“I want us to be married before you have the baby.”

“Mick, that’s not possible.” Hana tried to sit up, but a nurse pressed her back.

“Hana, listen to me. If we’re married, the baby has my last name. The birth certificate will say Callen. This baby will be ours – yours and mine. I’ll be the one, the only, father.”

Hana’s tear-swollen eyes sought the doctor. “Is it crazy or is it possible? I’d like that…a lot.” With her free hand she touched her stomach.

Dr Walsh shrugged. “It’s crazy, all right. You’d need a licence and that takes time…”

“We have our licence. They processed it today. It’s…uh, at the house.”

“Then we can do it,” the doctor said. “Somebody find the hospital chaplain and get him up here at the double. Mick, you run home and get the licence.”

Mick nodded, then slid his hand up to cradle the back of Hana’s head. “I know this isn’t the way we planned it…” He grinned. “But at least we’ll have a Christmas wedding.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roz made her first sale to the Romance line in 1989 and sold six Romance titles, writing as Roz Denny. After transferring to the Superromance series, she began writing as Roz Denny Fox.

Roz has been a RITA® Award finalist and has been placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the bestseller lists. She’s happy to have received her twenty-five-book pin and would one day love to get the pin for fifty books.

Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.

Dear Reader,

When I first thought of writing a story that centred on twins who fly mercy flights in a wilderness area, I imagined it as two stories in one book. But I hadn’t even finished the synopsis of Marlee’s story before I realised her brother Mick needed a life, a love, a book of his own. My editor agreed.

Mick had been wounded in Afghanistan, healed, and had rebuilt his grandfather’s charter flight service to what it had once been. Mick Callen enticed his sister to come home, only to have her leave again when she found her true love. The twins’ grandfather died over the summer. I just couldn’t leave Mick alone and lonely.

Certain books come together more easily than others, and Mick and Hana’s story was one of them. I love both of these characters. Plus I like writing about families who face the challenges real people face in real life.

I hope you enjoy reading this book. The men and women (and the various organisations) who make mercy flights accessible to people in remote sites share a unique strength and compassion. I admire them one and all. However, Mick’s story, like his sister’s, is pure fiction and not patterned on any of the many real mercy flying services.

Roz Denny Fox

PS I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at PO Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731, USA or via e-mail at rdfox@worldnet.att.net.

Her Mistletoe Miracle

ROZ DENNY FOX

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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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 wallflower.”

“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 Whitefish. 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 fixedwing 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 rein-juring 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 northernmost 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 halfhearted 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.

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?”

CHAPTER THREE

RANGER WIVES CLOSED RANKS around Marlee Ames, because not only did her brother volunteer for the dangerous rescue mission, her husband did as well. Once it was ascertained there were three uninjured hikers, all ill-equipped for snow, Mick was elected to concentrate on the injured. Wylie was one of a hiking rescue party comprised of six rangers.

The meeting room where they’d gathered for the end of season feast doubled as a chart and map room. The captain pulled down a map and a blowup of the mountain region. Those slated to go crowded in to get a fix on coordinates and check the most direct access route.

Anxious, Mick wanted to race out and take off straight away because the longer they delayed the more they risked worsening weather. But he knew the value of good planning and coordination, so as Wylie slipped away to have a private word with Marlee, Mick crossed his arms and listened to everything that was being said. Two rangers far more familiar with the terrain pointed out potential trouble areas.

“It’s one-thirty. If I don’t spot the climbers on my first pass I may have to return to base and wait for first light. I don’t want to get caught trying to lift off from the mountain after dark. Especially if temperatures drop and it starts to freeze,” Mick said.

A ranger ran a finger over the topographical map. “They probably left their vehicles here. We can drive about three miles farther using the fire road.”

“One vehicle,” Mick said. “They all piled into a big jeep. I saw them head out.”

Wylie’s friend Bud Russell pulled the ring tab and let the map roll up. “Pack lights and climbing gear in a toboggan. I estimate we won’t reach them until eleven, or could be nearer midnight. We’ll take sandwiches, thermoses of coffee, and thermal blankets. Damn weather’s been practically balmy up until today. Their contact said they weren’t prepared for bad weather except for a few who wore long johns. He said they’re exposed to the storm.”

“They can’t be more than a mile on either side from a tree line,” one of the older rangers said. “I know he said his radio battery is running low, but shouldn’t we raise him again and suggest they leave the crevasse and hike to shelter?”

“I did suggest that while you guys were assembling volunteers,” Trudy said. “They vetoed splitting up. They’re worried about the snow obliterating the tree boughs they’ve cut and stuck in the ground to mark the crevasse. If their makeshift markers blow away, it’s as good as writing off those who fell.”

Mick shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll reach the site long before you guys. Give me the bulk of the blankets and hot drinks. Depending on how many injured we’re talking, and how severely they’re hurt, I can maybe get off the ground with three. Two, if they require stretchers. One additional if ambulatory,” Mick said. “If it comes down to a choice between flying out injured or dead, I’ll focus on those who need doctors and leave you to handle the rest.”

He could tell from the ring of stony faces that nobody wanted to think about dead bodies. Yet rangers were realistic. They all nodded grimly.

“Sounds like a plan,” the captain said. “What if you can’t set down up there?” He posed the question lurking at the back of Mick’s own mind, because the hiker on the radio hadn’t been sure the clearing was large enough to land a big chopper.

“If I can’t land, I can still drop supplies. I’ll stack blankets and food in the copilot’s seat. I volunteer with Angel Fleet, so my aircraft are all stocked with first aid kits.”

“Do you want a ranger EMT to ride shotgun with you?”

“That would be nice, but I’m concerned about wind drag. I saw clips of that rescue on Mount Rainier in Washington state that went into the toilet because of wind shears and weight. I don’t want a repeat of that. Can someone impress on the guy who radioed in that I have to grab the injured and get out? Even then it’ll be tricky getting to Kalispell before all hell breaks loose with this storm. Tell him to use the climbing ropes to pull the climbers out of the crevasse and patch up injuries as best he can for transport.”

Once Mick saw Trudy flipping switches on the radio to relay his message, he shoved open the door and stepped out onto the plank porch. Even under the overhang he got hit by quarter-sized snowflakes that seemed to be blowing in circles. “Damn them,” he growled, thinking aloud about smoke jumpers who should have better sense.

“They’re hotshots,” Bud said from over Mick’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but we work closely with Len Martin’s crews,” the ranger captain said as he hunched against the wind ripping away his words. “Len does get some green recruits. Kids who still think they’re invincible.”

“Three in this party are seasoned,” Mick said. “One’s a five-year veteran. Another, a woman I know, has spent three summers with Martin’s crew.”

Wylie jogged up to walk alongside Mick, as if he’d heard something more in his brother-in-law’s words. He drew Mick aside when the others split up to ready a vehicle and their gear. “One of those climbers wouldn’t be the woman you mentioned at the house last night? The gal you’re interested in who’s involved with another guy?”

“What if it is?” Mick’s steps didn’t slow, but his jaw tightened.

Wylie hesitated, seeming to weigh his next comment. “Marlee thinks you haven’t been yourself since Pappy died. She’s worried you might do something… rash today.”

Mick pulled up short in the shadow of the bird. He scowled as he dug a pair of leather gloves out of the cockpit. “What the hell does that mean, Wylie?”

“Just that this is a ranger call. I have to know if you’re depressed enough, or personally involved enough, to get reckless with your life. If so, I’ll have to order you to stand down. If need be, I’ll handcuff you to one of the damned fence posts.”

Surprise passed through Mick’s lean frame, and then he found Wylie’s swashbuckling attempt comical. Wiping a hand across his face to dust off the snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes, he laughed. “Are you seriously suggesting that if Hana doesn’t make it, I’m gonna fly into the side of the mountain?”

“Put that way, it does sound extreme.”

“Damned right. Tell Marlee my head’s screwed on straight.”

His hip objected to the shift in weather, making it difficult for Mick to hoist himself into the cold cockpit. Neither man spoke again, but their eyes met. Blowing snow cast a muted golden halo over the camp. All sound seemed muffled except for the ropes clanking against the flagpole that marked the entrance to the ranger station. The U.S. flag, the Montana state flag, and the forestry flag, all attached below a snow-covered brass ball, flapped wildly in the stiff wind.

Wylie gave in first and raised a hand for Mick to clasp. “Fire her up. I see Bill coming with the supplies. I’ll toss extra pillows and blankets in the hatch and lock her down.” Several heartbeats passed, then he shouted to be heard over the first whir of the rotors, “Good luck, Mick.”

A lump rose in Mick’s throat, so he busied himself arranging the blankets and food Bill handed him, firmly in the copilot’s seat. Then he donned his earphones. That done, he was in control of his feelings enough to flash his brother-in-law a thumbs-up.

He felt the chopper rock as the men buttoned up the back, but waited until he saw them bend over and run clear before he lifted off.

Mick’s thoughts threatened to turn into worry for Hana. He refused to let that happen. Instead, he concentrated on the landscape fanned out below. As he climbed steadily, flying got dicier. Crosswinds alone could be wicked for rotors. Add blowing snow to the equation and bad conditions increased tenfold. The saving grace, if there was one, was that the snow was still dry. It blew off the Huey’s blades instead of weighing them down.

Below him, trudging slowly in single file down a steep ravine, were three bighorn sheep. They had grown shaggy winter coats and their brown hair was dusted white with snow. Any other time, he’d linger over the rare sight. The fact that the sheep knew to prepare for winter so soon lent an urgency to Mick’s mission. The jagged peaks he’d admired from home yesterday cast shadows across neighboring slopes—slopes he needed to see so he could land. First, though, he needed enough light to spot the stranded hikers.

Higher up into the foothills, fog drifted in in deep pockets. Yet another element against him. The snow and fog mix was beginning to hide the terrain below.

Mick turned up the heat inside the Huey, hoping to melt the flakes beginning to stick on the clear part of the bubble. Still, he had to use his glove to wipe off the condensation building up inside the plastic.

He’d been in the air forty minutes when a hole opened and he saw a red light winking atop a radio tower. The first of three point markers Wylie’s captain said he’d come across. Mick’s stomach unknotted. He hadn’t realized until then how tense he’d become.

It shouldn’t be long now before he’d see where the hiker said they’d staked tree boughs in the shape of an arrow. He wondered how far up the mountain Wylie and the other volunteers were. He knew they had radios and would try to stay in contact with the hikers. Mick cursed himself for not having asked for their frequency so he, too, could keep tabs. He fiddled with the dials, but got only static.

The arrow.

He adjusted his speed, brought the Huey lower and hovered above the marker. People came into view. One motionless body was propped against a fair size rock that was being used as a wind break. It was impossible to tell if the figure was a man or a woman, since a jacket was draped around the shoulders and another tented his or her whole head.

To the left of the rock, Mick identified three more figures lying flat around a dark gash in the hillside. The crevasse. Damn. By the look of things he’d arrived before the crew had complied with his request to have all of the injured ready to be flown off the mountain.

Although the wind didn’t seem quite so erratic now, Mick wondered whether he’d be able to lift off again once he’d landed. He quickly calculated the area, angle of descent and wind velocity. Wind, unfortunately, was unpredictable.

Where the climbers were more or less dictated that he had to perch on an incline. Would the weight of the Huey cause it to slide down the slick slope and keep sliding until it crashed into the line of trees below?

One of the figures at the crevasse hopped up and waved frantically. Mick wanted to yell at the foolish hiker and say, “Forget about me. Get those folks out of the hole.”

But as fast as his anger flared it fizzled. He knew what it was like to be in need of rescue. He felt his palms sweat as he remembered getting the hell shot out of his F/A-18. Falling. His chute jerking open. Floating down as gunfire rained around him. His heart slamming against his chest as he hauled in his chute and detached it from his hips, one of which ran red with his blood. He’d dragged himself into underbrush, scared he’d die on unfriendly soil.

But he hadn’t died. Six Black Hawks had shown up. Five fended off the enemy as one landed and rescued him.

Gritting his teeth, Mick wrestled the whirlybird onto a snowy perch. He hadn’t fully shut down before opening his door and tumbling out in a crouch. His first aid kit in hand, he ran bent over to the person slumped against the boulder.

Kari Dombroski, he discovered. She was the one who’d brought Mick the money the hikers had collected to pay for the climbing supplies Jess had ordered. Mick still had the money wadded in his jeans pocket, where he’d stuffed it yesterday.

“Kari, it’s Mick Callen.” He touched her shoulder lightly and stared into eyes filled with pain. “I’m here to fly you to a doctor. You and others who’ve been hurt.” He flipped open the metal lid of his first aid kit, still unable to make out the identity of those working feverishly to rope another climber out of the yawning crevasse.

“Can you walk?” he asked Kari.

Rousing, she shook her head. “Three of us lost our footing on snowy pine needles. We bounced off sharp rocks before we finally landed in the crevasse.”

“Has anyone checked your injuries?”

“Norm Whitman said my right arm’s broken in a couple of places. He didn’t know if he should tape it to my side or not. It’s swelling. My right leg is either broken, or I tore a ligament. I can’t bear weight on it.” Tears began sliding down her face.

Mick made a sling for her arm. She yelped when he placed her arm in it. “I have two litters in the chopper. But if I put you on one and your fellow climbers have worse injuries, I may need to leave someone behind. No matter where I put you, on a stretcher or in the copilot seat, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

“That’s okay. I’ll sit wherever you say, Mick. Please, you need to check on Hana and Jess. I’m afraid…” She broke off and her damp eyes spoke her fears more succinctly than words.

“Shh, I’ll carry you to the chopper so you’ll be out of the wind.” Mick braced himself to lift her. She wasn’t big, but his phony hip socket objected all the same.

As he stumbled toward the Huey, Kari blubbered through tears, “Jess’s feet came out from under him first. He disappeared over what I thought was a ridge. Hana and I were dragged along ’cause we were roped to him. When I stopped falling, I rolled, and called to them, but I didn’t get an answer.” She sobbed against Mick’s shoulder. “I thought we’d all die.”

He set her down gently inside the Huey and focused on splinting her leg. He tore off the tape and got up, noticing her face had been scraped. Mick carefully rubbed on an antibiotic cream.

“We shouldn’t have gone higher toward the peak,” she said, trying but failing with her one good hand to hang on to the blanket Mick draped around her. He adjusted it for her and closed the lid on his kit. Keeping an eye on the storm outside, he poured Kari a cup of black coffee and wrapped her uninjured hand around the plastic cup.

“We should’ve turned back as soon as it started snowing hard. Jess egged us on.” Tears rimmed her lower eyelids and tracked over the welts on her cheek.

“Time to sort out blame later,” Mick said gruffly. “Hang in there, Kari. I’ll go see what’s happening at the crevasse.” A knot fisted in his chest as he slid out of the chopper. He’d known what Kari was afraid to say—that Hana and Jess didn’t make noise because maybe they’d been killed in the fall.

He slogged uphill through worsening weather to where the others were just rolling a body out of the hole. Mick tried to muster anger at Jess Hargitay for being so irresponsible, but only panic filled his throat. Especially when he saw Chuck Hutton and Norm Whitman bent over a form too slender to be Hargitay.

A third man, the shortest of the three, faced the blowing snow. He wore a ball cap pulled so low Mick couldn’t tell who he was. Not that it made a difference. He just needed to marshal his jumpy nerves and make himself look at Hana.

Chuck got to his feet. “She’s alive,” he told Mick, relief clear in his voice. “She screamed when we tightened the rope to hoist her out, over the rim. Then I suppose she blacked out again. She’s gotta be hurt bad. My guess is internal. I don’t feel broken bones. But I’m afraid to touch her much.”

“And Jess?” Mick asked through clenched teeth as he knelt.

Chuck averted his eyes. “There’s been no response from him. Roger’s about to climb down to see. We were able to get Kari to disconnect her and Hana’s ropes from Jess. The lot of them lost their footing and sailed past us so fast there wasn’t time to grab their ropes, or even tell the women to hit their release clips.”

“Why were both women connected to Jess— Forget it—it doesn’t matter. I have a stretcher we’ll use for Hana. I’ll need your help carrying her to the chopper.”

“You’ll take us all, right?” Chuck shouted to be heard over the howling wind. His teeth chattered and his face was already chapped from the cold.

“Wish I could, Chuck, but no. A hiking party from the ranger station is on its way up the mountain. I’ll leave blankets, food and coffee. You can pitch a tent and wait, or you can hike down and meet the rescue team.”

“Without Jess, we’d never find the route. This snow has made getting our bearings impossible. Jess was the one with the mountain climbing experience.”

Mick didn’t want to point out they were all dumb-asses for setting out with a storm forecast. He only said, “Kari’s in a lot of pain. And I’m half afraid to move Hana.” He glanced at the Huey, then at the inert woman. “I’ll anchor litters to each side of the chopper wall for these two.”

“What about Jess?”

“I can take three wounded if one’s up to sitting in the copilot’s seat. Everything—and everyone—in the body of the craft has to be lashed down. It’s a matter of weight distribution, taking off in this wind. If anyone slid or rolled, it could throw me into a spin.”

In fact, the wind had begun to cut through Mick’s jeans. The snow had intensified, and the flakes were getting wetter. That was bad. His tracks to and from the Huey were already covered. He wore boots, but now noticed snow had soaked the bottom edges of his jeans.

Mick left Chuck and trekked back for a litter. He gathered as many blankets as he could carry and slung packs filled with sandwiches and coffee over both shoulders. Before leaving base camp, he’d taken time to line the interior walls where he’d strap the litters as best he could with blankets and pillows to make a sick bay for the most badly injured.

Kari was still crying, although more quietly.

“This stretcher is for Hana.” Mick wanted to give her added hope. “They have her out of the crevasse. She’s unconscious, but she’s alive.”

“Please just hurry. I hurt worse with every passing second.”

He promised to do his best then returned to the crevasse. Hana’s face looked as pale as the snow. Instead of insulating her from the cold, Chuck had rolled her out onto the ground. She might already have suffered frostbite. Mick curbed his frustration, recognizing that they were all working under a strain. The uninjured climbers had done the best they could in crappy circumstances.

He shoved blankets and a thermos bag at Norm Whitman. “Bundle up and drink something warm,” he ordered the man, whose fingers were turning blue.

Mick unrolled the canvas stretcher and shook out two thermal blankets. He eased Hana onto one, then moved her on her side so he could brush snow off her back.

She cried out sharply and her eyelids shot open. “Jess,” she gasped in a breathy sob. “Stop. Stop! Oh, God, help. My back’s in spasms.”

Mick’s fingers stilled instantly. He shrugged off the way she’d mistaken him for Jess, and did his best to treat her more gently as he placed her flat on her back. She let out another ragged cry as her eyes went back in her head. She’d blacked out again. He rolled two additional blankets lengthwise to stabilize her hips, then covered her from neck to toe with another. Though his own hands ached with the cold, he looped straps around her waist, hips and ankles, and buckled her firmly on the litter. Mick glanced up as the man in the ball cap, Roger, hoisted himself over the ledge of the crevasse with a lot of help from Chuck Hutton. Roger swayed unsteadily and suddenly bent at the waist and vomited all over the snow.

Rising, and ignoring the stab to his bad hip, Mick tripped over Norm as together they converged on the pair standing next to the crevasse.

Roger managed a shaky, “Jess is d…de…dead. I think he br…broke his neck in the fall.” With a cry, Roger grabbed the front of Chuck’s jacket. “I told him two hours out that we should pack it in and go home. But no, the macho asshole called me a wimp. It could’ve been you, or me, or any of us dead at the bottom of that hole!”

Mick sensed Roger was a blip on the radar away from hysteria. He’d seen it in combat with men forced to face their own mortality. Roughly, he broke Roger’s grip on Chuck, who shot Mick a grateful, ashen-faced nod.

“We’ve got to bring him up,” Mick commanded, fighting his reeling thoughts. He knew he sounded harsh and unfeeling as he called upon his military training. “I’ve got a tarp in the aircraft we can wrap him in. I’ll have to leave…uh…the body with you. The rangers are bringing a toboggan.” Mick broke off. “We’ve gotta work fast. I have two injured women needing medical attention. Norm and Chuck, help me carry Hana to the Huey. If she wakes up and asks, don’t say a word about Jess.”

The men moved like zombies. Mick reminded Chuck, “I’ll leave blankets and hot coffee. Pitch a tent and crawl inside out of the weather until the rangers arrive. Keep a light on so they can spot you in the dark. They estimated reaching here between eleven and midnight.”

“I’m not waiting with any dead body. You can fly us all out.” Roger latched on to Mick’s throat. “I’ve seen war movies. A chopper the size of yours can haul a platoon. You’re not leaving us here to freeze and die like Jess.”

Up close, Mick could see how young Roger was—eighteen or nineteen. Which didn’t make him less of a threat. In his current state of mind, the kid could easily do something stupid that would permanently ground the Huey.

Mick tried to reason with him. “Under normal circumstances the Huey could carry that kind of a payload. Mine’s been renovated to haul freight. In this weather, the extra weight puts me in danger of crashing and killing us all.”

“I’m not staying here.” Roger tightened his choke hold on Mick. Norm dropped his coffee, splashing hot liquid across the snow as he leaped forward to pull Roger off Mick. But the younger man wasn’t easily dislodged.

Mick gagged as they struggled. He tried, but was unable to gain solid footing in the slippery snow. He’d seen men go temporarily insane under fire. To Roger, this mountain was the enemy, and Mick’s helicopter represented safe passage out.

Norm hooked Roger under both arms, breaking his grip, as Chuck hauled back and decked the kid with a roundhouse punch. As quickly as he’d attacked Mick, Roger sagged to his knees, leaving Norm grappling with his dead weight.

“Jeez, Chuck, why’d you hit him so hard? He’s out cold,” Norm yelled.

Chuck began to look wild-eyed himself. “I just reacted, man.” He flexed his hands nervously.

Mick rubbed his throat. “He’ll be okay. I owe you guys. I wish I could take everyone, but I think I’ll be lucky to get the injured out.” Mick relieved Norm of the young man, and deposited Roger’s limp body on a soft pile of blankets. “He’ll be woozy for a while after he wakes up. Listen, the rangers will rescue you. And if you care at all about Hana and Kari, help me get Hana into the chopper and out of this weather. Then…I’ll lend a hand with…uh…Jess.”

As they lifted the litter Hana began to thrash about and talk nonsense. Although he hated having to leave Kari alone with her, Mick felt obligated to help with Jess.

No one wanted to go into the pit again, but because Norm was the lightest, he was chosen to be roped down. Mick and Chuck lowered him in silence. Bringing up a body wasn’t a chore any of them wanted. But it had to be done. The process took longer than Mick had judged, because he had to keep prodding Chuck to pull on his rope. Once they had the body up, Chuck and Norm were so rattled, erecting the tents fell to Mick. The other men didn’t understand why Mick demanded two of their tents, and he wasn’t about to spell out for them that Jess needed to be under cover because of wolves and other predators.

Long shadows had slipped across the eerily silent clearing by the time Mick finished and flatly declared, “Look, I’ve gotta take off.” Mick shook hands with first Norm then Chuck. As he left the site, the men dragged Roger, who had begun to stir, into the larger of the two tents. Mick knew they didn’t want him to leave, but it was now or never.

Kari was gritting her teeth in pain, and Hana looked like death waiting in the wings.

Mick hadn’t totally shut down the rotors, hoping to keep them from freezing up. Still, as he tried to lift off, the escalating wind was determined to drive him back into the hillside. He waged a battle of determination in his head while steadily increasing power to the rotors.

Sweat popped out on his brow and several drops slid down his nose as the tail rotor caught the downdraft and the main body of the aircraft bucked and pitched. He thought he was a goner.

Both women screamed, nearly bursting Mick’s eardrums. He’d outfitted them with headsets to minimize the chopper noise, and also as a means to communicate with them if they panicked. Kari had resisted being buckled on a stretcher, but she couldn’t get up to sit in the copilot’s seat, so Mick had insisted on strapping her in. Because Hana had thrashed about earlier, Mick worried she’d break her restraints now or in flight.

He recognized that this wasn’t the safest way to carry injured passengers on a two-hour flight. But he’d come this far, and Hana was alive. She’d said something the other day that stuck with Mick. Or rather, it was something she’d implied—a lot of people in Hana Egan’s life had let her down. By damn, he didn’t intend to be another person who failed her.

A giant sucking sound rent the air. The big helicopter popped loose from the stranglehold of the downdrafts and shot up and away from the side hill like a cork exploding from a champagne bottle. Mick’s lungs eased as he let out a breath.

“Mick?” Kari’s voice spoke urgently in his ear. “I felt the wall behind me rattle. What’s wrong? Are we going down?” Fear made her voice shrill.

“Relax, Kari. Everything’s fine,” he said, hoping she couldn’t see him shake out a handkerchief and mop his forehead. “How did Hana deal with liftoff?”

“Fine, I guess. God, I hurt everywhere from all the shaking.”

“Sorry. I wish I had more pillows.”

She said nothing, which was okay with Mick. He wanted to radio the ranger station and let someone there know his passengers’ names and his destination. He’d also like them to alert Wylie’s rescue party as to what they’d find at the end of their trek, but that wasn’t the way Kari and Hana should learn what happened to Jess.

Trudy Morgenthal, the regular dispatcher, picked up Mick’s call to headquarters. “Nice of you to touch base at long last, Callen. You’ve got everyone in a tizzy. And in Marlee’s condition, a tizzy’s the last thing she needs.”

“You haven’t heard from Wylie?”

“Wylie and Bill have called in a dozen times asking for updates from you.”

“Yeah, well, I had my hands full.”

Not free to say much more, Mick kept his transmission to Trudy short. He clicked off after asking her to tell Marlee he’d touch base after he reached Kalispell.

He felt a shimmer of guilt for leaving Marlee and the kids stranded. He could, he supposed, be back to ranger headquarters by 4:00 a.m. or so. All he was obligated to do was wait for an ambulance. Once the smoke jumpers were on their way to the hospital, he could return and take the Ames family home. He could. But Mick already knew he was going to tag along to the hospital.

His headset crackled. Kari asked shakily when they’d land.

“In about ninety minutes. I’ll radio ahead for an ambulance when we’re fifteen minutes out.”

“I need to phone my boyfriend,” she said.

“He wasn’t on the climb?” Mick glanced back into the dim interior.

“He’s not a smoke jumper. His name is Joe. He didn’t want me to make this climb. He said I wouldn’t get home in time to celebrate his mom’s birthday. Now I’ll definitely miss it,” she sobbed. “And I’ll probably have to ask him to come up here and drive me home.”

“Where do you live? Southern California, like Hana?”

“No,” she sniffed. “Denver. This was my last year as a smoke jumper. That’s why I wanted to make this trek with the crew.”

With Jess gone, Mick wondered who Hana would call. Did she have anyone?

“Is Hana awake?” Mick knew she could hear him if she was conscious.

He heard her ragged whisper. “I’m awake. I’m in a lot of pain, mostly in my lower back. And I can’t feel my toes.”

That didn’t sound good to Mick, who’d taken advanced first aid courses in order to fly for Angel Fleet. He figured from Hana’s torn and bloody jeans that she’d bounced over rocks before landing in the crevasse. Chuck, Norm and Roger hadn’t gone to any extra effort to support her back before pulling her out. But then, Mick had rolled her onto the stretcher. Chills swept his spine as he considered that he might have done her more harm than good in brushing snow off her back.

The last thing he wanted to do was transmit his panic to her. “I strapped you on the stretcher pretty tight. Listen, ladies, we’re coming into some turbulence. It’ll probably hurt but we should get through it quickly.”

He hit an air pocket and dropped, then shot up almost as fast. Someone cried out sharply, and then both moaned in what must have been agony. Mick hated hearing them in pain and knowing he could do nothing to help.

He’d hoped for a break in the weather before he came within radio range of the Kalispell airpark. But no such luck. This storm seemed determined to beat Montana up on all sides.

“It won’t be long until you get real medical attention,” he told them ten minutes later. “I’m going to call now to ask for an ambulance. The paramedics will come onboard and give you something for pain before they move you.”

Kari answered for the two of them with a weak, “Thanks, Mick.”

He switched dials and made the request. Time was wasted as Mick had to explain to the dispatcher that this call wasn’t in conjunction with Angel Fleet. Moments later, he was in the approach pattern to the airpark, when the tower imparted more bad news.

“It’s been snowing hard and steady. We have no clear runway. Advise you to divert to a major airport.”

“I have injured onboard,” Mick informed the air controller. “Request permission to land. I don’t have enough fuel to go to International.”

When a voice finally agreed to let him land, Mick had little doubt his request would’ve been refused if he’d been flying any aircraft other than the Huey. Of course, had he been flying either of his light planes, or Wylie’s, he couldn’t have set down on the mountain.

It was just now eleven, which meant the rangers hiking up to rescue the stranded may have arrived. No telling how long it’d take them to trek out.

He rolled his head to ease the tension building between his shoulder blades, and listened to the controller issue directions for landing. Mick could barely make out the tower lights. Wind slammed him one way and just as fast jerked him back the other direction. He had to cut more power to fight a spin.

There wasn’t a peep from the back, though some offensive language certainly left his mouth. Old habits formed in the military died hard.

It seemed to take a long time, but at last he corrected the spin. However, he was very near the ground. So near he was blinded by flashing lights from the emergency vehicle mere seconds before the Huey’s runners smacked the snowy tarmac.

A sigh of relief rushed from his lungs. Mick had rarely had such a bad landing.

He shut down the rotors and jumped from the cockpit, grimacing from the pain that clutched his bad hip. His limp was so pronounced, one of the emergency crew assumed he was one of the injured. “Old war wound,” Mick muttered, opening the door to give the medics access to the real patients.

The women didn’t look good. Even in the diffused light flickering sporadically through whorls of blowing snow, Mick saw tracks from their tears marring their cheeks.

The medics got the women out and onto gurneys. Mick felt relief knowing a qualified attendant was caring for Hana and Kari.

Once the emergency vehicle had disappeared through the main gate, he hobbled to the office and left orders to refuel the Huey. “I won’t be flying out again tonight,” he told the clerk. He needed to know the extent of Hana’s injuries. And whether or not in his zeal to rescue her he’d caused more damage.

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