Roz Fox - Her Mistletoe Miracle

Mick glanced down the line of people filling plates. Marlee and Wylie were deep in conversation with another couple. “Uh, sure,” he told Natalie.

“Great. Here, let me refill your coffee cup and set it at my table…unless you want to switch to beer.”

He debated, but finally shook his head and handed Natalie his empty mug.

“Everything looks so good,” he joked with the ranger ahead of him, “I either need two plates or a sideboard.”

“Forget sideboards, friend, you need armor. A word of advice…Pat Delveccio talked me into dating Natalie once. She’s got a one-track mind focused on becoming Mrs. Somebody. If you don’t believe me, wait. She’s got a list of things she wants in a husband. You won’t get two words in before she’ll start grilling you about what you do, if you smoke, whether you go to church, how much you have in the bank. When she got to how many kids I thought I’d like to have, I ended the date real fast.”

Mick loaded up his plate, unsure whether to join her or not. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so free since they’d barely met and in no way were on a date.

Stopping behind his sister, Mick leaned down as she scooted over to make room for him. He murmured in her ear, “I got roped into eating with Natalie Sweeney. If you see me signaling frantically, come rescue me before dessert.”

“Don’t signal me, Mick. You need to socialize more.”

“Thanks heaps.” Well, he could always tell Natalie he was in a serious relationship—with a smoke jumper. As he made his way across the room, he noticed it was snowing harder, and his mind skipped to Hana and her pals. Had they 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.