Alaska Skies. Debbie Macomber

light blinked repeatedly on the dashboard. Abbey knew nothing about small planes, but she figured if a light was blinking, there had to be a reason. They must be losing oil or gas or altitude or something.

      When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she gripped his arm and pointed to the light.

      “Yes?” He looked at her blankly.

      She didn’t want to shout for fear of alarming her children, so she leaned her head as close to his as possible and said in a reasonable voice, “There’s a light flashing.”

      “Yes, I see.” He continued writing.

      “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

      “In a couple of minutes.”

      “I’d rather you took care of it now.”

      “There’s nothing to worry about, Ms. Sutherland—Abbey,” he said. Lines crinkled around his eyes, and he almost seemed to enjoy her discomfort. “All it indicates is that I’m on automatic pilot.”

      She felt like a fool. Crossing her arms, she wrapped what remained of her dignity about her and gazed out the window.

      Sawyer tapped her on the shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about your luggage, either. I’ve arranged with another flight service to have it delivered this afternoon.”

      He might have told her sooner, instead of leaving her to worry. “Thank you.”

      He nodded.

      “What’s that?” Scott shouted from behind her.

      Abbey looked down to discover a streak of silver that stretched as far as the eye could see.

      “That’s the Alaska pipeline,” Sawyer told Scott.

      From the research she’d done on Alaska, Abbey knew that the pipeline traversed eight hundred miles of rugged mountain ranges, rivers and harsh terrain. It ran from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, the northernmost ice-free port in North America.

      Soon Abbey noticed that the plane was descending. She studied the landscape, trying to spot Hard Luck, excited about seeing the community that would be her home. She saw a row of buildings along one unpaved street, with a large structure set off to the side. Several other buildings were scattered about. She tried to count the houses and got to twenty before the plane lined up with the runway for its final descent.

      As they drew close, Abbey realized the field wasn’t paved, either. They were landing on what resembled a wide gravel road. She held her breath and braced herself as the wheels touched down, sure they’d hit hard against the rough ground. To her surprise, the landing was as smooth as any she’d experienced.

      Sawyer cut the engine speed and taxied toward a mobile structure near the far end of the field. Abbey strained to see what she could out of the narrow side window. She smiled when she recognized a telephone booth. In the middle of the Arctic, at the very top of the world, it was comforting to know she could call home.

      A burly man who resembled a lumberjack barreled out of the mobile structure. Abbey lost sight of him, then heard the door on the side of the aircraft open.

      “Howdy,” he called, sticking his head and upper shoulders inside. “Welcome to Hard Luck. I’m John Henderson.”

      “Hello,” Abbey called back.

      John disappeared abruptly to be replaced by the head and shoulders of another outdoorsy-looking man. “I’m Ralph Ferris,” he said. Three other faces crowded in around the opening.

      “For crying out loud,” Sawyer snapped, “would you guys let the passengers out of the plane first? This is ridiculous.” He squeezed past her, unsnapped the seat belt secured around Scott and Susan and helped them out.

      Abbey was the last person to disembark. As she moved down the three steps, she found all five men standing at attention, as if prepared for a military inspection. Their arms hung straight at their sides, their shoulders were squared, spines straight. If any of them were surprised to see two children, it didn’t show.

      Muttering to himself, Sawyer stalked past Abbey and into the mobile office, leaving her alone with her children. He slammed the door, apparently eager to be rid of them.

      Abbey felt irritation swirl through her. How could he just abandon her? How could he be so rude? What had she done that was so terrible? Well, she could be rude, too!

      “Welcome to Hard Luck.” Her angry thoughts were swept aside as a tall, thin older woman with gray hair cut boyishly short stepped forward to greet her. “I’m Pearl Inman,” she said, shaking Abbey’s hand enthusiastically. “I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have a librarian in Hard Luck.”

      “Thank you. These are my children, Scott and Susan. We’re happy to be here.” Abbey noted that Pearl seemed as unsurprised by the arrival of two children as the pilots were.

      “You must be exhausted.”

      “We’re fine,” Abbey said politely, which was true; she felt a resurgence of energy.

      “You got any other kids in this town?” Scott asked.

      “Are there any girls my age?” Susan added.

      “My heavens, yes. We had twenty-five students last year. I’ll have one of the boys introduce you around later, Scott.” She turned her attention to Susan. “How old are you?”

      “Seven.”

      Pearl’s smile deepened. “I believe Chrissie Harris is seven. Her father works for the Parks Department and serves as our PSO on the side. PSO stands for public safety officer—sort of our policeman. Chrissie will be mighty glad to have a new friend.”

      “What about me?” Scott asked. “I’m nine.”

      “Ronny Gold’s about that age. You’ll meet him later. He’s got a bike and likes to ride all over town on it, so there’s no missing him.”

      Scott seemed appeased. “Are there any Indians around here?” he asked next.

      “A few live in the area—Athabascans. You’ll meet them sometime,” Pearl assured him.

      Looking around, Abbey felt a large mosquito land on her arm. She swatted it away. Susan had already received one bite and was swatting at another mosquito.

      “I see you’ve been introduced to the Alaska state bird, the mosquito,” Pearl said, then chuckled. “They’re pretty thick around here in June and July. A little bug spray works wonders.”

      “I’ll get some later,” Abbey said. She hadn’t realized mosquitoes were such a problem in Alaska.

      “Come on—let’s go to the restaurant and I’ll introduce you to Ben and the others,” Pearl said, urging them across the road toward a building that resembled a house with a big porch. A huge pair of moose antlers adorned the front. “This is the Hard Luck Café. Ben Hamilton’s the owner, and he’s been cooking up a storm all day. I sure hope you’re hungry.”

      Abbey grinned broadly. “I could eat a moose.”

      “Good,” Pearl said, grinning back. “I do believe it’s on the menu.”

      * * *

      Children.

      Sawyer had no one to blame but himself for not knowing that Abbey came as a package deal. He was the person who’d so carefully drawn up the application. Obviously he’d forgotten to include one small but vital question. He’d left one little loophole. If Abbey had arrived with kids, would other women bring them, too? It was a question he didn’t even want to consider.

      Children.

      He poured himself a mug of coffee from the office pot and took a swallow. It burned his mouth and throat, but he was too preoccupied to care. He had to figure out what they were going to do about Abbey Sutherland and her kids.

      It