Dodging Cupid's Arrow

by Kate Hoffmann

  Dodging Cupid's Arrow

  Kate Hoffmann

  ALASKA. A PLACE WHERE MEN COULD BE MEN.AND WOMEN WERE SCARCE!

  Perrie Kincaid, crackerjack reporter, couldn't believe it. Her editor was actually sending her to Muleshoe, Alaska, population twenty! Talk about Dullsville on ice. But then she met Joe Brennan, and suddenly the thought of endless nights with the sexy bush pilot didn't sound so bad. But warming up with the Casanova of the North would only be a mistake.wouldn't it?

  Joe had never met a woman like Perrie. She was bossy, opinionated – and absolutely gorgeous. He didn't know whether to strangle her.or kiss her until she melted in his arms. Everyone in town was already planning a Valentine wedding. But Bachelor #2 had no intention of settling down – especially with a city girl who couldn't even tie up her own snowshoes!

  The Men of Bachelor Creek -

  Heroes who play hard to get!

  Kate Hoffmann

  Dodging Cupid's Arrow

  The second book in the Men Of Bachelor Creek series, 1998

  Dear Reader,

  It seemed like a good plan. Three bachelors setting off for the Alaskan bush to start a new life, far away from the female sex. But then Bachelor #1, Tanner O'Neill, got an early Christmas present in the person of beautiful Julia Logan in my December 1997 release, Caught Under the Mistletoe!

  Now Valentine's Day is upon us and Bachelor #2, bush pilot Joe Brennan, is in serious danger of following his best buddy to the altar. Finding women for these three boys has been a real treat, and I think you'll enjoy watching Joe as he's Dodging Cupid's Arrow!-and ducking his desire for investigative reporter Perrie Kincaid.

  And then get ready for my last bachelor to be Struck by Spring Fever! in April 1998. Wilderness guide Kyle "Hawk" Hawkins has a lady waiting to capture his heart and warm his bed after a long, cold Alaskan winter!

  Happy Valentine's Day,

  Kate Hoffmann

  PS. I love to hear from my readers. Write to me:

  c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road,

  Don Mills, Ontario, Canada, M3B 3K9

  With special thanks to Wally Kohler, for answering my endless questions about pilots and their planes.

  Prologue

  Five years ago

  Joe Brennan held his breath as the rough plank door swung open, its hinges groaning in protest. If the interior of Bachelor Creek Lodge looked anything like the exterior, he vowed he would turn around and head right back to Seattle.

  "I should have my head examined," he murmured to himself, his gaze scanning the dilapidated log building. He sidestepped a rotted board on the porch, then squinted into a dust-coated window. A shaft of light illuminated the interior and his gaze followed it up to a huge hole in the roof.

  "Look at this," Hawk said, pointing to the log lintel above the front door. Joe and Tanner glanced up. No Wimin Kin Pass was crudely carved into the wood.

  "I'm not sure there's a woman on this planet who would willingly set foot inside this place," Joe said.

  He never should have let Tanner O'Neill talk him into this harebrained scheme. He and the third in their trio, Kyle Hawkins, had left everything behind-their careers, their homes… females-to move to the wilds of Alaska and start a business.

  Tanner's inheritance looked good on paper. A wilderness lodge a mile from the tiny bush town of Muleshoe, land right on the Yukon River with their very own creek running just outside the back door. But the photos didn't do justice to the wreck of a lodge. Had they been more accurate, Joe might have opted to stay home.

  In Seattle, he'd had a good job, a partnership in a small law firm with a generous salary. A few weekends a month, he would fly for the Army Reserve, putting a long-held pilot's license to use. He filled the rest of his life with sports and women, two of his favorite pastimes. Life was good and he had been happy.

  He knew he'd be giving up more than he could even imagine to move to Alaska. But the plan had been too tempting to resist. Tanner would run the lodge, or what was left of it, and Hawk would serve as a wilderness guide for their clients, once they had them. And Joe would pilot their plane, a De Havilland Otter that the three of them had bought on a shoestring budget. He would ferry clients and supplies from Fairbanks to Muleshoe, landing on the tiny airstrip as he and Hawk and Tanner had done just minutes before.

  "Don't be too quick to judge," Tanner warned as he stepped through the door. "Try to think of the potential."

  Joe turned to give Hawk a dubious look. "With all this potential, I think we're going to need to buy a bigger plane. Something that might carry a bulldozer." His friend's expression was unreadable but Joe suspected he was harboring some of the same concerns. If the lodge's exterior was any clue, the interior was probably uninhabitable, which left the three of them essentially homeless. Until Tanner's carpentry skills could be proved, they might as well pitch a tent. "Let's see how bad it is," he muttered, crossing the threshold.

  Dust motes drifted in the shaft of sunlight that streamed through the hole in the roof. A ragged collection of hand-hewn furniture lay scattered around the room, bits of stuffing littering the floor. A huge moose head stared down at them from above the stone fireplace, as if mocking their high expectations.

  "It's not so bad," Tanner said, slowly taking in the disrepair. "Once the roof is patched and we've cleaned up a bit, it will be just fine."

  "Fine for raccoons and other wildlife," Joe replied. "We've barely got a roof over our head, O'Neill. And you forget that the nights here are a lot colder than in Seattle."

  "Come on, Brennan, where's your sense of adventure?" Tanner teased. "So we'll be roughing it for a while. Suck it up and be a man."

  Joe shook his head. "I guess I can always sleep in the cabin of the Otter."

  "Or under the stars," Hawk said, distracted by his survey of the hearth. He looked up into the chimney. "Squirrels," was his only comment.

  Joe considered his friend's suggestion. For Hawk, sleeping in the wild was no great hardship. In fact, Joe suspected his friend would revel in the rustic living conditions. Hawk would no longer have to leave home to get a wilderness fix as he had done in Seattle, sometimes disappearing for two or three weeks without a word. His buddy was always up for an adventure, the more challenging and spontaneous, the better.

  Tanner finished his survey of the interior, then looked at his friends. "I know this isn't what you expected," he said. "And I guess if either of you wants to bail, now's the time to say so." He paused, then hitched his hands on his waist. "But before you make your decision, I want you to know that I'm determined to make this work-with or without you."

  Silence hung in the dusty air for a long moment. Then Hawk shrugged. "I'm still in," he said. He looked at Joe and the challenge was evident in his gaze. A good buddy would stick it out, and the three of them were the best of buddies. And at this point, there wasn't much left for Joe in Seattle besides a handful of disappointed women and a storage locker full of his belongings.

  Joe raked his fingers through his hair. What the hell was he doing? One look at the tiny bush town of Muleshoe was enough to see that there wasn't much social life in the outback of Alaska. It wasn't as if he couldn't live without women, but he did have certain needs.

  "What'll it be, Brennan? In or out?"

  Joe turned to Tanner. "I can see us fifty years from now. Three toothless old bachelors reminiscing about the good old days in Seattle. Remembering the last time we laid eyes on a beautiful woman."

  "There are beautiful women in Alaska," Tanner said. "They're just spread out over a bigger geographical area. You have to go find 'em."

  Joe took a final glance around the lodge, then winced. "I swear I must be crazy. But if you guys are staying, then so am I."


  Tanner clapped his hand on Joe's back and laughed. "I knew you couldn't resist. In all the time I've known you, you've never backed away from a challenge."

  "This is one time I really wish I was more of a wimp," Joe said, shaking his head. He held out his hand. Tanner placed his palm over it, then Hawk did the same.

  "To the boys of Bachelor Creek Lodge," Tanner said.

  "Bachelor Creek," Hawk repeated.

  "I think we've all gone crazy," Joe said, wondering why he was always drawn into impossible situations.

  He suspected it was a character flaw, though he wasn't really sure. But stuck in the Alaskan wilderness, facing a future full of challenges, he knew it wouldn't take long to find out.

  Chapter One

  "One of these days, I really should have my head examined."

  Joe leaned forward and scraped at the frost-coated windshield of his Super Cub. His gaze caught the air temperature gauge, a nagging reminder of an ever present danger. The outside temperature was forty degrees below zero and his defroster had reached its limit. If he flew much higher, he'd be flying blind. Or the engine would quit from the cold and he wouldn't be flying at all.

  He peered through the windshield at the craggy ridges below, so sheer not even snow clung to the rock. Denali. "The High One," as the native Athabascans had named it. Mount McKinley was the highest peak in North America and a magnet for climbers worldwide. And buzzing back and forth between Talkeetna and the mountain were the Denali fliers, those pilots who ferried climbers and gear to "Kahiltna International," the name given to the glacier at the bottom of the climbing route.

  Since Joe had arrived in Alaska five years before, he'd heard tale after tale of their exploits-risky landings and daring rescues, true artists behind the controls of their airplanes. He'd grudgingly admired them, until he'd been accepted into the fold. After that, he'd held them in even greater awe.

  His initiation had been achieved more by default than daring. He'd been flying a client over "the Hill" on a sight-seeing trip when he'd noticed a spot of color near the edge of the Kahiltna Glacier near Denali's base. He dropped low then circled, his curiosity piqued. What he found had sent a chill through his blood. A Cessna, flipped upside down, the white belly of the plane barely visible against the snow. If he hadn't been looking in that exact spot, he would have missed it, along with countless other pilots flying in the area.

  With the approval of his adventure-hungry passenger, he put his own plane down near the crash site, then struggled through the crusty snow to the overturned plane. The two of them had dragged three injured passengers and the unconscious pilot from the Cessna. And later, when more help had been summoned and all had been evacuated to the hospital in Anchorage, he'd been credited with saving the life of one of Denali's favorite fliers, Skip Christiansen, and given honorary membership in the elite fraternity. They'd nicknamed him Eagle Eyes Brennan.

  Skip had talked him into this current mess-searching for a stranded Swedish climber who'd attempted a solo winter ascent of Denali. Skip had flown the woman in a week before and now had been charged with coordinating an air search to aid the park rangers. Six planes swept along the climbing route, each one required to descend out of the thinner air for a time after each run for safety's sake.

  Had Joe been safe at home in Muleshoe rather than hanging out in a Talkeetna watering hole, trying to charm a beautiful girl into spending the evening with him, he would never have been drawn into the search, flying too high, too cold, breathing bottled oxygen every now and then to keep his head clear.

  But Joe Brennan was never one to shrink from a challenge. And flying at the far edge of his talents and near the mechanical limitations of his plane was exactly the adrenaline rush he'd come to crave. Still, that didn't mean that he couldn't question his good sense once he was caught up in another risky venture.

  "All right, Brennan," he muttered to himself. "Let's reevaluate your escape plan."

  Although Joe was considered a gutsy flyer by his Denali pals, he tempered that characteristic with a good dose of self-preservation. No matter where he flew, over ice or rock, forest or mountain, he always had a contingency plan, a way out if oil pressure dropped or his engine failed.

  He spotted a small saddle of clear snow to the north and fixed it in his mind. If worse came to worse, he could put the Cub down there, landing uphill to slow the plane, then turning around to take off downhill. An air current, swirling near the sheer rock face, buffeted the Cub and Joe cursed.

  "A solo ascent in the middle of an Alaskan winter," he muttered. "Now, there's a great idea, lady. Why not just jump into a crevasse and get it over with?"

  The truth be told, he couldn't begrudge the climber her passion for a new challenge. Since he'd started flying in the bush, he'd accepted one dangerous job after another, always cognizant of his limitations but never afraid to push a little harder. He'd landed on glaciers and sandbars, lakes and landing strips in all conditions, in weather not fit for flying. And he'd loved it all.

  He scratched another patch of ice off the windshield. "Come on, sweetheart. Show me where you are. Point the way." He pushed his sunglasses up on his head and scanned the area. Though he was slightly west of the usual route to the summit, he knew that a climber could easily become confused from the altitude or exhaustion.

  One misstep was all it took and hypoxia would take over, dulling the senses until frostbite and hypothermia set in. Without a partner to take up the slack, a solo ascent was a ticket to trouble. Before long, a climber would sit down in the snow, unable to move, unable to think. That's when either death or the Denali fliers moved in, snatching half-frozen climbers off the face of the mountain and bringing them back to safety.

  Wispy clouds surrounded the plane for a moment and Joe scratched the ice off his side window. "I don't need weather," he muttered at the approaching cloud bank. He dropped lower, beneath the cloud level, heading back down the mountain. The head of the Kahiltna Glacier passed below him now, safe landing and breathable air at eleven thousand feet. Suddenly, a flash of color glittered from an ice face in front of him. He stared at the spot lower on the glacier, squinting to make out a bright blue scrap of nylon.

  As he descended on the glacier, the patch of blue became a pack, half-buried in the snow. He looked closer and thought he saw a rope tracing a path into the shadow of a deep crevasse.

  Joe snatched up his radio. "Denali Rescue, this is Piper three-six-three-nine Delta Tango. I think I have her. She's well west of the usual route on the lower part of the glacier. It looks like she fell into a crevasse. She was roped, but I don't see her. Over."

  The radio crackled and he recognized Skip's voice. "Three-nine Delta, this is seven-four Foxtrot. Good eyes! I'm just off your left wing. I'll go down and search until Park Rescue arrives. Over."

  "I found her, Skip, I'm going down."

  "Buddy, that's a tricky landing. You catch a ski and you're done, never mind negotiating those crevasses. I took her in, I'll get her out."

  "You just back me up. I'm heading down. Three-nine Delta, out."

  Joe banked to the east, drawing a lazy circle around the stranded climber. Time after time, he passed over the ice field, flying from bottom to top as he judged the surface, memorizing every bump and hole in the ice. His pulse pounded in his head as he descended, his eyes fixed on a point above him on the mountain. An instant later, he felt the skis shudder and he cut the power. Slowly, the plane climbed the face of the glacier until it would go no further. Then he maneuvered it around until it faced down the slope, ready to take off in the same tracks he'd landed in.

  Not two hundred feet below him, he saw the rope. Joe yanked the flap on his hood over his face and adjusted his sunglasses, then pushed against the door with his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he would find, but he hoped for the best.

  He grabbed a canister of oxygen that he kept in the plane for high altitude flying, then struggled through the snow, following the rope until the snow disappeared in front of him. Above
him, he could hear the drone of Skip's engine as he circled, looking for his own spot to land. He tugged on the rope. "Hey, can you hear me?"

  A weak shout came back at him. "Oh, God. I thought I heard a plane. I'm tangled in my ropes. You'll have to pull me out."

  Joe sat in the snow and dug his heels into the icy surface, then grabbed the rope and began to haul the climber up over the edge. To his relief, she wasn't a large woman and she had enough strength to help him along.

  Finally, her parka hood appeared in the snow in front of him.

  By the time he reached her, she'd collapsed. Placing the mask over her frostbitten face, he ordered her to breathe. Then he pushed her goggles up on her forehead and watched as her eyes fluttered open. A weak smile curled the corners of her lips. "Are you real?" she croaked.

  Joe gave the woman his most charming smile, but it was hidden behind the flap of his down jacket. Even her frostbitten cheeks and nose didn't obliterate her pretty face. "Yeah, I'm real. And you're lucky to be alive."

  "I didn't think I'd ever get out of that crevasse," she murmured with her lilting accent "I spent the night there just barely hanging on."

  "Can you stand?"

  She nodded and he helped her to her feet, holding the oxygen mask over her face. Wrapping her arm around his shoulders, he pulled her toward the plane.

  "I owe you my life," she said, gasping for breath as she placed one foot in front of the other.

  Joe smiled inwardly, his mind anticipating the reaction he'd get back at the lodge. Both Hawk and Tanner had marveled at his particular talent with women. To the amazement of both of his buddies, he always managed to find himself in the company of the most beautiful women Alaska had to offer. And now he'd done it again, finding a beautiful blonde in a crevasse on the Kahiltna Glacier.