Her Mistletoe Miracle. Roz Denny Fox

already turned back? Undoubtedly, weather on the mountain would be far worse than it was here.

      Mick sat, and had no more than dipped a fork into his meal when Natalie hit him with question number one.

      “My friend Pat said you own a freight flying service. That’s cool.” As he chewed, he thought, Marlee’s lasagna’s not bad. “She also said you’re on navy disability. That must provide you a nice nest egg.”

      She smiled, but the lasagna stuck in Mick’s throat. He coughed and stuffed more food in his mouth.

      By the time Natalie had worked her way to question number three, Mick’s eyes were glazed. The park radio crackling to life saved him. Trudy Morgenthal had set it to take Park area emergency calls here. Talk instantly ground to a halt.

      Mick heard enough of a frantic, garbled transmission to deduce that the hiking party of smoke jumpers had turned back, but not soon enough. They’d met with trouble.

      He bounded out of his seat and crowded around the radio with the rangers.

      “I outfitted that party,” he said. “I know several team members. What happened?”

      Trudy shushed him and turned to her boss. “It seems that last night they disagreed over whether to forge on to the peak or turn back. They went farther up the face before pitching tents. Today they decided to call it quits. But the first team roping down the ridge slipped and plunged into a crevasse. The guy on the radio knows they have injuries, and he’s afraid some may be dead.”

      The captain scowled. “Damned crazy smoke-eaters. Who in hell issued them permits this time of year?”

      “I did,” said a ranger standing behind Mick. “I issued it last month. They delayed going twice because of fall fires. But I mean, I expected them to have common sense.”

      “Yeah, well, apparently they don’t,” the captain muttered. He scanned his men. “How many of you are sober enough to head out on a rescue climb?”

      Several hands, including Mick’s, shot up.

      The radio stuttered to life again. “I’m getting word from the crevasse,” a disembodied voice said. “Two women seem to be hurt bad. The most coherent one claims there’s been no response from our guide. He fell first, but he’s our most experienced climber. Can you send a rescue plane? I’m afraid if we don’t get the injured out ASAP they’ll die.”

      Mick wanted so badly to ask names and particulars. But a larger part of him was afraid to know who had fallen.

      “We can’t send either of our helicopters out in this wind. They’re small and it’s too risky,” the captain said.

      “I flew here in a Huey.” Mick elbowed his way forward. “Trudy, ask if there’s a clearing near them large enough for me to land away from trees.”

      “Mick, no!” Marlee squeezed past two burly rangers. “Have you looked outside? It’s almost a whiteout.”

      Mick’s solemn eyes found her in the crowd. “If not me, sis, who?”

      CHAPTER THREE

      RANGER WIVES CLOSED RANKS around Marlee Ames, because not only did her brother volunteer for the dangerous rescue mission, her husband did as well. Once it was ascertained there were three uninjured hikers, all ill-equipped for snow, Mick was elected to concentrate on the injured. Wylie was one of a hiking rescue party comprised of six rangers.

      The meeting room where they’d gathered for the end of season feast doubled as a chart and map room. The captain pulled down a map and a blowup of the mountain region. Those slated to go crowded in to get a fix on coordinates and check the most direct access route.

      Anxious, Mick wanted to race out and take off straight away because the longer they delayed the more they risked worsening weather. But he knew the value of good planning and coordination, so as Wylie slipped away to have a private word with Marlee, Mick crossed his arms and listened to everything that was being said. Two rangers far more familiar with the terrain pointed out potential trouble areas.

      “It’s one-thirty. If I don’t spot the climbers on my first pass I may have to return to base and wait for first light. I don’t want to get caught trying to lift off from the mountain after dark. Especially if temperatures drop and it starts to freeze,” Mick said.

      A ranger ran a finger over the topographical map. “They probably left their vehicles here. We can drive about three miles farther using the fire road.”

      “One vehicle,” Mick said. “They all piled into a big jeep. I saw them head out.”

      Wylie’s friend Bud Russell pulled the ring tab and let the map roll up. “Pack lights and climbing gear in a toboggan. I estimate we won’t reach them until eleven, or could be nearer midnight. We’ll take sandwiches, thermoses of coffee, and thermal blankets. Damn weather’s been practically balmy up until today. Their contact said they weren’t prepared for bad weather except for a few who wore long johns. He said they’re exposed to the storm.”

      “They can’t be more than a mile on either side from a tree line,” one of the older rangers said. “I know he said his radio battery is running low, but shouldn’t we raise him again and suggest they leave the crevasse and hike to shelter?”

      “I did suggest that while you guys were assembling volunteers,” Trudy said. “They vetoed splitting up. They’re worried about the snow obliterating the tree boughs they’ve cut and stuck in the ground to mark the crevasse. If their makeshift markers blow away, it’s as good as writing off those who fell.”

      Mick shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll reach the site long before you guys. Give me the bulk of the blankets and hot drinks. Depending on how many injured we’re talking, and how severely they’re hurt, I can maybe get off the ground with three. Two, if they require stretchers. One additional if ambulatory,” Mick said. “If it comes down to a choice between flying out injured or dead, I’ll focus on those who need doctors and leave you to handle the rest.”

      He could tell from the ring of stony faces that nobody wanted to think about dead bodies. Yet rangers were realistic. They all nodded grimly.

      “Sounds like a plan,” the captain said. “What if you can’t set down up there?” He posed the question lurking at the back of Mick’s own mind, because the hiker on the radio hadn’t been sure the clearing was large enough to land a big chopper.

      “If I can’t land, I can still drop supplies. I’ll stack blankets and food in the copilot’s seat. I volunteer with Angel Fleet, so my aircraft are all stocked with first aid kits.”

      “Do you want a ranger EMT to ride shotgun with you?”

      “That would be nice, but I’m concerned about wind drag. I saw clips of that rescue on Mount Rainier in Washington state that went into the toilet because of wind shears and weight. I don’t want a repeat of that. Can someone impress on the guy who radioed in that I have to grab the injured and get out? Even then it’ll be tricky getting to Kalispell before all hell breaks loose with this storm. Tell him to use the climbing ropes to pull the climbers out of the crevasse and patch up injuries as best he can for transport.”

      Once Mick saw Trudy flipping switches on the radio to relay his message, he shoved open the door and stepped out onto the plank porch. Even under the overhang he got hit by quarter-sized snowflakes that seemed to be blowing in circles. “Damn them,” he growled, thinking aloud about smoke jumpers who should have better sense.

      “They’re hotshots,” Bud said from over Mick’s shoulder.

      “Yeah, but we work closely with Len Martin’s crews,” the ranger captain said as he hunched against the wind ripping away his words. “Len does get some green recruits. Kids who still think they’re invincible.”

      “Three in this party are seasoned,” Mick said. “One’s a five-year veteran. Another, a woman I know, has spent three summers with Martin’s crew.”

      Wylie