Читать книгу Her Mistletoe Miracle - Roz Denny Fox - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

PINE NEEDLES BLEW out from under the Huey as Mick set the lumbering chopper down on Wylie’s private runway. Mick sat and admired the handsome six-seat turbo prop Merlin housed under an open shed to the left of the runway. He had helped his brother-in-law buy the plane as a surprise for his bride. Wylie had said Marlee had cried happily when she saw it.

When Mick had told Pappy, he’d merely laughed and said he’d known all along that any woman born a Callen would consider a plane an appropriate wedding gift.

Mick thought any woman who lived in remote Montana would think it an excellent gift. But then, he was more practical than sentimental. When he was a kid, this part of Montana was so sparsely settled, ranchers, hunters and the few recreational-sport lodge owners were dependent on small planes to fly them out in an emergency. That was still true, but to a lesser degree. Now, land was being cleared right and left. Whole towns had sprung up in areas where there used to be nothing but forest.

Mick, who was far from a recluse, nevertheless wasn’t sure how he felt about all the growth. But old trail blazers like his grandfather and Finn Glenroe were either dying off or they were selling out to developers. Two weeks ago he’d heard that Finn and Mary, who’d run the isolated Glenroe Fishing Lodge for as long as Mick could remember, had accepted a buyout because Finn’s arthritis had gotten so bad.

Since arriving home to nurse his war wounds, Mick had watched resort developers salivate over Finn’s land. The same outfits sniffed around Cloud Chasers. The day after Pappy’s funeral, Mick received three phone offers on the property. Land grabbers were worse than vultures in Mick’s opinion. Pappy would turn over in his grave if Mick were to sell. And yet…

Refusing to let himself get maudlin again, he took off his earphones in time to hear the last sound of the rotors. No wobble with any of his landings. Replacing the main hub and the lubricant must have done the trick.

“Uncle Mick, Uncle Mick!” He heard his niece, Jo Beth’s, excited cry the minute he cracked the forward door. It was followed by Dean’s whoop and Piston’s wild barking, which prompted a response in kind from Wingman.

Mick unbuckled the wiggling dog from his harness and lifted him down before climbing from the cockpit himself.

Scooping up the dark-haired girl waiting to be hugged, he marveled again at the change a year and acquiring a brother and new dad had wrought on the formerly unhappy girl. Jo Beth, now six, had been pouty and prone to tantrums when Marlee first moved home after the death of her first husband.

His twin had served two tours in the Gulf, supporting the family while Jo Beth’s dad wasted away from lymphoma. Even though Marlee had fallen hard for Wylie Ames, when his son had been diagnosed with a different form of lymph cancer, Marlee had had a rough patch where she almost walked away from love. Surprisingly, Jo Beth handled Dean’s illness better than her mother. The girl never wavered in her belief that her friend would recover. And now his cancer was in remission, and doctors expected it to last.

At the moment Dean looked the picture of health. The boy laughed in delight at being mobbed by the two cavorting dogs—dogs similar in size, and looking enough alike to have common parents, which was possible since they had come from the same shelter only months apart.

“Wingman remembers me,” Dean said, his freckled face split in a wide grin.

“He does at that.” Mick reached down and ruffled the boy’s red hair. “You’re looking good, my man.”

“I grew an inch, too,” the boy boasted. “The doctor told Mom that was excellent news.”

“It sure sounds good to me! So, where are your folks?” Whenever Mick had come to visit, one or the other parent accompanied the kids to the airstrip.

Jo Beth pointed. “Mama’s in the kitchen saying words Grandmother Rose wouldn’t like one bit.”

Jo Beth’s paternal grandmother had practically raised Jo Beth until Marlee, a navy lieutenant, was discharged. That was another traumatic time for his sister. Not long after her husband, Cole’s, death, Rose had petitioned family court for custody of Jo Beth. Mick thought it a testament to his sister’s forgiving nature that for her daughter’s sake, his twin had patched the rift with her former mother-in-law.

“I thought your mom baked pies yesterday. Don’t tell me she’s swearing over fixing me lunch? Granted, I’ve had nothing but coffee today, so I could eat a mule raw. Maybe I’ll settle for nibbling on you.” Mick made growly noises as he teasingly went after his niece’s bony shoulder.

She giggled and shrieked until Mick set her down. “Mama’s not baking pies, Uncle Mick. She made supper for tomorrow, and had it in a pan when she ’membered a ’portant in…gredient.” The girl stumbled in her attempt to explain.

“Ouch, no wonder she’s saying bad words. Where’s Wylie?”

“Dad’s out taking inventory of the campsites in his area,” Dean said. “Sometimes campers steal fire grates, or mess up the trash barrels at the end of camping season. He has to make a list of the sites that need stuff stocked before the park opens in the spring. I usually help tie tarps over the leftover firewood so it stays dry for the winter,” the nine-year-old said proudly. “Dad knew you were coming, so he let me stay home to help you unload Mom’s supplies. He said she’s not allowed to pick up anything over five pounds.”

“I never turn down help, Dean. Somewhere in this monster, I believe you’ll find Halloween treats for two kids who tote boxes to the house.”

“Yippee!” the kids yelled out, setting the dogs off again.

Marlee hurried down the path to see what was going on. Her usually well-kept blond hair looked a fright. And at seven months pregnant, she barely fit into the men’s plaid flannel shirt that stretched over her bulging middle.

Mick was shocked to see her waddle more than walk out on the asphalt. Last time he’d stopped in to visit, his sister was just starting to show.

“Wow, sis, you look like the pregnant guppy Mrs. Walters brought to our sixth grade science class. Didn’t we name her Fatso?”

“Thank you, Mick.” Marlee’s blue-green eyes narrowed ominously. She snapped his arm hard with a dishtowel she’d used to wipe what looked like blood off her hands. When he stopped trying to evade her, Mick saw it was tomato sauce.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized even as he and the kids laughed over her antics. “Honestly, Marlee, you’d better have a look-see in the mirror before Wylie gets home, or he’ll beg me to take you back. No offense, but you look like hell. Okay, okay, Jo Beth! I know I said a bad word.”

Since her grandmother had drilled into her head that swearing was unacceptable, Jo Beth rarely failed to point out Mick’s indiscretions. Or Pappy’s when he was alive.

“Spoken like a bachelor. Maybe your girlfriends are fashion plates,” Marlee said, her lip quivering, “but this past month I’ve passed the point of getting into anything in my closet. Tell me you have freight from Mervyn’s Online or I’ll die. I ordered maternity clothes, and if they didn’t come you’ll be going to the potluck tomorrow without me.” She burst into tears, further shocking Mick.

“I have them…your order,” he said, trying to rectify his error of saying how awful she looked by awkwardly patting her. “Jeez, Marlee, I was teasing.”

“It’s okay.” She smothered her face in the sauce-streaked towel, which made matters worse. “Hormones gone berserk, I guess. I swear I didn’t do this with my first pregnancy.”

“Is it normal? I mean, is everything okay?” Mick asked worriedly. “When did you last see a doctor?”

“When she flew me to Seattle for my checkup,” Dean said, again corralling the boisterous dogs. “My dad told me and Jo Beth that’s how women who are gonna have babies get.”

“No kidding?” Mick frowned into one upturned face, then the other. The kids didn’t seem all that positive they shouldn’t be doing something to help.

“If Wylie said it, sport, it must be true. Let’s give your mom some space. Come on, kids, it’s getting colder. Help me haul this freight in.” He flung open the door that led to the Huey’s dark belly, levered himself into the cavern and began handing out the smallest cartons.

“The Polly Pocket amusement park I wanted! Is this my Halloween treat, Uncle Mick?”

“Jo Beth,” Dean exclaimed, running excitedly over to his stepsiste, “Uncle Mick gave me the scary black knight and castle I’ve been asking Dad for.”

Marlee managed to wipe most of her tears away, but left bits of tomato sauce smeared across her cheeks. “Mick, you spoil the kids. Last time you came you brought half a toy store. I told you to stop already.”

“What are bachelor uncles for? Or bachelor brothers…? On my last trip to Missoula, I found some perfume to replace the bottle I broke when we moved you here. A clerk also helped me with stuff for the baby. Let’s go up to the house. After you clean up, you can open boxes to your heart’s content.”

“What’ll be left to give us when you come for Christmas?”

Her brother jumped down gingerly, and pulled a stack of various-size boxes into his arms before he shut the cargo door. “Uh, I’m thinking of taking off for parts unknown after Thanksgiving. I thought I’d find me a warm spot to ride out winter. Maybe I’ll go before Turkey Day. Stella said she’ll watch the house.”

“Mick!” Marlee couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You need family your first holiday without Pappy. Losing him was worse for you than me. I came home almost a stranger after being gone ten years. You gave him reason to live as long as he did.”

Mick stared toward the mountains. “I keep expecting him to come out for breakfast or to find him puttering in the workshop. It’s hard.”

“I understand. After Cole died I felt like running away. Only, I had Jo Beth. But…you have us, Mick.”

“I know,” he said, dropping back to match his long stride to her waddle. He stopped on the path when the top box threatened to fall. “Will you grab that. I think it’s your perfume. I’d hate to break a second bottle.”

She took the package. “Talk to me, Mick. It’s not good to hold your feelings inside. We’re twins. There was a time we shared all our hopes and dreams… and sorrows.”

“Back then our dreams were one and the same. To fly for the navy. It’s all either of us ever wanted. Now… Life’s a bitch sometimes.”

“So, your wanting to get away at Christmas has to do with…losing your career? It’s been six years, Mick. You rebuilt Cloud Chasers after Pappy let it slip, and it’s a great success. And who’ll fly mercy missions over the winter if you up and take off? To borrow Dean’s term, you’re Angel Fleet’s best sky knight.”

“Sky knight.” Mick snorted.

“Apt. I overheard the kids talking on a flight to Seattle for Dean. Jo Beth bragged that she and I were sky angels. Wylie had just told us about a girl Angel Fleet asked you to fly out for a kidney transplant. Dean said angel sounded too girly for you. He’s so into the knights and castles toys. He officially dubbed you Sky Knight.”

They’d reached the house and Mick was saved from commenting. He was a volunteer flyer. Why gussy up his role? The coordinators of Angel Fleet raised funds to keep flights free or nearly so for needy sick and injured people living in remote locations. The staff were the real knights.

The kids had dumped their boxes on the kitchen table, and were in the living room ripping open their new toys. Both dogs had flopped in front of a fireplace that had been laid with kindling and firewood, but not lit.

Mick hadn’t bought only the black knight and Polly Pocket sets for the children; he’d piled on a board game he knew they’d like, and books and music CDs. Wylie didn’t have TV reception, although Mick knew he was considering installing a satellite dish.

He handed his sister her maternity clothes, and shooed her off to the bedroom. “Wait, take this, too. I noticed Wylie’s belt was wearing thin. I picked him up a new one. Bison leather. It’ll last a long time.”

“Mick, you aren’t blowing all of Pappy Jack’s insurance money on us, are you? Because he’d want most of it plowed back into Cloud Chasers.”

“The business made a fair profit this year. Thanks to the way you straightened out my lackadaisical billing with that computer program. Stella’s done a bang-up job collecting old accounts, too. Dunning friends wasn’t something Pap or I were good at. Anyway, quit giving me flak. Who else do I have to spend my money on?”

She took the belt he held out and stared into his eyes for a time, plainly itching to say something.

He assumed she was debating whether or not to deliver her usual lecture suggesting he find a wife and start his own family. Shaking his head, Mick chucked her under the chin. “Go make yourself presentable before Wylie comes in for lunch. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and set the table. Your supplies will be okay stacked in the corner. We can sort out Halloween candy and baby gifts later.” Mick ducked out of the room, confident Marlee wouldn’t resort to yelling what was on her mind. And he was right.

MARLEE’S HUSBAND, Wylie Ames, tall, dark and usually not very talkative, arrived home after the others finished lunch. The dogs bounded to the back door to greet him, and the kids abandoned their toys to collect hugs as they regaled their dad with news of Uncle Mick’s generosity.

Marlee had saved Wylie some soup and a sandwich. While Mick relaxed over a second cup of coffee, she warmed the soup in the microwave. Wylie finally pulled free of the kids and filled the arch with his broad shoulders. He was wider of chest than his brother-in-law, but not as tall. Mick had never lost the lanky body typical of a born pilot.

The men had always gotten along. They’d forged an easy camaraderie long before Marlee moved back to Montana.

Wylie clapped Mick’s back in greeting before shrugging off his Park Ranger jacket. He’d left his boots in the mudroom and now padded over slick vinyl in his sock feet to kiss his wife.

“Hey, Mick, I was happy to see the Huey parked on my airstrip. There’s a smell of snow in the air. We may need to use the chopper instead of the Merlin to fly up to the potluck tomorrow.”

“You look windblown, Wylie. Will this storm be serious, you think, or will we only see intermittent snow flurries like one weather report predicted?” Marlee unconsciously rubbed her swollen belly.

Wylie filled a mug with black coffee, murmuring thanks to his wife when she pointed him to a chair at the table where she’d set his steaming soup.

“Don’t know how bad it’ll get. All I know is that this north wind has a bite we haven’t seen yet this year. I wasn’t sorry to find my campsites empty, just in case it snows a foot.” He picked up a spoon and dipped it in the thick pea soup. Marlee and Mick chatted while Wylie finished eating.

Done, Wylie carried his plate and bowl to the sink, and noticed Marlee concocting something at the counter. “More lasagna?”

“If either of you laugh, you’ll be wearing the batch I ruined,” she said, shaking a wicked-looking meat fork at him. “I’d filled a big pan to the brim with beautiful layers I’d assembled before you left this morning. Then I noticed the unopened container of cottage cheese on the counter. I tried lifting noodles and putting it in, but that was a disaster. This time I’m checking off each ingredient as I add it. I can’t have your friends thinking I’m a terrible cook.”

Mick gulped a mouthful of coffee to hide a smile. It was only lately his sister had learned to cook. She still wasn’t the best in the west.

To Wylie’s credit, he assumed the proper air of concern and kissed her again. “Mick and I will go out to the addition. That way we won’t distract you.”

Reaching around Marlee’s belly, Wylie topped up his coffee.

Mick rose and set his cup in the sink. “Sis, that new outfit you’re wearing is a big improvement over what you had on when I landed.”

“Wylie didn’t even notice I’m wearing real maternity clothes,” she said, wrinkling her nose at her unobservant husband.

Guilt brought a flush to her husband’s tanned cheeks. “You always look great to me.”

“You are so full of it!” said Mick, laughing. “When I got here she had on a stretched-out pair of too-big sweats, and one of your faded flannel shirts that had a button missing right over her watermelon stomach.”

The waterworks Mick had been treated to earlier erupted again.

Wylie gathered Marlee into his arms and with a hand behind her back motioned Mick out. As he clomped toward the mudroom, Mick stored this exchange for future reference. Don’t joke with pregnant women.

He shouldn’t have teased her. He knew Marlee wanted to make a good impression on Wylie’s coworkers. Mick vowed he wouldn’t be the cause of any more tears on this visit.

He dragged his jacket from one of several hooks lining the mudroom wall. Last time he’d toured the addition, Wylie hadn’t yet installed heat. That was in September. Not half as cold as it was now. The wind whistled around the house.

Mick was pleasantly surprised when he stepped into the two new bedrooms separated by a full bath. Baseboard water heaters sizzled softly. He shed his jacket and dropped it over the doorknob.

“Whaddya think?” Wylie walked in behind Mick and gestured around at his handiwork. “The electricity in this entire section runs off a freestanding generator. I may convert the main house to another one next spring. Regular power is so iffy out here, especially if we get a bad winter, and starting the booster generator sometimes takes an hour.”

He sipped from his mug. “I remember how I struggled to keep Dean warm during power outages when he was a baby. I don’t want Marlee to have to go through that….” His words trailed off.

Mick knew that Wylie’s first wife, Dean’s mother, had walked out, leaving him with an infant. Even though he’d heard the woman was a flake, Mick had been floored when Marlee told him that Dean wasn’t Wylie’s biological child. Mick had never met anyone prouder of his son than Wylie Ames. At first Mick had doubted the story. Although, he’d had to admit the two looked nothing alike. Wylie had visible Native American roots; Dean was a classic blue-eyed, freckled carrot-top.

Mick pondered what he would’ve done in Wylie’s place. Ultimately, he gave up. He couldn’t imagine. Dean’s mother had led Wylie to believe he’d gotten her pregnant, and Wylie must have had cause to consider it possible. Mick was glad that the navy had taught him never to have sex without protection. Not that that lesson had come into play lately. He’d had a longer dry spell than he cared to admit.

“Wylie, are you worried about Marlee’s decision to have the baby at home? I mean, forecasters and the almanac are predicting a helluva winter.”

Wylie stared into the depths of his mug. “I try not to dwell on it. Having babies anywhere is risky. But I love her so much, it’s scary. If anything were to happen to Marlee or the baby because of me…” He shook his head at the thought and turned to look at Mick. “I can’t force her to stay in Kalispell for the month before the baby’s born. If you have any influence…”

“I don’t,” Mick hastened to say. “She’d just dig in harder if I say anything. It’s the Callen stubborn trait. I recognize it well.” He grinned to lighten the mood. “So, what can I do to help get this addition shipshape for guests? Marlee said you’ll earmark one room for Rose and the second for the midwife, in case she has to bunk over.”

“Right. She owns a snowmobile, but in the event of a blizzard, she’ll have to wait it out. I’ll finish laying the wood flooring in the smaller room if you’ll start painting these walls. If I don’t get them painted soon, Marlee will be out here wielding a roller herself.”

“Bring on the supplies.” Mick ran a hand over the smooth wallboard. “I don’t mind staying here tomorrow. I can easily finish a second coat while you’re at your potluck.”

“No, you don’t. I never have been gung-ho on company potlucks. In the past, too many well-meaning friends dragged over women they dug up God knows where. This time I’m actually looking forward to showing off my wife and family, but until you phoned, Marlee had jitters.”

“She never said there might be single women at this shindig. Is that why my sister’s so keen on dragging me along? She’s always pestering me to get out and find a nice person of the opposite sex.”

Wylie, who rarely laughed out loud, did so, and thumped Mick’s back. “You’d rather we fixed you up with somebody of the same sex?”

“Ha, ha,” Mick said. “I like women fine. Better than fine. But I’m picky. The woman I like best of the ones I’ve met in Montana so far, is kinda—well, probably attached to another guy. So it’s obviously not going to pan out. And since it’s not, don’t you dare spill a word of this to Marlee. She’ll be on my case until she worms out of me who it is. Then she won’t let up.”

The ranger smiled in sympathy for his younger brother-in-law’s plight. “I won’t say a word. How about I bring in the paint and rollers, while you spread that canvas sheeting.”

Mick brushed aside thoughts of Hana Egan and bent to the task of making sure the canvas covered all corners. Wylie had done a great job installing tongue and groove hardwood. Mick forced himself to focus on the room. His house could stand renovation. Rather than head for sun and surf this winter, maybe he ought to stick around and spruce up the old place.

If he did that, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to meet a suitable prospect for the position of Mrs. Mick Callen. Not that marriage was at the top of his list. Yet he envied what Marlee and Wylie had. And it was lonely rattling around that big, empty house.

He cleared his mind until Wylie returned to pour warm butterscotch paint into Mick’s roller pan. Each stroke he made on the wall unfortunately reminded him of Hana Egan’s eyes. He hurried around the walls so he could move on to the pale yellow of the smallest room, which made him think only of Stella’s homemade banana cream pie.

Mick was primed for eating by the time they were called for supper. After the meal Marlee opened all the baby gifts Mick had bought and cried over each one.

He shrugged off her thanks, grateful when Wylie asked if he wanted to stay up late to hang the flower-sprigged wallpaper down to the wainscoting in the bathroom.

Marlee and the kids came out shortly after to say good-night. “Mick, I made up the bed in Dean’s room for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll be quiet going in. I know you said we need to get an early start in the morning.”

Later, he tiptoed into the dark room. Piston and Wingman had already found his bed, and Mick shooed the disgruntled dogs off. As he listened to the wind howl outside, Mick stepped to the window to see if it’d started to snow. Deciduous trees were bare, but their fallen leaves rustled around their trunks. Fir and pine boughs swayed in the wind, and the silver moon shone cold and crisp. Turning away, he climbed between sheets heated by the dogs’ bodies and lay a moment, wondering if Hana and her pal, Jess, were sharing a sleeping bag for warmth on a wind-swept mountain that would be colder than it was here. Flopping on his stomach, he rubbed an achy hip that surely meant a change in weather was coming. He forced his breathing to slow so he could fall asleep.

IN THE MORNING, with everyone trying to use one bathroom to get ready, the house was pure chaos. Wylie didn’t want anyone showering in the new bathroom yet, although the paint was dry. Mick was relieved to see the wallpaper hadn’t slid off the walls overnight. Hey, maybe he could spiff up his house.

Marlee blew in with red cheeks after taking the dogs out. “Brr. It’s beginning to snow.”

Excited, Dean and Jo Beth crowded together at the door and looked outside.

“In or out!” Wylie bellowed. “Dean, you know enough not to let heat out.”

The phone rang. Marlee answered. She frowned and hung up. “That was Ellen Russell. It’s snowing and blowing at the potluck site. They’re moving to the education room at headquarters.”

Wylie stroked a fresh-shaven chin. “Four rangers from the outposts will have to fly in then. Makes for a crowded runway.”

“Yesterday you suggested taking the chopper. I don’t mind doing the flying,” Mick said.

“I did bring it up, but later I started thinking the chopper will be a bumpier ride than the Merlin. I’m not keen on Marlee flying at seven months, let alone in the Huey.”

She reached past her basketball belly to hug her husband. “Don’t coddle me, Wylie. My great-great-grandmother had great-grandpa Callen on a wagon train somewhere along the Oregon Trail. I’ll be fine. Taking the Huey makes sense. You and the kids and the dogs can sit on the pull-down canvas litters in back. I’ll pretend I’m copilot. But, the wrath of a pregnant woman will be on you if either of those dogs eats my pies or the lasagna.”

Laughing, they decided to load up. Soon after, Mick lifted off into pearl-gray clouds laden with snow.

At the main ranger station, the kids snapped leashes on the dogs, hopped down and were soon surrounded by other rangers’ children. Dean introduced Jo Beth. Wylie did the same for Marlee and Mick.

Thanks to Ellen Russell, Marlee was absorbed into the circle of women bustling about the central meeting room, where someone had already set up folding tables and chairs in anticipation of moving the potluck indoors.

Ever observant, Mick noticed two female rangers didn’t seem to mix with the gaggle of wives, nor did they hang with the men, who’d gone out back under a freestanding roof to pitch horseshoes. The younger of the two women had been introduced as Natalie Sweeney. She made eye contact with Mick. She had rosy cheeks and sandy hair. Pleasant enough looks, but her flirting didn’t have much effect on Mick. He escaped by detouring outside to bring the dogs in.

It’d been a while since he’d spent time in the company of a bunch of guys who liked bullshitting with buddies the way the rangers were doing. Mick laughed at their tales about campers who should never have taken up that hobby. City guys who couldn’t build a fire or even set up a tent.

Shortly after 1:00 p.m. the women called everyone in to partake of the food that had been tantalizing Mick for an hour. Everything smelled so good.

More emboldened once the married men joined their families, leaving Mick momentarily on his own, Natalie slipped between two people to reach him. “Hi, I work a couple of areas away from your brother-in-law. It’s very remote. I’d love a chance to talk with somebody who’s been out in the real world.” She twisted a lock of hair around a blunt finger. “After you fill your plate, join me? I staked out two spots in a quiet corner, away from the kids.”

Mick glanced down the line of people filling plates. Marlee and Wylie were deep in conversation with another couple. “Uh, sure,” he told Natalie.

“Great. Here, let me refill your coffee cup and set it at my table…unless you want to switch to beer.”

He debated, but finally shook his head and handed Natalie his empty mug.

“Everything looks so good,” he joked with the ranger ahead of him, “I either need two plates or a sideboard.”

“Forget sideboards, friend, you need armor. A word of advice…Pat Delveccio talked me into dating Natalie once. She’s got a one-track mind focused on becoming Mrs. Somebody. If you don’t believe me, wait. She’s got a list of things she wants in a husband. You won’t get two words in before she’ll start grilling you about what you do, if you smoke, whether you go to church, how much you have in the bank. When she got to how many kids I thought I’d like to have, I ended the date real fast.”

Mick loaded up his plate, unsure whether to join her or not. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so free since they’d barely met and in no way were on a date.

Stopping behind his sister, Mick leaned down as she scooted over to make room for him. He murmured in her ear, “I got roped into eating with Natalie Sweeney. If you see me signaling frantically, come rescue me before dessert.”

“Don’t signal me, Mick. You need to socialize more.”

“Thanks heaps.” Well, he could always tell Natalie he was in a serious relationship—with a smoke jumper. As he made his way across the room, he noticed it was snowing harder, and his mind skipped to Hana and her pals. Had they already turned back? Undoubtedly, weather on the mountain would be far worse than it was here.

Mick sat, and had no more than dipped a fork into his meal when Natalie hit him with question number one.

“My friend Pat said you own a freight flying service. That’s cool.” As he chewed, he thought, Marlee’s lasagna’s not bad. “She also said you’re on navy disability. That must provide you a nice nest egg.”

She smiled, but the lasagna stuck in Mick’s throat. He coughed and stuffed more food in his mouth.

By the time Natalie had worked her way to question number three, Mick’s eyes were glazed. The park radio crackling to life saved him. Trudy Morgenthal had set it to take Park area emergency calls here. Talk instantly ground to a halt.

Mick heard enough of a frantic, garbled transmission to deduce that the hiking party of smoke jumpers had turned back, but not soon enough. They’d met with trouble.

He bounded out of his seat and crowded around the radio with the rangers.

“I outfitted that party,” he said. “I know several team members. What happened?”

Trudy shushed him and turned to her boss. “It seems that last night they disagreed over whether to forge on to the peak or turn back. They went farther up the face before pitching tents. Today they decided to call it quits. But the first team roping down the ridge slipped and plunged into a crevasse. The guy on the radio knows they have injuries, and he’s afraid some may be dead.”

The captain scowled. “Damned crazy smoke-eaters. Who in hell issued them permits this time of year?”

“I did,” said a ranger standing behind Mick. “I issued it last month. They delayed going twice because of fall fires. But I mean, I expected them to have common sense.”

“Yeah, well, apparently they don’t,” the captain muttered. He scanned his men. “How many of you are sober enough to head out on a rescue climb?”

Several hands, including Mick’s, shot up.

The radio stuttered to life again. “I’m getting word from the crevasse,” a disembodied voice said. “Two women seem to be hurt bad. The most coherent one claims there’s been no response from our guide. He fell first, but he’s our most experienced climber. Can you send a rescue plane? I’m afraid if we don’t get the injured out ASAP they’ll die.”

Mick wanted so badly to ask names and particulars. But a larger part of him was afraid to know who had fallen.

“We can’t send either of our helicopters out in this wind. They’re small and it’s too risky,” the captain said.

“I flew here in a Huey.” Mick elbowed his way forward. “Trudy, ask if there’s a clearing near them large enough for me to land away from trees.”

“Mick, no!” Marlee squeezed past two burly rangers. “Have you looked outside? It’s almost a whiteout.”

Mick’s solemn eyes found her in the crowd. “If not me, sis, who?”