by Janet Dailey
Her wedding outfit was a white tailored suit with a ruffled silk blouse of the palest blue and shoes to match. A white pillbox hat with a half veil was her mother's—"something borrowed.” Shannon's father had given her an antique brooch that had belonged to his mother, which was to be her “something old."
As she smoothed the lapel of the white jacket, Shannon wondered if there would be a wedding on Saturday. So far she was a bride without a groom. She jumped at the sound of the telephone ringing, her heart catapulting into her throat. Was it Rick?
She nearly tripped over an empty suitcase in her haste to reach the orange telephone on the bedside table. “Hello?” Her voice was eager and expectant, anticipating Rick on the other end.
“Hi, Texas,” a husky male voice responded, but it wasn't Rick. “Have you had dinner yet?"
Pausing, she tried to contain her disappointment, but some of it slipped through. “Hello, Cody. No, I haven't. I've been unpacking and....” Suddenly she remembered why he was calling. “Have you found out anything about Rick?"
“Not exactly,” he replied.
Which was a definite no. “What did you find out?"
“Mostly I found out where he isn't. I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he said.
“All right. I ....” Shannon stopped as she realized she had just accepted his invitation. She hardly knew the man.
“I'll meet you at the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel in ... twenty minutes."
There was a click on the line as the connection was broken, before she could decide whether she should meet him or not. She chewed at her lower lip, considering the alternatives. Since he had suggested dining at the hotel, where she would have eaten anyway, it didn't seem to make much difference. It was simply a matter of having company or eating alone. Shannon decided that she preferred company.
Twenty minutes didn't give her much time. Rather than completely changing clothes, she took off her cable-knit pullover to wear just the lavender blouse with the plaid skirt. She slipped off her boots in favor of high-heeled sandals. The addition of an amethyst pendant and drop earrings completed the change as she swept her hair behind her ears, securing it in place with combs.
When she stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the restaurant on the top floor, Shannon had five minutes to spare. The top floor of the hotel contained a restaurant and lounge. Its glassed walls provided a view of downtown Anchorage and the harbor of Cook Inlet. Leaving the elevator, Shannon paused at the entrance to the restaurant and lounge to look around for Cody.
He was sitting at the bar. When he saw her, he crushed out the cigarette he was smoking and rose to join her at the archway. She noticed he'd changed clothes since she'd last seen him that afternoon. In place of the sweater and slacks he was wearing a navy tweed sports jacket and navy slacks, but no tie. His white dress shirt was open at the throat, exposing the tanned hollow at its base. The lazy charm of his half smile and the admiring light in his blue eyes reached out to draw her into the spell of his vital, sensual presence. Secure in the knowledge of her love for Rick, Shannon didn't feel threatened by it.
“I like it when dinner companions arrive on time,” Cody stated with half-mocking approval. “Cooling my heels on an empty stomach isn't a pleasant way to pass the time. Are you hungry?"
“I honestly haven't thought about it,” she admitted. “Too many other things on my mind, I guess.” Namely, locating Rick.
“When did you eat last?” he prodded her memory.
“This morning on the plane."
“Take my word for it, you're hungry,” he stated, and turned to face the hostess as she approached them.
“Two for dinner?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Cody affirmed. “We'd like a table by the window, please."
“One moment, please.” The woman paused to check the seating-and-reservation chart before showing them to a table.
A gruffly accusing voice came from behind them. “There you are, Cody. I've been looking all over for you.” They both turned simultaneously to be confronted by Cody's father. “I recognized your car in the lot across the street and wondered what it was doing there."
“Now you know.” There was an underlying hardness to Cody's reply that politely and respectfully suggested his father should get lost.
But the older man stubbornly ignored the broad hint. “I thought I'd check to see what you wanted for dinner tonight before I stopped at the market.” Then he shifted his attention to Shannon. “Have you found your fiancé yet?"
“Not yet.” She shook her head briefly as a twinge of uncertainty quivered through her at Rick's seeming disappearance.
An arm curved itself along the back of her waist, asserting possession. There was a measure of reassurance in the firm warmth of its pressure. Shannon lifted her gaze to Cody's profile, more smoothly chiseled than his father's craggy features.
“Miss Hayes and I are having dinner tonight, so you can fix what you like,” Cody informed him.
“If that's the case, I'd better join the two of you,” his father declared. Shannon felt Cody stiffen in resistance, the line of his jaw hardening.
“Dad—” He attempted a protest but wasn't permitted to finish it.
“People might get the wrong impression if they find out you're having dinner with Miss Hayes when she's engaged to somebody else,” his father explained his reasoning. “I don't want them to think you are trying to steal her away from her fiancé."
Cody's chest rose in a deep breath, which he expelled as a sigh. His glance sliced to the hostess. “Change that to a table for three,” he requested grimly.
Concealing a smile, Shannon followed the hostess to a table set for four by the window. She was beginning to get the feeling that Cody's father didn't exactly trust his son to behave “properly” with her. He was appointing himself as chaperon to make certain Cody did. It was both touching and amusing to have her reputation so staunchly protected. Shannon wasn't sure whether the elder Steele believed females were too weak to know their own minds or whether he believed Cody was irresistible.
After Cody had seated her in the chair closest to the window, he took the one beside her, facing his father across the table. She pretended not to notice the exchange of warring glances as she studied the view out the window. Clouds continued to blanket the sky, but it had stopped raining, the visibility improving.
“The ceiling has lifted some,” Cody remarked, using the aeronautical term to refer to the higher cloud cover. “You can see a bit farther than you could earlier today."
“That bay is Cook Inlet, isn't it?” Shannon guessed.
“That's right,” Mr. Steele answered. “Sometimes there's as much as a twenty-nine-foot difference in the tides."
Shannon looked suitably impressed, then let her gaze swing to the range of mountains rising inland to wall in the city. The gathering shadows of twilight made them indistinct. Streetlights were blinking on in anticipation of the coming nightfall.
“On a clear day you can see the twin peaks of Mount McKinley, roughly a hundred and fifty miles north,” Cody told her. “It's the highest mountain on the continent. At twenty-thousand-plus feet, it's the third highest in the world. Aconcagua in Argentina is the second highest, and there's a hill called Everest over in the Himalayas that claims to be the highest."
Catching the mocking emphasis on the word, she glanced at the man seated next to her. The gleam of dancing amusement sharpened the blue of his eyes, his rough-cut features lazy with humor. It was impossible not to be drawn into his light mood.
“It only claims to be?” Amused, she questioned his choice of words, the sparkle of laughter in her brown eyes.
“It cheats,” Cody replied, the corners of his mouth deepening without an actual smile showing.
Shannon laughed in her throat. “How does it do that?"
“Very easily. It rises from a plateau that's already at fourteen thousand feet, which gives it quite a head start. The land at the base of McKi
nley has an elevation of some three thousand feet and the mountain rises seventeen thousand feet from there. Now, if we just discount the fact that Mount Aconcagua exists, then Alaska rightfully has the highest mountain in the world,” he concluded.
Shannon laughed. “But you're not bragging,” she countered with a mocking twinkle lighting her eyes.
“Texas, we don't brag,” Cody chided, a smile slowly widening his mouth, warmly mocking and captivating in its effect.
With difficulty Shannon broke contact with his gaze when the waitress stopped at their table. “Would any of you care for cocktails before dinner?” she inquired.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” Shannon refused, and opened the menu lying in front of her.
Neither Cody nor his father ordered a drink, either. The waitress left to give them a few minutes to peruse the menu and returned later to take their order. On Cody's recommendation, Shannon chose the broiled salmon steak with cream-of-celery soup as a starter. Both men opted for steak and salad.
As she passed the menu back to the waitress, Shannon was aware that Cody had casually stretched his right arm across the top of her chair back. There wasn't any actual physical contact, but his father eyed the move with obvious disapproval.
“That is a beautiful engagement ring, Miss Hayes.” He reached across the table and lifted her left hand as if to make a closer inspection of the ring, slicing a sharp look at Cody, who had leaned back in his chair and was idly rubbing a forefinger across his mouth. “Did you notice it, Cody?” he asked pointedly.
“Yes, dad. As a matter of fact, I did,” Cody admitted with a mildly sardonic smile.
“Yes, sir, it's a beautiful ring,” his father repeated as he released her hand.
Shannon was vaguely amused at the way his father was so determined to impress on Cody that she wasn't available. “Thank you, Mr. Steele,” she responded to the compliment.
“Call me Noah. Everyone does,” he insisted. “When's the wedding?"
“Saturday. At least, that's what we had planned.” She quickly qualified her initial answer. Concern for Rick sobered her expression as her questioning glance swung to Cody. “What did you find out today? About Rick?"
He stopped rubbing his bent forefinger across his mouth and lowered his arm to the table, absently straightening the silverware. “I found out where he isn't."
“Where is that?” she asked.
“He isn't a patient at any of the local hospitals—or in jail.” His emotionless tone caused Shannon to stiffen in recognition of a possibility she had been afraid to consider. His side-glance caught her movement, and he went on to explain, “There was a chance that he could have become ill or been in an accident, but no one by that name, nor anyone fitting his description, has been admitted to the hospital in the past three weeks. The police have no record on him, either."
“I should be relieved to know he isn't sick or injured,” she murmured with a troubled sigh. “But it's all the more confusing. A person just can't disappear ... without a trace."
“At least you can rest easy that he's safe and unharmed.” Noah Steele insisted that she should be comforted by the knowledge.
“Don't misunderstand. I'm glad Rick is all right. It's just that I'm no closer to finding him than I was before.” Her voice was weighted with the frustration and confusion she felt.
“You haven't had much time to look, either,” Cody reminded her calmly. “You only arrived in Anchorage this afternoon."
“It seems much longer.” She grimaced wryly.
“You must be exhausted after all that traveling,” Noah Steele declared in sympathy. “You need a good night's rest, so don't let Cody keep you up till all hours talking. Once you've had dinner, you should go straight to your room."
“I have no intention of keeping Miss Hayes up late tonight.” Even when he was irritated with his father, there was a strong thread of respect and affection in Cody's voice, Shannon noticed.
“I should hope not,” his father returned. “You belong in bed yourself.” Then he explained to Shannon, “Cody just got back this afternoon from flying some freight to Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians, which is quite a trek. In his line of work he has to be alert and on his toes at all times, which means he needs plenty of rest."
She recalled how tired he had seemed at the Steele Air office, although it was difficult to detect any weariness in him now. There was a resiliency about his strength, a whipcord durability that encouraged others to depend on him—the way she was doing.
“Your concern is touching, dad,” Cody murmured dryly, and paused as the waitress arrived with their first course. When it was served he removed his arm from her chair back, letting his glance touch her with its light intensity. “It's amazing how food and sleep can improve a person's outlook. The situation won't seem quite as bleak to you in the morning."
“Probably not,” she agreed as she thoughtfully stirred her soup. “I have one definite clue. Rick has a job, otherwise he wouldn't have sent me that plane ticket. Tomorrow I'll start calling all the flying companies until I find the one where he's employed.” She paused, a tiny frown of confusion making faint lines on her forehead. “Why did Rick have such a hard time finding a job when he's so well qualified?”
“His lack of experience,” Cody replied.
His father elaborated. “Conditions here aren't the same as he's used to on the outside. Anchorage, Fairbanks, Juneau, they all have fully equipped, modern airports, as good as any you'll find in the smaller states. But once you're out in the bush, your airstrip might turn out to be a sandbar along some river. And no radar or sophisticated navigational gear is going to find it for you. From the air it's hard to tell one river and mountain from another, especially in the spring, when creeks become rivers. I've been a bush pilot for thirty-five years and there have been times when I've been lost. If you make a mistake in this country, you don't often get a chance to make another one. It's no place for a cheechako."
“I'm beginning to understand,” she murmured. Which was true. She had a much clearer understanding of what had appealed to Rick. It was the danger, as well as the challenge and excitement of a new frontier.
Her glance strayed to Cody, reassessing him. Rick's letter had been filled with glowing praise for this man's ability. Behind that reckless smile and those bold eyes there was a swift, calculating mind, always weighing odds and chances and making split-second decisions. If he ever took chances, they were deliberate ones—with all factors taken into consideration beforehand.
“You take Cody here,” Noah Steele continued. “He's been flying since his legs were long enough to reach the rudder pedals. It's nothing for a boy to learn to fly before he learns to drive a car out here. Half the roads in Alaska don't go anywhere, leastwise rarely to the place you want to go. I taught Cody everything he knows. There's some would argue, but he's the best in the business as far as I'm concerned."
“You understand he's a little prejudiced,” Cody murmured in an aside to her that was dryly mocking.
“I am prejudiced, but facts are facts,” Noah defended his claim. “I've seen a lot of hotshot pilots in my day—air-force jet jockeys and commercial pilots. When they're redlining a plane they're in a cold sweat."
“Anything below or above the maximum and minimum recommended by the aircraft manufacturer as safe operating limits is referred to as ‘red line,'” Cody explained the term.
“He knows the limits of his aircraft,” his father assured her. “He pushes it to that point and no further. That's why he's sitting here tonight when some others didn't make it. He knows what he's doing every minute."
Noah stopped abruptly, as if just discovering he'd said something profound. He eyed his son sharply, then glanced at Shannon. “I shouldn't have rattled on like that. You'll just have to mark it off as a father's pride. I know you aren't interested in hearing about Cody now when you're so anxious about your fiancé."
She sensed his underlying regret that he'd talked so much about his son, perhaps
raising her estimation of Cody over that of Rick. He had included himself at the table to keep the two of them apart, she realized, not to interest Shannon in his son.
“I'm interested in what is entailed in being a bush pilot,” she insisted. “After all, it's the profession Rick is seeking, so I should know something about it.” Noah Steele looked relieved by her reply, satisfied that he hadn't committed a terrible blunder by talking at such length about his son and flying. “I have to confess I don't know very much about Alaska."
“Except that it's bigger than Texas,” Cody prompted with a teasing inflection.
“I've heard that rumor.” An answering smile played with the corners of her mouth.
“If you take Alaska at its widest point,” his father spoke up, “and put one end in Maine, the other end would reach to San Diego."
She looked at him in faint astonishment. “Are you serious?"
“The Aleutian chain of islands alone is more than a thousand miles long,” Noah pointed out. “This is the only state with four time zones within its boundaries, which should give you some idea of its size."
“But he's not bragging,” Cody inserted with a quirking smile.
Unaware of their private joke, his father insisted, “It's a fact. I'm not exaggerating."
“I'm impressed,” Shannon said, and meant it.
“People on the outside have a lot of misconceptions about Alaska,” Noah remarked. “Generally they associate the name with cold weather, Eskimos and dog sleds."
“Not to mention the ‘Texas tea’ that was found at a little place called Prudhoe Bay on the North Slope,” Cody murmured dryly, in reference to the Alaskan oil discovery.
“I'd heard rumors to the effect that you'd found a little crude,” she countered, finally aware that it was a vast understatement.
“I still haven't made up my mind whether that was a good thing or not for Alaska,” Cody's father declared in a contemplative fashion.
There was a break in the conversation as the waitress served their entrée. Afterward Noah resumed his discussion of the changes that had come about in Alaska since the oil discovery and the subsequent construction of the trans-Alaska pipeline. A few interested questions from Shannon encouraged the garrulous man to expound his opinions. The topic continued through the meal, finally lagging over the second cup of coffee.
