Читать книгу The Single Dad's Guarded Heart - Roz Denny Fox - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

WYLIE AMES MOTIONED to his excited eight-year-old son, Dean, to stay back until Mick Callen’s charter plane came to a full stop. Then the ranger saw a woman at the controls. Where was Mick? Damn. Wylie always looked forward to the bush pilot’s visits. So did Dean. Their outpost did get lonely. Not that Wylie minded solitude so much, but it was hard on his son, who was by nature more sociable.

Whoa! Not one but two females had invaded his bastion, Wylie saw, as the woman hurried around the plane to assist a child from the passenger side. A curly-haired girl.

The pilot studied him warily. Wylie figured she must be the woman he’d talked to on the phone—Mick’s sister. He couldn’t help but wonder what she might’ve heard about him. Right now, while Wylie stared into the sun, she had the advantage of checking him out. Even shading his eyes with a hand allowed him only sketchy impressions. So, he moved into the trees.

She was tall for a woman, and thin as a conifer sapling. Her hair was something, though. Like honey fresh from the comb. The thick mass fell to well below her shoulders. Nice. Very nice.

As she stepped out of the sun and he was afforded a better view, Wylie felt a kick to his sternum that left him gasping for air. He told himself to get a grip. He’d banned reactions of that kind long ago.

He clamped his back teeth tight as Dean bolted past on his way to greet the new arrivals. Feet welded in place, Wylie had some furious thoughts for Mick Callen. What the hell was his friend thinking? Of course, it was his right to put his own plane at risk. But there was the matter of Wylie’s shipment…. Parts for his ancient generator came at a premium and were getting harder to locate. Out here in the wilderness, a generator was vital, especially during tough winters.

His son’s chatter, followed by a higher-pitched response, shook Wylie from his thoughts in time to see the pilot lift a wood crate from the cargo hold. It was evident from her stiff steps that the crate weighed probably as much as she did.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, striding over to relieve her of her load. Up close, it looked to him as if she’d break more easily than a sapling. Irritation made him muscle her aside none too gently, and he carried the crate the rest of the way. “I don’t know why Mick sent you, but he should have his head examined. This stuff’s too heavy for a woman.”

Marlee, already simmering at being assessed by this backwoods oaf, glared up—and at just over five foot nine herself, there weren’t a lot of men she had to tip her head back to meet eye to eye. Confronted instead by Ames’s broad back, she wheeled and stalked to the plane to haul out another crate.

His expression was dour as he hustled toward her and reached for her load. Marlee offered a slight curl of her upper lip that some might mistake for a smile…seconds before she let go of the box. She knew her aim had been true when she heard him swear. Marlee glanced over her shoulder and saw Ranger Ames hopping about on one square-toed boot.

Satisfied, she returned to the plane for a third box.

The kids, still yakking up a storm, had progressed from the passenger side of the Arrow to its nose. A gangly boy with sandy red hair, freckles galore and lake-blue eyes said, “I’m Dean. Is it all right if Jo Beth goes with me to the tire swing my dad hung in our apple tree?”

Marlee paused to take in the pair of eager faces. This was the most animated she’d seen Jo Beth since before Cole’s death. “Is it far?”

“Nope. You can see our house from here.” The boy waved a hand toward a cabin visible beyond a forest of trees more diverse than the ones that grew in Whitepine. At a glance Marlee identified spruce, fir, larch, cedar and hemlock. Each emitted its unique scent—aromas Marlee had grown up with, but had forgotten. For too many years, she’d spent her days and nights at sea on the deck of a carrier where she smelled mostly jet fuel mixed with sweat.

All the same, the old familiar sights and scents settled her jumpy stomach. Jumpy because she’d more than half believed Pappy Jack’s gossip surrounding the supposed disappearance of Wylie Ames’s wife, this outgoing little boy’s mother. But Dean Ames certainly seemed happy and well cared for.

Marlee shot a surreptitious glance to where she’d left the grumpy father, only to discover he’d collected himself and hovered like a dark gloom over her shoulder.

“Dean, these folks won’t be here that long. I just need to transfer these last two crates and check the paperwork, and they’ll be off.”

“But, Dad, you made gumbo and baked bread. And you said we were having company for lunch.”

Wylie cleared his throat. “I, ah, expected Mick.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Marlee said drily. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Mick’s sister, Marlee Stein. We spoke on the phone. Twice. I’m making deliveries because Mick had hip surgery on Tuesday. I’ll fly the route until he recovers.”

Ames pushed mirrored sunglasses into his hair and frowned. “Is Mick okay? I’m sorry as heck. He’s had…what? Four or five operations?” A cloud of sympathy filled eyes Marlee expected to be almost black, but which were a dark gray that didn’t conceal emotions well. His concern for her brother spurred Marlee to loosen up a little.

“We hope Mick’s new hip will mean his last hospital stay. I saw him yesterday before I picked up your parts. He came through the operation well enough be flirting with a pretty nurse.”

Unexpectedly, Wylie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as Marlee’s words elicited a knowing masculine grin.

“Before I forget,” she said, oddly feeling easier in his presence, “Don Morrison at the parts house mentioned that he wasn’t able to scare up everything you need. He said there’s no single supplier who stocks everything for your generator. He suggests you consider purchasing a newer model.”

The big man slid the heaviest crate from the plane. “I’ll have to remind Don that the powers that be in D.C. seem to think forest rangers should be able to live totally off the land.” His grin flickered. “Third time they’ve cut Parks Department funds so they can give more to the military.”

“You’re speaking to a very recently discharged navy flyer who cursed those same powers in Washington every time we had to scrounge for parts to keep our choppers aloft.”

“If you bounced the navy’s aircraft around the way you did the Piper when you landed, I understand why they broke.”

Gone was the fleeting goodwill she’d felt over his sympathy for Mick. “Look, buster, I assure you the navy regarded my flying skills very highly. I can fly anything with wings, I’ll have you know.”

Wylie merely grunted, presumably under the weight of the box.

Dean Ames, who’d stood patiently by while the adults traded insults, pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “Da…ad! Jo Beth and me could’ve gone to the swing and been back.”

Wylie raised a black eyebrow as if deferring the decision to Marlee before he continued over to the other crates.

“Oh, go on,” she said, removing the last item from the hold. “Jo Beth, I’ll call you when I’m ready to fire up the plane. It won’t be long,” she warned.

Even before her last word was out, the kids had darted up the trail into a thick stand of timber. Straining, Marlee could see the ranger’s cabin…and a window box overflowing with colorful marigolds? A trailing vine awash in red blooms? She gawked, which slowed her progress and allowed Ames to catch her off guard when he pulled at the crate in her hands.

“Hey, watch it,” she grumbled, trying to yank the box back. “Mick said part of our service is loading and unloading a customer’s freight. Which leaves said customer free to check the contents of a delivery,” she added pointedly.

“Well and good, but you aren’t Mick.”

“Ranger, I’m not a weakling,” she called after him. “A few months ago I was swooping into enemy territory and carrying shot-up soldiers to my chopper.”

Wylie offered no response. After dropping his load at the end of the runway, he returned for the bill of lading she’d retrieved from the cockpit, then silently strode to the crates and sliced open the first one with a wicked-looking knife Marlee hadn’t seen; it had been strapped to his boot.

She shuddered at the sight, but her attention quickly moved to the rippling of muscles beneath the ranger’s khaki shirt. Something about him reminded her of Navy SEALs she’d run into. A go-to-hell cockiness. Her gaze moved from his broad back to the tanned hands pawing through shredded paper. If indeed the man had Chinook blood as Mick claimed, Ames’s skin was probably the same smooth bronze all over. Marlee ran her tongue over dry lips as the simple image slammed desire into her stomach.

She caught herself up short, feeling heat flood her cheeks. What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? For years she’d worked mostly with men, and she’d never fantasized about what they looked like under their shirts.

Pushing aside her inappropriate thoughts, she joined Ames. “Does it all look okay? According to Morrison, a turbine you want should be in next week. The pump he wasn’t sure about. He said he’d call you, or us, when he tracks one down.”

A short nod was the only response Marlee got. “Uh, since you don’t need me until you’re ready to sign the invoice, I’ll just walk up the trail and get my daughter.” She jerked a thumb in that direction, but then realized he wasn’t listening.

Wylie felt her leave his space. He didn’t want to, but he stopped checking his order and watched her go. The scent of whatever fragrance she wore lingered. He sniffed, trying to identify it. He couldn’t. But it was something feminine. Nice. Compelling.

He didn’t consider himself the total recluse he was rumored to be. After all, he got together three or four times a year with his fellow rangers and their families. Mainly to catch up on everything that happened in other sectors of the sprawling national park—but also to give Dean an opportunity to play with other kids.

Wylie rarely looked twice at the women at those gatherings. Not even when one or another friend introduced him to a new, single female ranger. And there had been several who’d joined up since Shirl hightailed it. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall if any of them had worn such a tantalizing perfume. On second thought, he decided, he’d remember if they had.

In the distance, he heard the woman, Marlee, call for her daughter. Muttering under his breath, Wylie dived into his task. He didn’t glance up again until the sound of feet shuffling through pine and fir needles on the trail interrupted him. Marlee Stein’s worried expression yanked Wylie right out of admiring the picture she made. “Something wrong?”

“I found the tire swing. The kids aren’t there. I called for Jo Beth, but got no response. My daughter’s not used to being in the woods. She could easily get turned around.”

“Dean probably took her out to the animal pens.” Wylie, who’d been down on one knee checking the largest of the crates, stood and brushed off the needles stuck to his khaki pants.

“Animal pens?” Marlee’s face paled. “Oh, I suppose you keep hunting dogs?”

“Our pens house wild creatures that Dean and I have rescued.”

Marlee raked a hand through her hair. “Wild—oh, Mick said something about that. Isn’t that dangerous? Jo Beth’s a city girl. Where are the pens?”

“It’s a fair walk. I’ll take you.”

“How far?”

“We keep the environment as close to normal for the animals as we can,” he said in explanation. “So when they heal, it’s easier to release them back into their natural habitat.” He led the way to a junction in the trail Marlee hadn’t seen on her trek to the swing.

She had a hard time keeping pace with the ranger’s long stride. Suddenly he stopped. Slightly winded, Marlee caught up.

He parted the dense foliage. “That’s where they got off to, all right. I can hear Dean explaining how he stumbled across Boxer after a rancher shot its mother.”

“Boxer?”

“A griz cub. Yea big.” Wylie shaped his hands to the approximate size of one of the smaller crates.

“Griz, as in grizzly bear?” Her pitch rose, along with her anxiety level.

He nodded and Marlee found herself noticing how deep they were in the forest, enough so that every ray of sunlight was blocked. She prided herself on having a good sense of direction, but now realized she hadn’t paid attention to their route. She was at this man’s mercy and it unnerved her. That and the nonchalant way Wylie Ames discussed grizzlies and gun-toting ranchers.

Marlee bit her lip. “I don’t hear voices.” Closer to the runway, birds chirped and squirrels chattered, but here, surrounded by undergrowth, it seemed uncannily silent.

The ranger placed both little fingers to his lips and rent the air with a shrill whistle. Moments later he repeated the call.

As if Ames had flushed out small varmints, Marlee heard scuttling in the brush. Then an answering whistle sounded, quite some distance off. Very soon, though, childish giggles followed. And in no time, two bright heads burst out of a thicket. One sandy red, the other toffee-brown. Relief unfurled in Marlee’s stomach.

Dean Ames stared curiously at his dad. When the girl traipsing at his heels stumbled on a knobby tree root, the boy instinctively reached back and kept Jo Beth from falling. “Did you want us, Dad?”

Marlee rushed over and pulled Jo Beth tight against her legs as if to shield her from any threat. The woman’s frightened expression gave Wylie an idea of what he was dealing with.

“Son, you told us you were going to the swing. You shouldn’t have gone to the animal pens without telling anyone.”

Dean screwed up his nose as he squinted at his dad. “Where else would I be?”

“Mrs. Stein had no idea. You worried her.”

The freckle-faced boy gaped at Marlee. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I told Jo Beth about my pets and she asked to see them.”

“Mama,” the girl broke in. “Dean’s got his very own bear. The kind we saw at the zoo at home, only littler. Boxer got hurt, but Dean and his daddy are making him better.”

“That’s…commendable,” Marlee said with a quaver in her voice. “Tell Dean goodbye, Jo Beth. We have an order to deliver to Glenroe’s Lodge.”

“You’re going into the backcountry? Dean, run to the house and get Mary’s pie tins.” He turned to face Marlee. “Last time Mick came out, Mary Glenroe sent along a couple of fresh apple pies. Can you tell her thank you?”

“And tell her she can send us more pies,” the boy said.

“Dean, that would be ill-mannered.”

“Doesn’t that tell Mrs. Glenroe we liked her cooking?” “Well, yes, but…” Flustered, Wylie clammed up. He was more dismayed when Marlee laughed. The soft trill seemed to coil around places inside him long untouched. It was a nice sound, even if her laughter was at his expense.

“I’ll tell Mary you loved her pies, Dean. I recall enjoying a slice or two of her peach pies when I wasn’t much older than you.”

Marlee hadn’t realized that the roundabout path Wylie led them down now would end up not at the runway but at the back door of his cabin. Not until Dean darted ahead and she heard the screen door slam. The boy reappeared with pie tins before the others emerged from the woods into a clearing that held a vegetable garden fenced with chicken wire. She’d been so worried about not finding Jo Beth at the swing earlier, she’d completely missed seeing the garden. The neat rows of vegetables surprised her nearly as much as the flower box had. Ranger Ames was domestic, which one wouldn’t imagine looking at his very masculine body.

“Dad, the soup smells yummy. I’m hungry. Can’t Jo Beth and her mom stay and eat with us?”

Wylie and Marlee whipped out a simultaneous denial.

Jo Beth pouted and stamped a foot. “I’m hungry, too, Mama. Why can’t we eat with Dean?”

For the life of her, Marlee couldn’t find a way to tell the two children, who’d obviously hit it off, that neither she nor the boy’s father wanted to remain in each other’s company.

Ames reacted to his son’s disappointment by ruffling the boy’s red hair. Then he sighed, giving in to the pleas of the children. “Won’t take long,” he said to her, sounding gruff even though he smiled at the kids. “A matter of filling bowls and slicing bread.”

Marlee, who’d never felt more like turning tail, wasn’t about to be the bad guy in this setup. “Sure, okay. I’d hate to have Mary think she had to fix us something.” She gave a quick shrug. “They must be getting on in years, Mary and Finn. I haven’t seen them in…fourteen years.”

Wylie opened the back door and stood aside to let his guests enter. “Been three for me. Dean and I had to take a run to the lodge on the big snow cat that winter. Finn had complaints about a couple of guests. Whit Chadwick claimed they chased his sheep, and he’d recognized Finn’s snowmobile. The kids turned out to be Mary’s great-nephews, come from Dallas to celebrate her sixty-fifth birthday. And Finn’s even older.”

“Definitely not spring chickens.” Marlee followed Dean and Jo Beth through a laundry room into a country-style kitchen. She didn’t know what she’d expected—surely a cluttered mess much like she’d found at Mick and Pappy’s. Not so. The Ames’kitchen was spotless. Cheery curtains hung at the windows and bright place mats graced the table. A Crock-Pot on the counter emitted puffs of steam. Good-smelling steam. “Dean’s right,” Marlee said, stopping to close her eyes and sniff. “The soup smells delicious.”

The big man seemed to have retreated within himself once they’d left the great outdoors. He stepped to the sink to wash up, and quickly began to fill the bowls sitting out on the counter. Because he had to open a cupboard to retrieve a fourth bowl, Marlee was reminded that Ames had planned for Mick, and that she and Jo Beth were interlopers.

“Jo Beth, you and I need to wash, too.”

“Dean, show them to the main bath.”

The boy grabbed Jo Beth’s hand. Marlee trailed the chatty pair. As she passedWylie on her way into the hall, she sensed that he relaxed as his kitchen emptied. His son was his exact opposite. Dean and Jo Beth couldn’t seem to shut up, odd since her daughter was usually one to sit quietly, taking in everything around her.

That behavior had worried Marlee on her rare visits home. She’d worried that spending so much time with Cole during the worst of his illness might affect Jo Beth’s ability to relate normally. Her concern eased as the kids discussed what to feed a growing bear cub.

“Dean, that reminds me,” Marlee broke in. “Mick sent a couple of books. They’re still on the plane. Would you like me to go get them now or give them to you when we’re ready to leave?”

“When you leave’s okay. Wow, I wonder if he found the book I read about on the Internet! Bears as Good Neighbors.”

“I don’t know. Before he went for surgery, he gave me the sack and told me to be sure to bring it when we flew your father’s generator parts in.”

“I’m glad you came ’stead of Mick.” He stuttered suddenly. “I—I didn’t mean—gosh, I like him, but you brought Jo Beth. I know she’s littler than me, but it’s neat having another kid to play with.”

“I understand.” Marlee inspected Jo Beth’s hands. “And this one is mature for her age. She spent a lot of time with her dad and grandmother.”

“Does Jo Beth read and write? If she does, we can e-mail. That is—if it’s okay with you. A ranger friend of my dad’s won’t let his kids use a computer. They’re both older’n me, too.”

“Jo Beth doesn’t read well enough to handle e-mail. She’s just five.”

“Can we talk on the phone? I know it costs more, but we can take turns.” His eyes shone with hope as he shoved back a shock of hair with a still-wet hand.

“Yeah, Mama. I want Dean to call and tell me if Boxer’s well enough to go and act like a real bear. He said maybe we can come watch when they let him out of his cage to go live in the forest.”

Dean lowered his voice. “That won’t be for a while yet, Mrs. Stein. Dad and me hafta teach Boxer to forage for berries and roots, and how to fish in the river.”

“If it’s okay with your father, Dean, you can call me Marlee. Jo Beth’s grandmother is ‘Mrs. Stein.’” She laughed. “I used to be Lieutenant Stein, but I’m out of the navy now, so that no longer applies.”

“I think it’s cool that you and Mick both fly planes. I can’t wait to get old enough to learn. I wanna be a veterinarian who flies to ranches and takes care of animals. Oh, maybe Mick sent a book on planes. We were talking last time he was here about all the different kinds.”

“Dean,” a deep male voice said outside the bathroom door. “Quit talking their ears off. The gumbo’s getting cold. I expected you to wash and come straight back.”

Without looking guilty, the boy scooted from the room. “Dad, can I call Jo Beth one night a week so I can update her on Boxer? Marlee said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you. Oh, and she said Jo Beth’s grandmother’s Mrs. Stein and she’s Marlee. Well, she used to be lieutenant, like Mick. Now she’s not.”

“Can you tell Dean’s glad to have someone to talk to?” Wylie said with a wry grin. “Let him know when your ears are blistered.”

Marlee just smiled. But as they ate, had it not been for Dean’s endless chatter, it would’ve been a quiet meal indeed. Marlee barely managed to extract one-word responses from her host.

“Ah, this is whitefish gumbo? I’ve only ever had it with shrimp or okra.”

Wylie passed around thick-cut slices of bread. “Uh-huh.”

Dean nattered on about the animals they currently had in their makeshift hospital. “Jo Beth, you didn’t see my gray squirrel, or the porcupine with the broken leg. I think they were asleep in their cages. Next time you come, maybe they’ll be out.”

“I really like this bread. Whole wheat with Parmesan cheese?” Marlee asked.

“Oat.” Wylie scooted the butter dish closer, again lowering his gaze to his bowl.

Marlee couldn’t fault the man’s manners. And he controlled his son’s swinging legs with a touch, accompanied by a look Marlee called, “parents’ evil eye.” Smiling, she spread a thin layer of butter on her bread. “There are so many personal touches in this cabin, it makes me think you’ve been a ranger for quite a while.”

“Sixteen years.”

“That long? I guess that answers the question as to whether you like your job.”

“Yep.”

In the background Marlee heard Jo Beth ramble on to Dean about her two favorite spots in their old hometown. SeaWorld and the San Diego Zoo. “Honey, quit talking and eat. We have to stop at Glenroe’s, and I’d like to make it home before dark.” Also, Marlee didn’t want her daughter telling strangers why they’d left a city the child chose to rhapsodize about.

Wylie pushed back his chair, went to the counter and returned with the remaining soup. “Seconds anyone?” He lifted the ladle.

Dean held out his bowl, but Marlee declined any for herself and Jo Beth. Although, if they’d found any common ground, she might have stayed. The gumbo was superb.

When Jo Beth slurped up her last spoonful, Marlee quickly snatched the girl’s bowl and stacked it with hers. Repeating the process with their bread plates, she then started to carry the lot to the sink.

“Leave the dishes,” Wylie ordered.

Startled by his tone, Marlee let the stack of dishes clatter back to the mat. “Well, then. I hate to eat and run, but…” She pointedly turned her watch around and studied it.

“Wait a minute,” Dean implored. “You said you’d give me the books Mick sent.”

“So I did. Tell you what, Dean. I have to run through a preflight check of the Arrow. If I’m ready to take off before you finish, I’ll send Jo Beth to the house with the books.” Marlee swung her daughter into her arms. “Much obliged for the lunch,” she said, tossing her casual thank-you at the back of Wylie Ames’s head of shiny black hair. Without further ado, she left the cabin as they’d entered, via the back door.

As Marlee started her check, she couldn’t recall ever enduring such an uncomfortable forty-five minutes. Not even in the most stressful days she’d spent with Rose Stein. Which said a lot.

“WOW, JO BETH AND HER MOM are really, really nice, don’t you think, Dad?” Dean gushed as he shoveled in the last of his second helping of gumbo, plainly anxious to run after the departing duo.

Wylie paused, a soup spoon halfway to his unsmiling lips. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he thought about this woman and her child.

Hell, who was he kidding? He found too much to like about Mick Callen’s twin sister. She had grit, and he admired that in a woman. She seemed to like Dean, which was more than could be said for the boy’s mother. Shirl had left him a mere babe in arms. He scowled. Marlee smelled—well, feminine. Sweet and sexy, the way a woman should smell.

“They’re okay,” he drawled reluctantly, letting as much time lapse as he dared. “Thing is, son, we don’t get deliveries often. Mrs. Stein didn’t say how long it’d take for Mick to recover. Soon as he’s well, he’ll fly our orders in again.”

“Dad! She said to call her Marlee. Mrs. Stein is Jo Beth’s grandmother.”

The mention of the girl’s grandparent suggested another question. Where was Mr. Stein? Junior, not the girl’s grandfather.

Divorced? Probably. Hadn’t Jo Beth rattled on and on about their life in San Diego? City folk. Even if Marlee Stein had once lived here, he knew how it was when women had a hankering for city living. Of course, he’d had other issues with Shirl than just her dislike of the backwoods. Like the fact that she’d lied to him.

“Dad…you aren’t paying attention. I finished my soup. Can I go and get the books Mick sent? One’s about bears, I bet.”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you coming to say goodbye?” Dean had jumped up from the table, but he hovered half in, half out of the doorway, clearly expecting his father to follow.

Wylie’s first tendency was to tell Dean to run along. The more often he let the image of Marlee Stein burn into his brain, the more discontent would invade his jaded soul.

But he knew how excited Dean got watching planes land or take off. He couldn’t trust the kid to keep well away from the propeller. “I’m coming,” he said.

After Dean got his books and the pilot was strapped in for takeoff, Wylie hauled the boy far enough back to avoid the wind from the prop. Dean and Jo Beth began waving madly at each other. Wylie extracted his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and covered his eyes. He curbed the temptation to wave to Marlee. They hadn’t become fast friends as the kids had. Still, he stood at the end of the runway and watched her lift off much more smoothly than she’d landed.

He looked up and kept track of her slow circle. As her flight pattern brought her back over his head, Wylie noticed she dipped her wing the way Mick always did. His way of saying so long.

IN THE AIR, MARLEE COULDN’T resist making one last flyover of moody Wylie Ames. The guy didn’t even bend enough to acknowledge her leaving. He’d just covered his eyes with those damned mirrored shades and lazily hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets as he stood immobile. The arrogant wide-legged stance served to warn any newcomer off this corner of the world. His corner of the world.

“Mama, I like Dean,” Jo Beth said into the mouthpiece, as Marlee had shown her to do before the trip. “Can I call him when we get home?”

Marlee’s lips twitched. She thrust the elder Ames out of her mind. “Listen, kid, you’re a little young to be running up a phone bill talking to a boyfriend.”

“Ma…ma! Dean’s my friend—friend is all.”

“I’m teasing. How about if I let you call him next week if his dad’s auxiliary motor doesn’t come in? If it does, I guess we’ll fly it up here.” She wouldn’t have expected the possibility of a return trip to the ranger’s cabin to bring a sense of excitement. But for whatever reason, it did.

“Oh, I hope the motor comes, Mama. We can stay for lunch again. And I’ll get to see Boxer Bear.” Jo Beth bounced excitedly.

Marlee dropped her sunglasses over her eyes to cloak her reaction to the memory of their recent lunch. “Don’t count on it, tiddledywink.” In spite of a definite sexual awareness the man had stoked in her, Marlee wouldn’t put it past Wylie Ames to garnish his gumbo with fish bones next time—if he knew that she and not Mick was slated to make his delivery.