The Way of Women (9 page)

“I’m J. E. Stockton, and”—the words stuck in her throat—“and thanks, Sergeant.”

“The name is Mitch,” he said. “Captain Mitchell Ross.”

“And you’re for hire?” Jenn kept her tone noncommittal. It was a shame the barb hadn’t hit home. She’d remembered his rank all right. No matter how abhorrently rotten she’d felt that afternoon, her mind still cataloged facts and pictures like the bars on his tunic and remembered them.

“No.”

“But you said …” She watched cockiness settle on his shoulders like a cloak.

“No. You said you’d pay anything. I said I’d not let a fellow photographer down. I’m going up around the mountain, and you’re welcome to fly with me. But I am
not
for hire.” He pushed the bill of his khaki baseball hat up with one finger so his dark blue eyes were clear of the shade. “Well?” He glanced at his watch, his tone snapped into military cadence. “Flight time is 0915 hours. That’s my plane over there.” He pointed at a four-seater, red-and-white Cessna, anchored to blocks about a hundred yards to their left.

I despise feeling like a penitent
. She always paid her own way. On the flight to Portland, she’d put him in his place and left him there. She’d pegged him immediately. One of those men so used to women chasing him that he just turned on the charm and waited. She’d trimmed his charm down a notch or two. But today she broke into a trot to catch up with the rapidly striding officer. He’d released both chocks before she caught up.

“Welcome aboard, ma’am.” The gleam in his eyes matched the glint
off the plane’s window. He unlatched the door on the passenger side and offered Jenn a hand up on to the slanted wing.

Jenn’s sense of humor finally pushed past her scowl.
So I’ve been out-maneuvered. So what? I’m going up over the mountain, and that’s what matters
. Wasn’t that what she needed, almost more than breath itself? She allowed her weight to lean into the hand cupped under her elbow. She nodded, little demons dancing in her eyes and at the edge of her lips. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Mitch threw back his head, his belt of laughter audible above the roar of a taxiing aircraft. He was still chuckling as he lowered himself into the pilot’s seat, slammed the flimsy door, and hooked his seat harness.

“Well, Ms. Stockton.” His glance checked her already-fastened belt and looked behind to see where she’d stowed her gear. He nodded approval. “I see you know your way around small planes, too.”

“Yes. I do. But for the record, my name is Jenn. I hate ‘Ms.’ anything. I go by J. E. professionally, but out here I’m Jenn.” She finished screwing her wide-angle lens in place and zipped the camera pack. “And I have a bargain to make.” She turned the full intensity of her gaze on him.

He watched her silently, waiting.

“You don’t hit on me and I won’t dig at you.” She held out her hand. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” They shook on it, two business people closing on terms. “But may I say one other thing?”

She looked at him, with one honey eyebrow raised.

“You’re in a whale of a lot better shape today than when I first saw you. I’m glad.”

Jenn nodded. “So am I.”

By the time Mitch had completed his preflight checks, the line of
planes at the end of the runway had taken off. They taxied, turned, and, with an increasing roar of the engines, lifted into the air. He glanced at his passenger.

Pleasure lightened her face, a half-smile flirted with perfect, nibbling her full lower lip. While her cheekbones were still much too prominent, a faint blush softened the stark angles. Dark glasses hid her eyes, but her entire body radiated excitement. She leaned against the belt, intent not only on the landscape flashing below, but on the ash-dusted mountain that loomed ahead of them.

Mitch routinely checked his gauges, but his gaze homed back to her, drawn by her joyous concentration. It was hard to equate this vibrant woman with the frozen creature of the earlier plane ride.

He tapped her shoulder. “Lake Merwin.” He pointed to the azure lake below and to their left.

She nodded and pointed to the long lake to their right. “Swift Reservoir?”

“Yes. Yale Lake is right below us. We’ve been letting water out of all three just in case the eruption blows this way. Trying to keep the flooding down. Lewis River carries a lot of spring melt as it is.”

He pointed to an open field with a scattered herd of animals. “Elk. They haven’t headed up to summer pasture yet.”

Jenn focused her camera as he banked the plane to give her a good shot.

She grinned as she turned back to him. “They’re grazing among those houses down there, just like a herd of cattle.”

“Yeah, but no fences.”

Mitch took them up to ten thousand feet as they came around the southwest flank of the mountain. From the south, the only indication of the mountain’s travail was the dusting of gray ash over the dazzling
snowpack and plumes of steam that periodically penetrated the stratosphere and mimicked clouds hovering over the peak.

Jenn sucked in her breath at the size of the crater visible from the west and north. The men at the airpark hadn’t exaggerated. Football fields or aircraft carriers were the only way to compare the size.

“We’ll go around once at this altitude and the next run several thousand feet above her.” Mitch nodded toward the mountain.

Jenn felt a pain in her gut at the desecration of such a magnificent mountain. The crater had fallen in, creating a hole hundreds of feet deep, the sides of it a gray-and-black mosaic of rock and ash. Deep gashes radiated away from the crater and appeared at other stress spots. The mountain was cracking from the pressure within. Although Jenn had read that the north face was bulging, she couldn’t discern it yet with the naked eye.

Jenn grabbed for her case behind the seat.

“Out of film?”

“Uh-huh.” She completed the loading with automatic fingers, sneaking glances at the mountain as if it might do something while she wasn’t looking.
Come on, come on
.

Spirit Lake lay below them now, bounded on the south by the two lodges. “You ever been to the lodge?” He pointed to the smoke rising from the lodge chimney.

“Yes.” She snapped pictures as she spoke. “Frank McKenzie and I were up there last week. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“So you’re from around here, then.”

“Born and reared in Longview. That mountain was my playground growing up. I’ve been to the top three times and hiked more of her trails than most people in the forest service.”

“But you left.”

“Yeah.”
Because you wanted more
, her inner voice chided.
Well, you sure got what you wanted. More headaches, more sex, more money, more …
The tone dripped acid. She shrugged. Well, the fame and money part weren’t so bad. Just the garbage that went along with it.

Her monosyllabic reply effectively cut him off. Jenn knew he could feel the distance she threw between them with that one word. He turned his full attention back to his flying and the mountain.

The view from above and to the north gave them direct access to the crater. As Jenn refocused her camera, the upper side crumbled in on itself. An ice-and-rock avalanche sent steam and ash billowing upward. The plane bucked in the pressure change. She sucked in her breath at the sheer magnificence of the glistening gash and the boiling turbulence. Her automatic fingers kept the camera clicking throughout.

“That’ll be some footage.” Mitch had the plane under control again, his hands and feet as automatic on the controls as hers had been on the camera.

Jenn leaned back against the seat, a sense of awe robbing her of speech. Her fingers dug again in the pack for film. For a moment she had glimpsed a minute portion of the power smoldering below her.

The flight back to Vancouver passed without comment until Mitch banked for his approach.

“She’s really going to blow, isn’t she?” Jenn hardly recognized her voice. It was as if the power captured beneath ice and rock had stolen any energy she had left.

“What?” Mitch hollered above the whine of the engine.

Jenn shook her head. Maybe by the time they left the plane, she’d be in control again. Right now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to weep or rage. Or maybe both.
What in heaven’s name is going to happen to my mountain?

T
he waves were so continuous she could no longer distinguish one from another. She shuddered from the onslaught, remembered the sensations from centuries before only too well. Her sense of control shifted with the cavernous roiling inside. Perhaps if she remained calm she could circumvent the natural sequence. She knew about change, and its inevitability, but like the flurry of activity by those around her, she tried to maintain control. No, she had done all she could do to withhold the fiery force within her, the liquid magma rising like bile. It was her time.

H
arvey felt the load shift.

How easy it would be
, he thought as his body automatically compensated with both foot and hand motions to keep the rig under control. He shifted down, the growl of the gears filling the eighteen-wheeler cab. He’d been watching for just the perfect place. He couldn’t afford an injury, so the drop-off had to be steep, a sharp curve to miss so the weight of the load would carry him over.

Lissa would have her surgery.

But he’d needed several paychecks first, money to tide his family over until the insurance came through. He knew there would be inquiries; the insurance companies would fight those claims every step of the way. That’s why there could be no doubt that it had been an accident.

He thought of the horror stories he’d heard down at the Castle Rock Café. Tales of disaster when logs took trucks out, drivers who’d maybe had one too many. Well, no chance of that. He’d not had a drink since he got here. No matter how the guys teased him, he always ordered a plain Coke,
no ice. He’d forced himself to hang around the bar a couple of times, just so no one would accuse him of being a loner. Oh yes, he’d thought of all the angles. Now just to locate the perfect place.

He checked both directions as he pulled out on Highway 504. It was a habit because no one but loggers and the scientific research teams were allowed in the red zone. In fact, the loggers had just been given permits to haul again, since the mountain had been quiet for the last couple of weeks. He slipped through the gears easily and sped down the road. Asphalt was a treat after the switchbacks on the rutted logging tracks. He thought back to the conversation with his two women the night before. Lissa, holding her own for a change, bragged about the two pounds she’d gained. “And I have a new stuffed rabbit, Daddy,” she giggled. “Guess what I named him.”

“What, baby?” Harv thrilled to hear the joy in her voice.

“Harvey.” She waited for his response.

“Harvey? Whatever happened to Peter or Bugs Bunny?”

“Daddy.” He could hear the exasperation in her voice. “He’s all white with pink ears. Those others are gray. And besides …” She paused.

“Besides?” Harv waited for her punch line.

“Harvey’s a magic rabbit and …”

“And?” Harv loved the way she explained things to him, always so definite and particular.

“Harvey’s your name,” she crowed. “You’re a magic rabbit.” Her giggle brought tears to his eyes and lodged emotion in his throat.

Oh, God. If only I were magic, what I would do for you
. “Well, you hug that Harvey hard tonight, and I’ll be home to see you soon. Put Mommy back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I love you.” She giggled again. “Harvey.”

“Goodnight, baby.” He scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes.
God above, how precious she is
.

“Harv?” Mellie’s soft voice filled his ear. He leaned against the phone booth wall. A drizzle had begun, and the chill wind sneaking in under the door caused him to shiver. He wasn’t used to standing still this long.

“Yes? Mel, she sounds wonderful.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon. I promise you. I just can’t turn down any extra time they offer me. We’ve been driving right through the weekends since the rollback. Scuttlebutt says we’ll be off the weekend of the twenty-fifth. That’s less than two weeks away.”