High Impact (18 page)

“That can be arranged,” she replied as they paused in front of Geneva’s door.

Geneva looked up at her expectantly as she wrapped her arms around Emery’s neck. “In case I don’t see you before you leave, have a fabulous time. Be safe.”

“I will. You, too.” Emery put her arms around Geneva’s waist and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss of good-bye that Geneva escalated into a more passionate exchange.

“I don’t know if that’s actually going to help my missing you, or make it worse,” Geneva said when Emery gently pulled back.

Emery kissed her forehead as she extricated herself from Geneva’s embrace. “Good night. Sleep well.”

“You, too. ’Nite.”

Emery quickly recorded the day’s events in her journal before she retired, to give her pain pill a chance to kick in. As she snuggled under the comforter, she envisioned what would be happening in Geneva’s room right now had she allowed their kiss to go on much longer.

The image was certainly inviting.

When she pictured herself becoming intimate with Pasha, however, she had a much stronger visceral reaction. Just thinking about it aroused her.

June 5

Pasha stuffed an extra PowerBar into Emery’s client pack, zipped it closed, and stacked it with the others by the door. “That’s the last of it,” she told Chaz and Dita. Her heart already beat faster than usual in her excitement about this trip. Who knew what would happen once Emery got here.

She’d stayed up late wondering how the power would manifest itself when they interacted constantly in close quarters. Most of all, she hoped she wouldn’t faint again. Another blackout would not only jeopardize her burgeoning career as a guide but would endanger her and her clients, Emery in particular.

What if, for example, she slipped going up a narrow trail or scree-strewn hillside, and Emery reached out to help her? Certainly not improbable, as were dozens of other similar scenarios, particularly during the more risky trips later in the summer.

Her gift had always made Pasha feel special and comforted, like having a cosmic guide to help her make the right decisions. So she still had a difficult time imagining that it might steer her so forcefully and so irrevocably toward Emery without the possibility of a happy future together. She wanted to trust her instincts as she always had, whatever the risk to her heart, but her responsibility as a guide necessitated she use caution around Emery.

The weather radio in the corner blared the public-alert tone that indicated a special advisory. A developing storm front would hit the interior with gusty winds and potentially heavy rain the day after tomorrow—the last day of their photography trip.

“Let’s hope they’re wrong again,” Dita said. Dita wasn’t slamming the meteorologists. Alaska’s terrain, latitude, and vastness meant that every type of possible weather might occur somewhere, all at the same time. And conditions could, and did, change by the minute.

“We’re prepared if they’re not. Just won’t be as much fun for the clients,” Chaz replied as she stowed her camera gear into her own pack.

Heavy rain would keep them all inside and make for less-impressive meals. But on the plus side, Pasha might get additional time with Emery to talk and get to know each other.

The bell over the entrance jangled. “Here they are,” Dita said.

They headed to the outer office to greet their clients, Pasha sensing that Emery hadn’t arrived yet. The six men and women who’d signed up for the photography trip knew to assemble in the outer office at nine a.m., and it was still a few minutes before.

Dita greeted three women who’d come in. “Good morning and welcome to Bettles. “I’m Dita Eidson, and here are Pasha Dunn and Chaz Herrick, your guides.”

All three clients wore brand-new hiking clothes and boots that looked barely broken in. Their duffel bags containing their personal gear also appeared right off the rack. Fortunately they planned to set up a base camp and only take short outings from there every day. These clients didn’t look like they did a lot of hiking and camping, which wasn’t uncommon. They billed the three-day, two-night photography excursion as a “beginner, non-strenuous” trip, which pretty much opened it up to everyone. Dita had more rigid requirements for some of the backpacking and kayaking trips. She always built in contingency plans for injuries or delays due to weather, but plotted the longer trips with a daily mileage quota to their campsites and final pickup point.

The first one who stepped forward and offered her hand, an older white woman with steel-gray hair cut in a soft wave, was petite and wiry and had a quick smile. “Hi, Dita. I’m Ruth Thomas. From Pittsburgh.” As they shook hands, Pasha filled in what she could remember from Ruth’s client file. At sixty-six, she looked at least a decade younger. A widow with five kids, and recently retired.

“My friends,” Ruth said, turning toward her companions. “Toni Whitaker and Alyson Jones.”

Toni Whitaker, in her early thirties, cut an imposing figure. A six-foot-three black woman with broad shoulders who looked like she could be playing for the WNBA, she spoke so softly her voice seemed completely at odds with her formidable appearance. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

Alyson, short and stocky, had spiky blond hair and multiple piercings in both ears and eyebrows. Though twenty-four, Pasha recalled, she could have passed as a teenager. “Hey there.”

The three women couldn’t seem more different from each other, and Pasha wondered how they’d become friends.

“The rest should be here soon,” Dita told them. “Why don’t y’all take a seat and get comfortable. Just made a pot of coffee if anyone’s interested.”

Ruth and Toni wanted some, so Pasha went to the back room to fill a couple of mugs. She heard the entry bell again, and by the time she returned to the outer office two more newcomers were introducing themselves. From the look of their clothes and gear, Joe and Mandy Fillmore, a married couple from Seattle, were serious fly-fishing enthusiasts. Both had on worn, multi-pocket vests crammed with flies and other equipment.

As she shook hands with them, Pasha felt a sudden uptick in the power, a warm infusion of strength and a heightening of awareness. Emery.

The sensation built as it had before, gaining ferocity the closer Emery got. By the time she appeared in the doorway, Pasha’s nerves were stretched tight and she had to remind herself to breathe, but when their eyes met, she felt calm again, the familiar sense of bliss settling over her like a blanket.

“Sorry, am I late?” Emery asked when she saw the rest already comfortably seated, their gear stacked by the door.

“Nope, right on time,” Dita told her. “Why don’t you grab a seat and we can get started.”

Pasha tensed until Emery selected a chair on the other side of the room from where she stood.

For the next half hour, Chaz detailed all they’d need to know for their three days in the backcountry. To minimize any problems with bears, they would set up their cooking/eating area well away from their sleeping cots and put all food and trash into bear-proof containers and carry it at least two hundred feet away from camp each night. “If you help with the cooking or spill food on yourself, change before you go to bed,” she told them. “And don’t keep anything with a strong smell—candy, flavored drinks, lotions, toothpaste, and such—where we sleep.”

She provided the same instructions Pasha had given Emery about making noise outside of camp, particularly when they made a pit stop alone. Then she explained the importance of the leave-no-trace tenets of camping, designed to minimize their impact on the fragile Arctic landscape. As she spoke, Pasha handed out printouts that included all the information Chaz was imparting as well as guides to the plants, birds, and wildlife they might encounter. As she neared Emery, her euphoric bliss from their connection intensified until her entire body buzzed.

She paused a couple of feet away and extended the handouts in Emery’s direction.

Emery smiled, the look in her eyes communicating that she seemed aware of Pasha’s current heightened state. “Thanks,” she said in a low voice as she accepted the papers.

“Look these over, and let me know if you have any questions,” Chaz said. “Now, unless anyone has anything to add, I suggest we head to the plane and get this party started.”

Bryson stood waiting by the nine-passenger Cessna, having already made one round-trip to the site to deliver equipment and supplies. Chaz and Pasha helped her load the remaining cargo while the clients boarded, and soon they flew north into a blue sky dotted with high, wispy clouds. Emery, the first aboard, sat in the rear, while Pasha rode in the cockpit beside Bryson.

“Where exactly are we going?” Ruth asked.

“A river valley just outside the Gates of the Arctic National Park,” Bryson told them. “My dad used to take me there. Lots of wildlife and wildflowers, great fishing, and spectacular views.”

Pasha heard the click of cameras from behind her and turned in her seat. Ruth, Toni, and the Fillmores all busily snapped shots out the windows as they approached the foothills of the Brooks Range. Alyson had her MP3 headphones on. Though rocking to the beat of whatever she listened to, she also focused on the scenery.

Emery, however, was watching
her
.

Flying high above the mountains, Bryson followed a wide river for about an hour, then turned to follow a smaller tributary leading off it and started to descend. “Here we go, everyone. Might be a little bumpy setting down. Nothing to worry about.”

They hit some turbulence right before they touched wheels on a long, wide gravel bar, but no one seemed unduly concerned. They quickly unloaded their gear and supplies on the riverbank.

“Have a great time, and I’ll see you about four p.m. day after tomorrow,” Bryson told Pasha. “If we get that rain and wind they’re forecasting and I’m grounded, I’ll try to contact you by radio for an alternate pickup.”

“Got it.” She watched the Cessna take off and took a moment to survey her surroundings. Though she’d helped deliver supplies to this location, she’d never spent any time here and was eager to explore the environs. Wonderful photo opportunities abounded. Majestic mountains surrounded them, no sign of civilization marring the view. Behind the wide, rocky beach where they would erect their tents grew forest, so thick with birdlife she heard a dozen different calls.

“If we can all gather around.” Chaz started to pick through the pile of gear. “You’re all responsible for setting up your own tents, but Pasha and I will help if you need us. Find a nice level spot somewhere in this area.” She tossed a three-man tent to Ruth, Toni, and Alyson, a two-person tent to the Fillmores, and another two-person to Emery. “We’ll put the cooking area over there.” She pointed to a rocky stretch of beach farther downstream. “Once we set up camp, I’ll take you out to take some pictures while Pasha starts lunch. Any questions?”

“I know we’ll need help,” Ruth said after a brief whispered consultation with her friends. “None of us has ever pitched a tent.”

“It’s really easy.” Pasha headed in their direction. “I’ll show you.” She got theirs up while Chaz erected the two-person tent they’d share.

Twenty minutes later, they had a tidy campsite. They’d stowed sleeping bags and other personal gear inside the tents, and Pasha had almost put a kitchen area together. Although she would cook everything on a portable gas stove, she set rocks in a circle for a campfire as well. They used this area because they could find ample firewood—driftwood littered the banks on either side of the river—so they didn’t exploit limited resources or adversely impact the environment.

Clients loved campfires, even during the summer when the sun didn’t set, so the guides always tried to provide one. They considered it worth the trouble of eradicating all evidence of the fire pit before they left—part of the leave-no-trace philosophy—because a campfire in the evening after dinner bonded clients in a spirit of shared camaraderie and fun.

Pasha was leaning over, sorting through the food they’d packed in large bear-proof containers, when a sudden surge in the power told her Emery was behind her and nearing rapidly. She shot upright and pivoted as Emery halted just beyond arm’s length. She seemed surprised that Pasha could have heard her approach. “So, you’re not coming with us?”

“Afraid not, though I’d sure like to. Chaz knows both photography and this region a lot better than I do. Because I’m the junior guide, I get to do all the cooking, so that’ll limit how much I can go out.”

The clients were all assembling with Chaz, cameras in hand, back by the tents.

“Lucky you.” Emery frowned. “Need an assistant? I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can chop vegetables or something. Give us a chance to chat.”

“That’s incredibly sweet.” Deeply touched that Emery wanted her company so much she’d forego Chaz’s hike, Pasha wanted to accept the offer. They needed time away from the others so she could see what her gift would put her through this time. But Emery had paid good money to experience this photography excursion. “We’ll have time to talk. I want that, too. But you should go. You really don’t want to miss wherever Chaz plans to take you. She’s camped here a lot and knows the area well. Besides, I want to dazzle you with my culinary skills.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll look forward to lunch.” Emery started off toward the others but paused and turned back before she’d gone three steps. “Tonight. Let’s find a way. All right?” she asked in a low voice.