Page 13 of Protecting the Flame

“Great.” Will turned to look back at Mattie. “And I know you’re calm.”

“Well, I’m not hysterical like some people,” Mattie said.

“Mattie,” Rachel warned.

“As you can see, we’re fine,” Will reported to Hunter. “So, why don’t you just concentrate on getting us there?”

Rachel raised a timid hand. “Unless, maybe, we should turn back? It’s only been an hour and a half or so. We’d certainly get back faster than we’re getting where we want to go.”

As far as logic went, Emma had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. They were headed into the teeth of the storm, which was precisely why her original flight had been canceled in the first place.

“Whoa, whoa, none of that. No one’s turning back. We’ll get there.” It was their pilot, Burke, who also happened to be Hunter’s father. The two looked nothing alike. Squat and square, Hunter was a fire plug of a man with a thick middle, beefy hands, a Jeremiah Johnson thatch of wiry red beard, and a florid complexion that suggested he’d never met a beer he didn’t want to get to know a lot better. In contrast to his son, Burke was lean and brown and tough as jerky with a voice of a longtime smoker that was as gravelly as a cement mixer. When she and Will had made their way to the plane, father and son were deep in some discussion accompanied by a lot of hand-waving on Hunter’s part and a whole lot of headshakes from Burke. They’d been out of earshot, so she never did understand what Hunter was so worked up about, although Rachel mentioned he was worried about weight. Although I don’t know why. We don’t have that much luggage, and this is a pretty big plane for a twin-prop.

“We’re still at twenty thousand. Nothing’s going to reach up and bite us.” Gaze focused on the milky view beyond his windshield, Burke said, “I know these mountains and this route like the back of my hand.”

Yeah, you know it so well you’ve got to be checking that map spread over your knee every five seconds. Either he didn’t trust his instruments, or it might be habit. All the rides she’d ever taken, even in helicopters, were IFR, not visual though she’d known helo pilots who spread out those maps first thing, mostly when they were headed into areas they’d never flown before. When she saw Burke unfold that midway, she’d felt a small clutch of alarm. A map didn’t suggest familiarity…unless Burke was searching for alternative routes? That made sense. Burke had mentioned having popped in new displays along with a set of new tanks. While she supposed instruments were comforting (though only to a degree because you were, after all, trusting a machine not to hiccup), they were useful only for flights into and out of airports with specific and designated flight routes. IFR still meant you were, essentially, flying blind, trusting machines to keep you on the proverbial straight and narrow.

What he could possibly be looking at was a mystery, too, considering they were flying in the equivalent of marshmallow fluff. She wondered if the map was a topo. Could be that he was only refamiliarizing himself with the lay of the land and how high the mountains got around here. How high was that? She was afraid to ask. Or maybe he was hoping for a break in the clouds to eyeball landmarks? Wait, didn’t instruments do that? Ping a warning or something? Crap. She cast a quick look out her window, but there was precious little to see other than snow, the clouds, a tiny winking red light at the tip of the Chieftain’s left wing. How do I get myself into things like this?

“Have you ever had to put down?” asked Will. “Our ceiling’s already getting pretty low. You’re going to be scraping the deck on the approach.”

“You a pilot?” asked Burke.

“I’ve flown a bit.”

“Military?”

“Civilian. For fun.”

“Huh,” Hunter grunted. “Figures.”

“Oh?” asked Will, still in that mild, unthreatening way. “How does it figure?”

“That you’re a doctor. You guys are all alike. We see plenty of ’em because we’re flying ’em all the time in summer. Montana, Idaho, Canada, Alaska, wherever there’s game or fishing and a nice comfy lodge with a good bottle of wine at the end of the day. Half the time, they’re talking your ear off about what you’re doing wrong.” Hunter shook his head again. “You all think you know everything.”

“Hunter,” Burke warned.

Will held up a gloved hand. “It’s okay. Everyone’s entitled to an opinion and I know a lot of surgeons who think M.D. stands for Medical Deity. They get under your skin, Hunter?”

Hunter made a horsey sound. “Not hardly. But you docs always think that because you know a little bit, you’re like experts or something.”

“I can see why that would piss you off.”

“Damn straight.”

“I’ll try not to do that. Maybe it’s that I know enough to be both dangerous and annoying, and I like, you know…” That disarming grin, again. “I like to understand things.”

He’s got to be a shrink, Emma thought. Only head doctors talked as if they could be everyone’s friend. Interesting that Will hadn’t said anything about being a physician before now. “What kind of doctor?”

“The depressing kind. Oncologist for most of my career.” Will aimed a look back her way. “I finally switched specialties, though.”

“To what?” asked Rachel.

“Wilderness medicine. High-altitude stuff, but I’m game for almost anything.” Will shrugged. “I like the outdoors, and it was time for a change. It’s where I’m headed now, actually. Wilderness Medical Society meeting up at Big Sky.”

“Isn’t that south?” asked Grampa.

“Yes, but I’ve got friends I want to see beforehand, so this is fine. I was supposed to fly into Kalispell and then drive.” Will gave a good-natured shrug. “So long as I get to Big Sky eventually, this works.”

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