treat, Uncle Mick?”
“Jo Beth,” Dean exclaimed, running excitedly over to his stepsiste, “Uncle Mick gave me the scary black knight and castle I’ve been asking Dad for.”
Marlee managed to wipe most of her tears away, but left bits of tomato sauce smeared across her cheeks. “Mick, you spoil the kids. Last time you came you brought half a toy store. I told you to stop already.”
“What are bachelor uncles for? Or bachelor brothers…? On my last trip to Missoula, I found some perfume to replace the bottle I broke when we moved you here. A clerk also helped me with stuff for the baby. Let’s go up to the house. After you clean up, you can open boxes to your heart’s content.”
“What’ll be left to give us when you come for Christmas?”
Her brother jumped down gingerly, and pulled a stack of various-size boxes into his arms before he shut the cargo door. “Uh, I’m thinking of taking off for parts unknown after Thanksgiving. I thought I’d find me a warm spot to ride out winter. Maybe I’ll go before Turkey Day. Stella said she’ll watch the house.”
“Mick!” Marlee couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You need family your first holiday without Pappy. Losing him was worse for you than me. I came home almost a stranger after being gone ten years. You gave him reason to live as long as he did.”
Mick stared toward the mountains. “I keep expecting him to come out for breakfast or to find him puttering in the workshop. It’s hard.”
“I understand. After Cole died I felt like running away. Only, I had Jo Beth. But…you have us, Mick.”
“I know,” he said, dropping back to match his long stride to her waddle. He stopped on the path when the top box threatened to fall. “Will you grab that. I think it’s your perfume. I’d hate to break a second bottle.”
She took the package. “Talk to me, Mick. It’s not good to hold your feelings inside. We’re twins. There was a time we shared all our hopes and dreams… and sorrows.”
“Back then our dreams were one and the same. To fly for the navy. It’s all either of us ever wanted. Now… Life’s a bitch sometimes.”
“So, your wanting to get away at Christmas has to do with…losing your career? It’s been six years, Mick. You rebuilt Cloud Chasers after Pappy let it slip, and it’s a great success. And who’ll fly mercy missions over the winter if you up and take off? To borrow Dean’s term, you’re Angel Fleet’s best sky knight.”
“Sky knight.” Mick snorted.
“Apt. I overheard the kids talking on a flight to Seattle for Dean. Jo Beth bragged that she and I were sky angels. Wylie had just told us about a girl Angel Fleet asked you to fly out for a kidney transplant. Dean said angel sounded too girly for you. He’s so into the knights and castles toys. He officially dubbed you Sky Knight.”
They’d reached the house and Mick was saved from commenting. He was a volunteer flyer. Why gussy up his role? The coordinators of Angel Fleet raised funds to keep flights free or nearly so for needy sick and injured people living in remote locations. The staff were the real knights.
The kids had dumped their boxes on the kitchen table, and were in the living room ripping open their new toys. Both dogs had flopped in front of a fireplace that had been laid with kindling and firewood, but not lit.
Mick hadn’t bought only the black knight and Polly Pocket sets for the children; he’d piled on a board game he knew they’d like, and books and music CDs. Wylie didn’t have TV reception, although Mick knew he was considering installing a satellite dish.
He handed his sister her maternity clothes, and shooed her off to the bedroom. “Wait, take this, too. I noticed Wylie’s belt was wearing thin. I picked him up a new one. Bison leather. It’ll last a long time.”
“Mick, you aren’t blowing all of Pappy Jack’s insurance money on us, are you? Because he’d want most of it plowed back into Cloud Chasers.”
“The business made a fair profit this year. Thanks to the way you straightened out my lackadaisical billing with that computer program. Stella’s done a bang-up job collecting old accounts, too. Dunning friends wasn’t something Pap or I were good at. Anyway, quit giving me flak. Who else do I have to spend my money on?”
She took the belt he held out and stared into his eyes for a time, plainly itching to say something.
He assumed she was debating whether or not to deliver her usual lecture suggesting he find a wife and start his own family. Shaking his head, Mick chucked her under the chin. “Go make yourself presentable before Wylie comes in for lunch. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and set the table. Your supplies will be okay stacked in the corner. We can sort out Halloween candy and baby gifts later.” Mick ducked out of the room, confident Marlee wouldn’t resort to yelling what was on her mind. And he was right.
MARLEE’S HUSBAND, Wylie Ames, tall, dark and usually not very talkative, arrived home after the others finished lunch. The dogs bounded to the back door to greet him, and the kids abandoned their toys to collect hugs as they regaled their dad with news of Uncle Mick’s generosity.
Marlee had saved Wylie some soup and a sandwich. While Mick relaxed over a second cup of coffee, she warmed the soup in the microwave. Wylie finally pulled free of the kids and filled the arch with his broad shoulders. He was wider of chest than his brother-in-law, but not as tall. Mick had never lost the lanky body typical of a born pilot.
The men had always gotten along. They’d forged an easy camaraderie long before Marlee moved back to Montana.
Wylie clapped Mick’s back in greeting before shrugging off his Park Ranger jacket. He’d left his boots in the mudroom and now padded over slick vinyl in his sock feet to kiss his wife.
“Hey, Mick, I was happy to see the Huey parked on my airstrip. There’s a smell of snow in the air. We may need to use the chopper instead of the Merlin to fly up to the potluck tomorrow.”
“You look windblown, Wylie. Will this storm be serious, you think, or will we only see intermittent snow flurries like one weather report predicted?” Marlee unconsciously rubbed her swollen belly.
Wylie filled a mug with black coffee, murmuring thanks to his wife when she pointed him to a chair at the table where she’d set his steaming soup.
“Don’t know how bad it’ll get. All I know is that this north wind has a bite we haven’t seen yet this year. I wasn’t sorry to find my campsites empty, just in case it snows a foot.” He picked up a spoon and dipped it in the thick pea soup. Marlee and Mick chatted while Wylie finished eating.
Done, Wylie carried his plate and bowl to the sink, and noticed Marlee concocting something at the counter. “More lasagna?”
“If either of you laugh, you’ll be wearing the batch I ruined,” she said, shaking a wicked-looking meat fork at him. “I’d filled a big pan to the brim with beautiful layers I’d assembled before you left this morning. Then I noticed the unopened container of cottage cheese on the counter. I tried lifting noodles and putting it in, but that was a disaster. This time I’m checking off each ingredient as I add it. I can’t have your friends thinking I’m a terrible cook.”
Mick gulped a mouthful of coffee to hide a smile. It was only lately his sister had learned to cook.
