On Angel Wings
Autore
Roz Denny Fox
Letto da
17,9K
Capitoli
15
CHAPTER ONE
MICK CALLEN MOVED a step higher on the twelve-foot ladder that was propped against the battered Huey. It was the only helicopter in a fleet of three aircraft belonging to Cloud Chasers, Mick’s company, which delivered freight throughout remote northwest Montana.
He stretched to dab lubricant on the far side of the rotor pitch. The pain in his hip at the movement was a sharp reminder that he’d reached too far for the titanium socket a surgeon had installed a year ago. He adjusted his weight and breathed more easily. Damn, how long would it be before he’d remember he didn’t have the same range of motion anymore? But setting limits wasn’t easy for a man who, at thirty-five, ought to be in the prime of his life.
Frustrated, he raised a greasy hand to swipe a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes, then caught himself and first rubbed the grease down his coveralls so he wouldn’t have a black streak through his blond hair. Mick shifted again and rested the can on the top rung. From this vantage point he could see a row of white-capped peaks in the distance. A slice of the Rocky Mountains.
Intent on servicing the Huey, Mick hadn’t noticed the added nip in the morning air until this minute. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue. Pappy Jack would’ve said it was a perfect day for cloud chasing. Hence the name of their company.
A pang seared Mick’s chest. This pain wasn’t related to the injuries he’d sustained in the military when he’d been shot down during his last mission in Afghanistan. Nor was it the result of the many subsequent surgeries. Mick recognized this ache. He’d diagnosed it weeks ago as he tinkered with his plane engines. This pain struck each time he left the house to work solo.
Since mid-May he’d shopped solo, cooked solo, ate solo, flew solo and walked Wingman, his mutt, solo.
Here it was, already late October. It had been six damned months and he still expected to see his grandfather moving around the property. Pappy Jack Callen, Mick’s mentor and grandfather, had always been the real heart and soul of Cloud Chasers.
At Jack’s funeral late last spring, scores of residents from the nearby community of Whitepine had come to pay their respects. More than a few of Pappy’s old friends had claimed Mick and Jack were lucky that Pappy had said good-night as usual one night and then simply didn’t wake up the next morning. They said that when they died, they hoped it happened that way.
Except they weren’t the ones who’d found Pappy lifeless in his bed. Mick had. And not a day passed that he didn’t think of a hundred things he should’ve said the night before to the man who’d long been the rock for Mick and his twin sister, Marlee. Pappy had been everything to them after they’d lost their parents in a senseless car accident some twenty years ago.
Marlee assured Mick over and over in the days following the funeral that Pappy knew they loved him. But his sister, newly married and pregnant, didn’t have endless empty hours to fill with nothing but rambling thoughts. Should’ves, could’ves, would’ves. These seemed to define Mick’s existence lately. Not the touchy-feely type, he’d never been a big one for vocalizing how he felt. A fault he’d have to live with, or change. Damn, but change didn’t come easy, either.
At eighty-six, their grandfather had lived a full life. Jack Callen proudly boasted a distinguished military career. He’d married the love of his life. Had built his home and business from the ground up. He’d raised a son and shepherded twin grandkids toward becoming fine navy flyers and otherwise all-around productive citizens.
By comparison, Mick felt his own life was going nowhere fast.
His new brother-in-law, Glacier Park forest ranger Wylie Ames, said what Mick needed was to find a good woman. His sister took every opportunity to nag him to phone Tammy Skidmore, a nurse in Kalispell who’d shown enough interest to hand him her phone number the day he’d checked out of the hospital.
He scowled as he slopped grease on the underside of the rotor. Huh, maybe he should pick up the phone and call Tammy. But something held him back. Mick jokingly told Marlee it’d be hard to date a woman who had jammed needle after needle into his bare butt. Although that didn’t ring true. Mick had lost all modesty after his accident. With Tammy, at least, if they ever reached the point of doing the deed, he wouldn’t have to explain the ugly puckered skin that ran from hip to ankle where he’d been riddled by shrapnel. Mick probably didn’t have a single physical asset Tammy Skidmore hadn’t clinically observed, so that was pretty much a nonissue.
And if he crossed Tammy off his list of available females he was left with slim pickin’s. Available, suitable women didn’t grow on trees and there was little more than trees in this backcountry. Though a couple of old schoolmates in Whitepine had let him know at Pappy’s funeral that they were back in circulation. One was too straitlaced to suit Mick. The other lacked any scruples.
A little voice in the back of his mind niggled. What about Hana Egan?
What about her? Last fall, Pappy had told his twin sister that Mick was “sweet” on the smoke jumper. Mick had tripped over his teeth to deny it.
“Mick!” Hearing his name drifting up from the foot of his ladder jerked Mick out of his daydream. He hastily jammed a lid on the grease bucket and began to make his way down the rickety ladder.
Stella Gibson was waiting for him at the bottom. Judging by her worried expression, she’d anxiously followed his slow progress. The matronly widow, who lived in a cabin down the hill, had helped Mick in a variety of capacities since his medical discharge from the navy. She’d cleaned the house and left enough meals in the refrigerator to keep him and Pappy from starving.
Those months when Mick had been laid up, when Marlee moved home and flew his route, Stella took care of Mick, Pappy and sometimes Marlee’s daughter, Jo Beth. But she had never made a secret of the fact that she was looking for a permanent job. It was only after Marlee married Wylie, and Pappy passed away, that Mick got smart and hired Stella to work half-time cleaning house, and the other half keeping order in Cloud Chasers’ office. That was a task his sister repeatedly said he was bad at.
Hands on hips, Stella was obviously ready to give him a motherly lecture. “When I left yesterday, Mick Callen, you told me Josh Manley would be in today to service the helicopter. Why are you up on that ladder?”
Mick set down the bucket, pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped the excess goop off his fingers. “Yeah, well, Josh’s mom phoned. His girlfriend conned Josh into driving her and a coworker into Kalispell today. Apparently they’re all invited to an early Halloween party at the home of his girlfriend’s boss, who happens to have an opening for a corporate pilot. I know Josh really wants that job. He’s a good pilot, and I can’t use him full-time.”
“If he gets the job, who’ll help you, Mick? Between the upswing in freight orders and the mercy missions with Angel Fleet, it seems to me you need a full-time flying partner.”
“With winter coming on, it’s a matter of weeks before I’d have to cut Josh’s hours. That’s the nature of the freight business in upper Montana.”
“Running in high gear these last six or seven months, I never thought to ask. Will my hours be cut over the winter?”
Wingman bounded up, his tongue hanging out. The part Lab, part shepherd, part some unknown breed, nosed Mick’s leg until he crouched to rub the dog’s furry head. “Actually, Stella, I’ve been juggling my finances, hoping I can afford to spend the winter bumming around some island with white sandy beaches, ice-cold margaritas and bikini-clad babes. I’d like you to look after the place. You know, see the pipes don’t break and my planes don’t blow away. Up to now, no one’s had time to scan in all the old accounts or shred the mountains of paperwork Pappy stored in those damned cardboard boxes, either. I’ll pay you to handle everything.”
“I can do that. Are you planning to take the dog?”
Mick let the animal lick his chin. “I wish. But this guy’s a cold-weather mutt. I intend to corner Marlee and Wylie and ask them if I can pay his son to take care of Wingman until I get back in the spring. Last time I visited them for a weekend, I let Dean take care of my dog. Since Jo Beth has Piston, it evened the odds in their ‘yours, mine and ours household.’”
Stella’s dark brown eyes sparkled when she laughed. “You’d do that to your poor sister? Add another creature when she’s dealing with Thanksgiving, Christmas and having a baby? Last time we talked, she said Dean had rescued a half-grown grizzly who’d been shot by a neighboring rancher. That boy already has twin wolf cubs and numerous small animals in various stages of healing.”
“Was Marlee complaining?”
“No. She sounded happy, in fact.”
“Yeah, she does.” Mick straightened and patted the dog. He gazed blankly at the horizon. “I was just thinking, Stella, it’s perfect flying weather. I should shake out the chopper and see if the maintenance I did takes care of the rotor wobble Josh was complaining about. Last week when I flew to Missoula for my last visit with the physical therapist, I picked up some things for the baby. I also bought a few Halloween goodies for Dean and Jo Beth. Maybe I’ll take myself up to the ranger station. See if Wylie can use an extra hand with the addition he’s madly building on their house.”
Stella snapped her fingers. “That’s why I came to find you, Mick. I took a phone order from Trudy Morgenthal at the rangers’ base camp, and the smoke jumpers would also like some supplies delivered no later than tomorrow afternoon.”
Mick’s grease-stained fingers fondled the dog’s silky ear. “I delivered Captain Martin’s winter supplies weeks ago. He said he wouldn’t need anything until spring.”
“I gather this is private supplies for the smoke jumpers. None of them are in your billing system, which brings up the next question. Will you fly out such a small order for cash? Jess Hargitay promised to pay on delivery.”
“I guess. Jess has been with Martin for a few years. Not all the jumpers return each season.” He frowned. “I’ve never known any of them to request private supplies. In fact, I understood they were all leaving next week, except Captain Martin and his assistant.”
“Mr. Hargitay mentioned that a group is planning a farewell climb in Glacier Park. One of the taller peaks, but I don’t recall which. They’ve ordered ready-to-eat meals, long johns and miscellaneous stuff.”
“Huh. Long johns for sure. I see there’s quite a bit of snow up along the ridge.”
“If the report I heard this morning is correct, we’re liable to lose this fine weather soon. They predict we’ll see snow in the valley by early next week.”
Mick laughed. “Stella, you can’t trust the news channel weather staff to get it right. If you want the skinny on the weather, you need to phone the service pilots use.”
She tipped back her head and scanned the sky that was visible through a row of majestic pine trees that blocked north winds from battering the house. “You’re right.” She looked at him again. “So, then, you want me to phone Trudy and this Jess guy and say you’ll take both jobs?”
“Sure. Sounds good. I never turn down an opportunity to earn money. What’s today? Thursday? Ask Trudy if tomorrow’s soon enough to deliver her order. I’ll fly to Kalispell this afternoon and fetch the supplies in the Arrow. At first light tomorrow, I’ll transfer the load to the Huey. That’ll allow me time to phone Wylie and Marlee, and arrange to spend a couple of nights with them.”
“I’ll confirm the times with Trudy ASAP. Unless you want my help in carting that big old ladder back to the work shed.”
“Thanks for the offer, Stella, but my PT said I’m good as new. Maybe better than, what with all the hardware installed in my hip,” Mick said with a wink. He forgot the condition of his hand and raked still-greasy fingers through hair that needed more than a trim, as curls fell over his eyes and skimmed the lower edge of his collar.
“You look kind of shaggy. But unless there’s someone out in the great beyond you want to impress, I’d say you can get by for another week without a barber.”
Again, a clear vision of perky Hana Egan popped into Mick’s mind. Probably because Stella had mentioned Jess Hargitay. Jess gave the impression that he was hot stuff in the eyes of female smoke jumpers. Mick had seen Jess act possessive of several women who’d rotated in and out of the camp. A few years ago he’d heard there were allegations of Jess inappropriately harassing a partner, a female. She quit forestry and Mick heard she’d dropped charges rather than fight a losing battle in court. Mick had seen Jess move on Hana. But maybe she returned his interest. Probably did. Mick’s trips to the camp were sporadic, so it wasn’t as if he knew anything for sure.
“Stella, if Trudy needs her order today, buzz me on the house intercom. I’m going to store the ladder and grease, then go clean up.”
They parted, and Mick returned the ladder to the shed. On his trip to the house, he took out his cell phone and punched in his sister’s number. Her phone rang three times before she answered, and then she sounded out of breath.
“Hey, sis, did I catch you on the run?”
“Mick?” His twin’s voice reflected both surprise and delight. “I had my head in the oven when the phone rang. I stopped to take out two pies before I picked up.”
“You’re baking pies? What’s the occasion?”
“I’ll have you know I cook a lot more since I acquired a family of two hungry males. Thankfully, Rose sent me her favorite recipes,” Marlee said, referring to her former mother-in-law, Rose Stein. Marlee’s marriage to Wylie Ames was his twin’s second marriage. Her first husband had died after a prolonged bout with cancer. She’d had some problems with her ex-mom-in-law. But Marlee had met and overcome all challenges like a champ.
“These pies,” Marlee continued, “are for an end-of-season potluck the park rangers are having on Saturday. I’m so nervous, Mick. Wylie said I shouldn’t be, but this’ll be the first time most of his ranger buddies will have met me and Jo Beth. Bud and Ellen Russell—Bud is Wylie’s closest friend—came by to deliver a wedding gift from the whole crew. Outside of them, I won’t know a single soul at the gathering,” she admitted. “I hope my offerings at the potluck are edible, or the women will feel sorry for Wylie. They’re probably all wondering how he met me, anyway.”
Mick didn’t comment. He was trying to piece together the significance of what his sister had said.
“Mick, are you still there? Is something wrong? Oh, no, don’t tell me the report from your physical therapist was bad? I meant to phone, but we had a lot going on, what with trying to get the addition finished so Rose has a place to sleep when she comes here for Christmas. You know she’s going to help when the baby’s born? And do you remember Emmett Nelson, Rose’s neighbor from San Diego? They’ll be traveling together. I think they’re an item. Are you listening to me, Mick?”
“Yes. I’m fine according to the PT. It’s just…I scheduled a couple of deliveries up your way tomorrow. I figured on spending the weekend with you guys. That was before you mentioned having plans for Saturday. Maybe I’ll swoop in for a minute tomorrow afternoon and drop off the Halloween treats I bought for Dean and Jo Beth.”
“You will not just pop in and out. I have an order sitting at the Kalispell airpark that you can bring. And you’ll stay for the potluck. So, if I don’t pass muster with Wylie’s coworkers, I can hang out with my brother instead of looking like a wall-flower.”
“Why wouldn’t you pass muster? Anyway, the only important thing is how much Wylie and Dean love you. Hey, come on! You flew choppers in a war for pity’s sake. Which of the other ranger wives can claim that kind of guts?” He shook his head. “Are you okay, sis? I’ve never known you to be insecure.”
“You never saw me when I was pregnant last time. Feeling frumpy comes with the territory.”
“Hmm, that explains it. I haven’t been around a pregnant woman—except one in that fender bender a couple of weeks ago. She went into labor at the side of the highway near White-fish. Angel Fleet had me fly her and her husband to Kalispell. He was a basket case. I hope Wylie won’t be like that.”
“He won’t. Wylie delivered Dean. Although, he wants me to stay in town the last weeks. I’d much prefer the local midwife come here. If the weather doesn’t permit that, I’d still be fine with just Wylie and Rose on hand. Out of curiosity, what did the woman have, a boy or a girl?”
“A boy. Cute little dude. The dad acted goofy, tapping on the nursery glass and making goo-goo noises. He gave me a blue bubblegum cigar. I tried to picture myself in his shoes, but I’m positive I would’ve acted way cooler.”
“If you don’t get on the stick and meet a woman, Mick Callen, you won’t ever have kids—and we’ll never know if you’d act cool or not.”
“Yeah, yeah! Time to hang up. I’ve gotta go shower and then fly to Kalispell and collect the orders for delivery tomorrow.”
“If you don’t have to fly on Monday, stay over with us for an extra day. We’d all like that.”
“We’ll see. I’ll toss in a duffle and see what Wylie thinks about me crashing his company barbecue. Isn’t your weather too nippy for a barbecue?”
“The gathering’s always at the park picnic grounds—to celebrate closing the park for the winter. Closing is Sunday. If that storm hanging out in Canada blows down, Trudy Morgenthal says we can eat in the wildlife lecture room at the base ranger camp.”
“Stella heard about that storm. I’ll have to check reports. Maybe I will stay over. How bad are they predicting it’ll be? Nothing like the doozy last June that surprised the heck out of everybody? Never seen such high winds.”
“Nothing so major, thank goodness. Wylie said he’d never seen a storm cause as much damage as that one. I think this forecast is for a few inches of snow, that’s all. The kids have their fingers crossed. Probably because Wylie built them sleds out of scrap lumber.”
“All right! If I wasn’t planning to stay over before, that would’ve tipped the scales. It’s been years since I did any sledding. Expect me around lunchtime tomorrow. I’ll see if your kitchen skills have improved.” Mick clicked off before the sputtering began.
AS MICK FIRED UP the Huey, the breaking dawn gave no indication that the weather wouldn’t be a repeat of the previous day. Streaks of purple, pink and gold edged out the deep gray of a rapidly fading night. And there was little, if any, wind.
The thrill of the promised flight lifted his spirits, even if he’d rather be flying a navy jet than this lumbering chopper. Wingman sat in his makeshift harness, one ear perked up. Mick grinned at the dog and could swear the mutt grinned back. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Mick called. The dog raised his head and barked.
As he lifted off, Mick stopped admiring the breaking day and listened carefully for any sign of wobble in the rotors. He much preferred flying fixed-wing planes like the Arrow or the Seneca. He’d bought the chopper at an auction to entice his sister back home to Montana from San Diego. She’d flown helicopters in the navy. But if he’d known she was going to meet Wylie Ames, fall in love, and marry the guy within a year of moving back, Mick might have passed on buying the Huey. Except that it’d come in handy on several occasions during his volunteer missions for Angel Fleet. He was getting so he could land the chopper just about anywhere except in heavily treed terrain. For as fast as Montana was being built up, there was still a lot of wilderness left, thank goodness. And like Marlee claimed, the Huey was a reliable workhorse.
He’d been in the air a little under an hour when he spotted the main ranger layout below. Mick had realized yesterday that the supplies he’d picked up for Trudy Morgenthal were mostly for the weekend ranger barbecue, or potluck, whatever they were calling it. He had cartons of paper cups, paper plates, napkins. Trudy had ordered staples to get them through a winter during which no one traveled easily in this part of Glacier Park except by snowshoes or snowmobile.
He landed near the park’s two smaller helicopters. Wingman got antsy waiting for the rotors to stop. Mick saw why. They were being greeted by the house dogs, a German shepherd and a good-size collie. Mick released his dog but attached a leash to his collar.
Trudy hurried down the path that led to the buildings. From her hand motions, Mick deduced that she intended to pen her dogs. He waited to open the door until she’d disappeared again.
“I know, buddy, you’re disappointed to lose playmates. But maybe those dogs aren’t as friendly as you. Come on. I’ll walk you into the woods to do your business. Then you’ll have to stay in the chopper while I unload Morgenthal’s order.”
Trudy reappeared about the time Mick returned to the clearing. “Where should I stack all the boxes?” he asked.
“My husband and sons and our other rangers are making sure all of the campers have left. They’ll be closing this end of the park and putting up chains across the entry roads until next season. Would it be a terrible imposition if I asked you to carry the paper goods to the canopy we’ve set up for the potluck? Put everything else on the porch. I don’t want you reinjuring your leg. Wylie told us about your surgery. In a way, that was his good fortune. Otherwise he wouldn’t have met your sister.”
“Wylie’s right. Marlee never would’ve taken over my cargo route if I hadn’t been laid up. It’s no problem moving your stuff, Trudy. I have a hand truck I can load boxes on.”
Trudy talked incessantly as Mick loaded up cartons and trucked them around. He would’ve told her he’d see her the next day, as he’d been invited to the potluck, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
“Phew, Wingman,” Mick said after he’d buckled himself back in his seat. “That woman could talk the ears off a mule. I suppose she gets lonely stuck out here with her husband out tending the park.”
He slipped on his earphones and promptly turned his thoughts to his next delivery. Mick wondered if he’d see Hana Egan this trip. A new kind of excitement rose in him, different from the thrill he got from flying. A month ago when he’d delivered the bulk of the winter supplies to Captain Martin, who lived year-round at the smoke jumpers’ camp, Mick had managed a few words with Hana. She wasn’t real talkative, and sometimes he had to cajole information out of her. She’d said she’d be going home to California soon.
As he rose above the stand of timber marking the northern-most park entrance, Mick considered how little he knew about Hana. He knew he was drawn by her red-gold curls that snapped to life when she stood bareheaded in the sun. He liked the freckles dusted across her nose. Mick probably thought too much about kissing her shapely mouth, since odds of that happening weren’t high. He’d never seen her wear lipstick. Of all her attributes, Mick found Hana’s eyes to be her most arresting feature. Given her coloring, a person might expect her to have blue or green eyes, but hers were…gold. Whiskey gold. He’d spoken with her enough to decide that her eyes reflected her every emotion.
Time passed quickly. The smoke jumpers’ camp sat halfway between the ranger station and his sister’s house. The place looked pretty deserted. He recognized Leonard Martin’s battered Ford diesel truck, and the assistant’s slightly newer SUV. The Jeep belonged to Jess Hargitay. As a rule, smoke jumpers flew in from various camps during times of fire. But Jess drove in. This station was the seasonal home to maybe six men and women. And the season was at an end, Mick lamented as he landed.
Heck, maybe he’d find out where Hana lived in California. He’d been thinking of island vacations, but California had plenty of white sandy beaches.
He repeated the process he’d gone through at the ranger station. He let the rotors stop fully before he leashed Wingman and the two of them climbed out.
“Hi, Mick.”
Hana Egan’s sweet voice had him spinning too fast on his fancy titanium hip. Mick felt a deep pain buckle his newly healed muscles. A blistering swear word escaped before he could check himself. He dropped Wingman’s leash when he was forced to grab the upright strut on the landing skid to keep from toppling.
The petite woman was quick on her feet. She scooped up the fleeing dog’s leather leash. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, Mick. Are you okay?” Those whiskey gold eyes Mick had so recently been thinking about turned dusky with concern.
“I’m fine,” he growled. The last thing he wanted was for Hana to judge him a lesser man than Jess Hargitay, who was swaggering toward them. Smoke jumpers tended to be agile, tough and have a penchant for danger.
“You don’t act fine,” she said. “Why can’t men ever admit to any shortcomings?”
He tried to discreetly knead the kink out of the long muscle that ran down his thigh. He hadn’t limped in a month, but he limped now as he crossed the space between them and relieved her of Wingman’s leash. “I wouldn’t touch that comment with rubber gloves, Hana. Suffice it to say, must be a guy thing. But I can’t answer for all men.” He looped the dog’s leash through a cross tube at the rear of the landing skid. “I probably need to ask Jess where he wants me to stack his supplies.” Still smarting from her words—and the cramp in his leg—Mick lowered his chin in dismissal and started to walk around her.
“Hold on.” She touched his hand, then abruptly pulled back. “I saw you dropping down to land, and I hurried over here to catch you before anyone else butts in. I wanted to tell you goodbye, Mick.”
“You’re taking off for home today, then?” He halted in his tracks and idly rubbed at his hand, still feeling the rasp of her surprisingly callused palm. Although, considering the job she did, Mick didn’t know why he’d be shocked to find her hand wasn’t nearly as soft as it looked.
“As soon as six of us finish climbing Mt. St. Nicholas, we’ll split up and go our separate ways.”
“You heard there’s a front moving in?”
“I’m sure Jess scoped out the weather. We’re making the climb for fun. It’s been a rough summer with fire after fire. This is our last hurrah as a unit before we scatter for the winter.”
“Huh. So you aren’t all from the same place?”
“No.” The denial was accompanied by a crisp shake of her red curls.
“I imagine you’re anxious to get home to your family, what with the holidays around the bend.”
Mick noticed that a brittleness overtook her usually friendly demeanor. Had he crossed some kind of line? Granted, in the past they’d never got around to discussing anything personal.
“I struck out on my own at sixteen, Mick,” she said briskly. “I took three part-time jobs so I could graduate from high school. Before that I was shuffled through a lot of different homes. There’s none I’d remotely call family.”
“So you were, what? In foster care?”
“Care? If you say so.” She spat the word with distaste. “I hope that’s not pity in your eyes, Mick Callen. I’ve done fine. This winter I’m enrolling in a couple of courses at UCLA. One day I’ll have my degree in forestry.” She followed that with a half-hearted laugh. “I’m surprised Jess hasn’t regaled you with the fact that I’m UCLA’s oldest underclassman. But I think I should qualify as a junior this semester.”
Mick felt her underlying anxiety over baring so much of her soul. He usually played things cool, too, when it came to spilling his guts. Now he felt moved to share. “This past spring my grandfather died. Pappy. You probably heard about it.”
“I did. Mick, I’m so sorry. You know he bragged about you something fierce. You must miss him terribly.”
“Yeah. I rattle around the house.” Mick dug deep to keep his voice from breaking. It was one thing to share a private grief, and another to show weakness.
“I heard your sister married Wylie Ames. Gosh, does that mean you’re totally alone this holiday season?”
“Marlee and Wylie want me to spend a week with them at Thanksgiving. I probably will if I haven’t winged my way to a sandy beach in some warmer clime. Their baby’s due right around Christmas, and they’ll have a house full with Jo Beth’s grandmother coming to help with the baby. Especially if weather forces the midwife to bunk over.”
Mick thought Hana’s eyes looked wistful as she said eagerly, “They’re having a baby? I can’t believe you’d want to miss that.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue what to do around a newborn. By the time I come back in the spring, the kid’ll be sitting up and there’ll be something substantial to hang on to. They don’t live far from here, Hana. Maybe if you’re not off fighting a fire, I’ll swing by and take you to see the baby, since you sound keen on little kids.”
She gazed beyond him into the distance, and an awkwardness fell between them. “Uh…maybe.”
“My sister wouldn’t mind. You’ll be back here next spring, right?”
She lifted one slender shoulder and Mick’s heart slammed hard up into his throat at the very possibility that she might not be coming back to Montana.
Wingman started racing around and bounding to the end of his leash, barking his head off. A long shadow fell across the couple. A muscular, dark-haired man wearing a frank scowl strode up and shouldered Mick aside.
“Hana, what’s taking so long? Kari said you came to collect our supplies from Mick. Everything else is loaded in my Jeep. Come on, you’re holding us up. I want to make camp at the fir tree break in time to pitch tents for the night.”
Hana didn’t respond to Jess Hargitay’s order.
Mick felt tension drawing tight as if there were a power struggle between the two. Wanting to intercede, Mick tapped Jess on the back. “Cloud Chasers’ office manager said you’d pay cash for this load, Hargitay.” Mick dug a wadded-up charge slip from his shirt pocket and shoved it none too gently against Jess’s chest. “Soon as you cough up the dinero, I’ll haul these supplies to your Jeep.”
There had never been any love lost between the two men who glared at each other now. The dislike had existed before Hana, but intensified whenever Jess caught them talking.
Always cocky and sure of himself, Jess brushed off Mick’s hand. Locking eyes with the pilot, he reached out in a too-familiar manner and filtered his fingers through Hana’s curls. “Hey, babe, I’m kinda short this month. Run back and pass the hat among the rest of our climbers. I’m supplying the wheels and gas to get to the site. The least all of you can do is spring for food, canned heat and long johns.”
Hana opened her mouth as if to refuse. Instead, she moved her head and ducked under the thickly muscled arm, and murmured a final farewell to Mick.
The air crackled in her wake. Neither man spoke, but they continued to take each other’s measure until tall, beanpole thin Kari Dombroski loped up to hand Mick a collection of bills and coins.
He stuffed the money in his pocket without counting it. Brushing past Jess, Mick pulled the supplies out of the Huey.
As if to keep Mick from seeing Hana again, Jess relieved him of most of the load, except for the small stuff, which he snarled at Kari to grab.
Wingman lunged at the end of his leash to bark at Jess, and Mick turned his back on the smoke jumpers and bent to calm the dog. “Nice guy, huh, pooch?” he muttered. “If you could talk, I’d ask you what in hell Hana sees in that jackass.”
The dog whined and licked his face as Mick untied him and hoisted him into the chopper. Before Mick had his harness and the dog’s fastened, the mottled black Jeep kicked up dust farther down the dirt road.
As he lifted off, Mick noted with interest that he and Jess were both headed toward dark clouds building over the mountain range.
He tried not to think of petite Hana Egan climbing craggy ridges topped by snow and already shrouded in a thickening gray mist.
To distract himself, he projected his worry onto Saturday’s potluck. What if the wind was the first taste of the Canadian storm? If it got so bad the party was cancelled, Marlee would be devastated. Oh, his sister made noises about not wanting to attend, but Mick had seen right through her. She wanted the day to be perfect. And Mick wanted that for her, too. She and Wylie deserved to kick back a bit after nursing Dean, Wylie’s son, through Burkitt’s lymphoma last winter. Between worry over Dean, and Pappy’s funeral not long on the heels of Dean’s remission, the whole family needed a bit of fun.
