Breaking the Ice

by Kim Baldwin

  She grabbed a cup of coffee and headed over to the Bettles Air gate to see who was working tonight. The small firm handled ticketing and check-in for Arctic Independent Outfitters in addition to their own clients. Sue Spires was manning the counter.

  Though Bryson didn’t have the energy or time to hook up with the curvaceous blonde this evening, she did have a few minutes to set up a date in the not-too-distant future. If only the customer Sue was waiting on would finish her business and give her the opportunity.

  She stood to the side at a distance and studied them. The last flight to Bettles had left twenty minutes earlier, and evidently the customer was supposed to have been on it. She was alone, and her frustration was evident. She frowned and fidgeted, gesturing frequently with her hands. She was obviously anxious to leave and determined to find a way out before the next scheduled flight. She glanced up frequently at the departures board, as though she hoped another alternative would magically appear there.

  Bryson couldn’t recall ever seeing the woman before in Bettles, and she’d have noticed her. With her shapely but slender body, she was close to Bryson’s age, perhaps a few years younger. And a couple of inches shorter, probably five-four or five-five. Her light brown hair with blond highlights featured soft waves that ended at her shoulders. It framed an oval face with flawless skin and delicate features: high cheekbones and a small, slightly upturned nose. But her beautiful hazel eyes looked haunted, and her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath them.

  Sue was being her usual patient self, listening intently and smiling in empathy as she typed away at her computer. It was a common scene these days, but this time the customer apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when Sue stopped typing, shrugged, and shook her head helplessly.

  It was a shame, she thought, that so many beautiful women were so completely self-absorbed they acted like the world revolved around them. What could possibly be so important in Bettles that a few hours made that much difference?

  But the woman continued to harass Sue, leaning over the counter on her elbows as she talked to crane at the computer screen, as though she wanted to see for herself if there was any way possible for her to get to Bettles tonight.

  Come on, already. Let’s go. Move on. Give it up. Bryson chanted the words to herself over and over like a mantra, hoping to somehow psychically implant the suggestion in the cute but irritatingly persistent customer who was monopolizing Sue’s attention. If Bryson lingered much longer, she would miss her takeoff slot. She stepped a little closer, near enough to overhear snatches of their conversation.

  “Check again. There just has to be another way there. Something you haven’t thought of.” The woman sounded frantic. “You can’t have checked every single small carrier.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Edwards.” Sue was trying her best to remain congenial, but Bryson could hear the irritation in her clipped tone. “As I’ve said, the flight you missed is the only evening one out. The very earliest you can leave is on Wright Air’s ten a.m. departure. I show one open seat on that flight.”

  “What about a charter?” the woman asked. “How much are those? I saw all sorts of brochures for them near the restrooms.”

  “A last-minute solo charter at night would be quite expensive,” Sue replied. “Probably in the neighborhood of nine hundred dollars or more to Bettles, I would expect.”

  Considering that was roughly five times what the woman had probably paid for her original ticket, Bryson wasn’t too surprised to see shock and dismay cross her face. “Nine hundred dollars? That’s outrageous. Who would pay that for a two-hour flight?”

  When Sue didn’t answer, it seemed for an instant that it was finally sinking in that the woman wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Her shoulders hunched in disappointment, and she seemed almost ready to cry. But the change was short-lived. She took off her new-looking coat and hat and laid them on the counter, preparing for a long entrenchment. It was clear she didn’t plan to leave until she got what she’d come for.

  “Try again,” she commanded. “Make some calls, don’t just rely on the computer. Maybe if you actually talk to somebody at these other carriers, you can find somebody willing to get me there tonight.”

  Bryson glanced at her watch. Her slot was in fifteen minutes. She couldn’t hang around much longer. Ordinarily, she’d never think of interrupting Sue when she was with a customer. But what she had to say would only take a minute—Are you free tomorrow night? And it looked liked Sue could use some rescuing. Maybe a brief interruption would push the dogged customer on her merry way.

  She stepped out from behind the column where she’d been watching them and moved into Sue’s line of sight. The gate attendant’s face lit up when their eyes met.

  “Bryson! Hi.” She waved Bryson forward as the customer turned to look, scowling at the intrusion. “How’re you doing? I was—”

  “Excuse me,” the stranger interrupted angrily. “I was here first, and you’re not done helping me.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Sue replied through gritted teeth. Her eyes beseeched Bryson for help. “Please tell me you’re heading back home tonight and that you’ve got room for a passenger.”

  A flicker of hope registered in the stranger’s eyes. This close to her, Bryson could see tiny specks of gold in the hazel. The scowl on her face faded. “Wonderful!” she said, as though the decision was a fait accompli.

  Crap. This wasn’t in her game plan at all. No way was she taking Miss Gripe-a-lot in her plane. “Sorry, no can do. Full up.”

  “You have to. I’m desperate! I have to get to Bettles tonight.” The woman took a step forward and grabbed Bryson’s leather coat at the elbow. “Let me talk to your passengers. Maybe I can get someone to swap with me, take the morning flight.”

  Bryson shook her head. “Not possible. There’s no way—”

  “How do you know if you don’t let me try?” The woman’s demeanor changed again. In a flash she’d gone from angry, to hopeful, to frantic, and now angry was back for a return engagement. “Just give me five minutes with them. What the hell harm can it do?”

  Bryson extricated her elbow from the woman’s manic grip. “You don’t understand. I’m flying supplies, not passengers, and I have a very full plane. I mean packed-tight full. And I have to be leaving, or I’ll miss my takeoff slot.” She started to wave good-bye to Sue, but the stranger grabbed at her elbow again.

  “Supplies?” she said incredulously. “Well, surely there’s no problem leaving a few things behind for the time being so I can go? I’ll pay extra for your inconvenience.”

  The nerve of this woman. To presume that she couldn’t be carrying anything more important than this impatient princess with a big wallet. Okay, so her baggage was mostly stuff like wart remover and toys, not critical medical life-support equipment. But the princess here didn’t know that. And the intended recipients certainly considered her cargo precious freight. Hell, they were all probably at this very moment celebrating its imminent arrival. “Like I said, I’m sorry. But no can do.”

  “It’s not that you can’t.” The woman let her go and slumped against Sue’s desk with a resigned look of disgust on her face. “It’s that you won’t. Don’t you have an ounce of humanity in you? Where’s this infamous Alaskan hospitality I’ve read so much about?”

  Bryson bit her lip, determined to remain polite and professional, since this woman was a client of Sue’s. “I’ve got a lot of people—friends, mostly—looking forward to what’s in my plane. Half the town will be waiting for me to land, and I don’t want to disappoint them. The weather might keep me from getting back here any time soon to pick up what I’d have to leave behind.” She was about to add a final, firm NO when Sue came around from behind her counter and hustled Bryson off to one side.

  “Bryson, please,” she begged in a whisper. “She won’t let up. You don’t want me stuck here all night, do you? Do me this favor, and I promise I’ll make it up to
you.”

  “I’d hardly take up any room,” the stranger said. “And this is all the luggage I have.” She gestured toward the REI duffel bag at her feet. The bag was brand-new, Bryson noted, just like the woman’s clothing. Her boots hadn’t been out of their box long, and the down jacket draped over the counter was so pristine and shiny she half expected to find the price tag still attached. Obviously this woman came from a much warmer climate, but at least she had the common sense to dress appropriately for where she was going.

  And the mysterious Miss Edwards got a few more points for not being the type of woman who traveled with a half-dozen pieces of enormous, hard-backed luggage. Clients hated being told they’d have to leave most of their belongings behind because they wouldn’t fit in the Cub. She half turned to Sue. “You owe me so big-time for this,” she said in a low voice.

  “I look forward to you collecting.” Sue gave her a quick wink of promise. “You’re the best, Bryson. Thanks.”

  “I’m just too tired to argue any more.” Forcing herself to smile, Bryson turned toward the stranger. “Okay. If you’re coming, grab your bag and follow me.” She headed toward the access door nearest the hangar with the client on her heels.

  “We haven’t discussed payment.” Miss Edwards dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the boarding pass for the flight she’d missed. The name printed along the top was “Karla” Edwards. “I didn’t get a chance to get a refund on this.”

  “You can do that in the morning in Bettles.” Bryson pushed the door open and they stepped out into the night. The temperature was around twenty-five, she guessed.

  The sound of a duffel bag hitting the pavement made her pause and look around. Her client scrambled to get her down jacket on, then a pair of enormous ski gloves, and finally, a fleece-lined bomber’s hat two sizes too large.

  Bryson bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “So how much are you charging me?” Karla Edwards asked suspiciously as they resumed their trek to the hangar.

  “I’m okay with whatever you get for your ticket. I won’t charge you extra because you’ll be cramped all the way. I want to take out as little cargo as possible.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” the woman said. “The gate attendant told me you guys usually charge an arm and a leg for a night charter flight.”

  The accusatory tone made Bryson bristle. Quit while you’re ahead, honey. We’re not off the ground yet. I can still change my mind. “Some pilots charge a higher rate at night, yes,” she admitted. “It’s more dangerous to fly then, especially some routes. And they want an extra incentive to work overtime, when they’d rather be at home with their families. That so wrong?”

  “No. I guess not. Why aren’t you charging me more, then? You certainly could, you’ve got me over a barrel.”

  “This wasn’t my idea,” Bryson reminded her.

  “Oh, right.” The woman went silent as they crossed the tarmac to the hangar. “You look awful young to be a pilot,” she said as they reached it. “You are qualified to carry passengers, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve had my license twenty-three years.” She rolled the door open and flipped on the lights. “Been flying in Alaska all that time, in every kind of weather you can imagine.” The words didn’t convey the reassurance they normally did, because her client’s response was not what she expected.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Bryson whirled to face her. Miss Karla Edwards was staring in horror at the Cub.

  “We’re going up in that little thing?”

  Chapter Five

  “That looks like a stiff breeze would blow it right out of the sky.” Karla had certainly seen such tiny planes before, though never up close. Only in films: chasing after Cary Grant in North by Northwest, crashing in The Edge, Six Days Seven Nights, and Hey, I’m Alive! Falling into the ocean in dozens of old war movies. TV news broadcasts always seemed to show them in pieces, after slamming into homes or plowing into fields. They seemed to be such fragile things.

  Lots of celebrities had died in them. Buddy Holly. John Denver. Patsy Cline. JFK Jr. She had an aptitude for such trivia. It came in handy at bar contests and radio call-in shows, but she wished to God she could purge it from her mind right now.

  “I’m well qualified,” her pilot reiterated with confidence. “And this is an exceptional plane for bush flying. Super Cubs are very maneuverable, and I can land most anywhere.”

  “What have I gotten myself into?” Karla spoke aloud, though she didn’t mean to. Her feet refused to move any nearer to the plane.

  “Hey, no skin off my back if you don’t want to go. You can always wait for the Wright Air flight tomorrow,” the pilot said. “It’s a nine-seater.”

  Peachy. So it was a few feet longer. It would still be a wretchedly tiny thing compared to any plane she’d ever flown in. Better to get this over and done with as fast as possible. “No, I’ll go with you.”

  “Suit yourself.” The pilot glanced at her watch, then opened the passenger door of the plane and the cargo hatch behind it. “Gotta hustle to make my takeoff slot. Could use your help.”

  “All right.” She forced herself forward and set her duffel bag near the pilot’s feet. The moment she’d decided to go, her heart began to beat furiously and she felt a bit woozy. She took a few deep breaths to try to calm her nerves.

  The pilot handed her a set of keys and gestured toward a beat-up van parked in the hangar. “Unlock the rear door, would ya? Then you can take whatever’s on your seat there and move it over, while I make room back here for your bag. Take out only what you need to get seated.”

  “Okay.” The plane looked even smaller from the inside, especially since it was absolutely jammed from floor to roof with boxes and bags. Three large bags were seat-belted to the passenger seat. As she carried them to the van, she glanced inside one. Orange juice. Cereal. Oreos. In another, bras and a large down pillow. Vital supplies indeed, she thought. Millions would suffer a terrible fate if this shipment didn’t get to Bettles tonight. She gazed surreptitiously at the dark-haired woman she was about to entrust her life to. You just didn’t want to take me. You couldn’t be bothered. What an ass. Pity, too, because the woman was attractive. She had on a thick leather coat, so it was hard to gauge the physique of her upper body, but her jeans were molded tight to her legs. Her thighs and calves were smooth and firm, and when she leaned into the cargo area to stow her bag, Karla noticed her well-toned ass. It was hard to determine the woman’s age, but she’d have guessed thirty or so at most, which was impossible if she’d had her license for twenty-three years.

  She sure didn’t look much older than thirty, though—no trace of crow’s feet around her dark brown eyes, no lines around the full, lush lips. Her jawline was rounded, but firm. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and with the ball cap she wore, emblazoned with the slogan I Can Take You There, she wouldn’t have looked out of place on a college softball team. She seemed youthful and exuberant, but something about the way the pilot carried herself, a look in her eyes, made her seem mature. She might not be the nicest person on the planet, but she conveyed a self-confidence that helped alleviate the unease in Karla’s stomach.

  She walked back to the plane to transfer two boxes that were taking up the floor space in front of the passenger seat. One was marked Sorel Mounty II Boots, Men’s, size 12. The other contained drugstore supplies: hemorrhoid cream, wart remover, antifungal cream, hair dye to remove the gray, laxatives. Charming friends you have. She glanced over at the pilot. Big-footed friends, with hemorrhoids, athlete’s foot, and constipation. And let’s not forget the warts. She couldn’t help giggling at the visual. A little more of her anxiety faded.

  The pilot paused and turned to her, confusion in her tone. “Did I miss something?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “No. I just had a funny thought.”

  This was the first time she’d laughed in weeks. And just as quickly as the brief euphoria came, it evaporat
ed, pushed aside by grief and uncertainty. This emotional roller coaster was exhausting, but she had no control whatsoever of her feelings from one minute to the next.

  What the hell was she doing? Flying halfway around the world to surprise Maggie wasn’t like her at all. Her impetuous decision to fly to Alaska hadn’t stemmed her feelings of isolation. If anything, it had amplified them, for she’d left all that was familiar—friends, home, job.

  Yet again, Karla considered the irrationality of this trip. From the moment she opened the letter, the idea of chasing down her secret sibling had possessed her. She felt almost out of control, and now that she was here she understood her urge more clearly. In a mere matter of days, all that was truly important to her had been stripped away—her sense of family and belonging, her happiness, her plans for the future. She was hollow, with nothing left to lose. Her vision swam, and she gripped the edge of the door.

  “You all right?” The voice came from beside her as a steadying hand grasped her elbow.

  “I’m fine.” She shook off the hand. She’d had it with people wanting to help. This was something she had to get through on her own. “Just more tired than I realized.”

  “Whatever you say.” The pilot sounded a little hurt as she buckled Karla firmly into her seat. “You can sleep on the way if you like.”

  Fat chance. Tired or not, once she was in the plane, staring past the pilot’s seat at the controls, the full force of the risk she was taking on a mere chance her sister might welcome her squeezed the breath out of her. As the pilot slowly circled the exterior of the plane, inspecting the wings, the cowling, the tires, and the fuselage, Karla fought the urge to bolt.

  The pilot towed the plane outside and locked up the hangar door. Then she climbed into the seat in front and half turned to Karla. “I’m required to do the in-the-event-of-emergency spiel that most people have memorized,” she said. “But it is a little different, being it’s just you and me in here, and Alaska is a more unforgiving environment than most.” Her tone implied that the speech was only a formality, but Karla hung on every word.