Page 4 of Dear Mountain Man
Jack looks like he wants to laugh but isn’t sure how I’ll take it.
“Is there anything I can say that will get me out of this conversation safely?” he teases.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Probably best if you walk away slowly. And find out what Patrick Wilcox is up to nowadays.”
Jack takes one exaggeratingly slow step away from me before he turns to leave. My gaze drifts down to the snug fit of his ass in his jeans. I suddenly feel emboldened like never before around him. It’s like the connection of knowing about the letter has opened us both up to one another.
The phone rings, drawing my attention away from Jack.
“Brooks Alaskan Air. How may I help you?”
“Hello, dear,” says a voice that sounds like an older woman. “I was told that someone from the airport was looking to speak with me.”
I grab the notepad and a pen, ready to write down the caller's information for one of the pilots. We get calls from passengers who have left items on the planes, and our pilots do their best to get them back to the right people.
“My name is Jera Bedard.”
The phone slips from my grip and clatters loudly on the front desk counter. I scramble to pick it back up and hold it to my ear.
“I’m so sorry about that. I dropped the phone.”
“It’s quite all right.”
“Mrs. Bedard,”
“Please, call me Jera.”
“Okay, Jera. My name is Emery. I’m the one looking for you.”
"Oh, well, that was easy enough." She chuckles.
“Yes,” I chuckle too. “I was expecting it would take me weeks to find you.”
"Well, it probably would have since I no longer live in Frontier, but you spoke with an old friend of mine. She didn't want to say anything to you until she spoke to me first."
“That’s understandable.” I nod.
“How can I help you?”
I explain everything from the beginning. How Jack found the letter under the counter to how I opened it to find out who it was from. And how we decided that we wanted to track down her and Patrick to let them both know what happened.
When I finish, there is nothing but silence on the other end of the line.
“Jera?”
“Patrick Wilcox,” she says softly. “I haven’t heard that name spoken in a long time.”
“I’m so sorry that your letter was never delivered.”
“Maybe it was for the best,” she says. “My life could have ended very differently if the letter had reached him.”
“It’s not too late. I know that you’ve married, um well, I guess I assumed you got married based on what you wrote in the letter.”
“Yes, I did get married. I was married for twenty-seven years to a wonderful man.”
Was? I can’t help but catch the way she says that shewasmarried. I want so badly to ask her what happened, but I've already given her the terrible news that the letter she wrote to the man she loved, asking him to come to get her, never arrived. I'm not about to bring up any more painful memories.
“Jera? Would you want us to tell you if we find Patrick?”
