High Impact Read online

  Her bosses at Premier Couriers accepted her resignation with regret. She’d been their top courier, with an impeccable delivery record, so they convinced her to keep in touch; she might be useful where she was going, and she’d agreed. Though she had more frequent-flier miles than she could ever use, and a sizeable bank account from her savings and the sale of her townhouse, she might need a few extra dollars down the road. Also, she’d made a lot of friends during her three decades there that she wanted to keep in contact with.

  As a pre-emptive strike, she popped two Percocet with the fresh-squeezed OJ the flight attendant had handed her. The endorphin rush from finally setting off had, for the moment, dulled her seemingly ever-present twinges of pain. But even the comfy reclining chairs of first class wouldn’t prevent the discomfort she’d experience from sitting nearly eight hours before they reached Schiphol.

  Her around-the-world adventure would begin abroad, though she most wanted to visit Alaska. However, she needed to build her strength to experience all she wanted to do there. The remote and unforgiving environment would test her both physically and mentally, so she would spend some time in Europe first, where getting around was usually a breeze. Most major cities—like Amsterdam, her jumping-off point—had efficient and comfortable public-transit systems. As she gained more flexibility and strength, she’d walk, bike, and undertake other adrenaline-pumping endeavors so she’d be ready for the challenges her body would face in Alaska. She also needed to rebuild confidence in her physical capabilities.

  Her itinerary in Europe was loose. She planned to work her way south to the Mediterranean, following her whims but with a few must-see sights along the way, including the Louvre, Prague, the canals of Venice, and the Vatican and ancient Rome. She’d stay in each destination until she got a real feel for it and the people who lived here, then move on. If she didn’t hit all the countries she wanted to by the end of May, she’d catch them another time, because Eidson Eco-Tours began their new season of guided Alaskan adventures then, and Emery was going to spend five months experiencing several of them.

  An attractive, waifishly built redhead in her mid-thirties paused in the aisle beside her to stow her bulging carryon in the overhead bin. The flight attendant was preoccupied with another passenger, so Emery got up and hefted the bag next to the slender black cane she hoped to soon be rid of.

  “Thank you.” The stranger flashed Emery a dimpled smile when their eyes met, not in the common elusive glance of strangers, but in a just-a-little-too-long look of mutual interest.

  Emery smiled back. “No problem. Traveling alone?”

  The redhead nodded, and the smile never left her face.

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “A bit of both,” the woman replied. “A three-day conference in Amsterdam, followed by a week’s vacation in Paris. You?”

  “Pleasure. All pleasure.”

  “For how long?”

  “Indefinitely.”

  The redhead laughed softly. “Sounds intriguing. I hear Amsterdam is the place to find pleasure of all varieties.”

  Emery chuckled, thinking of the city’s infamous red-light district, its gay-friendly ambience, and the “coffee houses” that drew pot-smoking tourists from around the world. “Amsterdam is just the start,” she said, “of an around-the-world trip.”

  The redhead’s eyebrows quirked in surprised delight. “Niiice.”

  The flight attendant paused between them to secure the overheads.

  “Is everyone on board?” Emery asked.

  “Yes. We’ll be closing the door shortly. Do you need something?”

  Carpe diem—seize the day—was her new motto. Emery craned her head around the flight attendant so she could see the redhead. “Want to sit over here so we can get to know each other better? Compare itineraries?”

  The woman’s dimples reappeared and a mischievous twinkle flashed in her eyes. “Most certainly.”

  *

  Bettles, Alaska

  May 28, Four months later

  Pasha hung her coat over the tip of a massive moose antler mounted just inside the main entrance of the Den and paused next to the huge stuffed grizzly bear that greeted patrons with a recorded snarl. She unconsciously rocked on her heels, scanning the faces in the room and seeking an answer to her growing anticipation. Something big was about to happen, she was sure, but she had no idea where or when. She wasn’t even sure whether it would be good or bad. She only knew it would somehow change her life, so she was growing impatient with its reluctance to show itself.

  Since nothing suggested that she’d have any answers here tonight, she searched the half-filled roadhouse for dinner companionship. Many of Bettles’s thirty-six residents often visited the Den, the village’s social center. She’d gotten to know most of them during her twenty months here but didn’t see any of her close friends. In fact, the bulk of the crowd was unfamiliar, which wasn’t unusual, since Bettles was the jumping-off point for a variety of adventure trips and the Den provided the only rooms in town.

  Pasha headed toward the long bar running along one side of the enormous room. A barstool was a great vantage point to observe everything going on while catching up on all the local news, weather, and gossip. Everybody opened up to Jerome “Grizz” Hudson, the bartender/proprietor. He was a reliable source, since he often heard every side of every story and had known all the participants long enough to determine who told the truth. Perhaps he had some tidbit of news that could shed some light on her recent feelings of impending change.

  She chose a comfy padded barstool near the center, with a good view of the booths that lined the perimeter and the scattering of mismatched tables and chairs that filled the rest. No one sat near her—the only others at the bar were two oil-rig workers on the far end whom she vaguely recognized. When Grizz finished waiting on them, he headed her way, pausing to pour coffee into a mug. His moniker suited him perfectly. His shoulder-length brown hair and unkempt brown beard streaked with gray framed pale-blue eyes and a grin distinguished by prominent, pointed canines. “Hey hey, baby girl. What’s shakin’?” He added a shot of Kahlua to the coffee before he set the mug to her left, indicative of his remarkable attention to detail. Grizz had noted during her first meal that she was a lefty and never failed to adjust her place settings accordingly.

  “You tell me.” She wrapped her hands around the mug to warm them and swiveled the stool to glance around the room. “Anything interesting to report?”

  Grizz absentmindedly wiped down the bar with a frayed towel as he too surveyed the crowd. “Well, let’s see. Frank…” he nodded toward the bespectacled bachelor nursing a beer, alone, at a table for two, “was asking if he could use our computer a couple times a week. Wants to join one of those dating Web sites.”

  “Wonder if he’s going to volunteer that he bathes only twice a year.”

  Grizz laughed. “And Helen’s taken a room upstairs, at least for the night,” he went on, referencing another familiar local. The Battling Biandos were among the best entertainment around. From their ongoing complaints about each other, it was hard to believe they’d been married for nearly fifty years. “She says she’s staying put until he starts wearing his hearing aid cause she’s tired of shouting. Eddie claims she’s here because he cut off their TV service. She’d been buying things on those home-shopping networks again.”

  “I predict a twenty-four-hour standoff, max.” She sipped her coffee, remembering the way Eddie always seemed to have one steadying hand on Helen’s elbow or back.

  “So, what’s new over at the office?” Grizz asked. “From the bookings here, looks like you all are gonna have a real busy season.”

  “Yup, it’s shaping up to be a great year. We’re already almost solidly booked through the fall. Dita’s bringing in some guides from her other offices and talking about adding some more trips.”

  “Speaking of, where is she?”

  “Working late. A big group from Michigan just called and wanted to set up
a custom trip for next week. Guess I’m solo for dinner.” Dita was much more to Pasha than just her employer. She’d become a dear friend, as the power had predicted when they first met, and they often shared meals at the roadhouse.

  “Not so fast,” said a familiar voice from behind her.

  Pasha turned as Karla Edwards shed her coat over the back of the stool beside her and eased onto the padded seat. She wore green surgical scrubs and had her black medical bag with her. “Heading out or coming back?” Pasha asked.

  Karla was the only RN for hundreds of miles, and the nearest doctor was in Fairbanks, so she handled all the priority medical calls for a large region. “Coming back.” She arched her back in a long stretch and groaned. “Bryson’s due in from a run in an hour or so. Can you wait a while for dinner so she can join us?”

  “Of course.” Karla and her partner Bryson had become like sisters to Pasha. She had a lot in common with Karla—both were relative newcomers to the state, still adjusting to the isolation of their little village after years of living in metropolitan areas. And she worked with Bryson, a bush pilot who ferried clients and supplies for Eidson Eco-Tours.

  “The usual?” Grizz said perfunctorily, already reaching for a Black Fang from the cooler. He waited until he got the nod from Karla to open the bottle and set it before her. Then he excused himself to see to the oil-rig workers farther down the bar.

  Karla exhaled loudly as she reached for the beer and took a long tug at the bottle.

  “Long day?” Pasha massaged Karla’s shoulder, which elicited a soft groan of appreciation.

  “A day lasts only twenty-four hours,” Karla said tiredly as she closed her eyes and leaned into Pasha’s probing fingers.

  Without ceasing to manipulate the pronounced knot in Karla’s shoulder, Pasha rose and stood behind her, where she could use her other hand as well and do a more thorough job. Karla groaned again, louder, and leaned forward so Karla could have better access to her back.

  “Everything okay? Pasha asked.

  “Good outcome.” Karla sighed. “I delivered a healthy baby girl to a couple in Arctic Village. But the poor mom was in labor for nearly thirty hours so I’m horribly sleep-deprived.”

  “We’ll call it an early night so Bryson can get you home and in bed.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Karla murmured in a husky voice that suddenly seemed not quite so tired.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” Pasha softly slapped her shoulder and returned to her barstool. “No massages for those who remind the deprived how deprived they are.” Winter had been very long, and Pasha had discussed with Karla on several occasions how tired she was of celibacy.

  “Aww.” Karla complained half-heartedly as she sat upright and reached for her beer. “That did help, though. Thanks. So how’re you? Ready for the start of the season?”

  The tingling sense of anticipation returned, like liquid fire in her veins. “I’m okay. Restless,” Pasha replied. “Have you ever had a feeling that something big is about to happen, like a long wait will be over and you just want to…I don’t know…push it somehow to get it here faster?”

  Chapter Two

  Bettles, Alaska

  One week later, June first

  Pasha stared at the neon green numerals—five a.m.—and studied her watch. The sunlight peeking past the edge of her closed curtains often deceived her. On June first the sun rose at two thirty after only a one-hour dip below the horizon, and in another few days, it wouldn’t set. Normally she needed at least eight hours and several cups of caffeine to feel this alert and energized. And last night, she and Dita had stayed up until midnight finishing their preparation for the first clients.

  The restless anticipation that had consumed her the last several days had exploded tenfold while she slept, until she could barely breathe. She hoped to hell relief would arrive, some answer to the strongest premonitory rush she’d ever experienced. Surely her first day as a junior guide hadn’t caused such a reaction, but something much more.

  Too wired to sleep, she padded to the kitchen to make coffee. She lived in a sparsely furnished apartment above the Eidson Eco-Tours offices, Dita in the other. Pasha had learned long ago to minimize her personal possessions for maximum mobility. In the thirteen years since she’d graduated college, she’d already lived in six states, moving to a new location and new job every couple of years when her intuition insisted.

  After she showered, dressed, and answered her e-mail she wandered to the Den for breakfast. Spotting Bryson and Karla in the corner booth, she headed their way after pouring herself another cup of coffee. Bryson waved, and Karla, who’d been resting her head on Bryson’s shoulder, sat upright and sleepily rubbed her eyes.

  “Good morning. I know you’re headed to Fairbanks to pick up clients,” Pasha told Bryson before turning her attention to Karla. “But why are you up this early?”

  “Have to check on a couple of patients in town this afternoon.” Karla opened her thick black cardigan to reveal her scrubs beneath. “And I’m kinda reliant on my ride’s schedule.”

  “Believe me, honey, I wasn’t any more anxious than you to crawl from under that big warm comforter this morning.” Bryson wrapped her arm around Karla’s shoulder and squeezed, both smiling. Pasha envied the unmistakable head-over-heels gaze of affection and mutual adoration that passed between them. The honeymoon look, still vivid and constant after two years. They lived more than thirty miles north of Bettles, in a primitive cabin on the Wild River accessible only by air or boat. Karla had no option but to hitch a ride with Bryson. In winter, they lived in a room in the Den so Bryson could continue to fly.

  “You oughta talk, by the way.” Bryson studied Pasha’s face with a curious expression. “What’s up? You’re all flushed.”

  “Just woke up like a shot, an hour ago,” Pasha replied. “Remember what we were talking about the other day, Karla?”

  “The big event that’s coming?”

  Pasha nodded. “I think it’s today. I’m about to come out of my skin.”

  Bryson leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with interest. “Another premonition?” Pasha had volunteered quite a lot to them about her sixth sense.

  “Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s been building for days, and waiting is driving me crazy.”

  “Something good, though, right?” Bryson asked.

  “I think so,” Pasha said. “I’m not getting the same kind of vibe I do when I sense disaster, but I’m not sure.”

  “Think it has to do with the clients I’m picking up?” Bryson asked.

  “Could be, I guess, since that’s the only thing different about today, but I don’t see how. The first trip involves three married couples from California. All friends, on a fly-fishing excursion. I didn’t recognize any of their names.”

  “Well, if they’re it, we’ll know soon enough.” Bryson tied her long brown hair back into a ponytail and donned her trademark ball cap with its embroidered logo, I Can Take You There.

  “Better get going. Anxious to check out the new plane.” Dita had purchased a used green-and-white Cessna Caravan 208 for ferrying clients in Bettles, and this would be its inaugural flight for the company. Like Bryson’s Piper Super Cub, the high-winged Cessna could land on short makeshift runways, making it ideal for bush flying. Versatile, it carried up to nine passengers or twenty-seven hundred pounds of cargo.

  “Be careful, honey,” Karla said. “I know you’re eager to see what it can do, but—”

  “No worries.” Bryson kissed her on top of her head as she got to her feet and grabbed her coat. “Supposed to be clear and sunny from here to Fairbanks, with light winds.” She headed off with a pause at the door to smile and wave to Karla one last time.

  When Pasha turned her attention from the doorway back to Karla, she saw Karla, eyes moist, brush an errant tear from her cheek.

  Highly regarded as one of the best bush pilots around, Bryson had flown in Alaska for twenty-five years. Her father—also
a noted flier—began her lessons when she first reached her teens. But weather conditions in Alaska often changed in a heartbeat, and many well-seasoned pilots had lost their lives in what the media described as fairly routine flights.

  “Routine” didn’t apply to bush flying, one of the world’s most dangerous occupations. Pasha had heard story after story of disasters and near disasters and had come to appreciate the dangers pilots faced every time they flew over such a remote, unforgiving landscape.

  “Has to be incredibly difficult to watch her head off,” Pasha said gently.

  “It never gets easier. Alaska demands the true measure of a pilot. I still don’t know how she does it. She’s the bravest woman I know.”

  Pasha smiled. “She told me once you were the bravest woman she knew.”

  “Did she?” Karla grinned.

  “Yup. Very early on, as a matter of fact.” Pasha pictured them in Bryson’s Cub. “We ran supplies to a kayak trip right after I got here, and I planned to finally meet you that night—remember?”

  “I do. Of course.” Karla smiled at the memory, too. “You’d been here, like…a week or two already, but I had gone to Atlanta for a friend’s wedding.”

  “Bryson had told me a lot about you. Honestly, she kind of mooned over you during that time. Said you’d never been separated so long. Adorable.”

  Karla laughed. “Isn’t she though, when she gets that puppy-dog look? We got a good-enough Internet connection a couple of times to cam, and I just melted.”

  “Anyway, I couldn’t wait to meet you. And I remember asking her to describe you in three words. She said “brave” first, for facing adversities, doing your job, and moving to Alaska to be with her.”