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“You mean, he lied under oath?”
“When the military plays hard-ass with civilians, civilians don’t always play by their rules.”
“Were you having an affair with your CO’s wife?”
“Of course not. She was twenty years older than me. The whole trial was a fiasco and it made my CO look like an idiot, which didn’t improve our relationship much.”
Kate shot him a skeptical look, then shook her head and faced front again. “I didn’t know you were going through all that.”
“Would you have been less mad at me if you’d known?”
She stifled a wry laugh. “No, at the time probably not. I probably would’ve been glad you were paying for it. Sorry.”
He nodded, as if that was explanation enough for him. “I hope you like dogs,” he said as he turned down Pike’s Creek Road.
“I do. Why?”
“Thor’s been banned from the airstrip because he chases planes, so I’ll have to drop him at the cabin before bringing the part to Wally’s.” When they got to her rental car, he stopped just long enough to replace the repaired flat tire, then continued on. Where the road forked, he headed left and nodded to the right and said, “That way leads to the airstrip.” A few miles later, after passing two somewhat ramshackle dwellings, one of which looked long abandoned, the road ended at his cabin.
Kate had prepared herself for a plywood-and-tar-paper shack with blue tarps strung everywhere and rusted fifty-five-gallon drums lying about. She was surprised by the attractive complex of log buildings. There were several sturdy outbuildings in addition to the charming cabin, including an authentic log food cache raised high on four posts. The hand-hewn main cabin had dovetailed notches, a real stone chimney and a porch that practically hung out over the creek. The clearing itself was large, and a garden space was surrounded by a rustic staked fence fashioned from alder and willow poles, but it looked as though nothing had been planted inside for several seasons. There was a wonderful view of the rugged snowcapped mountain range, including the mighty Denali, who was still showing her face to the world.
“Is that a dogsled on the porch roof?”
“Yup. A dog musher used to live here. One day his wife decided she’d had enough of living the backwoods life with a bunch of sled dogs and a guy who was always out on the trail, so she left him, and after a few years he lost heart and got rid of all his dogs except Thor, who slipped out of his collar and ran off.” He wrenched open the truck door, jumped down and walked around to open her door. “He sold me the place for a song because I happened to ask him about it on the right day and then he followed his wife back to Florida. Thor reappeared a week later and decided to stay. It worked out well for me because it was so cheap and it’s only seven miles from the airstrip. Plus I got a sled dog thrown in for free. Nice, huh?”
“Yes,” she admitted. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
“Will you be okay here for a little while, or do you want to help me put a fuel filter in the plane?”
“I’ll be fine.” Again surprised by his manners, she took his hand and let him assist her out of the truck. He’d done the same thing back at the deli.
“I’ll give you the official tour when I get back, and we can talk then. Thor will keep the bears away. Help yourself to anything and everything and don’t mind the mess—I wasn’t expecting company. There’s a satellite phone in the kitchen, if you need to use it. Here, take your sandwich.” He fished her napkin-wrapped lunch of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Don’t just look at it, eat it.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” she said, stepping back and giving him a mock salute.
Kate watched him drive back down the rutted gravel road and wondered when he’d realize the dog was still riding in the back. Thor obviously preferred Mitch’s company, which was okay with her. She’d just have to deal with any bears that came along. Meanwhile, she’d prowl around the cabin and investigate the domestic side of Mitchell McCray.
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH WAS SURPRISED to see Wally’s Harley parked outside the warming shack. He must’ve had a fight with Campy, but it couldn’t have been a bad one because Campy’s old Subaru was parked right next to the shiny bike. Wally came out when he heard the truck and the first thing he said was “Where the hell you been all day?” as if he’d been working his ass off since before sunup.
“In Talkeetna, picking up the part for your plane, which, by the way, didn’t want to start this morning. Good to see you, too, boss. Didn’t expect to, being as it’s a Monday.”
“Polar Express called to thank us for the referral of the German climbers. Said they made a great tip off that one. I came over to see what was wrong.”
“Plane’s broke, as usual. That’s what was wrong.”
Wally was fiftysomething, bald, overweight and often-times contentious, but he could work wonders with the Stationair and was a passable pilot for a guy who was mostly self-taught. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Babe. She started right up for me. Hand over the fuel filter.”
“How’d you know that was the part I went to get?”
“I’m psychic. Thought I told you to leave that damn dog at home.”
Mitch looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Thor was standing with his front paws on the diamond-plate toolbox wearing that sly wolfish grin. “Thor, I thought I told you to stay the hell home!” Thor’s ears flattened back and he wagged his tail in response. Mitch looked back at Wally. “The bad news is, we lost a job this morning because of that clogged filter. The good news is, Raider called last night and said he’s seriously considering my latest offer for the Porter.”
“We can’t afford that plane. Thought we already had this discussion.” Wally was fishing in his pockets for a half-smoked cigar, which he stuck in his mouth and lit.
“Where’s Campy?”
“Inside.”
“Campy! Get out here, woman. I need you to bear witness. Wally’s changing his story on me again.”
The door to the airfield’s warming hut opened a crack and a thin face framed by bleached blond hair stuck out, cigarette dangling from pouty red lips. She looked to be in the same kind of mood as Wally. “Go to hell, Mitch, and take that bastard with you,” she snarled around the cigarette and slammed the door again.
“I told Raider I could have the money by next week,” Mitch said, as he followed Wally toward the plane. “If we called Yance, he’d front us the money, and if I had it in hand I know Raider’d except my offer. We could sell the Stationair and pay back some of that loan right away.”
“We ain’t selling Babe and we ain’t buying a Pilatus/Fairchild Porter. It’s a good plane, I’m not arguing with you on that score, but Raider wants too much for it. Thinks its a goddamn Concorde jet. Besides, Yance’ll tack a high interest on that loan if he’d even give it to us. He’s a friggin’ shark. Bottom line, we can’t afford it.”
“The price is fair and the plane’s in great shape. Dependable. Flying a plane like that will boost our business a hundredfold. You know it’s true and you know we need it, and I think Yance’ll back us, so just bite the bullet and get it over with.” Mitch jammed his hands in his jeans pockets, ducked his head and rounded his shoulders, hesitating. “Forget the plane for a minute and tell me what you think about this. This woman I knew over four years ago, Navy pilot, suddenly shows up out of the blue, and she…”
Wally stopped abruptly, turned and took the cigar out of his mouth. “K. C. Jones?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“It’s not rocket science. It was my saloon you wooed her in back at Eielson, and you showed us the article about her in Air Force magazine. She’s here, in Alaska?”
“She’s out at my place.”
“And you’re standing here, talking to me? You big dumb son of a bitch. Hey, Campy!” he bellowed toward the closed door of the warming hut. “You think I’m uncaring and heartless? Listen to how Mitch treats his women!”
“C’mon, Wally, cut me some slack,” Mitch said. “I need your advice.”
“Campy, you’re missing out. Mitchell McCray is asking for my input on a romantic matter.”
The warming hut door opened and Campy reemerged, dressed in tight hip-hugger jeans and a stretch Lycra top that barely concealed Wally’s two best friends. She slouched against the doorway with a frown. “Mitchell,” she drawled, “if you’re desperate enough to take advice from Wally about matters of the heart, I feel real sorry for whoever your latest girlfriend is.”
“It’s that hot Navy pilot who was written up in that air force magazine last fall,” Wally said. “Mitch showed it to us. Remember? She’s out at his place even as we speak.”
“No kidding?” Campy tossed her long blond hair back and took a drag of her cigarette, regarding Mitch through narrowed eyes. “If she looks as good in real life as she did on the cover of that magazine, you don’t want to be making any mistakes with her.”
“I just want to know why the hell she’s here,” he said. “Not a word of warning, she just lands on my doorstep. She must want something. I just don’t know what.”
“She wants you, Mitch,” Wally guffawed. “A career bachelor like you should know all the signals by now.”
“One thing’s for sure. It’s not your money she’s after.” Campy flicked the cigarette down and ground it out beneath one of her fancy, hand-tooled, black Tony Llama cowboy boots. “Tell you what. The two of you get that plane fixed and back in the air so we can all keep eating, and I’ll take Thor back to your cabin. That woman shouldn’t be there without a dog, not when the salmon are getting ready to run and the bears are walking that creek.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Mitch said.
“Campy’s got a point,” Wally said. “Might be good if she took the dog back to your place. They can meet each other and have some girl talk.”
“Girl talk?”
“Trust me, they thrive on that stuff, and Campy’ll find out more about where that woman’s coming from than you could in a whole year of beating around the bush.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Look, you wanna know why this chick showed up on your doorstep or not? Send Campy over. You’ll get the lowdown without all the dancing around.”
Campy gave Mitch’s arm a squeeze. “Hon, I hate more than you’ll ever know to say this, but this one time, Wally’s right. I’ll go scope things out.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Campy, but…”
“Hey, what are friends for? Keys in the truck?”
“Yeah, but…”
“You like this gal, or don’t you?”
Mitch ran his fingers through his hair. “I like lots of girls. I just don’t know why this one’s here, and I don’t want you playing matchmaker on my behalf.”
Campy gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean?”
“You’re always trying to pair me off, but I like bachelorhood just fine.”
“That’s only because you haven’t gotten to know the right woman yet.” Campy turned and walked away. When she reached the driver’s side door, she glanced back over her shoulder before hoisting herself into the cab. “Don’t look so worried, Mitch. I promise I’ll behave.”
KATE SPENT a half an hour just browsing through Mitch’s books after touring the comfortable, homey interior of the main cabin, which wasn’t nearly as messy as he’d warned her it would be. Aside from some clothing tossed over various pieces of rustic furniture, it was quite neat. His kitchen sink was empty of dishes, the counters were wiped down and the floor swept. His bedroom was in the loft and consisted of a double mattress laid on the bare wood floor with a down comforter over the top and a window that was opened wide to the outside air. The downstairs was one large room, the kitchen and living area divided by a big brick chimney that hosted a woodstove on one side and a fireplace on the other. The cavernous fireplace was on the living-room side, where the bookcase was located. Most of the books were paperbacks, some were hardcovers, and there was one magazine lying flat on the shelf: the Air Force magazine that featured her as the cover girl. She wondered at the man who had tucked that magazine among all those books by authors as diverse as Albert Einstein, Jack London and Thor Heyerdahl.
She ran her fingers over the gilt letters embossed into an old leather bound volume of poetry printed in 1876 and carried it with her onto the porch, where the sound of rushing water lulled her senses. She lowered herself into one of the comfortable Adirondack-style chairs and sat for a few moments, wondering if this was wise. She might very well fall asleep with that beautiful creek calming her and the sun’s warmth soaking into her. But what harm would a short nap do? Mitch wouldn’t be back for at least an hour, and it was so peaceful here.
She could easily imagine Hayden clattering down the porch steps with his fishing rod and his dog. This place was made for little boys to grow up in, and for dogs to keep them company while they did. She sighed and opened the book to a random page, trying but not quite able to imagine Mitch reading poetry. She scanned the first line of the chosen poem and before she could finish the second, a curious lethargy soaked through her bones. On impulse she removed her wig, relishing the feel of cool air and warm sun against her scalp.
She’d worn the wig in public since she was first discharged from the hospital after losing her hair. Her mother had handed her the box and said, “I thought you might want the option of wearing this until your own grows back. The hair’s real.”
Kate had opened the box, sure she’d be repulsed, but to please her mother she’d taken it out and put it on. Studying herself in the bathroom mirror she’d thought, Yes, this is much better. I like me much better this way. With the addition of the false eyelashes and a little eyebrow pencil, she looked almost normal. Healthy.
But she was all alone here, so she dropped the wig in her lap, tipped her head back, closed her eyes and let herself drift off to the sound of the water, wondering what her little boy would look like in ten years’ time….
Seconds later, it seemed, she was awakened by the sound of a truck door slamming. Kate sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from her eyes, and was still smoothing the wig into place when the stranger topped the porch steps. She’d expected Mitch and was shocked to see a very buxom bleached blonde dressed in clothes that left little to the imagination.
“Well, hey, hon,” the woman said in a smoky southern drawl. “I’m real sorry to startle you. Were you sleepin’?”
“Who…?”
“I’m Campy, a friend of Mitch’s, and I sure didn’t mean to wake you. I brought Thor back because he chases planes down the runway and Mitch was busy helping Wally fix the plane, that’s all. You just sit right where you are, all nice and relaxed, and I’ll be right back.” She retreated into the cabin and reappeared holding two bottles of Guinness Stout. She handed one to Kate and then dropped into the second chair. “Hope you like a bitter brew. That’s all Mitch ever drinks,” she said. “And I hope I didn’t startle you too bad. Sorry about that.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said, holding the cold bottle. “I must have dozed off. It’s so peaceful here.”
“Boring, I’d call it, but I guess it all depends on what you like. So, you’re the one Mitch calls K. C. Jones.”
Good God. Kate closed her eyes on the world for a few moments, wishing she could just disappear. Mitch had talked about her to this woman? “Is that what he calls me?”
She heard Campy settle herself more deeply in her chair, followed by the sharp snick of a lighter, and then smelled the acrid smoke of a cigarette. “Honey, you may not know this and I doubt he’ll ever tell you, but Mitch has a real soft spot for you.”
Kate opened her eyes and stared cynically at the other woman, whom she decided couldn’t be one of Mitch’s girlfriends if she was talking like that. She eased back in her chair and set the bottle of beer on the broad armrest. “That’s a little hard to believe, considering we haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Oh, Mitch would never admit to it. Tough guys don’t like gals to think they’re so easily roped and tied, but I used to be a bartender at the Mad Dog Saloon, which was a mile or so from the base. I served up a lot of brew to Mitch while he was stationed there, and hon, nobody hears more stories told from the heart than a bartender does. He talked about you a lot.”
“I can’t imagine what he talked about,” Kate said drily.
“Oh, he thought you were pretty special,” Campy said. “He’s a hard worker and a great pilot. I don’t know what Wally’d do without him. Wally owned the Mad Dog ’til it burned down, then he used the insurance money to buy a six-passenger plane and start the charter service. He’s a great mechanic but he can’t fly so good, so he hired Mitch to do most of that. My guy Wally is your guy’s boss.”
“He’s not my guy.”
“Well, if he isn’t, he oughta be. My opinion, of course. Mitchell’s always been a favorite of mine. If I didn’t have Wally, I’d go after Mitch myself, even though I’m a little too old for him. But he’s one in a million. I guess you know that, too, hon, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
“Oh, I’m sure he has a girlfriend. I didn’t come here thinking he’d been saving himself for me all these years.”
“I think he always hoped you’d show up here one day. Mitch has lots of friends, but none have come close to being serious relationships.”
“I’m surprised he even remembered me.”
“Remembered you? Hon, how else would I know he called you K. C. Jones?”
Kate gave her another skeptical look. “My real name’s Katherine Carolyn Jones.”
“Camilla Clarke,” she said, giving her a crooked smile. “Everyone around here calls me Campy. You like Alaska?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s boring,” she said. “I’d go back east in a minute, but Wally likes the flying here. Pilots are a crazy-ass bunch, no offense intended.”
“None taken.”
“I mean, I think it’s pretty cool, you being a Navy pilot and all. Mitch said you were an instructor at that dogfighting school the Navy has—like in Top Gun. Pretty wild stuff.”
“That was a good assignment. I got to be home every night with my son.”
Two carefully plucked and penciled eyebrows shot up. “You have a kid? Huh. He never told us that.” Campy studied her through a haze of cigarette smoke. “You married?”
“No.”
“How old’s your kid?”
“He’ll be four next month.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Campy squinted her eyes and stared off across the river for a few moments, then glanced back at Kate with a knowing expression. “How long are you staying?”
