Wouldn’t you know it?

The one guy in a long while who really turned her on would be someone who wanted to disappear into the bush on some wild-goose chase. Ivy started the helicopter’s rotors and went through the preflight routine. They were airborne before she looked at Alex again.

His face was chalky and he was sweating, swallowing repeatedly. With the force of a blow it dawned on her that the man was terrified. He was afraid of flying. She should have recognized the signs earlier that day, but she’d been preoccupied with pointing out the landscape. She’d just expected him to love the experience as much as she did.

He didn’t have his earphones on, so she couldn’t reassure him. She reached over and touched his knee to get his attention and get him to put on the headset.

But he only pointed at the control panel, where smoke was curling out in slow wispy streams.

Dear Reader,

A Valentine’s gift of a helicopter ride over the snowy mountains of Vancouver became the inspiration for this story. The pilot was a gorgeous young woman, and I knew I had the makings for a complex and interesting heroine. Then my brother and I decided to run away for a few weeks. We went north to Alaska on a long, meandering journey by car, and I fell in love with the vast countryside and the unique and generous people we met along the way.

This is the story of a search for personal freedom, which in the end is never satisfied by anything external. I believe that true freedom comes only when we understand that there’s just one of us here, that learning to trust and to love one another on every level brings peace. And if along the way we find one special someone with whom to watch the northern lights—then we are truly blessed.

Please pay me a visit at www.bobbyhutchinson.com.

Much love, always,

Bobby

Past Lies
Bobby Hutchinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Huge thanks to Bree McMurchy, who helped me understand the whys and hows of flight, and who nearly convinced me

I should learn to fly a copter. So Bree, this one’s for you.

Wheel and soar high, my friend, and come back safe.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

Well, here I am at last, the Final Frontier. The boat just dumped me off in Valdez—which, by the way, the natives here call Valldeeze. A dude with a beard and an attitude corrected my pronunciation. Tell the sprout his old man’s about to start off on the adventure of a lifetime.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

Valdez, Alaska

Present Day

BE THE HELICOPTER, and keep an eye on the torque gauge.

Ivy’s dad had drilled those axioms into her head while teaching her to fly. Like a soundless litany, his rules flitted through her mind as the altimeter needle dropped and she expertly guided the Bell Jet Ranger toward her targeted landing spot high on La Grave Mountain.

Sure, she’d flown the Bell innumerable times. And yeah, she’d attended professional flight school. But it was still Tom’s voice she heard as she systematically ticked off the details of her landing procedure.

Pay attention to the wind, watch your approach speed, beware a right crosswind—and never get cocky. Safety never takes a holiday.

The Ranger hovered and then settled with a gentle bump exactly where Ivy had planned to bring it down, the rotors kicking up clouds of snow. As the blades slowed and the white storm settled, Ivy squinted through her sunglasses against the blinding sunshine glinting off glaciers, sending up prisms of color.

Mid-April in Alaska meant that the temperature on La Grave was a chilly twenty below. There’d been thirty centimeters of new snow this week in the higher altitudes, and the skiing was reportedly fantastic.

Ivy didn’t know that from personal experience. She skied cross-country and conservatively downhill, but there was no way she’d strap boards on and attempt the heart-stopping crevasses and perpendicular drops of these sheer mountain cliffs. Extreme sports struck her as ridiculously foolhardy, although of course she’d never say any such thing to these ski bums and their guide who’d paid her top dollar to ferry them up here.

“Okay, gentlemen, last stop. Everybody out.” Ivy’s voice sounded loud in her ears as the rotors slowed. She opened her door and balanced on a strut to help unload the men’s equipment.

“Great flight, skipper. You free for dinner tonight, by any chance?”

Ivy smiled at Glen as the muscular giant from Lake Tahoe strapped on his skis. He’d been hitting on her the past couple of days. He was probably in his early thirties. She was only twenty-seven, but she’d already outgrown him. Glen was looking for the next thrill. He wanted new ranges, new mountains. New lovers.

She understood that, because she used to be just like Glen. But somewhere along the line, she’d changed. Now she was looking for—what?

Stability? Long-term? No simple answer came to mind. How come it was always easier to know what you didn’t want than what you did?

“Sorry,” she said as he looked at her hopefully over the top of his expensive sunglasses. “I have a standing date with my steady tonight, and for some reason he doesn’t believe in sharing.”

It was a white lie. Well, maybe it was more like a whopper. She did have a dinner date, but there was no steady guy. Definitely not. Although Dylan was starting to make assumptions about that, and it was time to set him straight.

Glen pretended he’d been stabbed in the heart and had to slowly pull out the knife. There was laughter and good-natured ribbing from the other two guys.

“I’ll be waiting at the pickup point around three this aft. Try to keep the slippy side down, troopers.”

The package they paid for through Raven Lodge included instruction from a certified Heli-Ski guide, drop-off by helicopter at the top of the mountain and pickup at a designated spot at the bottom.

With a flourish and a final wave, they were off, gliding through the powder like dancers. Ivy climbed back into the Ranger and began her preparations for takeoff, a smile on her lips.

This was always the best part of her job, this time alone in the copter after the customers were safely delivered to their destination. Now she could relax as she lifted off and skimmed over the breathtaking Chugach terrain, catching glimpses of sparkling lakes, soaring over row after row of tall glaciers. Ivy had been born in Alaska, and sometimes she imagined there was still an invisible umbilical cord stretching from her heart down to the soul of this wild and magical land.

“It’s born in us, love of the land and the air,” her father had once told her. “It’s an addiction, but it’s a good one.”

She lifted the Bell up and over the final peak and began the descent to Valdez. As the ground came up to meet her, she could see her father standing outside the mobile trailer that served as an office for their company, Up And Away Adventures. Tall and barrel-chested, Tom Pierce was still ruggedly handsome and incredibly fit for a man nearly sixty years old.

She set the chopper down precisely in the center of the cement landing pad and shut the engine off. The rotors thwacked as they slowed, before finally stopping. Ivy pressed the flight idle stop button and rolled the twist grip to full closed position. Light switches, off. Battery switch, off.

Another mission accomplished, Captain.

HE WATCHED AS HIS daughter expertly landed the copter on the pad. When the rotors stilled and the motor died, Ivy opened the door and jumped down, her long, lean body as toned as any athlete’s. She waved her blue-billed cap at him in greeting, then ran her fingers through the short, thick copper curls cut boyishly close to her scalp.

Ivy’s mother had had hair that same color when he first met her, although now Frances had let hers go snowy-white. She wore her hair long, down past her shoulders. She styled it every morning with an artist’s precision and an arsenal of equipment. Tom had always liked watching her.

Lately, though, she closed her bedroom door.

Ivy, now, she wasn’t interested in gilding the lily, not that she needed to. She, too, was beautiful, although in a very different way than Frances.

Ivy didn’t accentuate her looks or even seem to be aware of them, which of course drove her mother nuts. Under his mustache, Tom’s narrow mouth curled into a small, enigmatic smile. Frances’s makeup case was bigger than most suitcases, and all Ivy carried with her was a tube of stuff that kept her lips from chapping.

“Hey, Captain.” Ivy smiled at him, her high, Slavic cheekbones an inheritance from his father’s side of the family. Tom’s sister, Caitlin, had them, too. But Ivy’s hair and her wide-set apple-green eyes were gifts from her mother, reminding him, as always, of Frances when they’d first met.

Tom rubbed a hand absently across his chest, where the familiar tightness lodged whenever he thought about his wife.

“So what’s happening?” Ivy looped a hand through his arm, and with an affectionate squeeze he trapped it against his side. She was only a couple inches shorter than his six-two. He’d long ago stopped caring that she automatically shortened her stride to accommodate his limp. The old leg injury was bothering him more than usual today, maybe a storm coming.

“We got any more charters lined up?”

“Nope, not for today. Might be some last-minute tourists, you never know.” Tom shook his head. “Just got back myself, I took that load of supplies up and dropped it where those damn fool climbers wanted. No sign of them, although their tent was there. I buzzed around a few times, place was deserted.”

“Probably halfway up the mountain,” Ivy speculated. “Climbers wouldn’t waste a morning like this waiting for their supplies to arrive.”

“Maniacs, the lot of them.”

“Yeah, well, as long as we keep our radical opinions to ourselves, Captain, they’ll go on hiring us. And that’s good for our bank balance.”

“I can play nice guy with the best of them,” he snorted. “Never pissed off a client yet.”

“What a track record, keep up the good work.”

Tom knew that visitors to Alaska often viewed him as an eccentric local character. He figured it didn’t hurt their business at all.

She playfully punched his arm. “You’re such a phony. Everybody knows there’s a soft gummy center under that prickly surface.”

Not everybody. He knew for a fact Frances didn’t think so. Tom squeezed Ivy’s arm a little tighter and changed the subject.

“I’ve got that lumber and insulation Theo ordered loaded on the boat.”

Raven Lodge was in a remote bay accessible only by boat or plane. “I’ll take it up to the lodge this afternoon if we don’t get any last-minute business,” Tom declared. “Theo really wants to get going on those new cabins. I hear he’s hired some damned yahoo from down south to help him.”

“Oh, yeah? And how’d he meet this yahoo?”

“Jerry down at the Anchor introduced them when Theo was in town a couple days ago. Perfectly fine carpenters right around here—you’d think Theo would hire local.”

“Everybody’s working on the new hotel,” she reminded him.

“Well, I hope this dude has more going for him than that so-called fishing guide from San Francisco Theo hired last year.”

The idiot hadn’t known his elbow from his ass. He’d somehow foundered a boat with four tourists out in the Sound. Just luck that another boat was nearby, or the lot of them would have died from hypothermia.

“Uncle Theo must have liked this current yahoo or he wouldn’t have hired him.”

Tom knew she was teasing him. He grunted. “Theo likes everybody, that’s his biggest problem.” It wasn’t a criticism of his brother-in-law so much as a statement of fact.

Ivy laughed. “You’ll get to judge the guy for yourself if you’re taking the stuff out. I have to pick up my skiers around three, so I’ll probably see you up there. You want a lift back with me?”

“If you’re staying for supper. Caitlin told me to ask you. You open to that?”

“Darn, I can’t tonight. I’ve got a date.” Ivy wrinkled her nose.

“Then I’ll stay over, bring the boat back in the morning.” Tom grinned at her expression. “Date’s that bad, huh? Would this be Doc Fredricks you’re not excited about?” There were always men buzzing around Ivy, too many of them useless vagabonds from God only knew where. More than once he’d been tempted to scare them off, one way or the other. But the doc rated higher than most on Tom’s private scale.

Fredricks was steady, he had a damned good job at the hospital. And it looked like he was going to settle in Valdez. Most telling of all, he’d managed to survive more than a few weeks with Ivy. Tom had to admit his daughter was fickle.

“Dylan, yeah.”

“He’s good people, Ivy. I hear he’s buying property. Has plans to build a house in that fancy subdivision just outside town, somebody said.”

She frowned and pretended to think about that. “I think he mentioned something about it.”

“He’s solid. You could do lots worse.” He worried about her. He knew from personal experience that the world could be tough on women.

Ivy shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends, eh?” Tom gave her a look. “Sounds to me like it’s one more case of nice guys finish last with you.”

“You trying to marry me off, Captain?” He heard the mild reproof in her tone. He’d learned long ago that his daughter had a full share of her old man’s stubbornness, and more than a touch of his quick temper.

“Nope, just want you to be happy, honey. Sometimes I figure you’re confusing good guys with bad. You’ve got a hell of a trail of broken hearts underneath those boots of yours.”

“These boots are made for breaking hearts,” she growled, and he smiled beneath his mustache. “Is Mom going with you to the lodge?”

Tom shook his head and the smile vanished. “Can’t. She’s teaching her night-school class tonight.” Besides, Ivy should know by now that her mother never visited the lodge. Frances did have a class tonight, makeup technique, wardrobe choices, hairstyling. Things she was good at.

All the things that bored Ivy cross-eyed.

Aeronautics, now, that got his daughter’s attention.

He reached past her to open the door of the office, and the short, dark-haired young man behind the desk smiled and waved a hand.

“Hey, Bert, how’s it going,” Ivy signed.

Bert Ambrose was Tom’s protégé. A naturally gifted mechanic, his dream was to learn to fly. But Bert had been born deaf, and he’d been told it was impossible for him to be a pilot. Tom knew better. With help from the Association of Deaf Pilots, Tom was teaching Bert to fly.

“Where’s Kisha?” Ivy had learned rudimentary signs from the mechanic.

“Went to get us pizza.” Bert’s smile was so big, his narrow eyes almost disappeared. “Kisha loves pizza.”

And Bert loves Kisha, poor sod. These girls nowadays, too independent for their own good. Ivy included.

Kisha Harris manned the phones and the radio, dealt with paperwork and was great on the computer. She’d set up a Web site for Up And Away, and talked Tom and Ivy into advertising on the Web. She was a wonderful employee, but she’d made it clear from the beginning that the job was strictly temporary for her. She’d watched The Snow Walker about two hundred times, and she was convinced she had what it took to be an actress.

Tom figured there weren’t that many acting jobs for short, very round girls with absolutely no experience, but he’d been smart enough not to tell Kisha so. In the meantime, she flirted outrageously with poor Bert.

“Any calls since she left?” Ivy asked.

“Three,” Bert said in his deep, atonal voice, signing the answer simultaneously. He kept track by watching the light on the phone’s base. The messages would be on the machine.

Tom had worked out his own version of sign language, a combination of some of Bert’s and a lot of what seemed logical to him. And he spoke up around the kid. Too many people mumbled.

“Come and have a look at temp gauge on the Beaver,” Tom bellowed. “The engine’s been running high.”

IVY WATCHED THEM LEAVE, shaking her head and grinning to herself at the fact that Captain still figured if he talked loud enough, Bert would hear him. She pushed the button to replay the messages.

There was a request for helicopter transport from a group of Seattle skiers, and another from a German tourist for an aerial tour by floatplane. Ivy scribbled down the numbers.

The third call was from her mother, asking if Ivy could join her for lunch at Mike’s Palace. Ivy spent a puzzled moment wondering what was up. She and Frances weren’t exactly in the habit of lunching together.

She made the business calls first, arranging dates and deposits, recommending her aunt and uncle’s remote fishing lodge, when asked for advice on ac commodation. Usually June, July and August were the busiest tourist months, but lately there’d been increased volume in the less crowded shoulder seasons—late April, May and September. Up And Away was having the best April ever. At this rate, their dream of owning the Bell instead of leasing it would soon be a reality.

At last Ivy dialed her mother’s number.

“Frances Pierce.”

Ivy was accustomed to her mother’s businesslike manner on the phone. “Hey, Mom, it’s me.”

“Ivy, hi. Are you free for lunch? I thought Mike’s Palace, but if you’d rather go somewhere else—?”

“No, that sounds fine. See you there in fifteen, okay?”

Ivy hung up, wondering why she hadn’t just come right out and asked Frances what she wanted. That way maybe they could have skipped lunch altogether.

She took a moment to wash her hands and face in the cramped bathroom. Dampening her fingers, she ran them through her hair to freshen the short curls that had been flattened under her hat. She was wearing her usual work uniform: blue jeans, sturdy Frye boots, a white button-down shirt under a navy pullover. She caught herself fussing and turned away from the mirror.

Why was it that the only time she was even marginally aware of how she looked was when she was around her mother? It was time she got over that.

Before she headed out the door she shrugged into the black Gore-Tex jacket with the company logo she and Tom had designed—the outline of a stylized plane with a U and an A superimposed on it. The cap had the same logo, and she plunked it on, remembering too late her efforts with her hair.

Oh, well. Around Frances, it was a lost cause anyway.

CHAPTER TWO

It seems a lot longer than a week since I left Bellingham. I miss you and the sprout a lot, I keep thinking about that night he was born. I figured for sure you were going to die, Linda. I never dreamed how much pain a woman goes through having a baby.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

IT WAS A TYPICAL SPRING day for Valdez, sunny but chill with a sharp, brisk breeze blowing off the harbor. The huge snowbanks were gradually disappearing. Ivy drove her battered red pickup with the window down, breathing in the smell of the ocean.

Mike’s Palace was just a short drive from the office, and Ivy pulled into a parking spot right beside her mother’s SUV and headed into the cozy little restaurant. Mike’s was popular with locals and tourists because it had the best lasagna around.

It also had a view of the harbor. The walls were covered with old newspapers that told the story of Valdez all the way from the gold-rush days through the oil boom, including the earthquake, the disastrous oil spill and the more recent tourist boom.

“Hey, Ivy, how ya doin’?” Mike, the proprietor, was tall, bearded and sinister-looking because of a crooked nose and a jagged scar that angled across his cheekbone and nose. He liked to let people think it was from a brawl, but Ivy knew he’d gone headfirst through the windshield of a snowmobile.

He jerked a thumb at a table by the window. “Your mom’s over there.”

The room was way too small to miss anyone—as if anyone with even one eye in their head would ever miss Frances. Her wild halo of long, snowy-white hair gleamed like a beacon, curling out from her skull as if it had been electrified. The brilliant turquoise sweater she wore stood out like a jewel among the drab browns and grays of the other patrons. Frances looked like a peacock trapped by a crowd of seagulls, Ivy decided, as she wound her way among the crowded tables and sank into a chair.

Seagulls, and now one woodpecker. The comparison amused her.

“Hello, Ivy.” Frances’s voice suited her. It was husky and dramatic, with a refined sensuality and a faint hint of the Midwest in the consonants. “Glad you could make it.” She smiled, her wide, voluptuous mouth revealing perfect white teeth. As usual, Ivy felt diminished by her mother’s beauty.

“Slow day,” Ivy said, taking a long, thirsty drink from the water glass beside her plate. “I took a group up the mountain early this morning, they’re skiing down and then I’ll fly them back to Uncle Theo’s.”

Frances nodded. “I talked to Caitlin the other day. She said Sage and Ben were due back today from that wildlife conference in Montana.”

Ben was Ivy’s cousin, Sage his wife. Caitlin and Theo had twin sons, Ben and Logan, ten years older than Ivy. Growing up, she’d idolized both of them and, during her teen years, she’d had a massive crush on Ben, the more charismatic of the two. Thank God maturity cured things like that.

Maturity and the realization that her handsome cousin’s actions didn’t always live up to his charm. His second wife was Ivy’s best friend, and there were times when she felt Ben didn’t deserve Sage.

“Dad’s going over to the lodge for supper tonight.” Ivy watched her mother’s green eyes, wondering if Frances knew or even cared where Tom was spending the evening.

Frances nodded. “Yes, he told me.” She glanced up and smiled again at the plump waitress. “Hi, Sally. I’ll have the lasagna, spinach salad and a glass of chardonnay.”

“Same for me.” About the only thing she and Frances had ever agreed on was food. Ivy had inherited her mother’s metabolism as well as her appetite, which meant they both enjoyed staggering quantities of food without gaining an ounce.

Conversation faltered as Sally poured their wine—one glass wouldn’t impair her ability to pilot—and then brought a basket of hot bread and, a few moments later, their salads.

After she left, the silence stretched painfully. Had there ever been a time when talking to her mother was spontaneous and easy? If there had, Ivy didn’t remember it.

Frances sipped her wine and Ivy wondered if her mother was also searching for a common interest. “How’s Bert making out with his flying lessons, Ivy?”

Good one, Mom. Neutral, uncomplicated.

“Dad says he’s a natural.” And how come you’re asking me? Don’t you ever talk to Dad about anything besides the plumbing and the bank balance?

“His younger sister, Becky, is taking my class. She wants to be a model.”

Ivy’s instinctive reaction was to shake her head. She fought to control her reaction, saying in a neutral tone, “You think she’s got what it takes?”

Frances tipped her head to one side, considering. “She’ll have to lose a lot of weight. She does have the height, and that unusual ethnic look is hot right now.”

“So what look was hot when you were in the business?” Ivy didn’t really care, but it seemed a pretty safe thing to ask. Touchy areas with her mother were any discussions involving Tom, the need for makeup, a decent wardrobe or dicey situations encountered during flights. And Frances’s childhood—now there was a real no-go zone.

“Exotic All-American farm girl?” Frances gave her characteristic little Gaelic shrug. “I really don’t know. I was lucky, because whatever it was, I seemed to have it.”

“You sure did.” Ivy thought of the stacks of fashion magazines carefully filed away in protective plastic, each featuring her mother on the cover. The incomparable Francesca, one photographer had labeled her. She’d been one of the first fashion models to become so famous they were recognized by just one name—and their beauty, of course. Francesca was one of the first supermodels.

Sally served their lasagna, and they ate hungrily for a few moments.

“You ever miss it, Mom? The…the glamour, the excitement?” It was something Ivy had often wondered but never dared ask, which was ridiculous. Her mother had made it clear early on that she didn’t want to discuss certain aspects of her life, and Ivy was never sure what they were.

And when she was younger, Ivy had been scared that questions like this one would send Frances spiraling back into the depression that had ruled their household during Ivy’s childhood. Frances was better now, but the painful memories were still there for Ivy.

Why her mother had chosen to leave her modeling life to marry Tom and live in Alaska had always been a mystery to Ivy, and probably to most of the inhabitants of Valdez as well. It was a small town, and nobody’s private issues were usually sacred. That one, however, seemed to be.

Frances didn’t respond right away, and Ivy figured she probably wasn’t going to. Her mother had turned her head and was staring out the window. Her wide eyes were unfocussed, so she probably wasn’t seeing the dozens of fishing boats in the harbor or the spectacular peaks of the icy glaciers that cradled the town.

Ivy buttered a chunk of sourdough bread and chewed stoically. One small misstep on my part, one giant silence on hers.

And then Frances actually answered. “It’s not the glamour or excitement I miss—they’re highly over-rated in the world of high fashion,” she said slowly. “A lot of it’s grueling hard work, freezing your butt off modeling swimsuits in January, roasting to death wearing layers of winter clothes in July.”

Ivy had always suspected as much, but Frances had never explained it before.

Frances’s voice was thoughtful. “I think what I miss sometimes is the sense of being at the epicenter of everything—fashion, publishing, knowing ahead of time what a certain designer is going to feature in his next show, who the current darling of the art world is, what’s happening to hemlines, shoulders, what era is in vogue. I get lonely for things like that, for haute couture.” Frances glanced around the crowded room before leaning in. “And also for a suitable place to wear it.”

Even Ivy, style challenged as she was, knew that Valdez wasn’t the fashion capital of the western world. She didn’t know one designer from another, and she certainly didn’t care about hemlines or shoulders. In her opinion, the Alaskan environment provided art for free—glaciers, northern lights, mountain lakes in the summer dawn. As for clothing, well, she did have more clothes than the average woman, only because Frances had always insisted on Ivy having what she called a basic wardrobe.

That always included a black dress, a classic wool coat, well-cut pants and matching jacket, several lined wool skirts, a stack of cashmere sweaters and various silk, cotton and linen pieces for summer.

For years, Frances had consistently given Ivy one or two such useless items every birthday and Christmas, even when what Ivy really wanted were leather jackets, heavy boots and billed caps.

The clothing, expensive and timeless, took up space in the back of Ivy’s closet and filled several dresser drawers, ignored for the most part. She only yanked them out when she needed something to wear to a wedding, a funeral or a christening—one of those rare events in Valdez when jeans and a T-shirt or flannel shirt just wouldn’t cut it.

Frances must have recognized the bemused expression on Ivy’s face, because she laughed, a low, rich sound that made several people turn their way and smile in appreciation.

“Sure, I miss New York,” Frances confessed. “The sophistication, the mistaken but pervasive belief that it’s the hub of the world. Attitude, I guess you’d call it. I miss New York attitude.”

Ivy drawled, “So, you figure we ain’t got attitude up here in the 49th?”

“Plenty of it. Just not the same type.” They ate for several moments and then Frances said, “What would you miss if you moved away from Valdez, Ivy?”

Ivy thought about it for a moment. She also thought what a strange conversation this was turning out to be. Normally she and Frances talked about the weather, food, recipes, the latest news item. Which was pretty limited and meant that they quickly ran out of things to say.

“I can’t even imagine moving away. Oh, from Valdez, maybe, but not ever from Alaska. It’s where I belong, it’s in my blood.” Curiosity got the better of Ivy. “Is that how you felt about New York, Mom? That it was in your blood?”

“No.” This time Frances didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never had that feeling about anywhere I’ve lived.”

“Not…not even your hometown?” Frances had grown up in a small town in southern Ohio, but that was about all Ivy knew. Frances never spoke of her childhood, except to say that her parents were dead and she had no relatives she wished to contact. “Didn’t you miss Brigham Falls when you left?” As soon as the words were out, Ivy realized she’d gone too far.

“Never.” Frances bit off the word as if it burned her lips. She pushed her plate away even though she wasn’t finished. “Now, are we going to have dessert?” Without waiting for a reply, she motioned Sally over.

Ivy felt heat rise in her face at the rebuff. She felt like a child being reprimanded. Smack. End of discussion.

You’d think by now she’d know better than to ask Frances anything really personal. But for a few minutes there she’d been seduced into thinking that she and her mother were communicating.

The hurt was nothing new. Except now Frances no longer retreated to the bedroom for days or sometimes weeks, while Ivy berated herself for making her mother sick.

“I’m having lemon meringue pie and coffee, please, Sally. What would you like, Ivy?”

“I have to take off. I have to do some stuff at the office and then I need to pick up my clients.” Ivy pulled her wallet out and tossed several bills on the table beside her plate. She avoided looking at her mother.

“Please, Ivy, lunch is my treat.” Frances tried to hand the money back. “I invited you.”

“Next time.” Which might be when the Columbia Glacier melted away to nothing. Ivy got up and shrugged on her jacket. “See you, Mom.”

She hurried out the door without a backward glance, drawing in a shaky lungful of fresh, cool air as she headed to her truck.

More often than not, being around her mother left her resentful, shut out and confused. There was a line by Kipling, “and never the twain shall meet.” It could have been written with her and Frances in mind.

CHAPTER THREE

If Alaska’s all they claim it is, maybe you and I and the sprout could homestead up there, make a claim on a piece of land. This guy on the boat who’s going up there to do that says land’s still cheap in Alaska. I’ll know better after I get there.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

BACK IN THE RESTAURANT Frances’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d thought that things were going well for once, that she and Ivy were actually connecting. And then, without warning, her daughter did that closing down thing she’d perfected as a young teen, eyes shuttered, mouth set, face like a thunderbolt.

Frances hadn’t even had a chance to hint at what she really wanted to discuss with her daughter. She’d asked Tom if he’d break the news to Ivy, but she couldn’t fathom what had ever made her think he’d take the initiative. When it came to emotional issues, avoidance was Tom’s only coping technique. That, and projection. He found fault with other things to avoid looking at himself. She’d only realized that recently.

It was always easier to see the mistakes someone else was making. Several years of good therapy had at least given her some insight into herself, but it was still difficult not to blame Tom for the gaping holes in their marriage.

Sally appeared, setting down the lemon meringue pie and pouring coffee.

“Thanks.” Frances forced a smile to her lips. “Your hair looks wonderful, by the way.”

The girl had attended one of Frances’s night-school classes, and her plain face lit up at the compliment. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Pierce. I had it cut in Anchorage. There’s a new salon there, it’s called Suki’s.” Sally’s smile made her beautiful. “Enjoy your pie.”

Frances had no appetite for the dessert now, or coffee, either. When Sally moved away, she messed up the pie with her fork, stirred cream into the coffee, and gazed blindly out the window, not seeing the Norman Rockwell harbor.

After years of depression, which at times left her inert, she was finally taking control of her life. She had a chance at a job in New York, teaching aspiring models. She was leaving Valdez. Leaving Tom, leaving her marriage. The decision had been a long time coming, but once she’d made up her mind, she couldn’t believe she’d stayed here so long.

But she knew why she had. Fear. Depression. The conviction that all she’d ever had to offer was youth and beauty. And for years, she’d thought that she and Tom might still resolve their differences, recapture the connection they’d once shared. It had been powerful in the beginning.

Outside the window, a couple walked past with a small blond girl holding their hands. Every couple of steps, she drew her legs up, and the man and woman laughed and swung her between them like a pendulum.

Had she and Tom ever swung Ivy that way? She doubted it.

She’d been ill when Ivy was that age—it was only now, years after the worst of it, that she recognized depression as an illness. Before, she’d seen it as shameful weakness. Tom had taken over Ivy’s care. And she’d become her father’s girl, devoted to him, fierce in his defense.

Ivy would blame Frances for the marriage ending. She wouldn’t understand why Frances had to leave, any more than Tom did.

She’d already lost a son. Jacob had died twenty-five years ago this month, on a rainy, cold Tuesday night. But the dimpled little boy was as fresh in her mind as ever. The pain of his loss had dulled with time, but it was still there. Was the price of freedom, of leaving Tom, to be the loss of her daughter as well?

“Ms. Pierce?”

Frances jumped. Sally was standing beside her.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

“Ms. Pierce, that man over there…” Sally tipped her head and rolled her eyes toward a balding man wearing a Western-style shirt, sitting alone at a nearby table. When Frances looked over, he smiled, gave a little bow and a wave.

“…He says he’s buying your lunch, Ms. Pierce. I told him you were married, but he’s real determined. Said you were the prettiest thing he’s seen since he came up here.” She bent over and hissed, “He’s had a snootful, you want me to get Mike?”

“No need, I’m going now. Ivy left that.” Frances pointed over at the money, more than adequate for their bill and a generous tip. She gathered up her coat and bag and got to her feet, conscious that the man was watching her every move. “Thanks, Sally. See you again soon.”

Attracting men wasn’t unusual. Ordinarily, Frances would walk away, careful not to look at the man, hideously self-conscious.

Today, however, some impulse made her stop at his table. Flustered now, he shoved his chair back and started to get to his feet. Frances said in a pleasant tone, “Please don’t get up. I just wanted you to know that my husband is large, insanely jealous and violent. You really don’t want to make him angry, do you?”

She walked out, aware that his bloodshot eyes weren’t the only ones following her progress. She was trembling by the time she climbed in her SUV. She closed the door and rested her head on the steering wheel, and then she started to giggle.

She’d been afraid of going to New York, living on her own. She’d relied on Tom for so many years, she had no confidence in her ability to fend for herself. She knew the way she looked attracted unwanted attention. How would she deal with that?

Now she knew exactly how. She’d remembered some of her New York chutzpah, and she was going to do just fine. She’d made the right decision after all. She found her sunglasses and started the engine.

THROUGH WATER-STAINED glasses, Alex Ladrovik watched the green wake foam past the bow of the small aluminum boat, anxiously wondering if he’d made a huge mistake. He’d agreed on the spur of the moment to go to some remote fishing lodge to build two cabins before finding out the place was only accessible by floatplane or by boat. He’d had to entrust his beloved Jeep to a questionable parking garage in Valdez, and he was having second thoughts about the whole undertaking.

The boat ride was a rough one, waves slapping against the hull, salt spray half blinding him, but he was fine in boats, even those loaded to the gunwales like this one. It was only airplanes he had a phobia about.

“Raven Lodge is just around that next bend,” Oliver Brady called out. The young fishing guide had met Alex on the dock promptly at noon, just as Theo Galloway had promised. They’d loaded Alex’s gear, stacking it on top of lumber, cases of canned goods and boxes of fresh produce. They’d been chugging through the waves for a good half hour. It was a relief to know they would soon reach their destination.

Almost there, Anne Marie. Not that I have the vaguest idea where there is. Alex touched the breast pocket of his waterproof jacket, checking to make sure his daughter’s photo was dry and tucked well down. He’d fallen into the habit of talking to her picture, which he’d clipped to the visor of the Jeep two weeks ago when he left San Diego.

The trip north had been long, and commenting out loud to Annie about the landscape and the day’s events made it somehow less lonely. If it also made him a total whack job, well, there was no one to judge him except himself.

“There’s the lodge,” Oliver yelled as the boat rounded the point.

Alex caught his breath at the spectacular view, and he whistled long and low. “Now that’s impressive.” He squinted through salt-spattered lenses, and then took his glasses off and wiped them on a bandana he kept in his pocket for exactly that purpose. He shoved them back on his nose and sat forward, studying the place where he’d be spending the next few weeks.

Raven Lodge was on a spit of land that extended out into a narrow bay. The majestic, snow-covered Chugach Mountains rising from Prince William Sound formed a dramatic and formidable backdrop for the rustic two-story, rambling log structure and its impressive assortment of outbuildings. The whole place looked tidy and well cared for.

A long dock extended into the water, and several large boathouses undoubtedly sheltered numerous fishing boats, like the one they were riding in, which were needed to carry guests out into the Sound to catch the fabled king salmon, halibut and Chinook native to these waters.

Some distance from the buildings was a large cement pad.

“That’s where the copter lands,” Oliver explained. “Lots of skiers staying at the lodge, they get shuttled up the mountain in the morning and brought back at night.”

Cabins were scattered among thick stands of Sitka spruce and western hemlock, and Alex caught sight of another, smaller log house, also two stories, some distance from the main building.

“That’s where Ben Galloway and his wife live. Ben’s one of Theo’s boys,” Oliver explained as they drew closer to the dock. “He’s got a twin brother in Seattle, a lawyer. They’re both nice guys.”

Alex appreciated the input. “That’s where Grace and I stay.” Oliver pointed out two long, white clapboard bunkhouses nestled in a grove of pine trees. “You can bunk in with us or use one of the small cabins. Most of the guests stay right in the lodge this early in the season.”

Oliver had told Alex how he and his longtime girlfriend had come north hoping to homestead. “We need a grubstake, so we’re both working as fishing guides for the summer. Grace is a real smart woman. Can turn her hand to almost anything. I’m real lucky, finding her,” he’d boasted with a grin that made Alex lonely for an instant.

“So, Alex, you think maybe you’ll stick around?”

“I think I lucked out,” Alex said. “Looks like a great place to work for a couple weeks.”

“It is. And you couldn’t have a better boss than Theo,” Oliver declared. “Fair as they come. His wife Caitlin is a fantastic cook. Best grub I’ve ever had at a fishing camp. And they pay well and on time. A lot of places up here only offer minimum wage. The Galloways are good to work for.”

Alex was relieved to hear it, although his reasons for taking the job hadn’t been financial. Money was the least of his concerns. Idleness was his worst nightmare. He needed something to do, something physically exhausting and challenging enough to dull the sense of failure and loss that plagued him when he tried to sleep. Hard work was the only cure he’d found for insomnia.

Oliver pulled smoothly up to the dock and tossed a rope to Theo, who’d come hurrying down the walkway. Theo was a stocky, middle-aged man. Clean-shaven and ruddy-faced, he had a shock of snowy hair. The pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth looked as if it grew there.

He secured the rope and called out, “Welcome to Raven Lodge, Alex.”

Alex clambered up to the dock and shook Theo’s work-hardened hand. “It’s a pleasure to be here, sir.”

The other man laughed. “Theo is fine. We don’t stand much on ceremony in these parts.”

Alex helped the two unload the boat, and when all the supplies were stacked on the dock, Theo said, “Come on up to the lodge and meet Caity, then later we’ll bring your gear up and get you settled.”

Alex walked beside the older man, breathing in the sharp odor of salt water mingled with the smell of pine tree resin and wood smoke. Halfway up the long flight of stairs he tapped his breast pocket.

We’re a long way from San Diego, Annie. He looked past the buildings at the dark, thick forest that surrounded this small patch of civilization. That’s where he’d be heading soon. Into the wilderness. He shivered with a sense of foreboding.

So this is where it begins, where I find out once and for all what I’m really made of. He followed Theo up the wide wooden steps, noting with a carpenter’s eye that they were each hewn out of one huge log.

Or maybe this is where it ends. Had he come up here to die? The thought wasn’t frightening. Rather, it held the promise of peace.

Whichever it was, Alex knew that his life was once again abruptly changing direction.

CHAPTER FOUR

It’s never bothered me much, not having family I could count on. You and I have that in common, eh, Linda?

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

“ALEX LADROVIK, meet my brother-in-law, Tom Pierce. Tom is Caity’s older brother.”

Tom had just arrived at the dock, and the men were standing beside a long wooden boat loaded with building supplies neatly covered by a blue tarp.

“Alex’s up from San Diego,” Theo added for Tom’s sake. “He just got to the lodge a couple hours ago, caught a ride with Oliver and the groceries.”

“How d’ya do.” Tom didn’t offer his hand and Alex decided against holding out his. He was aware that the mustached man was assessing him with cool gray eyes set in a weathered, still handsome face.

“Guess that’s your green Jeep with the California plates, parked back in town in Olaf’s garage?”

“She’s mine, all right.” Alex hoped his mud splattered, battered vehicle, would still be there when he went back to claim it. It had performed valiantly, never once breaking down on the long and often isolated journey.

“California,” Tom said, making it sound like a third world war zone. “So what brings you to Alaska?”

“Adventure,” Alex replied, giving the same explanation he’d used all along the way. “The job I had in San Diego ended, and I decided it was time to travel. When the weather warms up I want to hike into the bush, live off the land a while. Till then, I need a job.”

That was true enough, although it didn’t begin to really explain why he was here. Best to keep that to himself for the time being. No point in revealing your underbelly right away, especially since Tom didn’t seem nearly as friendly as his brother-in-law. Maybe it just took him longer to warm up to strangers.

Tom’s gaze flicked up and down Alex’s long, rangy frame. “The bush, huh? You done much back-country hiking on your own?”

“Some. Well, truthfully, not much. But I plan to do some extensive research before I head off.”

“Research, now that’ll impress the grizzlies.” The derogatory snort and look Tom shot his way made Alex doubly glad he’d held back some of his personal info.

“Going off into the bush on your lonesome is one fine way to end up dead,” Tom said emphatically. “Every year we spend valuable time searching for damn fool adventurers gone missing. More people go missing up here than anywhere else in the U.S. Dumb thing to do, in my opinion. “

Out of politeness, Alex didn’t mention that he hadn’t asked for Tom’s opinion. The older man was making his hackles rise.

Theo ignored Tom’s outburst. Instead, he pointed at one of the outbuildings. “Let’s stack the lumber in that shed over there, don’t want it getting wet. If you move the boat down the dock a ways, Tom, we can get it unloaded.”

Alex noticed that Tom had a pronounced limp, but otherwise his wide body was muscular and fit. He handled the two-by-fours and bags of cement almost as easily as Alex. The injury to his leg sure didn’t slow him down at all.

Theo, however, was soon red-faced and winded. Without being obvious about it, Alex made sure he shouldered the heaviest of the materials. In a short while, they had the lumber, nails and bags of cement mix stowed inside the shed.

Theo wiped the sweat from his forehead with the arm of his blue flannel shirt. “I hate to admit it, but I’m out of shape. Way too much sitting around in the wintertime. Come on inside, you two. Caity’s making supper and we deserve a drink.”

Theo led the way. Inside the wide front doors of the sprawling log building, Alex glanced at the framed photos lining both walls he’d noticed earlier. There were color snapshots of smiling guests holding trophy fish, but there were also older black-and-white shots of men and women wearing clothing from the turn of the century. But he was quickly distracted by the wonderful smells that wafted down the long hallway from the direction of the kitchen, and he sniffed in hungry anticipation.

“Caity, love, Tom’s here,” Theo bellowed and within moments Caitlin Galloway came hurrying along the long hall to meet them, her handsome face wreathed in smiles. Her white hair piled on top of her head, she wore a white bibbed apron to protect her snug blue jeans.

She was attractive, not just physically—although she had glowing skin and a figure much younger women might envy—but also because of her warmth and kindness. Now he noticed that she had the same high cheekbones and gray eyes as her brother.

Earlier, she’d led him to the kitchen where a compact, ageless little woman was busy rolling and then flopping dough into eight pie plates. Her back was to Alex, and at first he saw only thick, inky black hair, braided and rolled into a knot.

“Mavis Armitage, meet Alex Ladrovik. He’s the one going to build the cabins for Theo,” Caitlin had announced. “We eat breakfast and dinner with the guests, but we usually have lunch here in the kitchen.”

When Mavis turned, Alex had tried to hide his shock at the sight of her disfigured face. He’d seen burn victims, and he guessed that was likely what had left the puckered scars and discolored flesh that marred one side of her face and extended down her neck.

“Pleased to meet you, Mavis.” Alex had smiled at the older woman and extended his hand. The defensive expression in her eyes told him she’d noticed his first involuntary reaction.

“Can’t you see I’m up to my eyeballs in pie dough here?” She turned back to her work without another word. Mavis obviously wasn’t anyone to mess with.

Those pies were baking now. Alex could smell the cinnamon and apples. His stomach grumbled and his mouth watered.

Caitlin gave her brother an exuberant hug and kissed his cheek. “Is Ivy going to stay and have supper with us?”

“Not tonight. She’ll be here in a while delivering your skiers, but she can’t make it for supper,” Tom said. “She has a date.”

“Oh, too bad for us. That young doctor?”

Tom nodded.

“Sage was looking forward to a visit with her,” Caitlin said. “Well, there’s always a next time. Now, if you men want to make yourselves comfortable in the living room, Mavis and I’ll finish up in the kitchen and then I’ll join you for a drink.”

A few moments later, Alex was admiring the massive tumble rock fireplace that dominated one wall of the large living room. Above it was an oil painting of a handsome couple. Here, too, the clothing indicated that the painting was probably turn-of-the-century.

“Relatives?” Alex gestured at the painting.

“My grandmother and grandfather,” Theo said.

“This whole place is remarkable,” Alex commented, running a hand over a rough-hewn beam. “How long have you lived here, Theo?”

“All my life. I was born here and so was my father.” Theo indicated the painting with a wave of his hand. “That’s his father, William Galloway. He built the place. Raven’s been in the Galloway family since the turn of the century.”

Alex was impressed. “How did your ancestors come to settle here?”

“We’ll have lots of time for that when we’re working on the cabins,” Theo said. “Right now, it’s time for a drink.”

“Families don’t stay put anymore,” Tom grumbled. “Everybody’s got itchy feet, coming and going all over the place. Don’t know what they’re all looking for that they can’t find at home.”

Alex wondered if that was yet another poke in his direction.

“Not me and Caity,” Theo said. “We never wanted to be anywhere but here. Still don’t.” He opened the door of a tall highboy, revealing a well-equipped bar. “Tom, I know your poison. Alex, how about you? Rye, rum, beer?”

“A beer would be great,” Alex said, and Theo handed him a bottle and a glass and then poured rye for himself and Tom.

The older men, glasses in hand, each took one of the deep armchairs that flanked the worn leather sofa. Alex sank into its soft cushions. He poured his beer and took a grateful sip, listening to the easy flow of family conversation.

“You and Ivy keeping busy, Tom?”

“Not bad at all. Way better than last year. Seems we’re getting more tourists in April than we’ve had before.”

Theo nodded. “We’re noticing the same thing. We’re fully booked for April and May, and then right through to September.” Theo turned to Alex. “Tom and his daughter run a flight service in Valdez called Up And Away. Tom has his own floatplane, the Beaver, and Ivy flies a Bell Ranger. We’ve started doing package tours for skiers—they stay here and Tom or Ivy flies them up the slopes. You a skier, Alex?”

“I’ve never tried, never wanted to. I was never much good at sports.” And the very thought of being ferried up a mountain by helicopter made him queasy. He couldn’t help but wonder what type of woman would choose to be a pilot. He boarded planes only out of dire necessity, getting miserably airsick and hating every moment his feet were off the ground. “Did your daughter learn to fly in the military, Tom?”

“Nope, I did. Vietnam.” He tapped his right thigh. “Shrapnel left me with a bum leg.” He paused as a loud whirring announced the arrival of a helicopter. “That’ll be Ivy,” he said, and Alex noted the way his voice softened and his weathered, stern features softened.

A few moments later Caitlin walked in, her arm around a tall young woman’s slender waist.

“Hey, Ivy honey, good to see you,” Theo said, getting to his feet and embracing her. “How’s my favorite niece?”

“About as fine as my favorite uncle.” She waved a hand in Tom’s direction. “Hey, Captain, long time no see.” Then she turned curiously to Alex. “Hi there,” she said with a wide, welcoming smile.

“Alex Ladrovik, my niece, Ivy Pierce,” Caitlin introduced.

“How do you do, Ivy?” Alex stood as she came toward him with her hand outstretched. They were close to the same height, which put her just over six feet.

“Pleased to meet you, Alex. Ladrovik, have I got that right?”

When he nodded, she said, “That’s an unusual name. Russian?”

“Yes, originally.” Alex had taken her strong hand in his, feeling more than a little disconcerted by the initial effect she was having on him.

Ivy would stand out in any surroundings, and not just because of her height. There was something magnetic about her. He found it difficult to look anywhere else.

“We have a lot of people of Russian heritage in Alaska. So where are you from, Alex?”

“San Diego.” She wasn’t exactly movie-star beautiful. Her father’s straight, narrow nose was perhaps a little too long on her. She had his high, elegant cheekbones, accentuating a squarish face. Her full, lush mouth was a trifle wide above a strong, no-nonsense jawline. And her hair gleamed like polished copper. Thick and curly, it was cropped shorter than his, clinging close to her elegant, narrow head. She had clear golden skin, translucent in the firelight, but her most arresting feature was her eyes. They were a peculiar shade of light green, the color of the Granny Smith apples his mother had always preferred for pies, and they were framed by long dark lashes.

“Think you’ll like it north of 60, Alex?”

He had to stop staring at her. “I’m sure I will.”

She was giving him a teasing smile, and a certain look in those unusual eyes told him she was probably accustomed to men gaping at her.

He was also still holding her hand. He dropped it abruptly.

“I hear you’re a carpenter.” She had a deep, husky voice with an intriguing catch in it. “Dad tells me you’re going to build those new cabins Uncle Theo has his heart set on.”

He dragged his eyes away from her and looked over at Theo, who seemed much more amused by Ivy’s obvious effect on him than her father, who looked decidedly grim. “I’m going to give it my best shot.”

“And we’re starting at daybreak tomorrow,” Theo said. “Gotta make hay while the sun shines.”

“Don’t let him scare you,” Ivy said to Alex. “Daybreak in April isn’t all that early up here. Certainly not like daybreak in July.”

“That would be about two or three a.m., right?”

Theo chuckled. “Earlier than that. That’s why they call this the land of the midnight sun.” Theo was pouring white wine for Caitlin, who’d sat on the sofa. He waved a stemmed glass in Ivy’s direction. “You want something to drink, honey?”

“No thanks, I’ve got to get back to Valdez. I want to say hi to Sage first, though.”

“She’ll be pleased to see you.” Caitlin lowered her voice. “And you’d better pop in to the kitchen and say hello to Mavis, you know how easy she gets her feelings hurt.”

“Far be it from me to get in her bad books,” Ivy said with a grin. “Is Sage over at the house, Auntie, or is she upstairs in the office?”

“She’s at home.”

“I’ll head over there, then. Nice meeting you, Alex.” Ivy smiled at him before stooping over to smack a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “See you soon, Auntie. Don’t get up, I’ll go say hi to Mavis and then scoot out the kitchen door.”

She started to leave and then turned back to her father. “Almost forgot. Dad, the skiers want to go up the mountain again in the morning. Will you be back in time to take those honeymooners up to the cabin on the Catella River? They’ll be at the office at eight.”

“No worries, I’ll be there. I’m heading back at daybreak,” Tom assured her. “See you in the morning, Ivy.”

She raised her hand in a small salute. When she was gone, Alex felt as if the room had deflated a little, like a balloon losing some of its air.

He made a mental note to keep his distance from Ivy Pierce.

CHAPTER FIVE

Linda, I’m sorry I lost it when you told me about the baby. I was just shit scared, is all. Responsibility’s never been my strong suit. Still isn’t, or I wouldn’t be on this cruddy freighter heading for the land of the midnight sun. I wanted you to know that now that the baby’s here, I’m glad you didn’t go to that doc the way I wanted you to.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

TEN MINUTES AFTER Ivy left, Caitlin sipped the last of her wine and got briskly to her feet. “The guests are washing up, so we’ll eat in half an hour.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to clean up a little too,” Alex said.

“Don’t bother with your tux tonight, lad.” Theo grinned at him. “We’re only semiformal around here.”

“Glad you warned me, I was thinking black tie.”

Theo laughed, but Tom didn’t. Of the people Alex had met so far in Alaska, Tom was the least friendly. He wondered if it was the man’s nature, or if Tom had taken a sudden dislike to him. Whatever it was, Alex wasn’t entirely comfortable around him.

He made his way out the door and along a winding path to his small cabin in the trees. Theo had told him he could stay out here or in the bunkhouses with the rest of the staff, and for Alex, there really was no choice.

Since his divorce, he’d come to cherish his privacy. Out here, he wouldn’t disturb anyone when he couldn’t sleep. Besides, he’d always dreamed of living in a cabin in the woods, and now he had the opportunity, at least for a while.

Not exactly roughing it, he mused as he opened the door and found the light switch. There was electricity and a small bathroom, but there was also a squat, fat woodstove in the corner. Alex had lit it earlier and stocked it with a good-sized log. He’d have to learn to regulate wood versus heat, because the air inside the cabin was now stifling. He left the door ajar and headed into the tiny bathroom to wash up.

Apart from the bathroom, the cabin had only one room, equipped with a rustic wooden table, two chairs and a set of bunks built into one wall. On the table, Alex had propped Annie’s photo against a glass jar filled with sugar.

In one corner, a counter covered in lino and shelves holding a few dishes and a coffeepot made up a primitive kitchen. Caitlin had given him warm quilts, pillows and flannel sheets to cover the bed’s blue striped mattress and thick white towels for the bathroom.

Alex showered quickly and pulled a dark sweatshirt, jeans, underwear and socks from his sports bag. He was glad he’d stopped at a Laundromat in Valdez the day before and washed his collection of dirty clothes.

As he dressed, he thought about Tom and Theo. They were both stalwart and intrinsically tough. The long, solitary drive north had demonstrated the effect environment had on people, an idea that had always intrigued him. It seemed to Alex there was a relaxed flexibility about those who lived in warmer climates. The more rugged the country became, the more it was reflected in the faces, the straightforward speech, the hardiness of its inhabitants.

Here, in the most challenging territory of all, the people he’d met were survivors, and it showed. There was an edge to them, a tough wariness. There was also an openness and sense of unity that he figured came from an awareness of the dangers of this land.

And there was often a decided risk factor in what they chose for their work—take Ivy Pierce. Being a helicopter pilot wasn’t the first career choice most attractive women made.

For some reason her image was vivid in his mind, the exact shape of her face, the strange, light eyes, the delicacy of her tall frame.

In spite of that air of delicacy, he suspected she was physically strong. Her handshake was firm, and the graceful, easy way she moved indicated that her slender body was well toned. Just like her uncle and her father, Ivy had survivor written all over her.

Survival.

He reached for a thin, plastic-wrapped bundle from the side pocket of his bag and slid out four tattered letters and a worn photograph, wallet-sized and yellowed with age.

The man and woman in the picture were obviously hippies, long-haired, both wearing flared pants, loose shirts. The man was tall and rangy, and his arm was around the woman’s shoulders. His face was shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat he wore, so Alex couldn’t make out his features. She was pregnant, round belly poking out under the gauzy top. One of her hands rested on her belly, fingers splayed. They were laughing, squinting into the sunlight, leaning back on an old Ford.

Alex touched the man’s narrow face with the tip of a finger.

You, Roy Nolan, were not a survivor. You certainly don’t look like one, either. But I don’t think you were a fool. So what brought you here? What were you looking for?

He’d read the letters many times over, but the answer was still elusive.

Whatever it was, Alex had come here to find it.

IVY KNOCKED at her cousin’s door and, without waiting for a response, opened it, hoping to find Sage alone.

“Hey, Sage? You home?”

“Up here, Ivy.” Sage’s voice floated down from the second floor. Ivy trotted up the wide staircase and reached the top just as Sage burst out of a doorway down the hall, long, dark curls bouncing as she grabbed Ivy in a hug. She was shorter than Ivy, maybe five-six, with a perfect oval face and a rounded, sexy body.

“I heard the copter earlier, I was hoping you’d come over.” She released Ivy and stepped back, holding both of her hands. “Another ten minutes and I’d have come looking for you, my friend.” Her deep-set eyes glowed with pleasure.

“I missed you. How was your trip?” Ivy noticed the dark shadows under her friend’s blue eyes, and the sadness there. “You okay, Sage?”

The nod she gave wasn’t reassuring. “The trip was the usual hoopla, meeting prospective clients, doing PR, schmoozing at dinner. Ben’s so much better at that than I am. It always feels phony to me.” Her rich contralto voice quavered a little as she added, “And now I’ve got my period. Again.”

“Damn. I’m really sorry, Sage.” Ivy knew her friend had been trying for some time to get pregnant.

“Yeah. Me, too.” She frowned. “Ben’s pushing me to go to Anchorage—there’s a new fertility clinic at the hospital there. But I keep hoping it’ll still happen the old-fashioned way.” She sounded frustrated and angry. “I keep reminding him we’ve only been married three years, but he insists I should’ve been pregnant twice by now, seeing how his first wife managed it before they were even married.” She pointed at the stairs. “C’mon, let’s go down and have a coffee, I just made a fresh pot. Ben’s still out with those Japanese fishermen, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Ivy felt relieved that they’d have time to talk privately. “One quick coffee, I can’t stay long. Dylan’s taking me out for dinner.”

“Aha. So have things heated up between you two?”

“Nope. Try the opposite, at least for me. He’s hot, I’m not. I think I’m going to tell him tonight that he’s a wonderful guy, but the chemistry just isn’t right between us.”

Sage led the way to the well-equipped kitchen and retrieved two mugs. “You sure of that? Maybe it’ll be the sort of thing that grows over time.” She poured, added a dollop of cream and handed Ivy a mug.

Ivy dropped onto a high stool by the breakfast bar. “You actually believe that’s possible? That love would grow over time?”

Sage sat as well. Her wide eyes narrowed and, after a moment, she shook her head, making her thick dark curls bounce. “Not in my experience, that’s for certain. I met Ben and within three seconds I was a goner.”

“That’s never, ever happened to me.” She thought it over and amended, “Well, sexually, maybe, but emotionally, no.”

“Not even with Noah?” Sage knew all about the Alaska State Trooper Ivy had come close to marrying some years ago.

“No. I did love Noah, but I loved flying more.” She gave Sage a wry look. “I figure my wiring’s screwed up. I fall in love with planes instead of people.”

“Talk about safe sex.” Sage giggled.

“Talk about no sex, is more like it.”

“You and Dylan haven’t—?”

Ivy shook her head. “Nada. He’s pushing, that’s why I’m opting out.”

“Maybe you should give him a shot. Sometimes guys surprise you…that way.”

“I’m sure he’s good in the sack. He’s a doctor, he’s bound to know where things are and how they work. I’m just not interested. He doesn’t turn me on.”

“Well, from what I hear, this Tahoe Glen guy would be happy to take over. He practically salivates each time he looks at you, according to Mavis.”

“God, for someone who never comes out of the kitchen, that woman picks up on everything. Nope, no Glen, either. I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m ordering a couple of new nighties and some hot underwear from Victoria’s Secret. Something to drive Ben wild during my fleeting fertile moments.”

“You don’t need nighties, Sage. You could turn guys on wearing a parka.”

“Only if there was nothing underneath.”

They laughed. Reluctantly, Ivy finished her coffee and got to her feet.

“Gotta go dump Dylan,” she groaned.

“Wait until after dinner,” Sage advised. “It’s easier to do on a full stomach, and you don’t want to get left with the bill if he walks out. But you don’t need my advice, you’re an expert at it.”

“Professional dumper. Remind me to put that on my résumé.” As she left, Ivy was pleased to see that Sage looked a little more cheerful.

IT WAS FUN TO JOKE with Sage about dumping guys, Ivy acknowledged on the flight back to Valdez. But it was beginning to concern her. She wasn’t that far off thirty. She wanted kids as much as Sage did, although without the growing desperation she sensed in her friend.

Why didn’t Ben just let up on the kid thing? He had twin daughters from a previous marriage, it wasn’t as if he had no heirs. But that was Ben, he’d get something in his head and run with it until everyone wanted to throttle him. Her charismatic cousin wasn’t easy to live with.

But she envied Sage the passionate relationship the two of them shared. What was it like to be a goner three minutes after meeting someone? For some reason Ivy thought of the man she’d met tonight, the guy with the Russian name.

Alex Ladrovik. Now wasn’t that straight out of a spy novel? But she couldn’t see him as James Bond, she decided, banking the copter for the landing at Up And Away. In spite of being a carpenter, he actually struck her more as the professor type, with his dark-rimmed glasses and that lean, intelligent face. Although he did have a kind of dark look to him, a touch mysterious. Sexy black eyes. Unruly hair, soft and golden-brown, tumbling over his forehead. Slow, deep voice, as if he thought carefully about what he was saying. And that strong jaw surely indicated a stubborn nature.

He might look like a prof, but his hands were those of a carpenter, tough and calloused, scarred and veined. No rings, she’d noticed when he hung on to her hand longer than he needed to. There’d been an awareness there, all right, certainly on his side. He’d given her the look.

And she’d found him interesting. But a goner? She blew out a long breath. No goner, Ladrovik, sorry about that.

Not by a long shot.

CHAPTER SIX

You’ll probably get a bundle of these letters all together, Linda, because I’m writing them from the boat, and there won’t be a chance to mail anything until we reach Valdez.

From letters written by Roy Nolan,

April, 1972

BY THE END OF THE FOLLOWING week, Ivy had forgotten all about Alex Ladrovik. She hadn’t quite managed to forget the devastated expression on Dylan’s face, however, when she told him it was over between them. Dumping nice guys wasn’t her idea of a good time, but fortunately she was far too busy to spend time feeling guilty.

Business had taken off and both she and Tom were flying their fool heads off, as he described it. Ivy had just landed a lucrative contract she’d wanted ever since they’d leased the Bell Ranger, patrolling the pipeline once a week, checking for leaks and damage. Leasing and operating the Ranger was expensive, especially now that gas prices had shot up, and this new contract went a long way toward solvency for Up And Away.

The tourist business was also booming. This morning, two Chinese businessmen and their wives had booked her for a full hour’s tour, and Ivy was doing her best to make it worth their while.

“There are two bears just down to your right,” she said, tilting the copter so they’d have a better view. “I’ll drop down so you can take a closer look.” Ivy spiraled until the furry animals were clearly visible to her customers. The bears were ambling along through a grassy meadow and looked like big lovable teddies.

“Look, there’s a pair of cubs,” she exclaimed. The little rascals had been hidden by a pine tree, so she hadn’t spotted them right away.

“Alaska has three species of bear: brown, black and polar,” she went on. “The ones you’re looking at are browns. They have the greatest range, so they’re the ones you’re most likely to spot.”

Ivy enjoyed playing professional guide, pointing out calving glaciers, tundra, snow-covered mountain peaks, hidden lakes and a huge herd of caribou. The weather had cooperated fully. It was a wonderful morning, clear skies, golden sunshine glinting off blue glaciers, only a light wind. Perfect flying weather.

The bears were a hit. Oohs and aahs and little screams and delighted giggles sounded over her headphones, and Ivy was smiling when the call came over the radio.

She knew by the tone of Tom’s voice that something was wrong.

Through the static, she heard him say, “Caitlin just radioed in an SOS. It sounds like Theo’s having a heart attack. They’ve taken him in to Valdez Hospital, but they don’t have the equipment he needs there so he has to go to Anchorage. The medevac from Anchorage is out on another call. We need the copter, stat. They’ll bring him by ambulance to the pad by the office.”

Adrenaline shot through Ivy’s system.

“I’ll be right there, ETA seven minutes.”

Thank God she wasn’t at the farthest point in the tour.

“There’s a family emergency, we’re heading back to Valdez,” she told her guests. “I’ll make it up to you later. Just talk to Kisha back at the office and she’ll book another half hour for you, free of charge.”

Six long minutes later, she hastily dumped her passengers at Up And Away. A few moments later the ambulance drove up. Medical staff hurried toward the copter, pushing her Uncle Theo on a wheeled stretcher. His face was obscured by a portable oxygen mask. With only a minimal amount of confusion, they loaded him into the back of the copter.

One of the medics climbed in beside him, and Caitlin took the seat beside Ivy. One glance at her aunt’s ashen, terror-stricken face was enough to tear at Ivy’s heart. She caught the wordless plea in her aunt’s eyes and leaned over and kissed her.

“It’s gonna be fine, Auntie Cait. We’ll be at the hospital in minutes.”

She ran through her takeoff routine, and then they were airborne.

Anchorage Regional Hospital was the only medical facility in the area with a landing pad for helicopters. The Valdez Hospital had radioed ahead and, as Ivy settled the Bell Ranger on the pad, emergency staff were waiting. They raced over, and within moments Theo was being whisked away, Caitlin running alongside holding his hand, the medic from Valdez bringing up the rear.

Ivy watched as they all disappeared through the wide doors. “Please,” she murmured. “Please, God, help him. Please let him be okay.” She realized she was trembling, and that tears were trickling down her cheeks. Finding a tissue, she blotted her eyes and blew her nose.

“Gotta get out of here,” she said to nobody. Much as she longed to be with Caitlin, the medevac could be arriving at any moment and she was blocking the landing pad. Ivy debated flying out to the airport and putting the Ranger in a hangar so she could stick around, but it only took a few moments’ consideration to convince her that wasn’t a good idea.

There was little Ivy could do here in Anchorage, apart from giving her aunt moral support. It would be more productive to help out at the lodge. With both Caitlin and Theo absent, the full responsibility of running the place would fall on Sage and Ben. They’d need all the help available.

There were also commitments at Up And Away that couldn’t be cancelled on such short notice. Guests at the lodge had booked the copter for an eagle-sighting tour that afternoon. It wasn’t fair to disappoint them.

Tom was flying much-needed supplies in to remote settlements the way he did every week, and he wouldn’t be able to delay his trip, either. It made better sense all round for Ivy to go straight back to Valdez.

Anchorage had wilderness at its very doorstep, and usually Ivy drank in the aerial view of mountain ranges and miles of virgin forest. But today, for the first time ever, the raw beauty of the Alaskan landscape didn’t comfort her or bring her joy. She flew over it without really seeing it.

Theo and Caitlin were the very heartbeat of Raven Lodge, making the thousand and one things they did each day look easy. Ivy and Tom would pitch in, but Sage and Ben would have to take on most of the load.

Ben’s twin, Logan, would undoubtedly fly in from Seattle as soon as he heard. Logan was a lawyer, and he hadn’t really worked at the lodge for years, so he wouldn’t know much about the routine.

There were competent guides for the fishing expeditions, but someone needed to be in charge. Ivy knew the lodge was almost fully booked. That meant eight or ten extra bodies to feed and entertain, as well as rooms to clean and laundry to do.

The bookings could be canceled, but… Her aunt would only agree in the most extreme circumstances—if—if—Ivy swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

She couldn’t think about that, so instead she concentrated on practical matters, like meals. Caitlin and Mavis did all the cooking. They had help in the summer, but right now they were on their own.

Mavis had lived at the lodge for the past fifteen years. She was eccentric, but she was an amazing cook. Because of her scarred face, however, she wouldn’t serve or socialize at all with guests. Caitlin did all that. Sage could probably take over, but then there’d be no one to do the bookings and juggling of schedules.

As well as taking guests out on fishing trips, Theo kept track of their complex schedules, figuring out who was going where and when they were due back or needed to be picked up. Ben would have to take that over, or maybe it was something Logan could do.

Alex was still there, of course. Theo had planned to supervise the building of the cabins and also work along with the carpenter on their construction. Would Alex stick around?

Not likely, Ivy surmised with a sigh. After all, he was a stranger, with no investment whatsoever in the lodge. And he could easily find another carpentry job in Valdez; there was a high turnover at the hotel’s construction site.

Ivy remembered to radio Tom, letting him know she was on her way back, adding that she had no idea of Theo’s condition. Caitlin had promised to phone the moment there was any news, and of course Tom and Ivy could be at the hospital in about an hour with either the floatplane or the copter.

As she neared Valdez, Ivy made a decision. The only thing for her to do was to pack a bag and move out to the lodge. She hated to leave the snug little house she rented in Valdez, but there was nothing else for it. Thanks to the copter pad, she could be in Valdez in a matter of minutes to take out charter flights.

She was on the ground when she realized that the one person she hadn’t even thought about in all this was Frances. Had Tom thought to call her? Probably not.

Sure, Frances kept up a facade of friendliness with Caitlin and Theo, but Ivy knew that’s all it was. A facade. Her mother never visited the lodge, even though her aunt and uncle often dropped in to see Frances and Tom when they were in Valdez.

There was no point in expecting Frances to help now, Ivy thought bitterly. It made her furious to have to admit all over again that Frances was in this family, but not of it.

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Ivy was tossing pants and sweaters into a duffel bag in her bedroom when Tom phoned.

“Caitlin just called,” he said.

“And?” Ivy’s throat went dry.

“The doctors say—hold on a minute, I wrote it all down.”

There was a pause, a rustle of paper, and then Tom recited, “Theo suffered a severe myocardial infarction. He isn’t out of danger yet. There’s been significant damage to his heart muscle, and he’s going to need rest and rehabilitation. No one will say how long he might be in hospital.” There was a pause and then Tom said, “Not very good news, huh?”

“No, not good.” Ivy swallowed hard and stuffed underwear into a plastic bag so she’d be able to locate it easily. “But at least he’s getting the best of care, Dad. Was Aunt Cait worried about the guests at the lodge?”

“Yeah, she was. I told her you were heading out, and she was really grateful. Said to tell you it’s a big relief to her, knowing you’ll be there. She says Mavis isn’t too good at planning menus, that maybe you could do that?”

Ivy’s heart sank. She had no idea how to even go about it. How did you judge quantity? “I’ll do my best,” she said in a confident tone.

“Good girl.”

Ivy’s eyes filled with tears. It was what he’d always said when she was little. Theo’s heart attack was making her aware that Tom was getting older, too.

They talked for a few moments about schedules at Up And Away, and then Tom hung up. Ivy finished packing, emptied the fridge of milk and yogurt, and was adjusting the furnace thermostat when the phone rang again.

When she answered, Frances said, “Ivy, it’s me. Tom told me what’s happened. He said Caitlin’s concerned about the menus. If you want to do them, that’s absolutely fine, but if you don’t have time, I’d enjoy working them out. I could put them on the computer at school each day and then e-mail them to Sage. It would be best not to tell Mavis I’m doing them, though. I suspect she’s rather territorial when it comes to the kitchen. What do you think?”

It was a huge relief. “Great idea, Mom.”

“That’s settled, then. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

She’d misjudged her mother, Ivy realized when the call ended. But all she had to go on was the past. And Frances didn’t really have much of a track record there, did she?

Ivy soon learned Frances was right about Mavis. The eccentric little woman was not a happy camper with Caitlin absent. She resented any change in her routine. She was much more cantankerous and stubborn than Ivy had suspected she’d be, and she made it plain she wasn’t happy about taking direction from either Sage or Ivy. She argued with them over everything and bossed them mercilessly.

By the third evening, Ivy had learned the hard way what a mad scramble it was to feed eight guests and a varying number of employees three times a day. Neighbors had learned of Theo’s illness and were beginning to send food. Ivy and Sage welcomed all donations with grateful hearts and profuse thanks. Mavis, on the other hand, resented the offerings. “They figure I can’t manage on my own?” she snorted each time a casserole or some baking appeared. “They figure I’m over the hill?”

Ivy tried to calm her down by saying—truthfully—that she couldn’t imagine how Caitlin and Mavis did it, week in and week out, all during the season. And the dishes. There was a dishwasher, but it ran off the generator, and if guests were showering it took forever to put a load through.

“You young folks can do the hand washing,” Mavis proclaimed the very first night, as if she was granting a gift, and as soon as dinner was served, she disappeared up the back stairs to her room. Ivy figured the older woman was probably exhausted and too proud to admit it. Lord knows she was exhausted, and she was only half Mavis’s age.

Tonight, Sage was busy changing linens in the guest bedrooms for a new group arriving in the morning, so Ivy was on her own with a mountain of pots and pans. She was grateful when Alex appeared beside her. He gently shoved her aside and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“You dry. My hands could use a good soak in hot water,” he said, handing her a tea towel. “I got grease on them from that motor Oliver and I were trying to repair.”

“Did you get it fixed?” During the past several days, Ivy’d been impressed by Alex. Instead of heading back to Valdez as she’d expected, he’d stayed on, quietly and efficiently taking on whatever needed doing, from working in the kitchen to waiting tables to helping clean the boats and outfit them for the next day’s excursion. He was cheerful, and he seemed to have a sixth sense as to where he was needed.

“Oliver thinks we did. I’m not so confident. Motors aren’t my area of expertise.” He carefully washed a pot, handed it to Ivy to dry and reached for another, his motions efficient and methodical. They worked in silence for a few moments.

Ivy studied his hands. He had long fingers, calloused. And yet somehow his hands seemed refined, a workman’s hands but with class. That’s what this guy was, she decided, drying another casserole dish. Alex was classy blue collar.

His voice snapped her out of her reverie. “That chicken stuff was fantastic, but this pan it baked in doesn’t want to come clean.” He reached for a plastic scrubber and rubbed hard.

“A friend of Caitlin’s, Mary Louise Bell, sent that over,” Ivy said. “She runs Bell House, a B&B a few miles out of Valdez.”

“Nice folks, bringing food. It’s a lot different here than it is in the city,” he remarked. “Two guys came by today in a boat, offered to help me dig the foundation for the cabins.”

Ivy nodded. “Alaskans are like that, really neighborly.”

“I’ve noticed.” Alex rinsed the pan and handed it to her. “I have a theory that it’s the climate. You know, man against nature.”

He was studying her face as if he intended to memorize every feature. Ivy rubbed at a damp spot on the casserole dish and tried to ignore his gaze.

“That and the fact that there aren’t many people in the state. 640,000, latest census.” How could you feel sexy about a man up to his elbows in soapsuds? But she did. “Even though where area is concerned,” she babbled, “we’re one fifth the size of the entire U.S.A.”

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