of sorry for her. He had a sneaking suspicion if he yelled “boo” too loudly she would faint dead away from fright.
“I guess so.”
“Your mom let you come here all alone?” Mack could have sworn she wasn’t any older than sixteen.
“Both my parents passed away when I was a kid.”
Way to go, McCaulley. Open mouth, insert size thirteen-and-a-half boot.
“Oh, wow. I mean, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“Did your folks die at the same time?”
“No. A car crash killed my dad when I was six.”
“That must have been terrible.”
She nodded. “My mom was so grief-stricken she didn’t take care of herself. The doctors refused to say losing the love of her life caused her cancer to grow, but I know better. She and my dad were true soul mates. She even gave up Alaska and her life as a bush pilot for him.”
“Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman.” Too bad the daughter hadn’t inherited any of her mother’s moxie.
“She was.”
“So you’re an orphan.”
“My three doting great-aunts raised me. So I never felt like an orphan. But I miss my mom.”
Her voice had gotten stronger as she spoke. She had the cutest little drawl. Mack had flown enough tourists in his day to pinpoint her heritage as Texas. Or maybe Oklahoma.
“It’s nice. That you’re not all alone, I mean.”
Geez, he sounded like an idiot. Good thing Miss Marshmallow wasn’t potential mate material. With these brilliant and insightful comments falling from his silver tongue, she would drop him like a stone and he couldn’t blame her.
“How about you?” she ventured in a whisper. “Are your parents still alive?”
“My father died last year. My mother?” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about his childhood. “She left me and my dad when I was eight. Couldn’t handle the Alaskan winters any longer. She lives in Georgia with husband number five or six, I forget which.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“Not much. She hates Alaska. Says the wilderness scares her.” He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have much staying power when it comes to relationships.”
“Maybe you should reach out to her. She could be lonely.”
Mack hooted. “She’s invited to a different party every night. I seriously doubt she’s lonely.”
“She hurt you when she left, didn’t she?”
Mack angled her a look. “Funny,” he snapped. “You seem too shy to be the nosy type.”
“I’m not. I mean…oh drat…how much longer until we reach Bear Creek?” she mumbled.
He’d cut her off short. Not very nice of him. Especially when he recognized that conversation did not come easily to her. But he didn’t want to discuss his erstwhile mother.
“About thirty minutes,” he said more gently.
“Oh.”
“Name’s Mack, by the way.” As a way to apologize for his rudeness, he stuck out a hand. “Mack McCaulley.”
She stared at his palm and hesitated a moment before slipping her slender hand into his, then pulling away as fast as she could.
What? Did he have cooties?
“I know who you are. I recognized your picture from Metropolitan magazine. Page 110. The four of you guys are sitting around without shirts on.”
“Ah, the infamous ad.”
She stared at his chest then, as if recalling how bare he looked in that confounded advertisement and her cheeks darkened to bright crimson.
“You’ve got the advantage because all I know is your last name.” He tapped his log book lying on the seat between them. “What’s your given name?”
“Cammie Jo.”
Had she said Tammie Jo? He couldn’t be sure, she had such a soft tone, but the name suited her. Old-fashioned, sweet, innocent. For no good reason, he had the strangest urge to wrap his arm around her to protect her from the big bad world.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you, too.”
She smiled and met his eyes at last, although she immediately glanced away again. But that rapid-fire smile did dazzling things for her—let’s admit the facts folks—rather plain-Jane face.
Mack returned his attention to business as they neared the mountain range that almost surrounded Bear Creek. Like most of the numerous mountains in Alaska, this cluster had no official name, but the locals called them the Tlingit Peaks for the original natives who’d inhabited the area.
He angled the nose of the floatplane upward as the majestic blue hunks of snowcapped jagged rock drew nearer. She sucked in her breath with an audible whoosh. Turning his head to look at her once more, Mack discovered she had her eyes clenched shut.
“Afraid of flying in small planes?”
Cammie Jo nodded and swallowed hard. “Any planes.”
It had taken a strong dose of Aunt Hildegard’s home-brewed chamomile tea and a meditation tape to even allow her to set foot on the dawn flight from Austin to Dallas/Fort Worth and then on to Anchorage. If she hadn’t wanted to see Alaska so badly, nothing would have persuaded her aboard.
And planes weren’t the only things that frightened her. Top on her list of phobias? Making small talk with handsome strangers. And not just any handsome stranger but the very bachelor she’d been fantasizing about.
Being here with him was too cool and too cruel. Out of all the bush pilots in Alaska, how had she ended up with the object of her affections?
Of course she hadn’t the faintest notion of competing with other women to become this man’s wife. Because of her shyness, she feared she would never find her true love the way her mother and father had found each other.
How she wished she was gutsy enough to flirt with him.
Ha! That would be the day.
She knew Mack wasn’t impressed with her. Men never were. He’d barely even glanced at her when she’d sidled up to where he’d stood in the airport, holding a placard with her last name written in a bold masculine hand.
But what about the treasured wish totem nestled in the bottom of her handbag, waiting for her to come to a decision? What if the necklace worked? She could
