The Single Dad's Guarded Heart

“I’ve seen some of those rinky-dink landing strips,” she said drily, dumping corn into boiling water. “Do you feel like setting the table?” she asked, changing the subject.

He climbed slowly to his feet. Marlee saw what it cost him to try to do that with panache. She said nothing else until they were all seated at the table, and Jo Beth had offered a simple prayer. Pappy alone dug into his meal.

“Out of curiosity, Mick, what timetable does the doctor give you for getting back in the saddle after surgery?”

“Eight to ten weeks. But I heal fast. I figure I can take the controls again later in the winter. Between more lodges, and more outpost rangers stocking up before snow socks ‘em in, I get busy. After November, calls are sporadic until spring thaw, except for an occasional emergency. And your military training qualifies you to handle those.”

Marlee nibbled a thin slice of steak. Jo Beth loved baked potatoes. She was making a healthy dent in the one Marlee had cut and buttered for her.

Pappy devoured his food, tuning them out. Marlee heard him humming. It wasn’t until he wolfed down everything on his plate, shoved it back and went outside without a word, that she revisited a previous topic. “Mick, I want to help. With a little refresher on fixed-wing aircraft, I can fly your route. Even into the winter, if need be. For God’s sake, I landed choppers on carriers in all kinds of weather. But…two things. It’s imperative that you agree to let me name you as guardian for Jo Beth should anything happen to me. It’ll probably take a codicil on my current will. And…after surgery, how do you propose to manage here if I’m on a flight? You’ll be on painkillers at first. Jo Beth can’t be given the freedom you apparently allow Pappy.”

“What would you say to taking her along? I mean, we flew with Pappy and Dad from the time we could crawl into the cockpit. Mrs. Gibson—Stella, a widow from down the road—does light housekeeping here now. She can look in on me’n Pappy. She often prepare meals for us to pop in the oven.”

“Taking Jo Beth wasn’t something I’d considered. I’ll have to think about that.” Standing, she started stacking plates. Jo Beth had excused herself to play with her dolls. Marlee wondered if her daughter would like flying. Until Cole got really ill, on weekends Marlee sometimes rented a plane and flew him out over the ocean he loved.

They’d told Jo Beth what her mother did for the navy—fly. Marlee had planned to request a discharge at the end of her first Gulf tour. But while she was on active duty, Cole had better medical coverage as a spouse than he did once he took a medical discharge. Marlee had let Rose talk her into signing on for another two years. She’d never once dreamed the Navy would promptly deploy her again. She’d already missed too many of Jo Beth’s formative years. Missed being on hand when Cole’s conditioned worsened. Hey, maybe a flight now and then would be good for her daughter. Except for her new tantrums, Jo Beth seemed far too serious.

Shaking off her sudden blues, Marlee carried her load to the sink. “I see you had a dishwasher installed. That’s a four-star improvement.”

“Yeah, but not in the cabins.” With a hint of the old Mick, he teased, “Guess that means you’ll have to fix all your meals at the main house. You don’t want to end up with dishpan hands.”

“I can afford a dishwasher, brother dear. Fighting Rose in court didn’t go through my entire savings, even if my lawyer did his best to see I didn’t end up too well off.”

“Ouch…life’s a real bitch, sometimes,” he said, lowering his voice.

“All God’s chilluns got trouble,” Marlee quipped back. “Let me put these dishes in to wash, then why don’t we go take a gander at your office?”

“I guarantee my plane engines are in better shape. While you finish up here, I’ll see where Pappy got off to.”

“You said he runs off?”

“Wanders. He’s usually messing around in the workshop. It’s important to lock the doors on the planes. Can’t trust him not to get it into his head to fly. That’s why I let him ride along, especially if I’m going to the fishing lodges. He loves gossiping with his old cronies.”

“I hate to see him going downhill, Mick. Is his health okay other than the arteriosclerosis? Is that what they used to call hardening of the arteries?”

“Uh-huh. He’s got the usual health issues of a man his age. His cholesterol’s sky-high. The doc said to limit red meat and dairy. Bad though I am in the kitchen, I did try. First time I told him no more steak he walked all the way into Whitepine and ordered rib eye at Sue Jensen’s restaurant. I went nuts when I couldn’t find him anywhere on the property. I called the sheriff, and Pappy gave us both what-for. So, call me negligent, but I let him eat steak or roast a couple of times a week.”

“I’d never call you negligent, Mick. Cole bucked his doctor’s orders, too. He loved the beach. One time, Rose summoned me home from the Gulf when things looked grim. Cole rallied and begged me to drive him and Jo Beth to the beach. He wanted to build sand castles with her. But he was too weak, so he persuaded me to build them for him. We dug in the damp sand while he watched. He kept urging us to build more.” She bit her lip. “Jo Beth was having fun, and I didn’t realize the sun had dropped. It’s always windy at the beach…but Cole got really chilled. He had no defenses to fight off infection. Rose accused me of hastening his death. I don’t know,” Marlee said slowly, almost absently. “He laughed that day, Mick. We saw his old sparkle.” Her throat worked and her voice had grown raspy.

“Leave the dishes. When we come back, I’ll help. Pappy heard us talking about the office, and I’ll bet he decided to straighten up.”

Grabbing the chance to shake off her thoughts of Cole’s last days, Marlee rounded up Jo Beth and found them both sweaters. They kicked through fall leaves, saying little until Marlee noticed Mick rubbing his hip and leaning into his left leg.

“When did your doctor think he could schedule surgery?”

“Next week if I give the word. If I called tomorrow, he’d probably have me under the knife on Tuesday.”

“That doesn’t give us much time to draw up an addendum to my will, or for me to check out the fixed-wing planes. But…do it, Mick. I can’t bear to watch you suffer like this.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got a run tomorrow. Nothing again till Thursday. Supplies going to Finn Glenroe’s lodge. You remember him and Mary?” As Mick opened the office door, Pappy turned, feather duster in hand. Mick hadn’t exaggerated; the place needed cleaning. The place looked junky. The desk held an ancient, dusty computer, nearly hidden by stacks of invoices.

“What about Finn?” Pappy flipped his duster, and they all choked. “Oops,” he said, “should’ve stepped outside.”

“I was telling Marlee which jobs are firm. Oh, I almost forgot Wylie’s generator parts. They go out whenever Don Morrison calls.”

“You tell Marlee that Wylie Ames is part Blackfoot?”

Mick shook his head. “He’s Chinook Native. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“He’s tight-lipped. I hear the boy’s got no native blood. Like maybe the woman he married cuckolded Wylie. Could be why he did her in—if’n he did.”

“Pappy, honestly! Shirl left him. Uh, that cop show you like is on in ten minutes.”

The old man surprised them by locating a pad and pencil. He handed both to Jo Beth. “Draw me a picture to hang on the fridge,” he said before he left.

Mick demonstrated his computer program for Marlee. They discussed flight plans and talked for an hour while shuffling papers.

“I’ll dig into this filing mess first thing tomorrow,” she promised. “It’s pretty straightforward. Same system Mom set up, except for the computer. Maybe you could build a better tracking system while you recover.”

“I swore you wouldn’t have to fly. You sure you want me to call the doc about the surgery?”

“Do it before I have second thoughts. Besides, seeing the planes and all…well, what flyer ever voluntarily grounds him or herself?”

Mick grinned cheekily and dusted his knuckles over her softer chin.

THE NEXT DAY he did phone Dr. Chapman. “It’s all set,” he told Marlee. “I’ll watch you fly touch-andgoes in the Arrow this weekend. Monday you take me to Kalispell for pre-op tests. By Wednesday I’ll be the proud owner of a space-age hip.”

“I’ll write up a note to attach to my will. I’m sure the hospital has a notary.”

“Sounds good. By the way, I’m taking Pappy with me today.”

That gave Marlee a chance to begin establishing a routine for Jo Beth. All in all, the girl threw only one small tantrum, insisting she wanted Grandmother Rose.

Marlee didn’t hate Cole’s mom. But with her own worry over him and the fact that Marlee was gone often, Rose had usurped her role as Jo Beth’s mother. The first time she’d come home on rotation, and Jo Beth refused to have anything to do with her, hurt more than Marlee had ever let on. Each trip, the gap widened. Still, after Cole died it’d been a shock when Rose sued for legal custody of her granddaughter.

The remainder of the week passed in a blur. Marlee spent four hours a day bringing order to the office. The rest of her time she divided between getting reacquainted with Jo Beth, flying, and leafing through her Mom’s old cookbooks.

She’d totally forgotten about Wylie Ames until she picked up the phone in the office on Saturday and heard him say, “You’re still visiting, huh? It’s Ranger Ames. Tell Mick that Don Morrison will have my stuff by noon on Wednesday. I’d like them delivered Thursday.”

“Okay.” Marlee jotted herself a note, but when she began to say she’d be the one flying in with his order, she discovered Ames had hung up. Muttering about his rude phone manners she slammed down her receiver.

She and Mick spent Sunday afternoon discussing his regular customers and their expectations. He talked about their landing strips. “Most are primitive, sis. Only a couple of them have lights, so I try to arrange morning deliveries. The smoke jumpers’ camp has an asphalt strip. Wylie wired lights on either side of his. If he knows I’m coming in late, he’ll fire ’em up with his generator.”

“I’ll make sure I only fly in daylight, Mick. I’m glad Ranger Ames’s parts don’t have to go out until Thursday. That way I can visit you in the hospital after your surgery, and collect his order in Kalispell.”

“Call him Wylie. Don’t want him to think you’re uppity.”

“Mick—all that stuff Pappy said about him… I, uh, plan on taking Jo Beth along. Is he…is it safe?”

Mick laughed. “As a rule, I time his deliveries so I can eat lunch with Wylie. His son, Dean, is a great kid. He’s homeschooled and I take him books on wild animals. He’s always healing a bird, a raccoon, deer or squirrels. I have a couple of books waiting to give him.”

“I don’t plan to socialize, Mick, only off-load the order.”

Over the next few days, what with Mick being in the hospital, Marlee had so much on her mind that Wylie Ames took a back seat until it came time to pick up his order in Kalispell. Even then, her mood was much improved because the surgery had gone well. She left Mick flirting outrageously with an attractive nurse, and went to refuel the Piper Arrow. She was glad the plane handled like a dream.

Thursday was a beauty for flying, with a clear blue sky and thready white clouds. Below stretched the orchards Mick had told her about, and the vineyards, laid out like quilt blocks. Jo Beth was excited about getting to fly, and Marlee, who’d worried how her daughter would do, finally relaxed.

Having decided to make the ranger station her first drop, Marlee spotted the landmarks Mick had mentioned. It wasn’t long before a runway came into view. She circled once to get the layout and to test the wind. As she started down, Jo Beth pointed. “Mama, there’s a boy waving.” Jo Beth waved back, and Marlee noticed a man standing at the end of the runway.

She throttled back, frankly unable to take her eyes off him. His dark presence embodied every last one of Pappy’s innuendos and warnings. It flashed through Marlee’s mind that from a distance, the dark-haired, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped man reminded her of Cole before he’d taken ill and his body had wasted away. Suddenly her hands shook and the plane dipped. She quickly regained control, but landed with an irritating little hop. A beginner’s mistake that unnerved her as she powered down. Ripping off her headset, Marlee leaped from the cockpit and shook out her hair, only to discover, as she watched the taciturn Wylie Ames, that he watched her, too.

Marlee hurried around the Piper’s nose to assist Jo Beth. For some reason, Marlee disliked the fact that Ames was too far away for her to see the color of his eyes. Ace-of-spades black would be her guess—to go with the scowl he wore.

A shiver of apprehension wound up her backbone seconds before she decided not to let Pappy’s rumors affect her. She purposely stiffened her spine.

CHAPTER TWO

WYLIE AMES MOTIONED to his excited eight-year-old son, Dean, to stay back until Mick Callen’s charter plane came to a full stop. Then the ranger saw a woman at the controls. Where was Mick? Damn. Wylie always looked forward to the bush pilot’s visits. So did Dean. Their outpost did get lonely. Not that Wylie minded solitude so much, but it was hard on his son, who was by nature more sociable.

Whoa! Not one but two females had invaded his bastion, Wylie saw, as the woman hurried around the plane to assist a child from the passenger side. A curly-haired girl.

The pilot studied him warily. Wylie figured she must be the woman he’d talked to on the phone—Mick’s sister. He couldn’t help but wonder what she might’ve heard about him. Right now, while Wylie stared into the sun, she had the advantage of checking him out. Even shading his eyes with a hand allowed him only sketchy impressions. So, he moved into the trees.

She was tall for a woman, and thin as a conifer sapling. Her hair was something, though. Like honey fresh from the comb. The thick mass fell to well below her shoulders. Nice. Very nice.

As she stepped out of the sun and he was afforded a better view, Wylie felt a kick to his sternum that left him gasping for air. He told himself to get a grip. He’d banned reactions of that kind long ago.

He clamped his back teeth tight as Dean bolted past on his way to greet the new arrivals. Feet welded in place, Wylie had some furious thoughts for Mick Callen. What the hell was his friend thinking? Of course, it was his right to put his own plane at risk. But there was the matter of Wylie’s shipment…. Parts for his ancient generator came at a premium and were getting harder to locate. Out here in the wilderness, a generator was vital, especially during tough winters.

His son’s chatter, followed by a higher-pitched response, shook Wylie from his thoughts in time to see the pilot lift a wood crate from the cargo hold. It was evident from her stiff steps that the crate weighed probably as much as she did.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, striding over to relieve her of her load. Up close, it looked to him as if she’d break more easily than a sapling. Irritation made him muscle her aside none too gently, and he carried the crate the rest of the way. “I don’t know why Mick sent you, but he should have his head examined. This stuff’s too heavy for a woman.”

Marlee, already simmering at being assessed by this backwoods oaf, glared up—and at just over five foot nine herself, there weren’t a lot of men she had to tip her head back to meet eye to eye. Confronted instead by Ames’s broad back, she wheeled and stalked to the plane to haul out another crate.

His expression was dour as he hustled toward her and reached for her load. Marlee offered a slight curl of her upper lip that some might mistake for a smile…seconds before she let go of the box. She knew her aim had been true when she heard him swear. Marlee glanced over her shoulder and saw Ranger Ames hopping about on one square-toed boot.

Satisfied, she returned to the plane for a third box.

The kids, still yakking up a storm, had progressed from the passenger side of the Arrow to its nose. A gangly boy with sandy red hair, freckles galore and lake-blue eyes said, “I’m Dean. Is it all right if Jo Beth goes with me to the tire swing my dad hung in our apple tree?”

Marlee paused to take in the pair of eager faces. This was the most animated she’d seen Jo Beth since before Cole’s death. “Is it far?”

“Nope. You can see our house from here.” The boy waved a hand toward a cabin visible beyond a forest of trees more diverse than the ones that grew in Whitepine. At a glance Marlee identified spruce, fir, larch, cedar and hemlock. Each emitted its unique scent—aromas Marlee had grown up with, but had forgotten. For too many years, she’d spent her days and nights at sea on the deck of a carrier where she smelled mostly jet fuel mixed with sweat.

All the same, the old familiar sights and scents settled her jumpy stomach. Jumpy because she’d more than half believed Pappy Jack’s gossip surrounding the supposed disappearance of Wylie Ames’s wife, this outgoing little boy’s mother. But Dean Ames certainly seemed happy and well cared for.

Marlee shot a surreptitious glance to where she’d left the grumpy father, only to discover he’d collected himself and hovered like a dark gloom over her shoulder.

“Dean, these folks won’t be here that long. I just need to transfer these last two crates and check the paperwork, and they’ll be off.”

“But, Dad, you made gumbo and baked bread. And you said we were having company for lunch.”

Wylie cleared his throat. “I, ah, expected Mick.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Marlee said drily. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Mick’s sister, Marlee Stein. We spoke on the phone. Twice. I’m making deliveries because Mick had hip surgery on Tuesday. I’ll fly the route until he recovers.”

Ames pushed mirrored sunglasses into his hair and frowned. “Is Mick okay? I’m sorry as heck. He’s had…what? Four or five operations?” A cloud of sympathy filled eyes Marlee expected to be almost black, but which were a dark gray that didn’t conceal emotions well. His concern for her brother spurred Marlee to loosen up a little.

“We hope Mick’s new hip will mean his last hospital stay. I saw him yesterday before I picked up your parts. He came through the operation well enough be flirting with a pretty nurse.”

Unexpectedly, Wylie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as Marlee’s words elicited a knowing masculine grin.

“Before I forget,” she said, oddly feeling easier in his presence, “Don Morrison at the parts house mentioned that he wasn’t able to scare up everything you need. He said there’s no single supplier who stocks everything for your generator. He suggests you consider purchasing a newer model.”

The big man slid the heaviest crate from the plane. “I’ll have to remind Don that the powers that be in D.C. seem to think forest rangers should be able to live totally off the land.” His grin flickered. “Third time they’ve cut Parks Department funds so they can give more to the military.”

“You’re speaking to a very recently discharged navy flyer who cursed those same powers in Washington every time we had to scrounge for parts to keep our choppers aloft.”

“If you bounced the navy’s aircraft around the way you did the Piper when you landed, I understand why they broke.”

Gone was the fleeting goodwill she’d felt over his sympathy for Mick. “Look, buster, I assure you the navy regarded my flying skills very highly. I can fly anything with wings, I’ll have you know.”

Wylie merely grunted, presumably under the weight of the box.

Dean Ames, who’d stood patiently by while the adults traded insults, pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “Da…ad! Jo Beth and me could’ve gone to the swing and been back.”

Wylie raised a black eyebrow as if deferring the decision to Marlee before he continued over to the other crates.

“Oh, go on,” she said, removing the last item from the hold. “Jo Beth, I’ll call you when I’m ready to fire up the plane. It won’t be long,” she warned.

Even before her last word was out, the kids had darted up the trail into a thick stand of timber. Straining, Marlee could see the ranger’s cabin…and a window box overflowing with colorful marigolds? A trailing vine awash in red blooms? She gawked, which slowed her progress and allowed Ames to catch her off guard when he pulled at the crate in her hands.

“Hey, watch it,” she grumbled, trying to yank the box back. “Mick said part of our service is loading and unloading a customer’s freight. Which leaves said customer free to check the contents of a delivery,” she added pointedly.

“Well and good, but you aren’t Mick.”

“Ranger, I’m not a weakling,” she called after him. “A few months ago I was swooping into enemy territory and carrying shot-up soldiers to my chopper.”

Wylie offered no response. After dropping his load at the end of the runway, he returned for the bill of lading she’d retrieved from the cockpit, then silently strode to the crates and sliced open the first one with a wicked-looking knife Marlee hadn’t seen; it had been strapped to his boot.

She shuddered at the sight, but her attention quickly moved to the rippling of muscles beneath the ranger’s khaki shirt. Something about him reminded her of Navy SEALs she’d run into. A go-to-hell cockiness. Her gaze moved from his broad back to the tanned hands pawing through shredded paper. If indeed the man had Chinook blood as Mick claimed, Ames’s skin was probably the same smooth bronze all over. Marlee ran her tongue over dry lips as the simple image slammed desire into her stomach.

She caught herself up short, feeling heat flood her cheeks. What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? For years she’d worked mostly with men, and she’d never fantasized about what they looked like under their shirts.

Pushing aside her inappropriate thoughts, she joined Ames. “Does it all look okay? According to Morrison, a turbine you want should be in next week. The pump he wasn’t sure about. He said he’d call you, or us, when he tracks one down.”

A short nod was the only response Marlee got. “Uh, since you don’t need me until you’re ready to sign the invoice, I’ll just walk up the trail and get my daughter.” She jerked a thumb in that direction, but then realized he wasn’t listening.

Wylie felt her leave his space. He didn’t want to, but he stopped checking his order and watched her go. The scent of whatever fragrance she wore lingered. He sniffed, trying to identify it. He couldn’t. But it was something feminine. Nice. Compelling.

He didn’t consider himself the total recluse he was rumored to be. After all, he got together three or four times a year with his fellow rangers and their families. Mainly to catch up on everything that happened in other sectors of the sprawling national park—but also to give Dean an opportunity to play with other kids.

Wylie rarely looked twice at the women at those gatherings. Not even when one or another friend introduced him to a new, single female ranger. And there had been several who’d joined up since Shirl hightailed it. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall if any of them had worn such a tantalizing perfume. On second thought, he decided, he’d remember if they had.

In the distance, he heard the woman, Marlee, call for her daughter. Muttering under his breath, Wylie dived into his task. He didn’t glance up again until the sound of feet shuffling through pine and fir needles on the trail interrupted him. Marlee Stein’s worried expression yanked Wylie right out of admiring the picture she made. “Something wrong?”

“I found the tire swing. The kids aren’t there. I called for Jo Beth, but got no response. My daughter’s not used to being in the woods. She could easily get turned around.”

“Dean probably took her out to the animal pens.” Wylie, who’d been down on one knee checking the largest of the crates, stood and brushed off the needles stuck to his khaki pants.