Page 9 of Colton in the Wild
It was the Colton family motto now. If you had a problem or were in trouble, the one thing you could be sure of was that the family would believe you. Because, long ago, they hadn’t.
Spence gave a sharp shake of his head, wondering why his mind was wandering off like that. Maybe to avoid having to deal with Hetty. If so, it had worked, because she’d walked away to do her safety check before they took off.
He checked his backpack of what he considered standard gear—never mind that Hetty teased him mercilessly about the size of it—one final time. His Kimber Mountain Ascent was strapped to one side. He knew some folks didn’t agree with his decision to carry the very lightweight rifle, which was under five pounds without any added gear like his scope. And if he was out here to hunt big game, he’d agree and carry something heavier. But he didn’t carry it for that. It was for protection, and all he cared about in that mode was that the bullet went where he aimed it. He wasn’t out to be a sniper, he just wanted that bear or ticked-off moose to decide he had better things to do than go after a piddly little human.
He also checked his Blackfoot knife in its sheath attached to his belt before he slung the backpack over his shoulder. Since Hetty’s pack was also right there on the dock, he picked it up, too, and lugged them both into the plane and stowed them carefully in the racks just behind the cockpit. He stood there for a moment, staring at the copilot seat.
On flights like this, he was usually back in the passenger area, talking to the clients, explaining a few specific things about their destination if they were old hands, explaining a lot more if they were newbies. But today there would be no one and no reason for him to be back there. No reason for him not to sit up front. Except one.
Spence felt suddenly as if a battle was raging inside him. His brain was saying,Of course, sit in front. It would be silly not to. Besides, he liked it up front, where he could look out over this place that stirred him like no other, where he could spot the locations he’d been to fish or hike or just breathe in that Alaskan air.
Not to mention his other favorite view, which was her.
But his gut was saying,Stay back there, as far away as you can get. Because it would be torture. And Hetty wouldn’t want him up front anyway. Or would she? Whenever they had clients who wanted to sit up front, or who wanted their kid to, she’d never seemed to mind, and even found things for them to do. But that was a paying client. Not her RTA partner she could barely stand to be around.
He could ask, he supposed.
Now there’s a concept. Just ask.
He could almost hear his cousin Mitchell, the ever-practical lawyer, the one who cleaned up messes for all the Coltons, saying the words with a roll of his eyes.
He went back down the steps to the dock. Hetty was just finishing up her exterior check. She glanced at him then went back to making a note in the small notebook she carried. Old school, perhaps, but necessary here. It always came as a shock to some of their guests that there were actually places where WiFi didn’t exist and you were actually offline the entire time you were there. They had it at the headquarters building, courtesy of a satellite link, but out at the camp, there was nary a cell tower nor an internet connection in sight. And he kind of liked it that way.
“We need to top off the avgas?” he asked, thinking about the necessary fuel for the flight.
She shook her head. “We’re good. We’ll be flying light, even with the cargo load, without the two intended passengers and their gear.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, hesitated, then said it. “You mind if I sit up front, or would you prefer me out of your way?”
She went still, her hand stopping midnotation. It was a moment before she looked at him and he wondered, rather urgently, what she was thinking.
But all she said was, “Your choice.”
He didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed that she hadn’t made the decision for him. At least she hadn’t said, “Stay out of my way.”
Up front it was then. He’d just sit, keep his mouth shut and enjoy the view. He’d go through it in his mind, thinking about how each place was on foot. As they passed over the east end of Chugach State Park, he’d ponder his last hike at Columbia Peak. Then the lakes. He’d always loved the symmetry of them, all of similar shape, crescents that were laid out in order of size from the smallest Tonsina to the largest, Tazlina.
He had the thought he should tell Hetty not to buzz too low at Tazlina, or his dad and uncle might think they were searching for them. He turned to look at her, but the words died in his throat.
Hetty Amos made that plain, RTA shirt look…well, sexy. He couldn’t tell if she was wearing makeup, but if she was she was doing it right, because, well, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was she looked amazing.
He turned back to looking out the window. He’d best just sit here and enjoy that view.
And avoid the other view he loved.
* * *
Would you prefer me out of your way?
Yes! She’d wanted to say it. She’d wanted to shout it. But she already knew, in her gut, that having him out of sight did not equal having him out of mind. So if he was going to be in her thoughts anyway, he might as well sit up where he could see better. She knew how much he loved watching the landscape unroll before them, and she wasn’t cold enough to deprive anyone of that.
Besides, of all the fishing camps they flew to, this one was the closest, so it wasn’t going to be a long flight anyway. Which was probably just as well. She was already twitchy.
She walked to the end of the dock and looked out toward the sound. While it wasn’t rough, it wasn’t anywhere near glassy smooth, either. Which was good, since she hated dealing with the excess surface tension of glassy water. She would have liked a little more wind to head into for the takeoff, but this would do. At least once they taxied out of the marina there would be all the room the Cessna needed to take off. Unknowing passengers were sometimes surprised at how much room a seaplane needed to take off because of the hydrodynamic drag of the floats.
No, it should be a normal takeoff; one she’d done hundreds of times. But there was no plane less forgiving of sloppy piloting than a seaplane, so she knew better than to take anything for granted.
She did a final check of the cargo, although she knew Spence was always careful. He might not be a pilot, but he understood the center-of-gravity concept, and how important it was in flying floatplanes.
