Expect the Sunrise (21 page)

At lunch, Nina and Phillips lounged behind the rest of the group, propped against her backpack. Flint lay spread-eagle, staring at the sky. Ishbane sat farther away, his back to them. Emma had handed out PowerBars, half each. Mac watched her unwrap hers, slowly nibbling at each bite.

“So, what do you do when you’re not flying or saving lives?” Mac had to admit, he had difficulty picturing Emma’s life outside this wilderness.

She moved over to Sarah, checked her pulse, then tucked the sleeping bag around her neck. “I read a lot.”

“No fishing or wrestling grizzlies with your bare hands?”

“I’m afraid of grizzlies, remember?” She grinned.

“I just figured a bush pilot would be busy doing something … rugged on her off hours.”

“Oh, I love being outdoors. I lived for the days when my father would return after a month-long absence, cash in his pocket from ferrying hunters or fishermen or flying the mail to remote villages. He’d plunk the money into my mother’s tin flour can, then drag us out to the plane. It felt like Christmas unloading all those boxes from Fairbanks filled with food or clothing or books. But the best part was the next few days. Gerard would take me fishing or hunting, snowshoeing, or even mushing the dogs out to check the trap lines.

“I still love being outside. Sarah and I joke that our perfect vacation is a three-day backpacking trip. But I like a five-star hotel with a whirlpool, some honey-grilled salmon, and a decent Caesar salad on occasion. I
do
know how to use silverware and real linen napkins.” She giggled, and he smiled at the sound. “Actually, I don’t have much free time anymore. I’m saving for an airplane, so every last nickel goes toward a down payment.”

“You don’t own the wreckage we left on Foggytop?”

She shook her head, wincing slightly. “That belongs to North Rim Outfitters, and they’ll be thrilled to know it’s totaled. No, my dream isn’t quite so fancy. I’d be happy with an old twin-engine Ottertail outfitted with an Automated External Defibrillator, a couple of epi pens, portable O2 tanks, spine boards, poison antidotes, and at least one obstetrical kit. And that’s just for starters.”

“I’m seeing a link between the EMT gig in the Lower 48 and your summer job.”

He liked the fact that she smiled at his knowledge of her life. Well, a good FBI agent pays attention.

“I have dreams of opening a Fixed Base Operation—a hangar and possibly a medical clinic—in Wiseman, a sort of midway medical-transport service that would reach the northern rim, the villages in the Brooks Range, and even towns along the Dalton. Fairbanks has some excellent medical services, but up here, weather and conditions are so temperamental, we could use something closer. There are too many people who need immediate on-site care, who can’t wait until they get to Fairbanks for emergency attention.”

Mac’s smile dimmed, his thoughts going to Brody. “If there had been something like that three months ago, my brother might still be alive.”

Emma’s expression clouded. She looked away. “I’m so sorry about your brother, Mac.”

She’d already said that last night. Still, her compassion touched him. “Thanks, Emma.”

“So, what do
you
do when you’re not bossing people around and saving the world from catastrophe?” Emma asked, obviously trying to push past the painful moments that surrounded them—from the injuries, to their dire straits, to his brother’s death.

Okay, he’d take that. “I do some carving, fishing—outdoor stuff, you know. In keeping with my macho persona.”

She nodded, fighting a sweet smile.

“I also love to cook. And …” He couldn’t believe he’d actually started to say it.

“What?”

He looked away.

“You’re blushing! It must be something horrible. Let me guess.” She rubbed her hands together in mock anticipation. “You knit?”

He shook his head.

“You’re an opera singer?”

He let out a bellow of laughter, then a long, low tenor that echoed across the tundra, against the far hills.

Ishbane turned, making a face. Phillips chuckled.

“Nice,” Emma added. “Okay, how about finger paint?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s from a movie I love,
The Cutting Edge
. It’s about a hockey player who takes a job figure skating with this really cantankerous girl who can’t keep a partner. He’s from a mining town in Minnesota, a real blue-collar haven, and when he returns to tell his bar-owner brother what he’s been doing … well, he’s so embarrassed, he mumbles ‘figure skating.’ The brother can’t hear him well and asks, so that the entire bar can hear him, ‘finger painting?’” Emma shrugged, but he could nearly see the moment behind her twinkling eyes. “It’s hilarious. So, you do much finger painting?”

Mac shook his head. “I do skate, though. Played right wing, pond hockey.”

“Figured that. But that’s not what made you blush. I’ll bet you … dance.”

He opened his mouth, disbelief filling in where words might have been.

She laughed. “I knew it! Swing dance?”

He felt tiny explosions of warmth inside him at her smile. “Nope. Highland fling.”

“That I’d like to see.”

Hmm. Maybe someday.
He let that thought linger as she rose and hustled the group out of repose. She’d fit right in with his sisters, with their feisty, headstrong spirits, their laughter.

Whoa.
He’d gotten way,
way
too far ahead of himself. All the same, perhaps he could enjoy Emma’s company just a little.

“How did you guess?” He took the front of Sarah’s stretcher, hoisted it to his shoulder.

Emma picked up the other end of Sarah’s stretcher and kept pace with him as they slogged downhill through the tundra. “Because you always have to lead.”

Oh.

Well, that wasn’t such a horrible thing, was it?

The day barely lingered to illuminate their steps as they picked their way toward the Granite River. Flint, draped over Phillips’s and Nina’s shoulders, moaned, despite his obvious efforts to rake in his pain. Ishbane stumbled in their wake, fatigue weighing his shoulders, his demeanor.

The tundra, although it looked like a plush carpet of grass, turned out to be a boggy mass of freezing mud that sucked at their feet, saturating their boots. Mac’s legs burned, and his shoulder muscles bunched in little fists of pain.

Emma slowed. “Shh. If you listen, you can hear the river.” Perspiration dotted her face, despite the cool breeze and the sun’s descent into the horizon.

Mac glanced over his shoulder, silenced his thoughts, and heard only the rush of wind.

Emma’s expression was lit up as if the sound of running water might be booming in stereo across the hills. “I think it’s right over this rise.” She motioned toward the shadowed hump that rose on their left. Covered in white artic cotton, it looked like snow against the reddish blaze of tundra grass.

With the night encroaching, she didn’t wait for recommendations. She led them in a muddy hike across the swampy tundra, through icy water, and up the hill.

When they topped the hill, the smell of fresh flowing water caught Mac. He couldn’t see it for the darkness, but he knew Emma had led them correctly.

Earning his trust.

He let that thought saturate him as they descended. Emma turned on her light, surveying the path as Nina and Phillips picked their way down the hill, euphoria evident in their steps.

Ishbane practically ran across the soft ground to the river, twenty feet farther. As Emma shined her light to guide him, Ishbane made his way onto shore, cupped his hands, and drew water into his mouth.

“I can’t believe you found it.” Mac let the words spill out of his mouth before he had a chance to reel them in.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Emma said, but surprisingly, she didn’t look angry. She must be very, very tired. “I’m just grateful we made it today.”

Mac watched as she directed Phillips and Nina to erect the shelters, her soft tones gentle yet precise. She even helped Nina heat water; then the women washed and cleaned up the best they could.

Mac took the hint, located a bar of Ivory, his toothbrush, and toothpaste and did what he could to make himself presentable to the human race. He’d laughed at Emma when she suggested they bring the toiletries. Now it only added to his belief that he’d been a jerk.

When he returned from the river, feeling chilled but clean, he noticed that Emma had fired up the stove and begun cooking dinner. The light shone on the tight spirals of her dark hair. She made the last of the soup, passing it out and taking little for herself. She sat on a rock overlooking the river as she finished dinner, cradling a Sierra cup in her hands. The flow of the water, despite the sheen of ice caught in still pockets, backdropped the sound of the wind. The northern lights curled in a show of orange and red, a swath of fire across the sky.

“Sarah’s still really groggy. She’s moving some and groaning more but no coherent speech,” Emma said, apparently noticing that Mac had edged closer to her. “She’s getting dehydrated, and I don’t have anything to start an IV. If we don’t get help soon, she’ll die.”

She said nothing more, letting the wind and smells of the night fill in the moment. Then he saw a breath shudder out of her, a breath that look painfully like … crying.

The image he had of her—resilient, stubborn, solid—lurched inside him, nearly rocked right off its foundations.

She covered her face with one hand, and her shoulders shook. Emma
was
crying. She swallowed, as if fighting the tears, and the sound of it echoed across the tundra and into the places he kept barricaded.

“Don’t … cry.” The words felt so shallow in the face of her pain. Watching her try and hide her grief behind her hand made everything inside him hurt.

He glanced around to see if Nina might be around, but he couldn’t see into the darkness. He was the only one within arm’s distance.

He couldn’t just sit there while her world crumbled around her. Besides, it rattled him more than he wanted to admit. He reached out, touching her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, and he felt her body shake beneath his touch. “Emma?”

She breathed hard, ragged agonized breaths of pain that told him she bore so much more guilt and pain than he’d even guessed. Okay, he should inch out of his private world and really help her shoulder her load.

He scooted beside her on the boulder, wrapped one arm around her, and when she didn’t resist, he used the other to pull her to his chest.

She curled into him. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and for the first time in months—or maybe years—he let himself care about someone else.

Chapter 11

ANDEE DECIDED SHE must be having an out-of-body experience or something. She saw herself wrapped in Mac’s embrace, and everything inside her wanted to surrender and let herself cling to the feeling of his strong arms around her. Only, she couldn’t fall apart. Deep inside she knew if she gave in now—especially with Mac gently rocking, soothing, comforting—she might never be able to pull herself back together again.

She wanted to cry for Sarah, for the unknown, and because exhaustion filled her every pore. Most of all, she wanted to weep for Brody, Mac’s brother, the one who’d died while she flew overhead. She wished she had the courage to explain. But Mac’s grief felt so raw, so fresh, and she couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

Especially with lives depending on her now. She needed to keep Mac focused, keep herself focused. He had so much anger inside—she heard it in his voice every time he mentioned his brother. Who knew what would happen if she told him the truth?

“I’m sorry. I’m okay … really,” she mumbled, disentangling herself from his embrace.

He let her go but looked at her, concern in his eyes. “It’s okay to cry, you know. You don’t have to be invincible, Emma.”

She shook her head, reining in the last of her escaping emotions. “I’m all right. I’m just … tired.”

He reached up and ran a strand of her unruly hair through his fingers. “You’re an amazing lady, Emma, but you are allowed to cry.”

Her mouth opened slightly, and then she was fighting tears again. “I’m just worried about Sarah. She’s like a sister to me. The only one I’ve ever had.”

“You’re an only child?”

She nodded.

He smirked. “Sometimes I wished I was an only child. My brother would get into trouble and blame it on me. Drove me crazy. When I was twelve, he accidentally set the barn on fire. We were making a fort out of old mattresses my mother had stored in there, and he was cold. We had an old stove my father used when he worked on snow machines, and Brody lit it. Only, the mattresses were too close to the stove, and about four hours later, they went up in flames. By the time we caught it, the entire building had turned into an inferno. My father blamed me.” Mac shook his head, and she saw his eyes sparkle against the stars. “I couldn’t sit for a week.”

Andee smiled, grateful for the story that distracted her from her own turmoil. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, Brody and I had it out. The thing is, after we’d smacked each other around, we always forgave each other. That’s the thing about siblings. You can’t choose them, but they become your closest friends.”