High Impact

by Kim Baldwin

  They roared with laughter, and Emery joined them, remembering how the real woman who’d inspired the story crashed into a waiter as she ran from the café in embarrassment. When the laughter died down, Emery said, “All right, now Bryson gets to humiliate herself with her story.”

  “Mine’s from when I first started doing commercial charters,” Bryson said. “I was eighteen or so. Hired to fly these three hunters way out in the bush, but weather kept us grounded half of their weeklong trip, so they were really itching to go by the time it cleared. Anyway, we get all the way up there, them razzing me all the while about how young I was, and I unload the cargo only to realize I’d left all their guns back at the hangar. They weren’t amused, especially since I’d set them down in prime grizzly country.”

  After more laughter, Chaz asked a question. “As you know, we call our little group ADLIB: Adventurous Dykes Living in Bettles, which means we need some proof of your qualifications. What’s the most daring or dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

  Getting on that elevator in Sofia qualifies. In retrospect, nothing she could ever do could match the danger of that, but presumably this question referred to risky endeavors she had willingly embraced. “Let’s see. That would probably be skiing in a closed avalanche zone in the Swiss Alps.” That adventure had been even riskier than it sounded, since she’d strapped on skis long before she was physically up to it and had barely made it back. “Geneva? You get to take this one.”

  “Most daring or dangerous, I believe the question was, and I’ll go with the daring part.” Geneva’s voice came from her right. “In college, I streaked across campus on a dare. Not a bad decision on my part, by the way. A lot of women asked for my number later.”

  More laughter.

  Bryson had the next query. “Do you play any musical instruments?”

  “I dabble on the harmonica some, if that counts.”

  Her answer drew a chorus of approving comments: “Great,” and “Oh, that’ll fit right in,” and, from Bryson, “We have a little group that jams in the Den now and then, so we may have to recruit you.”

  “So you play?” Emery asked.

  “Yeah. Drums.”

  The next question came from Karla. “Ever rescued anyone or done anything heroic?”

  “I saved my cousin from a sugar overdose every year by stealing most of his Halloween candy. Does that count?” Collective groans answered her for the most part, but a couple of people snickered. “Chaz, how about you on this one?”

  “No, I’ll take this,” Megan said, “since she rescued me. I tipped over in some whitewater on the kayak trip where we met and cracked my head against a rock. I’d have drowned if she hadn’t gotten to me. She’s too damn modest to tell you, but I’m sure not the first client she’s gotten out of trouble.”

  “That’s quite a novel way to get the girl, Chaz.” Emery brought up one hand to shield her eyes from the lights. “Next question?”

  “Who do you think is the most beautiful woman in the world?” Geneva asked.

  Emery answered without hesitation. “Michelle Pfeiffer.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can go there,” Bryson remarked, and a few others murmured agreement.

  “Who would you say, Karla?” Emery asked.

  “Michelle’s a great pick, granted, but I’m into brunettes, to no one’s surprise.” Bryson chuckled. “So, I’d probably say Sandra Bullock.”

  “Next question, Emery…” Dita’s turn to ask, apparently. “What food and drink could you never give up?”

  “Definitely coffee,” Emery answered. “And as for food, probably fresh-baked bread. It’s a major weakness. How about you?”

  “Sweet tea and my momma’s fried chicken. She made it every Sunday after church when I was growing up. Had this great crispy crust and was so moist inside. Put that with some mashed ’taters and cornbread, and I’m in heaven.”

  “Oh, man, I’m so glad I’m full,” Chaz said, and they all laughed.

  “No lie,” Emery said. “Who’s next?”

  “What’s the most significant event in your life so far?”

  The hardest question had come from Pasha. Emery wiped suddenly sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. Sometimes Pasha seemed to know much more about her than she should, almost like she could read her mind. The questions she asked were too damn insightful, always dancing around the secrets she managed to conceal so well from everyone else. That Pasha might have some unusual ability to see inside the “real her” both thrilled and disconcerted Emery.

  She couldn’t answer honestly, so she took the “out” Pasha had allowed and tried to come up with something witty. When that failed, she shamelessly decided to go for the suck-up approach. “Coming to Bettles, since it allowed me to meet all of you.” In a way, that wasn’t entirely bogus. She truly enjoyed these women’s company; she liked and admired every one of them. And Pasha, in particular, had especially impressed her.

  A few groaned, and a couple said, “Awww,” and “That’s sweet.”

  “How about you answer that question yourself, Pasha?” Emery asked.

  “Turnabout and all that, eh? Okay. Well, sorry to be redundant, but coming to Alaska is mine as well, for the same reasons.”

  “We’re degenerating into a syrupy love fest,” Megan proclaimed with feigned irritation, amid more laughter. “Which means it’s time to move on to phase two.”

  “Phase two?” Emery was steeling herself for another round of summer-camp-like shenanigans when the spotlights started clicking off. Someone pulled the curtains back and she had to blink several times to adjust to the sunlight. She sat in the cozy living room of a cabin, no doubt the one the two couples had rented because their things lay scattered here and there.

  The furniture—a long couch, two matching armchairs and a coffee table—had been pushed back. She was in the middle of the room, her back to a massive stone fireplace.

  “The toasting phase.” Bryson ducked through a doorway and returned with two bottles of champagne as the rest of them started to applaud.”

  “So, I’m in?” Emery stood up. “That’s it?”

  As everyone started to move the furniture back, Dita slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, you knew getting in was as easy as sliding off a greasy log backward. They’ve all been talking my ear off about you since I got back.”

  Karla and Megan started passing out the limited assortment of drinking vessels that apparently came with the cabin—coffee mugs, a juice glass, and three plastic wineglasses—while Bryson popped the cork on one of the bottles and poured.

  “To our new member and friend, Emery. May she always consider Bettles a second home and come back to visit whenever she can.” Bryson raised her mug and the others followed.

  “To Emery,” Pasha and a couple of others echoed enthusiastically.

  Emery noted that Pasha seemed relaxed and at ease, but kept her distance until time to clink their glasses together. As soon as they did, she backed off and took one of the solo armchairs.

  Emery wedged between Dita and Geneva on the couch. “Well, that was pretty painless. I had no idea what kind of questions you might come up with.”

  “Got one more surprise.” Bryson reached into a shopping bag beside the coffee table, pulled out a stack of baseball caps, and tossed one to each woman. The caps were navy-blue, with ADLIB tastefully embroidered in white across the front. “Place in Fairbanks does ’em.”

  Everyone put theirs on, amid a chorus of approving remarks and several versions of “Thanks, Bryson.”

  They chatted for another hour or so as they polished off the champagne, then Dita played the bad guy and suggested they call it a night. Most of them had to get up early to prepare for the photography trip, so few objected. Emery was ready to head back to her room as well. Her joints had stiffened and her muscles were cramping from the long day’s hike. She desperately needed more pain meds.

  “Walk me back?” Geneva tucked her arm in Emery’s as they all gathered on the porc
h for good-byes.

  “Sure.” Emery glanced over at Pasha, who was watching them from a few feet away with an unreadable expression.

  “See y’all in the morning.” Dita put her hand on Pasha’s back. “You ready for your first big trip?”

  “More than ready.” Pasha’s eyes never left Emery’s. “I can’t wait.”

  “I’m with you there,” Emery said. “I’m sure it’ll be memorable.” They were using their secret language, half words and half body language/eye contact, again, equally anxious to spend some quality time together.

  “Sleep well, everyone.” Pasha fell into step next to Dita and headed off toward the Eidson building as the rest waved good-bye or replied with similar sentiments.

  Emery and Geneva veered left, toward the Den. They walked slowly, Geneva’s hand still tucked into the crook of Emery’s arm.

  “I’ll miss you while you’re gone,” Geneva said. “Can I reserve the first night you’re back? Ellie will let me cook something special in the kitchen. Maybe we can do a candlelight supper in my room?”

  “I’d like that,” Emery replied. “You a good cook?”

  “I have many hidden talents.” Geneva’s tone was flirty and playful.

  Emery couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure you do.”

  “And you’ll succumb to them. Wait and see.”

  Pasha intrigued Emery more, but she couldn’t help but like Geneva a lot as well. She was funny, spirited, and a well-versed flirt, not to mention very compelling physically, and Emery had been impressed with how well she seemed to be taking the news that she would also be dating Pasha. She’d knocked on Geneva’s door last night after her shift to tell her, and Geneva had reacted with a calm, “That’s cool. Pasha’s a great gal.” Perhaps Geneva was capable of a no-strings affair without repercussions, as long as she knew the score upfront.

  As they ascended the final stairs to their rooms, Geneva said, “I’ve been reliving that kiss in Old Bettles. Think I can get a repeat to tide me over until you get back?”

  “That can be arranged,” she replied as they paused in front of Geneva’s door.

  Geneva looked up at her expectantly as she wrapped her arms around Emery’s neck. “In case I don’t see you before you leave, have a fabulous time. Be safe.”

  “I will. You, too.” Emery put her arms around Geneva’s waist and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss of good-bye that Geneva escalated into a more passionate exchange.

  “I don’t know if that’s actually going to help my missing you, or make it worse,” Geneva said when Emery gently pulled back.

  Emery kissed her forehead as she extricated herself from Geneva’s embrace. “Good night. Sleep well.”

  “You, too. ’Nite.”

  Emery quickly recorded the day’s events in her journal before she retired, to give her pain pill a chance to kick in. As she snuggled under the comforter, she envisioned what would be happening in Geneva’s room right now had she allowed their kiss to go on much longer.

  The image was certainly inviting.

  When she pictured herself becoming intimate with Pasha, however, she had a much stronger visceral reaction. Just thinking about it aroused her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  June 5

  Pasha stuffed an extra PowerBar into Emery’s client pack, zipped it closed, and stacked it with the others by the door. “That’s the last of it,” she told Chaz and Dita. Her heart already beat faster than usual in her excitement about this trip. Who knew what would happen once Emery got here.

  She’d stayed up late wondering how the power would manifest itself when they interacted constantly in close quarters. Most of all, she hoped she wouldn’t faint again. Another blackout would not only jeopardize her burgeoning career as a guide but would endanger her and her clients, Emery in particular.

  What if, for example, she slipped going up a narrow trail or scree-strewn hillside, and Emery reached out to help her? Certainly not improbable, as were dozens of other similar scenarios, particularly during the more risky trips later in the summer.

  Her gift had always made Pasha feel special and comforted, like having a cosmic guide to help her make the right decisions. So she still had a difficult time imagining that it might steer her so forcefully and so irrevocably toward Emery without the possibility of a happy future together. She wanted to trust her instincts as she always had, whatever the risk to her heart, but her responsibility as a guide necessitated she use caution around Emery.

  The weather radio in the corner blared the public-alert tone that indicated a special advisory. A developing storm front would hit the interior with gusty winds and potentially heavy rain the day after tomorrow—the last day of their photography trip.

  “Let’s hope they’re wrong again,” Dita said. Dita wasn’t slamming the meteorologists. Alaska’s terrain, latitude, and vastness meant that every type of possible weather might occur somewhere, all at the same time. And conditions could, and did, change by the minute.

  “We’re prepared if they’re not. Just won’t be as much fun for the clients,” Chaz replied as she stowed her camera gear into her own pack.

  Heavy rain would keep them all inside and make for less-impressive meals. But on the plus side, Pasha might get additional time with Emery to talk and get to know each other.

  The bell over the entrance jangled. “Here they are,” Dita said.

  They headed to the outer office to greet their clients, Pasha sensing that Emery hadn’t arrived yet. The six men and women who’d signed up for the photography trip knew to assemble in the outer office at nine a.m., and it was still a few minutes before.

  Dita greeted three women who’d come in. “Good morning and welcome to Bettles. “I’m Dita Eidson, and here are Pasha Dunn and Chaz Herrick, your guides.”

  All three clients wore brand-new hiking clothes and boots that looked barely broken in. Their duffel bags containing their personal gear also appeared right off the rack. Fortunately they planned to set up a base camp and only take short outings from there every day. These clients didn’t look like they did a lot of hiking and camping, which wasn’t uncommon. They billed the three-day, two-night photography excursion as a “beginner, non-strenuous” trip, which pretty much opened it up to everyone. Dita had more rigid requirements for some of the backpacking and kayaking trips. She always built in contingency plans for injuries or delays due to weather, but plotted the longer trips with a daily mileage quota to their campsites and final pickup point.

  The first one who stepped forward and offered her hand, an older white woman with steel-gray hair cut in a soft wave, was petite and wiry and had a quick smile. “Hi, Dita. I’m Ruth Thomas. From Pittsburgh.” As they shook hands, Pasha filled in what she could remember from Ruth’s client file. At sixty-six, she looked at least a decade younger. A widow with five kids, and recently retired.

  “My friends,” Ruth said, turning toward her companions. “Toni Whitaker and Alyson Jones.”

  Toni Whitaker, in her early thirties, cut an imposing figure. A six-foot-three black woman with broad shoulders who looked like she could be playing for the WNBA, she spoke so softly her voice seemed completely at odds with her formidable appearance. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

  Alyson, short and stocky, had spiky blond hair and multiple piercings in both ears and eyebrows. Though twenty-four, Pasha recalled, she could have passed as a teenager. “Hey there.”

  The three women couldn’t seem more different from each other, and Pasha wondered how they’d become friends.

  “The rest should be here soon,” Dita told them. “Why don’t y’all take a seat and get comfortable. Just made a pot of coffee if anyone’s interested.”

  Ruth and Toni wanted some, so Pasha went to the back room to fill a couple of mugs. She heard the entry bell again, and by the time she returned to the outer office two more newcomers were introducing themselves. From the look of their clothes and gear, Joe and Mandy Fillmore, a married couple from Seattle, were serious fly-fish
ing enthusiasts. Both had on worn, multi-pocket vests crammed with flies and other equipment.

  As she shook hands with them, Pasha felt a sudden uptick in the power, a warm infusion of strength and a heightening of awareness. Emery.

  The sensation built as it had before, gaining ferocity the closer Emery got. By the time she appeared in the doorway, Pasha’s nerves were stretched tight and she had to remind herself to breathe, but when their eyes met, she felt calm again, the familiar sense of bliss settling over her like a blanket.

  “Sorry, am I late?” Emery asked when she saw the rest already comfortably seated, their gear stacked by the door.

  “Nope, right on time,” Dita told her. “Why don’t you grab a seat and we can get started.”

  Pasha tensed until Emery selected a chair on the other side of the room from where she stood.

  For the next half hour, Chaz detailed all they’d need to know for their three days in the backcountry. To minimize any problems with bears, they would set up their cooking/eating area well away from their sleeping cots and put all food and trash into bear-proof containers and carry it at least two hundred feet away from camp each night. “If you help with the cooking or spill food on yourself, change before you go to bed,” she told them. “And don’t keep anything with a strong smell—candy, flavored drinks, lotions, toothpaste, and such—where we sleep.”

  She provided the same instructions Pasha had given Emery about making noise outside of camp, particularly when they made a pit stop alone. Then she explained the importance of the leave-no-trace tenets of camping, designed to minimize their impact on the fragile Arctic landscape. As she spoke, Pasha handed out printouts that included all the information Chaz was imparting as well as guides to the plants, birds, and wildlife they might encounter. As she neared Emery, her euphoric bliss from their connection intensified until her entire body buzzed.