proceed?

He stepped out of the hangar door and she was struck again by his sheer masculinity. It didn’t matter that he was dressed in faded Levi’s and an equally faded flannel shirt. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t shaved that morning or that his hair needed to be trimmed. He was handsome in a rugged, athletic way that matched the land he’d chosen to make his home in. Maybe he’d never be rich, maybe he’d never drive a late-model truck or fly a plane that didn’t always need fixing, but she had the feeling that somehow he’d get by. He was the kind of guy that would walk away from a hard landing with that same macho swagger and arrogant grin. Nothing would ever beat him down.

He wrenched open the truck door, tossed an object wrapped in a clean rag onto the bench seat between them and hauled himself in behind the wheel. “So, what’s your preference? There’s a deli a little ways from here or a roadhouse that serves great burgers. Your choice.”

“I’m not really that hungry.”

He fired up the engine and eased the truck into gear. “Then let’s grab a sandwich at the deli. It’s not as fancy and it’s quicker.”

He was as nervous as she was, she realized as he drove to the deli; only, when she got nervous, she got quiet, whereas Mitch couldn’t seem to shut up. The deli was rustic and charming with big baskets of bright flowers that hung from the porch eaves. He talked about fishing while they waited for their order to be delivered to the little picnic table on the porch, and in between bites of his sandwich he told her about salmon runs and grizzly bears that prowled the riverbank by his cabin and one instance when he’d barricaded himself inside while a bear chewed his favorite fly rod to splinters. And then came a long pause in the conversation and she glanced up and realized those disarming eyes were studying her intently.

“What?” she said, shifting under his scrutiny.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something wrong with your sandwich?”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“You said you wanted to talk, but this is a mighty one-sided conversation.”

She averted her eyes, heart thumping painfully. “I’m enjoying listening to you describe your life here.” She gave him a faint smile. “Your place sounds nice, except for the bears. Maybe you’d give me a tour while I’m here. I love log cabins.”

His eyes narrowed and he sat back in his chair. “Sure. Just say when.”

Kate had spent her childhood dreaming about what she was going to be when she grew up. Once she’d grown up, she’d spent every moment striving to make that dream come true, and every step of the way there had been men standing in her path, blocking her, trying to trip her up and hoping she’d fail and make a fool of herself.

Getting pregnant had been the worst setback of her career. Getting pregnant had validated all those chauvinistic remarks and those sexist attitudes. For four months she’d had to give up flying. Four whole months she’d been grounded because she’d done just what they’d expected her to do. She’d gone out and gotten herself pregnant, just like a woman.

This man had been a major player in tripping her up and almost causing her to fail, yet now she was sitting in this deli listening to him talk and his words were making her feel all warm and fuzzy inside and she caught herself thinking, Wow, for the past four years, I could have had a man in my life that I actually liked to talk to, listen to and, yes, make love with. There was no denying the magnetism that had made him so impossible to resist the first time they met. It was still there. She could still feel it. Just one touch and she’d succumb again, one touch and he’d destroy all her defenses and start another fire, one neither of them could put out. Would that be such a bad thing at this stage of her life?

What was the matter with her? She must be sicker than she thought to be having such crazy ideas. She didn’t need a man. She’d never needed one. She was happy being single. In fact, she preferred it. Nobody had to worry about Captain K. C. Jones. She could take care of herself. Always had and always would.

Always?

Ha! Funny how facing you own mortality cast a harsh light on everything and illuminated truths that had been so easily hidden beneath alternating layers of bravado and pride. Funny how it humbled…

“I have a confession to make,” she said. “I never read the letter you sent. I threw it off the edge of the flight deck, unopened, and I’m sorry.”

MITCH DIDN’T KNOW quite how to take this. All he knew was that it stung. He’d spent countless hours agonizing over each and every word, just to have her fling it off the edge of the flight deck, unopened? The letter he’d written to K. C. Jones four and a half years ago, give or take a few months, was the only one he’d ever penned to a woman. It encompassed weeks of laborious beginnings that went nowhere and awkward revisions that only made the content more stilted. He’d finally mailed it off in a kind of fatalistic coup de grâce.

“That explains why you never answered it,” he said. “But why are you sorry about it now?”

“Because I think maybe I should have read it. I was so angry then. So mad at you and at myself. I know it doesn’t make much sense and I’m sorry about that, too.”

Mitch didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Why would she have been angry at him? Were all women born irrational?

Probably.

Even if she didn’t give a damn about him, she should have read his letter and had the decency to put him out of his misery with a proper “Dear John” response, instead of leaving him wondering why she’d snuck away as she had. And now here she was, sitting across from him at his favorite deli, having told him she wanted to talk. But about what? Obviously not the fact that she’d missed him.

After watching her shred her paper napkin into smaller and smaller pieces, he finally reached out his hand to pull the remnants away. “Okay,” he said, balling them up and dropping them into the center of the table. “If you’re not so mad anymore, then I guess the two of us have some catching up to do.”

She nodded, and a faint flush colored her cheeks. “Maybe you could take me back to your place and give me the tour. We could talk there.”

“You bet.” He paused in the act of rising out of his chair. “Did I mention my cabin had no indoor plumbing or electricity?”

“That seems appropriate for a cabin.”

“And you’re sure you want to talk there?”

She nodded again.

“Good enough.” He took her uneaten sandwich, wrapped it in several napkins and stuffed it in his jacket pocket in the hopes she’d eat it later. If she didn’t, Thor would. In the center of the table he left a pile of bills, enough to cover the tab and a good-sized tip, and then he escorted Kate back out to his truck and wondered if maybe, just maybe, his day hadn’t just taken a big-time turn for the better.

CHEMOTHERAPY, as defined by her doctors, was the use of drugs or chemicals, often in combinations, to kill or damage cancer cells in the body. These drugs targeted not just cancer cells, but all cells that divided quickly, including those responsible for hair growth. They had been administered intravenously via a small plastic needle inserted in her forearm, delivering a mixed bag of anticancer agents into her bloodstream, a potent cocktail of life and death, of nausea and pain, of hair loss and fatigue and above all else, hope.

For Kate, those weeks spent in the hospital undergoing intensive chemotherapy had been hell. She’d kept Hayden’s picture pinned to the wall by her bed, a bright icon to gaze upon in her darkest hours, and she’d requested several pieces of exercise equipment be scrubbed, sanitized and delivered to her room so she could keep fit while undergoing the most difficult physical and mental challenge of her life. She was still biking four miles each morning when her hair started to fall out, first by the strand, then by the handful. All her long, dark hair disappeared while she pedaled, and she prayed that, in the end, her love of life and for her son would triumph and prevail.

Rosa would bring Hayden to the hospital, and the medical staff would dress them both in sterile gowns and allow them into her room. The first time was hard. Hayden didn’t understand why she couldn’t come home. The second time was even harder. He cried when it was time for him to leave. The third time, her hair was coming out and as she tried to explain it to him he took a handful of it in his little fist and pressed it to the side of his face. “I take it for you, Mumma,” he said. “Now can you come home?”

Kate clung to his precious existence and drew sustenance and strength from it. What else was there to hold on to in a life that measured everything by the yardstick of military might? She had become a weak, pale woman with no hair, retching into a toilet bowl while a nurse said soothingly from behind, “It’s all right.” What was all right about it? She was young and she didn’t see the sense or reason in her illness. She didn’t smoke or drink or do drugs. She ate a healthy diet. She jogged five miles each and every morning, rain or shine. She didn’t understand how or why she’d gotten this sick and she never would, so how could she expect her son to understand when she told him she couldn’t come home?

Yet somehow, Hayden did come to understand. During that first month of her treatment he came to accept her stay in the hospital and her struggle with leukemia with an optimism and resiliency that both humbled and inspired her, and made her more determined than ever to win the fight. She had to be there for him. She had to survive this for Hayden.

After her second month-long chemotherapy session at the cancer research hospital in Seattle, she’d been scheduled for two months of “rest and recovery,” during which time her doctors were hoping a blood match would be found, allowing them to schedule a bone marrow transplant. Her leukemia was an aggressive type, and she’d been told the odds of finding a match were worse than the average of one in fifty thousand because of the native blood on her mother’s side of the family, but the doctors seemed confident that a donor would appear. It had been her mother’s suggestion to spend those two months building up her strength at the family home in Montana, far from the large population centers Ruth was sure would compromise her daughter’s weakened immune system. Her arguments were convincing, especially since Kate had just resigned her Navy commission…or tried to.

Why not go home? Her parents were there, and it would be good for both her and Hayden to be in the old ranch house in the foothills of the Rockies surrounded by millions of acres of wilderness.

Instead, she was here in Alaska, a land whose rugged beauty proved more than equal to that of Montana, sitting in the cab of a rusty old truck next to a man she didn’t know anything about beyond the memories of one passionate night. A man who’d been an officer when she’d met him but was no longer in the military. A man who flew a broken-down plane and barely earned enough to survive on. A man she had to get to know as fast as possible in order to be able to decide if he’d be a fit parent for Hayden because he could end up being the only parent Hayden had.

So, how to begin?

Kate folded her hands in her lap and composed her thoughts while she studied the dramatic scenery as the truck headed north. “Tell me about the court-martial,” she said, reasoning that she might as well get the worst part over with.

He drove a few moments more in silence, then blew out a breath and glanced sideways. “You really didn’t read that letter?” She shook her head and he focused on the road. “I was brought up on charges of conduct unbecoming an officer, dereliction of duty and being absent without leave.”

“What did you do?”

“I spent a night off base with the hottest Navy pilot in the fleet.”

Kate stiffened with shock. She kept her eyes forward while waiting for her heart rate to steady. She had been the reason for his being brought up on court-martial charges? “You can’t be serious.”

“Remember Skidder?”

“The mechanic in phase dock?”

“When I didn’t return that night he told my CO, who was convinced I was having an affair with his wife. That’s all it took. He called me into his office two days after the blizzard blew itself out, threw the charges at me and said, ‘Major McCray, you have just made a dire mistake and I’m going to make sure you pay for it in spades.’”

“How is it that I never heard anything about this through the liaison officer? Wouldn’t Skidder have mentioned my involvement?”

“Oh, he tried. Skidder would do anything to weasel his way up the ladder.” He flashed her a brash grin. “But in the end, all the prosecutor could prove was that I got stuck off base in a blizzard after delivering you to the officers’ quarters.”

“But you didn’t deliver me there until the next morning.”

“They couldn’t prove that, either. The blizzard’s whiteout conditions and the power outage helped out there.”

“What about the owner of the saloon?”

“He testified that he locked the Mad Dog up when the power went out and went home.”

“You mean, he lied under oath?”

“When the military plays hard-ass with civilians, civilians don’t always play by their rules.”

“Were you having an affair with your CO’s wife?”

“Of course not. She was twenty years older than me. The whole trial was a fiasco and it made my CO look like an idiot, which didn’t improve our relationship much.”

Kate shot him a skeptical look, then shook her head and faced front again. “I didn’t know you were going through all that.”

“Would you have been less mad at me if you’d known?”

She stifled a wry laugh. “No, at the time probably not. I probably would’ve been glad you were paying for it. Sorry.”

He nodded, as if that was explanation enough for him. “I hope you like dogs,” he said as he turned down Pike’s Creek Road.

“I do. Why?”

“Thor’s been banned from the airstrip because he chases planes, so I’ll have to drop him at the cabin before bringing the part to Wally’s.” When they got to her rental car, he stopped just long enough to replace the repaired flat tire, then continued on. Where the road forked, he headed left and nodded to the right and said, “That way leads to the airstrip.” A few miles later, after passing two somewhat ramshackle dwellings, one of which looked long abandoned, the road ended at his cabin.

Kate had prepared herself for a plywood-and-tar-paper shack with blue tarps strung everywhere and rusted fifty-five-gallon drums lying about. She was surprised by the attractive complex of log buildings. There were several sturdy outbuildings in addition to the charming cabin, including an authentic log food cache raised high on four posts. The hand-hewn main cabin had dovetailed notches, a real stone chimney and a porch that practically hung out over the creek. The clearing itself was large, and a garden space was surrounded by a rustic staked fence fashioned from alder and willow poles, but it looked as though nothing had been planted inside for several seasons. There was a wonderful view of the rugged snowcapped mountain range, including the mighty Denali, who was still showing her face to the world.

“Is that a dogsled on the porch roof?”

“Yup. A dog musher used to live here. One day his wife decided she’d had enough of living the backwoods life with a bunch of sled dogs and a guy who was always out on the trail, so she left him, and after a few years he lost heart and got rid of all his dogs except Thor, who slipped out of his collar and ran off.” He wrenched open the truck door, jumped down and walked around to open her door. “He sold me the place for a song because I happened to ask him about it on the right day and then he followed his wife back to Florida. Thor reappeared a week later and decided to stay. It worked out well for me because it was so cheap and it’s only seven miles from the airstrip. Plus I got a sled dog thrown in for free. Nice, huh?”

“Yes,” she admitted. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

“Will you be okay here for a little while, or do you want to help me put a fuel filter in the plane?”

“I’ll be fine.” Again surprised by his manners, she took his hand and let him assist her out of the truck. He’d done the same thing back at the deli.

“I’ll give you the official tour when I get back, and we can talk then. Thor will keep the bears away. Help yourself to anything and everything and don’t mind the mess—I wasn’t expecting company. There’s a satellite phone in the kitchen, if you need to use it. Here, take your sandwich.” He fished her napkin-wrapped lunch of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Don’t just look at it, eat it.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said, stepping back and giving him a mock salute.

Kate watched him drive back down the rutted gravel road and wondered when he’d realize the dog was still riding in the back. Thor obviously preferred Mitch’s company, which was okay with her. She’d just have to deal with any bears that came along. Meanwhile, she’d prowl around the cabin and investigate the domestic side of Mitchell McCray.