From Out of the Blue

by Nadia Nichols

  Things might have gotten completely out of hand as they embraced on the seat of Wally’s Harley, but Mitch had forgotten to put the kickstand down. As he shifted his hands, sliding them down Kate’s thighs to swing her astride his hips, he lost his balance, and when the heavy bike tipped over, it took them with it.

  With any luck, Wally would never notice that tiny scratch on the left front fender.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  FIRST THING Tuesday morning, early, Kate went for one last walk on the dirt road that led to the abandoned mining town. She was dressed in her jogging clothes, but had given up the effort after her brief warm-up left her weak and breathless. The air was cool and buoyant and filled with bird song, and the beauty of her surroundings inundated her with bittersweet emotions. She wondered if Mitch had spent as sleepless a night as she had. He didn’t know she was planning on leaving today. She hadn’t been able to tell him last night that she’d booked an afternoon flight out of Anchorage.

  Not after that incredible ride on the Harley.

  Not after that unforgettable kiss.

  She didn’t have the courage.

  Her mother was overjoyed and relieved that she was finally coming home. Rosa would fly with them to Seattle, then change flights and head back to Southern California while Kate and Hayden continued on to Bozeman. By dark, they’d be at her parents’ home in the foothills of the mountains. Tonight she’d sleep in her childhood bed, surrounded by mementos of days gone by.

  At the moment, those thoughts did little to comfort her. She didn’t want to leave Alaska. She didn’t want to leave Mitch. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, and she knew she’d never be able to say goodbye.

  She tried not to think about the inevitable as she showered and changed, as she had breakfast with Hayden and Rosa, as she packed her bags and loaded them into the car. But of course, that was impossible. Also impossible was the idea of leaving without at least writing him a goodbye note. She could put it on his kitchen counter. She knew he wouldn’t be there. He’d be in Anchorage with Wally, looking at a plane.

  “Rosa, I’m going over to Mitch’s place,” she said quietly so Hayden didn’t hear. “We’ll check out as soon as I get back.”

  She stopped at Yudy’s to buy a card and her eyes stung at the sight of the donor drive poster displayed prominently in the storefront window. Inside, she gave Yudy a hug. “Hayden and I are leaving today. I wanted to stop by and thank you for being so nice to us.”

  He blushed to the roots of his hair as all the old-timers got up from their seats around the stove to shake her hand and wish her well. She bought a few things, said her final farewells and then headed for the airstrip. Both Wally and Campy were there, which surprised her.

  “Mitch told me you were going to Anchorage with him to look at a plane this morning,” she said.

  “What plane?” Wally frowned.

  “The Cessna 185. The one for sale at Lake Hood.”

  Campy gave Wally a puzzled glance, then looked at Kate. “Hon, that plane sold the day it went on the market, over a month ago.”

  It was Kate’s turn to be confused. “Then where’s Mitch?”

  Campy shook her head. “If he’s not with you, and he’s not here, he must be out at his cabin. Give him a call, Wally.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Kate said. “I’ll drive out there.”

  “Not in that rental car, you won’t. Take my Subaru, hon. The keys are in it.”

  Kate nodded. “Thanks, Campy. I won’t be long.”

  Mitch’s truck wasn’t in the yard, and Thor was nowhere to be seen. She was both bitterly disappointed and wildly relieved. Where had he gone? Why had he told her that he was looking at a plane that didn’t exist? Was he trying to avoid her? She took the card with her into the cabin, found a pen on the counter and started to write.

  Dear Mitch,

  The past week has been one of the best of my life. Thank you so much for giving us such a great Alaskan adventure. Our flight leaves this afternoon. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to see Hayden one last time. Maybe you could call him on his birthday. For his sake, and for mine, fly the Porter. I wish you all the best, forever and ever.

  Kate.

  She slipped the card into the envelope, wrote his name on the outside and propped it against the salt-and-pepper shakers. Then she went out into his shed, found a shovel and planted the packet of seeds she’d bought at Yudy’s in the overgrown garden plot. It took awhile to dig up the big clumps of sod, but eventually she had a nice weed-free patch of dirt and she sprinkled the seeds over it and firmed them into the soil. With a bucket of water from the creek she watered the newly planted seeds and her job was done. She was ready to go, or as ready as she’d ever be. She took one last look around, said a silent goodbye to the rustic homestead and the big mountain, and climbed back into Campy’s Subaru. She drove away with her hands clamped tight on the wheel, her entire body rigid with pain, telling herself she would not cry, because tears were pointless.

  She would not cry.

  Three hours later Kate, Hayden and Rosa were boarding their Alaska Airlines flight to Seattle. At 3:00 p.m. the flight was airborne, and Kate was unable to hold back her emotions. She watched the mountains fade into the distance behind them and wept the bitter tears of a broken heart, keeping her face turned to the window so Hayden wouldn’t see.

  MITCH SPENT most of the morning driving aimlessly around. He went clear to Fairbanks and asked about planes for sale at the airport there. He looked at a couple with halfhearted interest, then headed south again, driving past the park entrance where he’d spent two of the most meaningful days of his life with the most extraordinary woman he’d ever known. By the time he reached Pike’s Creek, he was working on a big lonesome. It was nearly 3:00 p.m. and he drove to the Moosewood to ask Kate and Hayden to supper at his cabin. He’d beg her to stay one more week. He’d do whatever it took to convince her.

  Her car wasn’t there and no one answered his knock on the cabin door. Maybe she’d left a message for him at the desk. The girl in the office checked the book, looked up at him with an apologetic frown and said, “I’m sorry, but Ms. Jones checked out this morning.”

  Mitch was stunned. She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

  Again.

  He repeated that over and over as he sped back down the Pike’s Creek Road. There was no rental car with a flat tire pulled over on the side of the road. No Kate standing beside it, waiting for him to rescue her. No rental car was parked at his cabin. The place was empty. Desolate. Depressing. Without bothering to get out of the truck, he turned around and sped back to the airstrip. Wally and Campy were there.

  “Where’ve you been, hon? Kate came by looking for you,” Campy said as he jumped out of his truck.

  “When?”

  “Oh, about three hours ago. For some reason she thought you’d gone to Anchorage with Wally to see that 185 that sold the week it went on the market. I told her you were probably out at your place. She took the Subaru out and when she came back she said you weren’t there.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  Campy shook her head. “Back to the Moosewood, I guess. Hayden wasn’t with her.”

  Mitch slumped against the hood of his truck. She’d driven out to his cabin looking for him while he’d been off looking for a plane to take the place of her Porter. She was gone. She’d checked out of the Moosewood, and she and Hayden were on their way to Montana. He should have felt relief that the inevitable goodbyes had been avoided, but instead he was sick at heart. “I have to call the airport.”

  “Help yourself to the phone,” Campy said.

  The call confirmed what he already knew. Kate was probably halfway to Seattle by now. He returned to his truck, climbed into the cab and sat in numb stupefaction. Campy walked up to his open window. “You all right?”

  “Kate’s gone.”

  Campy lit a cigarette and watched him for a moment, then blew out a t
hin stream of smoke. “I wondered why she hugged me when she left.”

  “No goodbye,” Mitch said. “Just like before.”

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. I really am.” Campy shook her head. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then reached to take the cigarette from her hand, and stabbed it out in the truck’s ashtray. “Yeah. You can quit smoking before you get lung cancer.” He started the truck. “And you can tell Wally we have to find us a cheap plane to fly, because we’re sure as hell not using Kate’s.”

  He drove back to the cabin and the place felt even lonelier than it had the past two evenings. He was beginning to understand why the musher pulled up stakes and left. He climbed the porch steps and was en route to the refrigerator to grab a beer when he spotted the envelope on the counter. He felt a shock run through him as he reached for it, sliding the card out and unfolding it while his heart hammered in his chest. He read the words twice, then set it on the counter and carried a beer out onto the porch. Thor was pacing the way he’d paced ever since he and Hayden had parted at the end of the camping trip. Pacing through the cabin, pacing onto the porch, whining and pacing and missing the boy.

  Driving Mitch crazy.

  He leaned on the porch rail and gazed out across the clearing toward the mountain. He could find no solace in the wild beauty, only a greater depth to his loneliness. He took a swallow of beer. It tasted terrible. Thor came to a stop at his side, looked up at him and whined.

  “Quit that,” he said harshly. “Go get the beast that dug up the garden,” he said, gesturing to the plot with the fresh mounds of dirt thrown up in a pile. Then he looked a little closer. It was too neat a job to be the work of a groundhog or a bear. He descended the porch steps and crossed to the fenced plot. The gate was closed. It hadn’t been closed before. He opened it and stepped inside, seeing for the first time that the ground had been freshly dug and smoothed in one corner. All the clumps of sod had been piled to one side. In the center a stick had been driven into the soil and the seed packet was slipped over the top. He moved closer to see what she’d planted just hours ago, and felt a stab of pain when he read the packet.

  Forget-me-nots.

  As if he could ever forget.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KATE’S MOTHER was a wonderful cook. Ruth made her own whole grain breads, specializing in a basic crusty sourdough that, when warm from the oven and slathered with sweet butter, could still bring a glow to Kate’s heart. How her mother found the time to create such wonderful feasts always seemed magical to Kate. In charge of the running of the ranch, Ruth spent long days in the saddle or in the farm truck or tractor or wielding a posthole digger or growing a huge garden full of food while Kate’s father spent his days in the office, successfully growing other people’s investments. Retirement for her father consisted of moving his office to the ranch and conducting business via the Internet. This way he was closer to Ruth, which he much preferred.

  Kate’s father had begun his career as a lawyer. He’d worked as a public defender in Bozeman until the unfairness of the system caused him chronic insomnia and resulting health problems, whereupon he went into the business of managing other people’s money. He was calm and quiet and dignified, and he and Kate had always been close.

  She’d been home for three days before he folded the evening paper in the middle of his after-supper read, took his pipe out of his mouth and gave her a somber look through his dark-framed glasses. “How did it really go in Alaska?” he said.

  Hayden had fallen asleep in Kate’s lap, something he still did and she still found endearing. She rocked him in her mother’s chair, back and forth, and contemplated her father’s question. “It went well,” she said. “Really. Hayden’s father was very nice.”

  Seemingly satisfied, her father put his pipe back into his mouth, unfolded the paper and continued reading.

  “Kate?” Her mother poked her head into the living room. “I’ll be out in the garden if you need anything. Just holler if you want me to put Hayden to bed.”

  Her mother had fussed over her nonstop for the past three days, refusing to let Kate do anything on her own. “No, you let me do this. You just rest and get strong,” Ruth would command in that stern, maternal voice. One didn’t argue with Mother Jones. Kate had learned that at an early age. Ruth disappeared to spend the next hour or so weeding and watering, a pleasant evening ritual for her in the long days of summer.

  “They’re holding a big donor drive for you all across the state this weekend,” her father said out of the blue.

  “Who is?” Kate asked, startled.

  “According to the article, the Navy’s sponsoring it. They’re sending their own teams of medical specialists to oversee the drive. Because you have a healthy dash of native American DNA, they figure your best bet for a donor lies with the people of Montana, especially those with Crow blood.”

  “The Navy said that?”

  “Admiral Gates,” her father replied. “According to the admiral, your Mitchell McCray put the bug in his ear and gave him a push in the right direction. Apparently, McCray was instrumental in getting a donor drive going in Alaska and he was behind the Montana drive, too.” He handed the paper to her. “Read it yourself. It’s front-page news.”

  Kate scanned the article. Sure enough, Admiral Gates was quoted stating that Mitch was the driving force behind the effort to find a bone marrow donor, that Mitch had called him in the middle of a meeting and wouldn’t be put off until he spoke his piece. He urged the admiral to appeal to the Navy and the native people of Montana to help save Captain Jones, and emphasized that time was of the essence. The Navy’s medical specialists were pushing forward at top speed, and hoping for a great turnout of volunteers for the drive to help save this extraordinary woman, and others in need of bone marrow transplants.

  Then the Blood Bank of Alaska spokeswoman raved warmly about Mitch offering to transport financially challenged people who volunteered to be on the bone marrow registry. His generosity will help save lives. There was more, but Kate folded the paper, handed it back to her father and sat with her arms around the sleeping Hayden, rocking back and forth and thinking about the man she’d left behind and the things she hadn’t said to him but wished she had, and the plane he wouldn’t fly but should. About him sponsoring the transportation for “financially challenged donors” when he was more financially challenged than anyone she knew. And about a donor drive he’d instigated right here in Montana, through Admiral Ransom Gates, without ever telling her about it.

  Then again, why would he? She would only have protested his intervention on her behalf. He was trying to help her and she was trying to help him, but because neither was the least bit comfortable with the idea that they needed help in the first place, they shunned each other’s assistance.

  Stubborn and prideful, the both of them.

  “What about Hayden?” her father said, startling her again.

  “What about him?”

  “How did it go for him in Alaska?”

  Kate kissed the top of her son’s head, breathing the mingled scents of Montana sunshine and a little boy’s youthful innocence. “He saw wolves and a moose and a grizzly with two cubs, he had a dog of his own for a whole week, and he met his real father and liked him a lot.” She gave her own father a bittersweet smile. “He was a busy boy, and a very happy one.”

  THE WEEKEND of the big Montana donor drive came and went and was a great success, with over a thousand people of Crow ancestry joining the registry. Kate settled into a routine of sorts at the ranch, savoring the good food, tolerating her mother’s fussing, enjoying her father’s company and thinking about Mitch 24/7, which was okay because it kept her from thinking about something called acute myelogenous leukemia, a lead-lined room and dying in a hospital bed. She went for walks every morning in the foothills, took frequent naps, cuddled with Hayden in the sunny window nook and read aloud to him from the same books her mother had read to her as a child. H
e could already identify the letters of the alphabet and read certain words. “Dog,” he said, pointing to the word.

  “That’s right. Dog.”

  “I want one.”

  “As soon as Mumma’s better, you’ll have your own dog.”

  “I want Thor.”

  “Thor belongs with Mitch. He lives in Alaska.”

  “I want to live in ’Laska with Mitch.”

  “Don’t you like it here, with Gram and Gramp?”

  “Can we go back?”

  “Yes, we can go back, but not today and not for a while.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as Mumma’s better.”

  “When will you be better?”

  “As soon as the doctors find a good tissue match and I get a bone marrow transplant.”

  Hayden heaved a big sigh, stared down at the storybook and pointed to another word he recognized. “Daddy,” he said.

  Oh, God, Kate thought. Here we go.

  MITCH WAS UNFAMILIAR with things like mortgages and loan officers and the reams of paperwork required to qualify as a good risk for the bank. He spent the better part of a week filling out the forms to mortgage his Pike’s Creek homestead so he could get the money to kick in toward purchasing a half ownership in a 1983 Cessna 185. For a while it was touch-and-go. The loan officer frowned on the feast-or-famine income of a bush pilot flying for a start-up company and wouldn’t accept his pool hall winnings as legitimate income, but because his homestead was worth so much more than the loan amount and the bank would get the whole shebang if he defaulted, in the end they took a chance and loaned him the one hundred grand he needed to buy his half of the plane. Wally’s insurance money for the Stationair covered the other half and paid for a moderately good, used Quonset hut to use as a better office and work space.