ground his teeth. “Your extra weight in the back of the plane made the engine stall.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip again.
“Oh?” he roared. “I should sue you! By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be looking at federal charges.”
“If you’ll stop yelling I’ll explain.”
“Just get out.” He needed to pound something, but he settled for grabbing the closest box and hauling it up to the snowy embankment. Even with the worn leather on the soles of his caribou-skinned boots, his footing slipped on the ice.
He whistled for Mickey. “Come on, boy. Take care of business and keep an eye out for wolves.”
Mickey barked his answer and leaped out, loping across the ice and out into the snow. There was a line of trees about a hundred yards to the north, mountains to the west, and nothing but tundra to the south and east.
He went back for another box as the woman was climbing out.
She slipped as she set her high-heeled boot down on the ice. “Did you say wolves?” She glanced around nervously.
“Yeah, there’re probably several packs close by.” He stopped beside her and leaned into her face. “And they get real hungry in the winter.” He brushed past and grabbed the other box. “Aren’t you more afraid of being out in the middle of nowhere with an alleged murderer?”
“I don’t think you killed anyone.” But she didn’t sound quite sure.
He set the box down at the edge of the lake and turned to face her. “Yeah. I did.”
Her eyes widened and she blinked a couple times. “Who?”
“Hoping to get information for your story?”
“I get it. You could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me?” She spun on her heel and scrambled back into the plane.
What the hell did she think she was going to do in there? He hurried over the ice toward his plane.
A minute later she came out the pilot’s door tugging on one of the coolers.
“Here.” He pushed on her shoulder. “Let me get it before you break something else.”
“I can do it.” She tugged again and lifted the cooler into her arms. She turned to give him a triumphant look and for the first time he saw her up close in sunlight. Her deep blue eyes sparked defiantly, but her full red lips trembled. The sun turned her brunette hair a deep rich mahogany. Something about her beauty made him want to drag her into his arms and claim possession.
What was he doing? Going all soft—or hard—over a pretty face? He grabbed the cooler from her and snarled, “You want a medal?”
By the time he’d set the cooler down in the snow and headed back, she had the last one in her arms. He took it from her. “Get my toolbox.”
“Isn’t someone sending out help?”
“No.” He walked cautiously over the ice and then set the cooler down.
“But, I heard you on the radio.”
“You want me to leave you here, just keep arguing.”
Her eyes widened and she dashed inside the plane.
He approached the Cessna just as she was climbing out with his toolbox in hand.
“I’m not calling for help over a damned bent strut.” Not unless he was forced to. He took the toolbox from her and recognized the gloves she wore as his. The ones he’d given her last night. Just before he’d kissed her. He glanced up, meeting her gaze.
The woman cleared her throat. “Here are your gloves back.” She held them out in front of him.
He spun and hunkered down to take a closer look at the broken gear. Dammit, she’d almost sucked him in again. Concentrate, you moron. Landing gear.
“Keep ’em.” He looked up at her, one eye closed against the bright sun. “For now.” He couldn’t really work with them on anyway. And he still had a traditional sealskin pair his grandmother had made him if he needed them. For now it wasn’t that cold.
He returned his attention to the job at hand. The wheel was sitting at an angle, the steel bar connecting it, bent. He could probably bend it back, but there was no guarantee it would hold through takeoff, much less another landing. He needed a new strut, and they probably didn’t even carry landing gear for a C-206 this old. Well, if he could get it good enough for now, he could probably find one at a junk sale online once he made it home to Barrow. If he couldn’t fix this, he’d be forced to radio to Nome for rescue.
“What can I do to help?”
“You mean besides never coming into my life to begin with?” He reached into his toolbox and pulled out a hammer.
“Yes.” From the corner of his eye he saw her cross her arms. “Besides that.”
“Nothing.”
“Fine.” She turned and walked away.
“Careful of the—”
She screamed and went down on her butt.
Max chuckled. “The ice.” His chuckle turned into a full out laugh as she tried to get up and rubbed her behind.
“Very funny.”
“Yeah, it is.” He hadn’t laughed out loud like that in…he didn’t know how long. “Maybe you could cut a hole in the ice with that glare of yours and catch us a fish for dinner.”
“Dinner? Are we going to be here that long?”
“Maybe longer. I don’t know.” He examined the busted gear. Might be able to use the oxyacetylene torch to heat the strut enough to hammer it straight. But he needed a way to keep the wheel elevated.
“Where are we?”
“About forty miles southeast of Nome. If you’re going to bug me asking a million questions, make yourself useful and grab that crate from the plane.”
“You ever heard of please?” But she was already moving.
He concentrated on how he was going to jack up the fuselage. “And you can bring me my sunglasses from the visor when you’re done with that.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she quipped from inside the plane. He tried not to smile. Didn’t she know killers don’t appreciate sarcasm?
He didn’t have a jack. He could forage for wood, but, what if…
She climbed out and set the crate beside him, then pulled his sunglasses off the top of her head and handed them to him.
“Ahem, your sunglasses, my liege.” She was bent over at the waist, holding his Ray-Bans in her palms with her arms extended. She had guts,
