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What? Did he have cooties?
“I know who you are. I recognized your picture from Metropolitan magazine. Page 110. The four of you guys are sitting around without shirts on.”
“Ah, the infamous ad.”
She stared at his chest then, as if recalling how bare he looked in that confounded advertisement and her cheeks darkened to bright crimson.
“You’ve got the advantage because all I know is your last name.” He tapped his log book lying on the seat between them. “What’s your given name?”
“Cammie Jo.”
Had she said Tammie Jo? He couldn’t be sure, she had such a soft tone, but the name suited her. Old-fashioned, sweet, innocent. For no good reason, he had the strangest urge to wrap his arm around her to protect her from the big bad world.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you, too.”
She smiled and met his eyes at last, although she immediately glanced away again. But that rapid-fire smile did dazzling things for her—let’s admit the facts folks—rather plain-Jane face.
Mack returned his attention to business as they neared the mountain range that almost surrounded Bear Creek. Like most of the numerous mountains in Alaska, this cluster had no official name, but the locals called them the Tlingit Peaks for the original natives who’d inhabited the area.
He angled the nose of the floatplane upward as the majestic blue hunks of snowcapped jagged rock drew nearer. She sucked in her breath with an audible whoosh. Turning his head to look at her once more, Mack discovered she had her eyes clenched shut.
“Afraid of flying in small planes?”
Cammie Jo nodded and swallowed hard. “Any planes.”
It had taken a strong dose of Aunt Hildegard’s home-brewed chamomile tea and a meditation tape to even allow her to set foot on the dawn flight from Austin to Dallas/Fort Worth and then on to Anchorage. If she hadn’t wanted to see Alaska so badly, nothing would have persuaded her aboard.
And planes weren’t the only things that frightened her. Top on her list of phobias? Making small talk with handsome strangers. And not just any handsome stranger but the very bachelor she’d been fantasizing about.
Being here with him was too cool and too cruel. Out of all the bush pilots in Alaska, how had she ended up with the object of her affections?
Of course she hadn’t the faintest notion of competing with other women to become this man’s wife. Because of her shyness, she feared she would never find her true love the way her mother and father had found each other.
How she wished she was gutsy enough to flirt with him.
Ha! That would be the day.
She knew Mack wasn’t impressed with her. Men never were. He’d barely even glanced at her when she’d sidled up to where he’d stood in the airport, holding a placard with her last name written in a bold masculine hand.
But what about the treasured wish totem nestled in the bottom of her handbag, waiting for her to come to a decision? What if the necklace worked? She could wish for anything.
Bravery.
A husband.
True love.
Wishing doesn’t make it so, Cammie Jo. There’s no proof the necklace is anything more than suggestive jewelry.
No proof at all, except for the letter her mother had penned to her on her deathbed.
How she wanted to believe in the mystical power.
Mack’s gaze on her was disconcerting. Frankly, everything about him disconcerted her.
His outdoorsy, masculine scent when she was accustomed to delicate, feminine aromas like lilac and lavender and rose. His husky masculine voice when the dulcet, ladylike murmurs of her three aunts most often graced her ears. His stubble-darkened jawline when she was used to…well, okay, so Aunt Kiki did have a bit of a five o’clock shadow, but not when she regularly used her depilatory cream.
Anyway, he represented an alien creature, from the corded muscles of his wrists and forearms to his disheveled brown hair to his proud aquiline nose.
And in his presence Cammie Jo was as tremulous as a bunny rabbit at a hoot owl jamboree.
She turned her head to look out the window, but the closeness of the mountains in conjunction with the smallness of the plane unnerved her almost as much as the man beside her. She shifted in her seat and tried to cross her legs, not an easy feat in the many layers of puffy clothing she wore.
Accidentally, she kicked the handset mounted on the dash. The two-way radio slipped from its mooring and crashed to the floor of the plane.
Shy klutz, thy name is Cammie Jo.
“Omigosh. I’m so sorry.” She reached for the handset at the same time Mack leaned over and their heads cracked together.
“Ow!”
“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” She rubbed the bump on her noggin. Mack was wincing and doing the same.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. Without thinking, she reached out to touch the red angry welt forming on his forehead but he drew back.
“I’m okay.” His voice was gruff; his gaze fixed on a spot outside the windshield.
Mortified, she shrank into her seat.
Remember why you came here, she scolded herself. Not for love, not for romance, not to snag yourself a handsome bachelor but to face your fears, visit the land of your mother’s birth and to have a grand adventure.
And if she couldn’t face her darkest dreads? Cammie Jo gulped. She would no doubt end up single for the rest of her life, living in the same old house in Austin, teaching college and pining for what might have been.
No. She refused to hide from life any longer. So what if she had embarrassed herself in front of Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy-For-My-Shirt Bush Pilot. Big deal. She would live. No point putting the guy on a pedestal.
She might not be sexy and brave and graceful and totally feminine from her head to her toes, but she was whip-smart. She had maintained a perfect 4.0 GPA all through undergraduate school and a 3.9 during her graduate studies in information science.
So there. Pffttt.
She warmed to the subject. Who was he anyway? Sitting there looking so accomplished, so tough. Her own mother had been a bush pilot. How hard could flying a plane be? The guy wasn’t a brain surgeon or nuclear scientist. In fact, if she wasn’t so scared of flying, she could become a pilot if she wanted.
Oh yeah, dead easy to be courageous inside her own head.
On the outside was another story.
Do something brave, stare out the window, study the landscape. Imagine you’re piloting the plane.
Cammie Jo forced herself to look out the side window and wished she hadn’t.
The mountains were so very close and it looked as if Mack flew straight at them.
Her breath took its sweet time strolling from her lungs. Her pulse crescendoed in her ears.
I won’t look away, I won’t, I won’t. I’m brave. I’m strong, I’m invincible. I’m intrepid Camryn Josephine.
The nose of the plane dipped. The wing wavered. Startled, Cammie Jo’s eyes widened.
Was this normal?
She peeked over at Mack. He looked calm and controlled, but of course he would. He was the pilot. He wasn’t supposed to let on if things were bad.
The plane dove down, down, down in a rapid descent, falling into a small valley hidden between the massive mountains. She stared at the control panel, some gizmo spinning wildly as if they were in deep trouble.
Calm down.
But she couldn’t. Her stomach scraped the roof of her mouth. The sheer face of a mountain lay mere yards away. She spied trees and other vegetation and hey, was that a mountain goat?
Down, down, down. Almost at a ninety-degree angle. It couldn’t be normal to slip in so steep. Something had to be malfunctioning. She fisted her hands, fought for self-control and failed.
Aiyeeh! We’re gonna crash! Mayday! Mayday! Oh, shoot, I didn’t want to die a virgin.
Freaked out of her wits, Cammie Jo spun in her seat, unbuckled the belt, dove sideways and plowed her head into Mack’s lap.
Seconds later, when the plane leveled out and it became clear they weren’t crashing, Cammie Jo realized she had her face buried snugly in a strange man’s crotch.
2
“CAN I HELP YOU with something, Sugar Plum?”
Mack struggled hard not to laugh. His restraint was evident in the tightening of his thigh muscles, the wheezy quality of his voice rumbling from his chest. Chagrined, Cammie Jo’s head bobbed up as quickly as it had gone down.
She gulped. You could have fried an egg on her cheeks, they were that hot.
She wanted to explain, but just ended up mumbling incoherently, “I…bub…er…mum…ah…I…”
Desperately, she swiveled around in her seat, snapped her seat belt back in place and forced her gaze on the toe of her boot.
“Bear Creek usually makes a strong impression on people as we fly down in through the mountain pass. Some folks sigh. Others giggle with delight. I’ll have to admit no one’s had quite the same reaction as you.”
She was horrified at what she’d done. She could never face this man again. She would wait out the rest of her vacation in the B&B, then find herself another bush pilot to fly her back to Anchorage. She buried her face in her hands.
“We do go in at a steep angle,” he said, all traces of humor disappearing from his tone. “I should have warned you. I can see where your first up-close-and-personal view of the mountain might be scary.”
Oh great! Now he was feeling sorry for her. She didn’t know which was worse—being seen as a joke or a tragic figure.
“We’re landing on the water.” He leaned over to point out her window, bringing with him the scent of his soap and the foreign—at least to her unsophisticated nose—aroma of delectable man. “Just to forewarn you.”
Well, duh. She could have figured that out from the pontoons attached to the landing gear. Where was Mr. Reassuring Tour Guide when the plane was aiming straight for the mountain. Hmmm?
Cammie Jo spread her fingers and peeked out at the little town circling the bay. A couple of docked cruise ships and a plethora of other floatplanes were parked next to planked piers. She spotted salmon boats and kayaks paddling up smaller tributaries, while sailboats sluiced gracefully through the cove.
She forgot to be scared as Mack circled the inlet and curiosity vanquished her shame. She dropped her hands for a better look and studied the neat row of rustic houses and storefronts bordering the main avenue.
Bear Creek was gorgeous.
A rush of emotion swept over her. An odd sense of belonging. Even though she hadn’t been born here, even though she’d yet to set foot in this place, the bedtime stories her mother had told her about the magnificent state of Alaska bubbled up in her consciousness.
She felt as if she’d come home.
I’m having my first adventure, she thought, amazed. My first real honest to gosh adventure.
Now, if only she could work up the courage to try kayaking herself or salmon fishing, or maybe even join a group of hikers headed into the mountains.
She wanted so much and frankly, the intensity of these new desires alarmed her.
Mack set the floatplane down in the bay. A teenage boy waited on the dock to tie it up when they coasted to a stop. The teen helped her out of the plane, then took her bags from the cargo hold.
“This way, miss,” he said.
Cammie Jo looked at Mack. “Aren’t you coming?”
His eyes when they met hers were gentle. “I’ve got more passengers to pick up in Anchorage. Jimmy Jones will drive you to the B&B.”
“Oh, well then. I guess this is goodbye.”
Should she offer to shake his hand? Should she tip him? Cammie Jo juggled her carry-on bags and her purse, but by the time she got her hand free, Mack had already turned back to the plane.
Her heart told her stomach to scoot over because it was coming right on down. Her earlier euphoria at seeing Bear Creek dissipated.
He had already dismissed her. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Miss?”
Cammie Jo gave her attention to the smiling young man carrying her heavier luggage up the pier toward a vintage yellow touring car with Taxi printed on the door in bold black lettering. Already a few other passengers were seated inside.
“This way,” the teen prodded.
Okay, well, fine. She didn’t need Mack McCaulley to guide her through town. She would survive just dandy on her own. That’s what grand adventures were all about.
Right?
She struggled up the walkway. Her bags were too darned bulky and she tripped over a raised plank. Falling down didn’t hurt much—she was wearing lots of padding—but the giggles from inside the taxi skinned her pride.
And when she glanced back over her shoulder she saw that not only had Mack witnessed her third humiliation of the day but he was shaking his head to himself. Tears sprang to her eyes. Blinking them away, she pushed her glasses up on her nose.
I’m tough. I’m tough. I’m tough, she mentally chanted but she knew she was seriously deluding herself.
