“Are you competing in the contest, darling? The one Walker’s grandmother throws every year?”
Victoria’s gaze was wide-eyed, but no one could mistake the question as anything other than malicious.
“I am.”
“Isn’t that good for you. Travel is so enlightening. You never know what you might find.” Victoria tittered lightly. “Possibly even a husband.”
“Actually,” Sloan interjected smoothly. “It’s the centerpiece of an article I’m writing.”
Victoria paused in brushing some lint off her sleeve. “Article?”
“Yes. I’m a writer.”
“Really? What do you write?”
“Magazine articles, mostly. All freelance. I do everything from travel pieces, which this is, to how-to articles or the occasional celebrity piece. My interview with Johnny Depp appeared in
Vanity Fair
last month.”
“I don’t believe I read that one.”
Walker couldn’t help but notice how the wind in Victoria’s sails died ever so slightly, the smug look slipping at the reference to Sloan’s Hollywood connections.
“I’d be happy to give Walker a copy for you for the next time you get together. It sounds like you’re old friends.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed at that, but she didn’t reply. And damn it, based on that response, it was obvious Sloan knew exactly what sort of friends he and Victoria really were.
So why the hell did that bother him? He didn’t owe Sloan anything. Why should he feel embarrassed that he’d once dated Victoria?
He had no real reason to apologize.
Their small talk was interrupted by the arrival of their waitress, bearing dessert menus.
“Would you care to join us for dessert?” Sloan’s sugary-sweet tone and broad smile were clearly the other woman’s undoing.
With a tight smile and a nod, Victoria excused herself. “I need to get back to my friends. It was nice to meet you. And lovely to see you again, Walker.”
He stood and brushed his cheek to hers for a quick kiss.
And wasn’t surprised when she didn’t make any overtures for any future plans. Victoria Watson was one
friend
he’d likely not be seeing again.
Sloan fisted her napkin in her lap but kept her smile firmly in place as that infuriating woman walked away.
Nothing like an ex-lover to ruin a perfectly good date.
Even though this wasn’t a date, she added to herself.
Definitely not. It was
not
a date. So why did she have that same sinking feeling in her stomach she’d had overhearing her mother’s friends in the kitchen on Thanksgiving evening?
And why did it matter so damn much?
She liked her life. She enjoyed the varied elements that made up her daily existence. She was happy with the choices she made and the person she presented to the world each day.
So where was this coming from?
Sloan reached for her glass of wine and studied the dark, burgundy depths.
Did she really work this hard to be a good person—to live a life she was satisfied with—to be this freaking maudlin all the time?
And was she really that defined by whatever image her mother had decided she was supposed to be instead of who she wanted to be?
When did simply being Sloan McKinley become enough?
Her gaze caught on the darkened windows of the restaurant and the soft lights that framed the parking lot beyond. A light snow fell, the flakes illuminated in the streetlamps.
“She’s a beautiful woman,” Sloan murmured, shifting her attention back to Walker.
“Yes. I used to think so.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. I used to think Victoria was quite interesting. Fairly compelling, actually. Funny how my idea of compelling seems to have changed.”
When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Why do you think that is?”
“I really have no idea.”
Walker leaned forward, his brow furrowed as if he were troubled, puzzling through a particularly difficult problem. “Actually, I think maybe you do.”
Sloan wasn’t sure what it was—his facial expression, the tone of his voice or the simple fact of having all of this man’s attention focused on her—but the moment spun out before them, his comment hanging between them and connecting them by the thin strands of desire and need and something else she couldn’t quite define.
There was something darkly persuasive about him that wouldn’t let her write Walker Montgomery off as someone she didn’t need to give another thought to.
The sharp tone of his cell broke the moment.
“Excuse me.” Walker snapped open the phone. “Jack? I thought you needed us back at six?”
Sloan stopped fiddling with her napkin as she watched the play of emotions across Walker’s face shift. Harden.
“Do you need to leave without us?” After a pause, he added, “Okay. We’re fifteen minutes away. Bye.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to leave. There’s been an accident on the mountain and Jack needs to get back to Indigo with a couple of ER doctors. It’s all hands on deck.”
Mick held the plane as steady as he could while wind shears buffeted them like a ship at sea. Another round of animalistic cries of pain assaulted him as the two scientists in the back of the plane tried to comfort their friend.
What the hell were these guys doing up there?
He’d heard mumbled, incoherent words about research, but to his way of thinking, it was a suicide mission to attempt to do anything for any extended period of time on the bitch in fucking December.
She didn’t tolerate it.
And the guy fighting for his life in the back of his plane was yet further proof of that simple fact.
Maggie’s voice echoed in his headset—harsh and demanding, her authority unyielding.
Damn, but it felt good to hear her voice.
She might be a pain in the ass, but the woman knew how to manage in a crisis.
“You’re fifteen minutes out, Mick. Care Flight’s on the ground here and ready for you.”
“You cleared everyone else out of there?”
“Damn straight. Runway’s all yours. How bad is he?”
Mick tuned in to the noise behind him, heard the heavy thrashing and cries, and whispered, “Not good.”
“Leg’s bad? Severed?”
“Yes, and the femoral’s hit, too.”
“How are the friends handling it?”
Mick risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The friends traveling with the guy were in bad shape, but they were managing. And most important, they’d acted immediately, which was the single biggest factor giving their friend a fighting chance.
“Holding on.” With a quick glance at his instruments, he added, “Wind’s a fucking bitch tonight.”
“Storm’s kicking up.” Mick wondered if the Care Flight guys would be able to move the man to Anchorage but held his question. The cabin was too closed in to risk being overheard. “Do they have a plan B?”
“Doc Cloud’s here helping them set up a unit in the lobby just in case.”
Mick held the plane as steady as he could as another wind shear struck his flank, but the staggering course was enough to elicit more agonized cries from the back. “I think they’re going to need it.”
Maggie let out a soft sigh before switching back to all business. “All right, cowboy, bring it in. We’re waiting for you.”
Fighting another set of wind buffets that nearly had them shifting sideways, Mick navigated his way through dense cloud cover. With a quick flip, he turned on the mike and barked out orders. “I’m breaking about fifteen laws not asking you to buckle up, but I need you guys to get as close to him as you can. Keep the pressure on his leg and don’t let up. This is going to be rough on the way down.”
He heard the muttered agreements, trusted that they understood the gravity of the situation and fought the wind.
Mick knew he had a reputation as being one of Alaska’s best pilots. He knew and trusted his equipment. And he knew and trusted his instincts.
As the lights of Indigo came into view, he prayed like hell he’d gotten to this guy in time.
Sloan could see the whirling sirens on the ground, lighting up the small airport in bright red and blue hues. Jack had two doctors on board to add support to a Care Flight team already on-site. No one had spoken on the flight back and the airsickness that had bothered her on the way down had seemed to fade in the face of the tension gripping all of them.
Her stomach didn’t feel great, but she wasn’t afraid she’d lose whatever she’d had for dinner.
Sadly, there was something far bigger to focus on.
She’d heard a murmured conversation between Jack and the doctors and had pieced together the basic facts. Three research scientists, doing something on the side of Denali. An equipment failure coupled with a fall off the side of a cliff and one of the researchers was in very bad shape.
The plane pitched hard to the right as Jack muttered an “oh shit” from the front of the cabin. Walker turned to give her a small smile as he reached for her hand.
“You okay?”
“Hanging in. I’m not nearly as bad as some others right now.”
“No.” Walker nodded. “I suppose not.”
“It’s bad out there.”
“It’s not great. It’s probably a good thing we got out earlier than we’d planned to or we’d be spending the night in Anchorage until the storm blew through.”
She squelched the image of how he most likely spent his evenings in Anchorage. It wasn’t her business. How he spent his time—in the past or in the future—didn’t have anything to do with her.
Even as she thought it, she knew she was lying to herself. Something she made a policy to never do. With a start, Sloan glanced down to where their fingers twined together, his large hand dwarfing hers.
Comfort.
It meant something.
He
meant something. Even if in the long run,
they
weren’t to be.
And that’s why the idea of how Walker Montgomery spent his free evenings in Anchorage
did
matter.
With a mental shake of her head, Sloan admonished herself to get it together. She had a home to go back to and she hadn’t come up here looking for a fling with someone she’d never see again.
Walker squeezed her hand when the plane did a hard bank to the right as Jack came in for a landing. His touch reassured, calming her nerves as another panicky wave threatened to grip her.
As she squeezed back, Sloan had to acknowledge the truth.
Even if it had been her intention to simply come on this trip to support her friend, it had turned into so much more.
Because she had met Walker.
The next hour passed in a blur. The intimate moment she and Walker had shared in the cocoonlike warmth of Jack’s plane came to an abrupt end as they arrived at the airport.
Walker was pulled away immediately by his grandmother, her role as mayor ensuring she’d been called the moment something happened. Although she hated the reason, Sloan was grateful for some time apart. Her resolve weakened when she was with Walker. It was time to collect herself and all the wayward thoughts that had taken up residence in her mind and wouldn’t let go.
From where she stood in an out-of-the-way corner, Sloan saw Dr. Cloud assisting the Care Flight team while the doctors Jack ferried cleaned up. Whatever shortcomings she might have expected in the form of medical care in this remote place was quickly banished as she watched a highly competent team of people work to save a life.
The man who’d been brought in off of Mick’s plane was being managed in a makeshift triage unit. Despite Dr Cloud’s age, which she put at about seventy, he moved in tandem with the staff, stepping in where needed, moving back when someone had to take over. Every member of the medical team moved with purpose and confidence.
A medical helicopter sat on the runway, but she wondered how it would ever take off. The snow that had started in Anchorage had followed them north and what had been a pleasant winter wonderland was rapidly turning into a bad storm.
“So this is Alaska,” she murmured to herself as the white flakes came down with increasing speed.
“That it is.”
She turned to see Mick move in next to her, his hand pressed to the window as he stared out at the runway. “They’re never taking off in this.”
“But he needs help. They can’t stay here.”
“They can’t risk going up, either.”
Her gaze shot back toward the doctors as they fought to save the man’s life in the middle of an airport terminal. “Does this happen often?”
“Often enough.” He shrugged, the half-drunk cup of coffee in his hand sloshing with his movements. “About every year or so. Less if we’re lucky. Denali asks for a steep price from some.”