by Kim Baldwin
Chaz shook her head. “Grizz needs all the rooms he’s got this summer, but he found us a place to stay. We’re renting a cabin at the edge of town that’s been up for sale a long while.”
“Feel kinda bad now that he’s given us a room for the next three months.” Bryson frowned. “Asked him about it back in November, when it looked like we’d have another slow season. He always had a couple empties last summer, so he said sure. And ’course he’s giving us a big discount. So he’s losing money.”
“And we won’t even be in it all the time,” Karla added. “We’ll probably go home now and then. We’re just here so much in the summer, me on medical calls and Bryson getting in late from runs, we wanted to be sure we always had a place to sleep and store a few things.”
Pasha had visited them several times for dinner. Bryson had built the log structure with her own hands, in an isolated Brooks Range river valley thirty miles north of Bettles. They seemed content despite the lack of running water and other things most people took for granted.
Megan turned to Chaz and whispered something. Chaz nodded. “That’s easy to solve,” Megan announced. “Our cabin’s got two bedrooms. Why don’t you both bunk with us?”
Karla and Bryson looked at each other and grinned. “Done!” Karla said.
“Hey! Whassup, gals?” Grizz’s baritone boomed from across the room as he headed toward them. “Didn’t know you two were coming in tonight,” he said as he reached across the table to wrap first Chaz’s hand, then Megan’s, in his beefy paws.
“Kind of an impulse,” Chaz said. “We were just talking about you, as a matter of fact. Bryson and Karla decided to share our cabin, so you can rent their room.”
Grizz grinned, exposing his fangs. “Cool beans. I can use it. How ’bout I say thanks with a free round on the house?” Not long after, they all sat sipping beer or wine and munching a big plate of nachos he’d thrown in.
“It’s gonna be a right fine summer with all of us here,” Dita said as she flicked a stray crumb of tortilla chip from her lap.
“We’ve got quite a growing little community of lesbians, don’t we?” Karla observed. “Seven now—the six of us, and Geneva.” Geneva De Luca, one of two waitresses at the Den, stood nearby busily cleaning a table. “We should form a club.”
“That’s a great idea,” Megan said. “Back in Chicago, my friends and I formed a group called Broads in Broadcasting. We’d meet regularly for drinks and girl time. If any of us are in town at say, six p.m. or so, we could converge here for dinner.”
The rest of them nodded enthusiastically.
“We need a name. How about…Arctic Amazons?” Pasha suggested. “No, wait a minute, strike that. I just got an image of us in weird leather outfits and tasseled headbands.”
They all laughed.
“Bent in Bettles?” Dita offered. More laughs.
They bandied more ideas around as the evening wore on, their suggestions more ridiculous with each round of drinks. Pasha enjoyed herself but couldn’t completely ignore her niggling premonition. After dinner, as they waited for their desserts, the feeling suddenly intensified. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the notepad in front of her, which contained some of their less ludicrous options. “So, where were we?”
“You just shot down my latest fine suggestion,” Megan said. “Though I don’t see what’s possibly wrong with The Far-North Fairies.”
“Fairies? Really, hon? You see me with wings, do you?” Chaz chuckled, and Pasha had to agree. Chaz epitomized the rugged outdoorswoman, all lean, muscled athleticism. She resembled Peter Pan more than Tinkerbell. “How about…” she grinned at Megan, “the Royal Ice Bitches?”
Megan scowled, but clearly in good fun, and Bryson and Karla joined Chaz in laughter.
Pasha looked over at Dita, also clearly clueless. “Obviously we’re missing something.”
“What a few of my writers and editors used to call me behind my back,” Megan said drolly. “When I was a news VP. Let’s just say I had a reputation for demanding excellence, and no one likes for someone to tell them they have to work the three a.m. weekend shift.”
Chaz smiled sweetly at her. “You have such a soft, mushy interior. I never see this Ice Bitch person.” Glancing conspiratorially at the others, she whispered, “Except, of course, when I forget to pick up after myself, or when I eat more than half of anything with chocolate in it.”
“I’ve trained you well.” Megan relaxed into the padded seatback of the booth with a smug smile. “So…we still don’t have a name. Think, girls.”
“Sapphic…something,” Karla mused aloud. “Or, um…Bettles Belles? Bettles Babes?”
Bryson grumbled. “I want something with some power, something that respects us living up here. With all due respect, sweetheart, those sound like pink cheerleading teams.”
“How about an acronym?” Dita suggested. “Like…” she thought a moment. “ADLIB. Adventurous Dykes Living In Bettles?”
“Hey, not bad,” Bryson said.
Karla agreed. “Best so far.”
Pasha opened her mouth to voice her assent, but no words emerged. In a flash, all the air in the room vanished. Her heart boomed, and the room spun. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to catch her breath and calm her raging heart. What was happening?
She forced her eyes open. No one had noticed her, but she heard her friends laughing at something only distantly. She had to discover what had caused this sick feeling and weird distortion of perception. She half-turned in her chair, slowly scanning the faces in the room, and as she swept her gaze over them, the booming in her chest intensified and her breathing quickened.
A family stood in the doorway: a native father, mother, and three children. The feeling strengthened, but somehow still not quite there. Unsettled, she continued to sweep the room, but when she turned away from the entrance, the sensation lessened. She felt like a child, playing the old game of warm, warmer, hot…no, colder. She looked back toward the doorway. The boom of certainty in her chest resumed. The family had moved into the restaurant and a stranger stood there now. A woman. Their eyes met.
Pasha’s world stood still. All grew deadly silent, and she went eerily calm, the raging furor that had boiled up inside her stilled in that instant of connection. The world around the woman blurred, and she became more vividly contrasted against it, cutting a lean and splendid figure in fitted black jeans, black leather jacket, and vivid blue shirt. Her boots made her appear taller than five-seven, and for some reason Pasha had envisioned the brown hair shorter than collar length, but this had to be Emery Lawson.
She had high cheekbones, a straight nose slightly upturned at the end, and rosy full lips pursed in thought. Because of the distance, Pasha couldn’t discern what emotion her dark-brown eyes conveyed.
Her stance—legs slightly apart, black leather boots firmly planted—projected an air of powerful self-confidence, She had two backpacks, which rested on the floor on either side of her. Pasha frowned. Was she traveling with someone? Maybe not so single, after all?
She blinked, and the world flashed back to normal. The Den was its usual bustling self, the sound of her friends returned, still debating what they would call their little group. Her seemingly lengthy assessment of Emery Lawson had occurred in only a second or two in real time—their prolonged eye contact an illusion. The stranger had merely scanned the room, her gaze passing over Pasha and moving to the bar. Emery picked up both packs and headed toward Grizz without another glance in her direction.
Clearly, her overwhelming connection to this handsome newcomer wasn’t mutual. Her buoyant mood deflated. I can’t be that wrong. Can I?
Before she could move, Geneva swooped in, sidling up to Emery at the bar with her best flirtatious smile. And damn if she didn’t look particularly appealing, tight jeans accentuating her well-proportioned curves and a low-cut V-neck sweater hugging her breasts and displaying ample cleavage. Geneva’s long dark hair, flawless olive skin, and smoky-gray eyes h
ad enticed more than a few tourists. Apparently, women who chose Alaska as a vacation destination often enjoyed all sorts of new experiences, because the summer before, Geneva had seemed to snag as many heterosexual women as lesbians for quick encounters after her shift.
Now, she’d obviously set her sights on Emery, who just might bite. She listened with interest to whatever Geneva proposed, and her smile grew bigger by the second.
“Pasha?” Dita’s voice penetrated her narrow focus.
She turned back to face the booth and found all her friends staring at her with perplexed expressions.
“Everything okay?” Dita asked. “You kind of spaced out there for a bit.”
She considered telling them what she was feeling, relaying this unusual and profound sensation of attraction, but Emery obviously didn’t share her fascination. So she kept quiet, feeling foolish that she’d built all this up so much. Perhaps her infallible instinct had gone haywire and wasn’t as reliable as she’d always believed.
“Sorry. I’m fine,” she lied, feeling anything but.
“Looks like Geneva might have found an end to her dry streak.” Bryson’s gaze had drifted toward the bar. “Nice newcomer. Anyone know her?”
Bryson felt protective toward Geneva. They had been involved for a few months before Karla came to town, but Bryson broke it off when it became clear Geneva wanted more than she could give. So she couldn’t fault Bryson’s happiness that Gen had found some company, though it only added to her despair.
“Nope,” Karla said, and the rest of the group shook their heads or mumbled agreement. Pasha returned her gaze to the pair. Geneva was still parked next to Emery, doing her best to engage her complete attention. She even suggestively caressed her empty drink tray now, but Emery’s focus had shifted at least in part to Grizz, who had joined them.
After a couple of minutes of conversation, Grizz reached for one of the room keys in back of the bar and led Emery toward the back stairs, carrying one of her backpacks. Geneva said something after their retreating figures that Pasha couldn’t hear, but Emery stopped at the doorway. She turned and gave Geneva a smile and small nod before disappearing.
As soon as she left, Geneva made a beeline for their booth and planted herself on the edge of one side, next to Dita. “Oh, my God.” She dramatically fanned herself with her empty drink tray. “Did you get a load of tall, dark, and gorgeous? Her name’s Emery, and she’s going to be around for the next few months. Months! She’s definitely playing for our side.”
“I know that name,” Dita said. “She’s spending the summer here and going on a bunch of trips with us. But she wasn’t due today, I don’t think. Pasha, do you recollect seeing her file?”
“Yes, I remember.” Pasha tried not to convey her torrent of emotions—confusion, jealousy, and who knew what else—or reveal how she’d practically memorized the file after it prompted such a profound physical reaction. She felt suddenly too vulnerable, and almost ashamed for getting so worked up about something apparently not to be. “She wasn’t due for another few days. She’s going on the photography trip.”
“Hey, since you’re already in town,” Dita turned toward Chaz, “you up for taking that one out with Pash? It’s only a three-dayer. The guy I have scheduled asked for some time off for personal reasons.”
“Sure. It’ll be a breeze if the rest of the clients are like that one—she certainly seems low-maintenance,” Chaz observed. “Fit. Well-used outdoor gear. Obviously a seasoned traveler. And if you’re right about her,” she told Geneva, “should be fun company.”
“Uh…fun company?” Megan scowled, but with obvious mirth in her eyes. “Do I need to play chaperone, honey?”
“You know I just mean it’s always more relaxed on these trips when you have some like-minded women along,” Chaz said. “Instead of some urban Muffy who can’t stop talking about the mall, and her boyfriend problems, and—”
“I was kidding, honey.” Megan stroked her arm. “I know exactly what you mean and how devoted you are.”
“Anyway, I intend to keep Emery far too busy for her to even look at another woman while she’s here, married or single,” Geneva declared. “I thought my hormones had gone into permanent hibernation, but they perked up immensely when she walked in.”
Everyone else laughed, but Pasha couldn’t even feign a smile. Though she wanted to feel angry with Geneva for treading on her territory, she knew better. She wanted Geneva to be happy, as she wished well for all her friends. And her suddenly unreliable intuition hadn’t given her any claim whatsoever over Emery. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but feel it all a cruel, cruel injustice.
Chapter Five
Next day, June 2
“Okay, I think this is the last.” Dita shouldered her pack as Pasha reached for the remaining food duffel earmarked for the fly-fishing trip. Bryson conducted her preflight checklist while the three couples and Lars boarded the plane. “Hold down the fort, and I’ll see you in a few days.” Though the guides carried satellite phones, the mountainous terrain, distance, and weather made the connections with the backcountry capricious.
“No problem.” Pasha followed Dita out the door and toward the runway two blocks away. The Den had the village’s best real estate. The wide windows in its rooms and restaurant overlooked the airport, an unremarkable clearing at the north edge of town with the small FAA station, a trio of hangars, a single gravel runway, and the wide Koyukuk river just beyond, which served floatplane traffic. However, behind the runway stood the magnificent Brooks Range, a seven-hundred-mile long, one-hundred-fifty-mile wide swath of peaks that stretched across Alaska and into Canada’s Yukon.
Only a handful of settlements dotted the entire range, so everyone who lived in this isolated wilderness used small bush planes. In most of the state, they provided the only way in and out. Pasha had flown in them so many times she’d long ago lost count, comfortable enough with the experience. She still had a deep respect for the weather’s unpredictability, though, and the risks involved in every flight. She’d had one scary trip with Bryson the previous summer, when they searched for a father and son who failed to show at the pickup point for their river-raft trip.
The weather had started fine but suddenly went lousy, with intermittent rain and a low cloud ceiling. Bryson found most of the passes obscured, so she had to make lengthy detours that ran them dangerously low on fuel. Upon their return to Bettles, she had to coast the last several hundred yards on empty tanks, Pasha gripping the handhold above her head so hard she lost all circulation in her fingers.
Because of that experience and the many stories she’d heard, Pasha worried every time one of her friends went into the sky because it might be the last time she would see them. Dita confessed she often thought the same, so every send-off always included a hug. “Have a wonderful trip,” she told Dita as they embraced at the doorway. “And take care.”
“I’ll bring us back something special for dinner.”
Bryson, dashing in her aviator sunglasses and ball cap, sheepskin-lined leather coat and jeans, came around to Pasha’s side and removed the chock from the right front tire. “I’ll come find you when I get back.” She routinely stopped at the office when she returned from a trip drop-off run to share impressions of the clients and the location over a cup of coffee.
“Look forward to it. Have a great flight.”
Bryson glanced up at the sky, an amazing shade of azure Pasha thought had to be unique to the clear air of the Far North. “Beautiful day for flying. The clients will get some great views.” Contentment spread across her face. She clearly had found her true calling, perfect home, and ideal mate. Pasha wished for the same.
Once the plane vanished from view, she returned to the office. Booking calls wouldn’t start for another hour, so she poured a second mug of coffee and settled into the back room, where she could be comfortable but hear if someone stopped in. Pasha didn’t expect anyone, but Karla or Geneva often dropped by seeking compan
y for breakfast when they rose early.
Dita had remodeled the office when she took over so it would have a more comfortable but rough-hewn look, with dark, rough-paneled walls, hardwood floors, and log beams spanning the high ceiling. Inuit art and photographs taken on recent trips of wildlife, breathtaking views, and happy clients having fun provided tasteful décor.
Before every trip, the guides also used the outer reception area to brief clients on what to expect. The briefings included extensive instruction on the leave-no-trace dictums of camping and hiking through the protected and fragile backcountry environment.
At the rear of the outer room stood the business counter and, beyond that, two doors: one to Dita’s office and the other to the employees-only area. A lounge took up half the spacious back room—a tiny kitchen, trio of comfy stuffed armchairs, couch, and coffee table—and long tables, where they packed food and equipment for the trips, occupied the rest.
Pasha pulled her MP3 player from her pocket and stuck the headphones in her ears. She kept forgetting to ask Bryson to pick up some cheap portable speakers in the Fairbanks Walmart. Pasha missed the lack of immediate access to most goods and services. The tiny store in Bettles had a very limited inventory—a couple of aisles of food and bare essentials, so even mundane things had to be flown in on special order. The Internet was a godsend for shopping, but shipping costs were dear and didn’t make sense for things like groceries. Fortunately, Bryson generally went to Fairbanks at least a couple of times a week this time of year and was always happy to pick something up for her when she had time to shop. She charged others a gas stipend, but not friends.
As Sara Bareilles’s soulful voice filled her ears, Pasha settled into one of the armchairs with her coffee and a stack of client files. After sorting them by trips, she’d check to see if she needed to follow up with anyone. Maybe staying busy would keep her from imagining whether Emery and Geneva were enjoying each other’s company, which she’d done half the night.