Her Mistletoe Miracle

No one wanted to go into the pit again, but because Norm was the lightest, he was chosen to be roped down. Mick and Chuck lowered him in silence. Bringing up a body wasn’t a chore any of them wanted. But it had to be done. The process took longer than Mick had judged, because he had to keep prodding Chuck to pull on his rope. Once they had the body up, Chuck and Norm were so rattled, erecting the tents fell to Mick. The other men didn’t understand why Mick demanded two of their tents, and he wasn’t about to spell out for them that Jess needed to be under cover because of wolves and other predators.

Long shadows had slipped across the eerily silent clearing by the time Mick finished and flatly declared, “Look, I’ve gotta take off.” Mick shook hands with first Norm then Chuck. As he left the site, the men dragged Roger, who had begun to stir, into the larger of the two tents. Mick knew they didn’t want him to leave, but it was now or never.

Kari was gritting her teeth in pain, and Hana looked like death waiting in the wings.

Mick hadn’t totally shut down the rotors, hoping to keep them from freezing up. Still, as he tried to lift off, the escalating wind was determined to drive him back into the hillside. He waged a battle of determination in his head while steadily increasing power to the rotors.

Sweat popped out on his brow and several drops slid down his nose as the tail rotor caught the downdraft and the main body of the aircraft bucked and pitched. He thought he was a goner.

Both women screamed, nearly bursting Mick’s eardrums. He’d outfitted them with headsets to minimize the chopper noise, and also as a means to communicate with them if they panicked. Kari had resisted being buckled on a stretcher, but she couldn’t get up to sit in the copilot’s seat, so Mick had insisted on strapping her in. Because Hana had thrashed about earlier, Mick worried she’d break her restraints now or in flight.

He recognized that this wasn’t the safest way to carry injured passengers on a two-hour flight. But he’d come this far, and Hana was alive. She’d said something the other day that stuck with Mick. Or rather, it was something she’d implied—a lot of people in Hana Egan’s life had let her down. By damn, he didn’t intend to be another person who failed her.

A giant sucking sound rent the air. The big helicopter popped loose from the stranglehold of the downdrafts and shot up and away from the side hill like a cork exploding from a champagne bottle. Mick’s lungs eased as he let out a breath.

“Mick?” Kari’s voice spoke urgently in his ear. “I felt the wall behind me rattle. What’s wrong? Are we going down?” Fear made her voice shrill.

“Relax, Kari. Everything’s fine,” he said, hoping she couldn’t see him shake out a handkerchief and mop his forehead. “How did Hana deal with liftoff?”

“Fine, I guess. God, I hurt everywhere from all the shaking.”

“Sorry. I wish I had more pillows.”

She said nothing, which was okay with Mick. He wanted to radio the ranger station and let someone there know his passengers’ names and his destination. He’d also like them to alert Wylie’s rescue party as to what they’d find at the end of their trek, but that wasn’t the way Kari and Hana should learn what happened to Jess.

Trudy Morgenthal, the regular dispatcher, picked up Mick’s call to headquarters. “Nice of you to touch base at long last, Callen. You’ve got everyone in a tizzy. And in Marlee’s condition, a tizzy’s the last thing she needs.”

“You haven’t heard from Wylie?”

“Wylie and Bill have called in a dozen times asking for updates from you.”

“Yeah, well, I had my hands full.”

Not free to say much more, Mick kept his transmission to Trudy short. He clicked off after asking her to tell Marlee he’d touch base after he reached Kalispell.

He felt a shimmer of guilt for leaving Marlee and the kids stranded. He could, he supposed, be back to ranger headquarters by 4:00 a.m. or so. All he was obligated to do was wait for an ambulance. Once the smoke jumpers were on their way to the hospital, he could return and take the Ames family home. He could. But Mick already knew he was going to tag along to the hospital.

His headset crackled. Kari asked shakily when they’d land.

“In about ninety minutes. I’ll radio ahead for an ambulance when we’re fifteen minutes out.”

“I need to phone my boyfriend,” she said.

“He wasn’t on the climb?” Mick glanced back into the dim interior.

“He’s not a smoke jumper. His name is Joe. He didn’t want me to make this climb. He said I wouldn’t get home in time to celebrate his mom’s birthday. Now I’ll definitely miss it,” she sobbed. “And I’ll probably have to ask him to come up here and drive me home.”

“Where do you live? Southern California, like Hana?”

“No,” she sniffed. “Denver. This was my last year as a smoke jumper. That’s why I wanted to make this trek with the crew.”

With Jess gone, Mick wondered who Hana would call. Did she have anyone?

“Is Hana awake?” Mick knew she could hear him if she was conscious.

He heard her ragged whisper. “I’m awake. I’m in a lot of pain, mostly in my lower back. And I can’t feel my toes.”

That didn’t sound good to Mick, who’d taken advanced first aid courses in order to fly for Angel Fleet. He figured from Hana’s torn and bloody jeans that she’d bounced over rocks before landing in the crevasse. Chuck, Norm and Roger hadn’t gone to any extra effort to support her back before pulling her out. But then, Mick had rolled her onto the stretcher. Chills swept his spine as he considered that he might have done her more harm than good in brushing snow off her back.

The last thing he wanted to do was transmit his panic to her. “I strapped you on the stretcher pretty tight. Listen, ladies, we’re coming into some turbulence. It’ll probably hurt but we should get through it quickly.”

He hit an air pocket and dropped, then shot up almost as fast. Someone cried out sharply, and then both moaned in what must have been agony. Mick hated hearing them in pain and knowing he could do nothing to help.

He’d hoped for a break in the weather before he came within radio range of the Kalispell airpark. But no such luck. This storm seemed determined to beat Montana up on all sides.

“It won’t be long until you get real medical attention,” he told them ten minutes later. “I’m going to call now to ask for an ambulance. The paramedics will come onboard and give you something for pain before they move you.”

Kari answered for the two of them with a weak, “Thanks, Mick.”

He switched dials and made the request. Time was wasted as Mick had to explain to the dispatcher that this call wasn’t in conjunction with Angel Fleet. Moments later, he was in the approach pattern to the airpark, when the tower imparted more bad news.

“It’s been snowing hard and steady. We have no clear runway. Advise you to divert to a major airport.”

“I have injured onboard,” Mick informed the air controller. “Request permission to land. I don’t have enough fuel to go to International.”

When a voice finally agreed to let him land, Mick had little doubt his request would’ve been refused if he’d been flying any aircraft other than the Huey. Of course, had he been flying either of his light planes, or Wylie’s, he couldn’t have set down on the mountain.

It was just now eleven, which meant the rangers hiking up to rescue the stranded may have arrived. No telling how long it’d take them to trek out.

He rolled his head to ease the tension building between his shoulder blades, and listened to the controller issue directions for landing. Mick could barely make out the tower lights. Wind slammed him one way and just as fast jerked him back the other direction. He had to cut more power to fight a spin.

There wasn’t a peep from the back, though some offensive language certainly left his mouth. Old habits formed in the military died hard.

It seemed to take a long time, but at last he corrected the spin. However, he was very near the ground. So near he was blinded by flashing lights from the emergency vehicle mere seconds before the Huey’s runners smacked the snowy tarmac.

A sigh of relief rushed from his lungs. Mick had rarely had such a bad landing.

He shut down the rotors and jumped from the cockpit, grimacing from the pain that clutched his bad hip. His limp was so pronounced, one of the emergency crew assumed he was one of the injured. “Old war wound,” Mick muttered, opening the door to give the medics access to the real patients.

The women didn’t look good. Even in the diffused light flickering sporadically through whorls of blowing snow, Mick saw tracks from their tears marring their cheeks.

The medics got the women out and onto gurneys. Mick felt relief knowing a qualified attendant was caring for Hana and Kari.

Once the emergency vehicle had disappeared through the main gate, he hobbled to the office and left orders to refuel the Huey. “I won’t be flying out again tonight,” he told the clerk. He needed to know the extent of Hana’s injuries. And whether or not in his zeal to rescue her he’d caused more damage.

CHAPTER FOUR

ON THE SHORT WALK to the lot where he kept Pappy’s old Cadillac for just such trips to town, Mick opened his cell to call his twin.