Her Mistletoe Miracle

Wingman lunged at the end of his leash to bark at Jess, and Mick turned his back on the smoke jumpers and bent to calm the dog. “Nice guy, huh, pooch?” he muttered. “If you could talk, I’d ask you what in hell Hana sees in that jackass.”

The dog whined and licked his face as Mick untied him and hoisted him into the chopper. Before Mick had his harness and the dog’s fastened, the mottled black Jeep kicked up dust farther down the dirt road.

As he lifted off, Mick noted with interest that he and Jess were both headed toward dark clouds building over the mountain range.

He tried not to think of petite Hana Egan climbing craggy ridges topped by snow and already shrouded in a thickening gray mist.

To distract himself, he projected his worry onto Saturday’s potluck. What if the wind was the first taste of the Canadian storm? If it got so bad the party was cancelled, Marlee would be devastated. Oh, his sister made noises about not wanting to attend, but Mick had seen right through her. She wanted the day to be perfect. And Mick wanted that for her, too. She and Wylie deserved to kick back a bit after nursing Dean, Wylie’s son, through Burkitt’s lymphoma last winter. Between worry over Dean, and Pappy’s funeral not long on the heels of Dean’s remission, the whole family needed a bit of fun.

CHAPTER TWO

PINE NEEDLES BLEW out from under the Huey as Mick set the lumbering chopper down on Wylie’s private runway. Mick sat and admired the handsome six-seat turbo prop Merlin housed under an open shed to the left of the runway. He had helped his brother-in-law buy the plane as a surprise for his bride. Wylie had said Marlee had cried happily when she saw it.

When Mick had told Pappy, he’d merely laughed and said he’d known all along that any woman born a Callen would consider a plane an appropriate wedding gift.

Mick thought any woman who lived in remote Montana would think it an excellent gift. But then, he was more practical than sentimental. When he was a kid, this part of Montana was so sparsely settled, ranchers, hunters and the few recreational-sport lodge owners were dependent on small planes to fly them out in an emergency. That was still true, but to a lesser degree. Now, land was being cleared right and left. Whole towns had sprung up in areas where there used to be nothing but forest.

Mick, who was far from a recluse, nevertheless wasn’t sure how he felt about all the growth. But old trail blazers like his grandfather and Finn Glenroe were either dying off or they were selling out to developers. Two weeks ago he’d heard that Finn and Mary, who’d run the isolated Glenroe Fishing Lodge for as long as Mick could remember, had accepted a buyout because Finn’s arthritis had gotten so bad.

Since arriving home to nurse his war wounds, Mick had watched resort developers salivate over Finn’s land. The same outfits sniffed around Cloud Chasers. The day after Pappy’s funeral, Mick received three phone offers on the property. Land grabbers were worse than vultures in Mick’s opinion. Pappy would turn over in his grave if Mick were to sell. And yet…

Refusing to let himself get maudlin again, he took off his earphones in time to hear the last sound of the rotors. No wobble with any of his landings. Replacing the main hub and the lubricant must have done the trick.

“Uncle Mick, Uncle Mick!” He heard his niece, Jo Beth’s, excited cry the minute he cracked the forward door. It was followed by Dean’s whoop and Piston’s wild barking, which prompted a response in kind from Wingman.

Mick unbuckled the wiggling dog from his harness and lifted him down before climbing from the cockpit himself.

Scooping up the dark-haired girl waiting to be hugged, he marveled again at the change a year and acquiring a brother and new dad had wrought on the formerly unhappy girl. Jo Beth, now six, had been pouty and prone to tantrums when Marlee first moved home after the death of her first husband.

His twin had served two tours in the Gulf, supporting the family while Jo Beth’s dad wasted away from lymphoma. Even though Marlee had fallen hard for Wylie Ames, when his son had been diagnosed with a different form of lymph cancer, Marlee had had a rough patch where she almost walked away from love. Surprisingly, Jo Beth handled Dean’s illness better than her mother. The girl never wavered in her belief that her friend would recover. And now his cancer was in remission, and doctors expected it to last.

At the moment Dean looked the picture of health. The boy laughed in delight at being mobbed by the two cavorting dogs—dogs similar in size, and looking enough alike to have common parents, which was possible since they had come from the same shelter only months apart.

“Wingman remembers me,” Dean said, his freckled face split in a wide grin.

“He does at that.” Mick reached down and ruffled the boy’s red hair. “You’re looking good, my man.”

“I grew an inch, too,” the boy boasted. “The doctor told Mom that was excellent news.”

“It sure sounds good to me! So, where are your folks?” Whenever Mick had come to visit, one or the other parent accompanied the kids to the airstrip.

Jo Beth pointed. “Mama’s in the kitchen saying words Grandmother Rose wouldn’t like one bit.”

Jo Beth’s paternal grandmother had practically raised Jo Beth until Marlee, a navy lieutenant, was discharged. That was another traumatic time for his sister. Not long after her husband, Cole’s, death, Rose had petitioned family court for custody of Jo Beth. Mick thought it a testament to his sister’s forgiving nature that for her daughter’s sake, his twin had patched the rift with her former mother-in-law.

“I thought your mom baked pies yesterday. Don’t tell me she’s swearing over fixing me lunch? Granted, I’ve had nothing but coffee today, so I could eat a mule raw. Maybe I’ll settle for nibbling on you.” Mick made growly noises as he teasingly went after his niece’s bony shoulder.

She giggled and shrieked until Mick set her down. “Mama’s not baking pies, Uncle Mick. She made supper for tomorrow, and had it in a pan when she ’membered a ’portant in…gredient.” The girl stumbled in her attempt to explain.

“Ouch, no wonder she’s saying bad words. Where’s Wylie?”

“Dad’s out taking inventory of the campsites in his area,” Dean said. “Sometimes campers steal fire grates, or mess up the trash barrels at the end of camping season. He has to make a list of the sites that need stuff stocked before the park opens in the spring. I usually help tie tarps over the leftover firewood so it stays dry for the winter,” the nine-year-old said proudly. “Dad knew you were coming, so he let me stay home to help you unload Mom’s supplies. He said she’s not allowed to pick up anything over five pounds.”

“I never turn down help, Dean. Somewhere in this monster, I believe you’ll find Halloween treats for two kids who tote boxes to the house.”

“Yippee!” the kids yelled out, setting the dogs off again.

Marlee hurried down the path to see what was going on. Her usually well-kept blond hair looked a fright. And at seven months pregnant, she barely fit into the men’s plaid flannel shirt that stretched over her bulging middle.

Mick was shocked to see her waddle more than walk out on the asphalt. Last time he’d stopped in to visit, his sister was just starting to show.

“Wow, sis, you look like the pregnant guppy Mrs. Walters brought to our sixth grade science class. Didn’t we name her Fatso?”

“Thank you, Mick.” Marlee’s blue-green eyes narrowed ominously. She snapped his arm hard with a dishtowel she’d used to wipe what looked like blood off her hands. When he stopped trying to evade her, Mick saw it was tomato sauce.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized even as he and the kids laughed over her antics. “Honestly, Marlee, you’d better have a look-see in the mirror before Wylie gets home, or he’ll beg me to take you back. No offense, but you look like hell. Okay, okay, Jo Beth! I know I said a bad word.”

Since her grandmother had drilled into her head that swearing was unacceptable, Jo Beth rarely failed to point out Mick’s indiscretions. Or Pappy’s when he was alive.

“Spoken like a bachelor. Maybe your girlfriends are fashion plates,” Marlee said, her lip quivering, “but this past month I’ve passed the point of getting into anything in my closet. Tell me you have freight from Mervyn’s Online or I’ll die. I ordered maternity clothes, and if they didn’t come you’ll be going to the potluck tomorrow without me.” She burst into tears, further shocking Mick.

“I have them…your order,” he said, trying to rectify his error of saying how awful she looked by awkwardly patting her. “Jeez, Marlee, I was teasing.”

“It’s okay.” She smothered her face in the sauce-streaked towel, which made matters worse. “Hormones gone berserk, I guess. I swear I didn’t do this with my first pregnancy.”

“Is it normal? I mean, is everything okay?” Mick asked worriedly. “When did you last see a doctor?”

“When she flew me to Seattle for my checkup,” Dean said, again corralling the boisterous dogs. “My dad told me and Jo Beth that’s how women who are gonna have babies get.”

“No kidding?” Mick frowned into one upturned face, then the other. The kids didn’t seem all that positive they shouldn’t be doing something to help.

“If Wylie said it, sport, it must be true. Let’s give your mom some space. Come on, kids, it’s getting colder. Help me haul this freight in.” He flung open the door that led to the Huey’s dark belly, levered himself into the cavern and began handing out the smallest cartons.

“The Polly Pocket amusement park I wanted! Is this my Halloween treat, Uncle Mick?”

“Jo Beth,” Dean exclaimed, running excitedly over to his stepsiste, “Uncle Mick gave me the scary black knight and castle I’ve been asking Dad for.”

Marlee managed to wipe most of her tears away, but left bits of tomato sauce smeared across her cheeks. “Mick, you spoil the kids. Last time you came you brought half a toy store. I told you to stop already.”

“What are bachelor uncles for? Or bachelor brothers…? On my last trip to Missoula, I found some perfume to replace the bottle I broke when we moved you here. A clerk also helped me with stuff for the baby. Let’s go up to the house. After you clean up, you can open boxes to your heart’s content.”

“What’ll be left to give us when you come for Christmas?”

Her brother jumped down gingerly, and pulled a stack of various-size boxes into his arms before he shut the cargo door. “Uh, I’m thinking of taking off for parts unknown after Thanksgiving. I thought I’d find me a warm spot to ride out winter. Maybe I’ll go before Turkey Day. Stella said she’ll watch the house.”

“Mick!” Marlee couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You need family your first holiday without Pappy. Losing him was worse for you than me. I came home almost a stranger after being gone ten years. You gave him reason to live as long as he did.”

Mick stared toward the mountains. “I keep expecting him to come out for breakfast or to find him puttering in the workshop. It’s hard.”