by Kim Baldwin
“And?”
“Megan was apparently somewhat reluctant to join the trip, so her friends got her shnockered.”
“Drunk? She was drunk when she signed this?” Chaz was appalled. “Then we can’t accept it!”
“Relax. I thought the same thing, but Justine says Megan really wants to go and will be great fun on the trip. To make sure, I called her myself while she was at work and totally sober. She’s some vice president at WNC, by the way.”
“The news network?”
“That’s the one. I had to go through two secretaries to get to her. Anyway, she apologized for writing the comment, said she didn’t remember doing it. And she confirmed she wants to go on the trip.”
“So she sits behind a desk all day in downtown Chicago,” Chaz summed up. “And she’s a bigwig executive, so she’s used to giving orders. In other words, she’s just the type of client who’ll want to dig a latrine and gather firewood.”
“Chaz, you’re not one to prejudge people,” Sally gently rebuked.
Chaz hung her head and gave a shrug of chagrin. She knew that a lot of clients were nothing like what she expected from their forms. And she respected Sally and valued her thoughtful opinion of things. During the five summers they’d led trips together for Orion, Sally Travis had become the big sister Chaz had always wanted growing up.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She took a deep breath and let it out. Thought a moment. Then grinned. “What am I griping about? We’ve got an all-women trip. And we’re going to one of the most drop-dead gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. You’re gonna love it, Sal. Great water. Lots of wildlife. And awesome scenery.”
“I can’t wait. Those pictures you took are incredible.” Sally looked at her watch. “I hate to say this, but I’d better get going if I’m going to catch a ride out.”
Like most bush communities in the north Alaskan interior, Winterwolf was accessible only by air. There were two flights a day, at noon and five. Sally would be leaving on the same small plane that was bringing in their clients.
“No worries,” Chaz said, as Sally pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll wrap this up tonight after I get everyone settled.”
Sally headed for the door. “Meet you in the lobby in ten?”
“Make it out front. I’ll pull the van around.” Once her partner guide had departed for her room, Chaz glanced once more at the file on the table in front of her. Will you be able to really appreciate where I’m going to take you, Megan Maxwell? I sure hope so.
*
Her friends all had their faces pressed up against the thick-paned milky windows on either side of the nine-seater Beechcraft, but Megan, seated in the back by the door, had her eyes closed. She hated flying, especially in small planes, and this one had done enough bouncing around that she was feeling increasingly airsick. On top of that, she was fretting about all the things she’d forgotten to tell Grace, her administrative assistant, before she left.
She attended to a million details on a daily basis. Managed a staff of several hundred people. So even with her incredible memory, it stood to reason she might miss a few things. But that didn’t make her feel any better. How could she even have thought about leaving for two weeks? To make matters worse, she hadn’t learned until just before leaving that they would be totally incommunicado for a good portion of the trip. Modern technology apparently still hadn’t found a way to get a radio or cell phone signal from within a steep river canyon in northern Alaska.
It’s only for a few days, Megan told herself, swallowing repeatedly to try to keep her nausea at bay. Only the three or four days we’re in the canyons. The network won’t collapse in three or four days.
“Is that the Brooks Range we’re coming up on?” Justine asked from her seat behind the pilot, a scruffy-bearded forty-something man.
“Yup, we’ve crossed over the Arctic Circle.” The pilot banked the plane slightly to give them a better view.
“I knew it would all be…well, big,” Yancey said in wonder. “But this…this absence of any civilization whatsoever…as far as you can see. It takes your breath away.”
“Miles and miles and miles of absolute, utter wilderness,” Linda said.
586,412 square miles, to be exact, Megan thought to herself, trying to ignore the high-pitched whistle of air that came from her left; there was a bad seal between the door and the plane. Alaska is the last great wilderness in the United States. Civilization has only encroached on about 160,000 acres of its 365 million acres, which is less than one-twentieth of one percent of the state.
The whistle refused to be ignored. Megan hated planes that were so small that they had to ask you how much you weighed. The doors on big planes never whistle like this. Megan felt her stomach lurch when the plane hit turbulence and fell several feet before recovering. Everyone else seemed to take it in stride, but her knuckles went white where she gripped the armrest. Alaska bush pilots have the third most dangerous job in the United States. More than 500 have died in crashes.
“Look over there. Are those flowers?” Pat pointed toward the northeast, where a dense carpet of wildflowers had painted a long valley in brilliant hues of purple and red, yellow and orange. “It looks like an Impressionist painting.”
The state flower of Alaska is the forget-me-not. The plane rode another big bump of turbulence. Megan’s palms went clammy.
“It’s all the sunshine that does it,” the pilot informed them. “The sun doesn’t set up here, this time of year. From early May to early August.”
Megan groaned inwardly. Oh, shit. That’s what else I forgot. The damn eyeshade. She’d had Grace pick one up at the mall, along with several books about Alaska: field guides to flora and fauna, history, indigenous cultures, ecology. She’d devoured them all, had even gone online to read up on Orion Outfitters and this caribou herd they were going to see.
She had gotten where she was at WNC in large part because of her extraordinary research skills and attention to detail. She was nothing if not fully prepared for any endeavor she decided to undertake, and this trip was no exception. She had packed every single item listed on Orion’s suggested packing list, including all the optional ones, and she’d thrown in a few of her own impulsive purchases from the L.L. Bean catalogue. It was a good thing money was not an issue—the only things on the list she’d already owned were underwear, toiletries, and a swimsuit.
But the eyeshade was still sitting in the top drawer of her desk. It wasn’t like Megan to forget things, and this was a rather important item to miss, as she had trouble sleeping even under the best conditions. What the hell’s happening to me? I’m the master of going with the flow, great under fire, calm in a calamity. So how come going on vacation has me more stressed than I’ve been in a year?
Megan barely heard the others after that, oohing and ahhing over the sights below. She was too busy compiling a mental list of all the people she needed to call when they landed.
*
Chaz leaned back against the van, watching the southern horizon. She ran her hands over the front of the Orion Outfitters T-shirt she’d pulled on, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles. The navy shirt was so faded it was hard to read the words or make out the namesake constellation drawn above it, but she couldn’t bear to part with it. The rest of her clothes were made of more durable fabrics and bore labels recognizable to any serious outdoor enthusiast.
Sally was occupied digging in her duffel bag for a paperback to read on the plane. They were parked on the edge of a single long runway cut into the tundra, a short distance from Winterwolf. There was no terminal, no control tower, only a pair of well-weathered wind socks to help guide the pilot. The weather was fine this early June afternoon, with temperatures in the midsixties. The wind socks barely moved, and the sky was clear and blue.
Chaz was itching to be on their way to the Odakonya; this first day and a half of preparing the clients would drag on more than usual without Sally. They’d worked up a routine that
played up each woman’s strengths. Normally, after the welcoming dinner, Sally—the more gregarious of the two—would spirit the clients away and conduct the orientation, while Chaz—the more detail-oriented—would take care of getting their gear together and packing all the meals. The following day, the two of them together would conduct the individual paddling and rolling lessons.
With Sally going away for her daughter’s graduation until tomorrow night, Chaz would have to attend to all their combined duties by herself, but she wasn’t worried. She didn’t think it would be too difficult since most of the clients had previous paddling experience.
A speck appeared on the horizon, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Here it comes,” she announced.
*
“Man, we are out in the middle of nowhere,” Megan heard Yancey say as the plane bumped down onto the runway. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t been aware they were about to land.
She opened her eyes and looked around. They’d touched down in a long valley surrounded on every side by snowcapped mountains, the runway a narrow strip of asphalt surrounded by wildflowers and a few scrawny, low scrub trees. The only other signs of civilization were two wind socks and the blue van they were taxiing toward and, across the tundra, in the distance, a small settlement of buildings.
Finally. She pulled a small day pack from under her seat and began digging through it for her BlackBerry.
“Are those our guides?” Elise asked, with obvious delight in her voice. “I think I’m in love.”
The pilot turned to glance at Elise with raised eyebrows and a bemused grin.
“Down, girl,” Justine said, but she was straining to get a good look at their welcoming committee, too.
“Hey, she’s not kidding,” Pat added, as the plane rolled to a stop some twenty-five feet from the van. “They’re both certainly easy on the eyes. Check out the legs on the brunette.”
“Hush, you,” Linda said, poking Pat good-naturedly from the neighboring seat. “You’re taken, remember?”
“Oh, I certainly remember, darlin’. No harm in looking.” Pat leaned over to plant a quick kiss on Linda’s cheek as the pilot got out of his seat and maneuvered through the narrow aisle to the door at the back next to Megan.
After he deployed the stairs, the women began filing out of the plane.
*
Chaz watched the clients emerge, making no immediate move toward the plane. The first one off, a handsome and butchly older woman with a short, severe haircut, sent her gaydar pinging off the scale. Her suspicions were confirmed when the woman paused at the bottom of the steps to offer an assisting hand to a petite woman with long, curly brown hair and was given a quick peck on the lips in thanks. They waved to the guides but remained by the plane for their bags, which the pilot had begun to unload from a compartment in the wing.
The third to disembark was a striking young woman—tall and lean, with dark spiky hair, chocolate brown eyes, and the kind of androgynous appeal that could melt men and woman alike. She wore tight black jeans and a matching T-shirt, and she didn’t take her eyes off Chaz as she bounded down the steps and headed directly for the two guides.
“Well, well, well…” Sally said under her breath as the woman approached. “See what I mean about how the registration forms don’t tell you everything?”
“Elise Webber,” the woman introduced herself as she extended a hand toward Chaz.
“Chaz Herrick,” she responded as they shook. “Welcome to Winterwolf.”
Elise’s grip was firm and reluctant to immediately disengage. They looked at each other for a long moment, openly appraising each other with knowing smiles.
“Very pleased to meet you, Chaz.” Elise gave Chaz’s hand a final squeeze before finally releasing her grip and turning to acknowledge the other guide.
“Sally Travis,” Sally said with undisguised amusement as they briefly shook hands.
“Hi, Sally. Well, better get my bag.” Elise walked away with a sexy sway in her hips, and Chaz couldn’t help but appreciate the woman’s effort to get her attention.
All the clients were now busy retrieving their luggage, except for one, who stood off to the side, preoccupied with the phone in her hand, her back to the guides. Megan Maxwell, Chaz decided, taking in the woman’s clothes. She was dressed head to foot in brand-new gear, from her North Face jacket and L.L. Bean clothes to the tips of her shiny, right-out-of-the-box hiking boots. Those boots could be trouble. Obviously got them mail order. A good salesman would have warned her to break them in.
“Sure looks to be an interesting group. Here we go,” Sally said, as the two guides pushed off the van and headed toward their clients.
“You owe me big for this,” Chaz muttered under her breath. “You know how I hate this schmoozing part.” It wasn’t that she was antisocial by any means. But she was always a bit uncomfortable in the beginning, having to make polite small talk with strangers. It was much easier once the ice was broken, and the trip got underway.
*
Damn thing. We’re not even out on the river yet. Megan frowned at the no-signal display once more before she shoved the BlackBerry into her coat pocket.
“Have you gotten a good look at our guides, Meg?” Justine’s voice, subdued from behind her, alerted Megan that something was amiss.
“What? Why?” She turned and peeled off her sunglasses, glancing first at Justine, who had the oddest expression on her face—then at the two strangers who were approaching.
Both women were fit and athletic, she could see that at first glance, which was not unexpected. The blond in the lead looks a little like Helen Hunt, Megan thought, and the one behind her. Her mouth hung open in shock, and she could feel the color draining from her face. It can’t be. She stared, disbelieving, unable to move.
“Are you all right?” Justine asked in a low voice.
Megan couldn’t answer, her mind busy cataloguing the differences, no matter how small, as if to reassure herself that this could not possibly be Rita, five years older and with a shag haircut instead of the long, straight locks she’d had throughout their relationship. No, this woman was taller, at least five foot ten, and definitely had a more tautly muscled physique, especially in the shoulders and upper arms. Slightly smaller breasts, too, though well-rounded, like Rita’s. And no bra. Rita never went out in public without a bra. And though the hair was the right shade, a deep chestnut brown, the eyes were entirely wrong. Hazel, with yellow flecks, instead of piercing blue.
Still, there was much that was the same. The high cheekbones, the almond complexion, the expressive eyebrows and full lips surrounding a perfect white smile. It was such an uncanny resemblance that Megan could not tear her eyes from the dark-haired guide, or find her voice to respond to Justine’s gentle inquiry.
“Welcome to Alaska, ladies,” the blond guide said in greeting. “I’m Sally Travis and this is Chaz Herrick. We’ll be leading you on this adventure.”
Her friends stepped forward and began introducing themselves, but Megan hung back, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. I should never have come. This is a really, really bad omen.
*
The look on the client’s face was indecipherable. But something was definitely wrong with Megan Maxwell. Chaz could see it. And damned if it didn’t look like it had something to do with her. The woman hadn’t taken her eyes off her since the moment she’d turned around. Those expressive green eyes reminded Chaz of a deer caught in the headlights: bewildered, vulnerable. And then, something else—she looked…angry, almost. What the hell?
Chaz had no time to try to decipher what the woman’s problem was—she was immediately occupied with greeting the other clients. The first to introduce themselves were the two who had been first off the plane. They looked to be a bit older than the others, though both seemed to be in excellent physical shape.
“Hi, Chaz, I’m Pat Palmer. Good to meet you.” The butch shook her hand firmly, then turned to put an arm around her companion.
“And this is Linda Ferris.”
A compactly built woman with blue eyes and dark hair tinged with hints of gray, Pat carried herself with an athletic grace, and her muscular shoulders and forearms evidenced her many hours in a kayak. She wore a T-shirt with the words OCOEE RIVER embroidered on it, and bungeed to her duffel was a top-of-the-line, take-apart crankshaft carbon fiber paddle, expensive but extremely light and ergonomic. Chaz had one like it.
It was equally obvious that Pat’s partner was the other experienced client. She’d brought along her own high-tech paddle as well, and Linda Ferris had tucked her curly brown hair under a well-worn baseball cap that read “Kayakers do it rapidly, then roll over and do it again.”
Linda greeted Chaz with a big smile. “Sure am looking forward to this.”
Next to introduce herself and shake hands was Yancey Gilmre, the only blond among today’s clients. “Hey, there. Good to meet ya.” Yancey was built like a Barbie doll, with trim hips, a narrow waist, and surgically enhanced breasts that strained against the confines of her red-and-black-checked flannel shirt.
“Welcome, Yancey,” Chaz said, trying to keep her eyes from straying to the blond’s ample assets. All of Yancey’s gear, she noticed, from her duffel bag to her clothing—most of it Patagonia—was well-used but well-tended. This woman had also obviously spent a lot of time in the out-of-doors.
The introductions were interrupted by a shout from the pilot. “Hey, Sally! We better get going!”
“Sorry, ladies, but I have to leave you in Chaz’s expert hands for the moment.” Sally picked up her bag. “I’m off to see my daughter graduate, but I’ll be back tomorrow night.” After a nod of encouragement and a quick wink toward her partner guide, she took off toward the plane at a trot.
Ah. So that’s the story. Megan caught the wink and immediately surmised that their two guides had a thing going on between them. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock of Chaz’s uncanny resemblance to her cheating ex. Looks the same, probably acts the same. A slut, just like Rita was. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back in Chicago. That reminded her of the calls she needed to make.