The seductive smile that was a weapon all on its own.

No, her own sense of well-being could not be denied, now could it. She laughed a little at herself. Was that all it took, a little How was your day, dear? and some great sex? They hadn‘t even bothered to come back downstairs for dinner. Jim had made them an enormous breakfast, eggs, chicken-fried caribou steak, gravy, and most of one of her loaves of bread, which had risen to alarming heights by morning, baked quickly in a hot oven, sliced too soon, toasted and slathered with butter. Nectar and ambrosia, he‘d said. Manna from heaven, she‘d said. Oho, so I‘m heaven, am I? he‘d said, and the food cooled on its plates while he demonstrated. So, did the earth move? Johnny said next to her, making her jump. She laughed but she blushed a little, too. None of your business.

He mock grumbled around the kitchen. Didn‘t even get any dinner last night. I‘m a growing boy, I‘m starving, do I have to stay starved?

She opened the oven and pulled out a full plate that had been keeping warm against this moment. I‘ll make you some toast while you get started on this. That‘s more like it. He carried the plate to the table and dug in.

They cleaned up, got dressed, and headed for town. Kate dropped Johnny at the school, one week to go before summer vacation. He hesitated with his hand on the open door. So, we can apply for the job?

She nodded.

And you‘ll tell Old Sam?

No. You‘ll do that yourself.

Dang, he said. Worth a try.

Would have thought less of you if you hadn‘t, she said. Later.

The Chugach Air Taxi hangar itself hadn‘t changed at all. It was the activity in and around it that made the scene look like a stop-motion video by Dinah Clark. The hangar, a square box two stories high, had a much smaller box attached to its front right corner. A black, hand-lettered sign on a white background read OFFICE over the door of the small box, and on the wall of the big box overhead a larger, fading sign, CHUGACH AIR TAXI SERVICE, INC.

The hangar doors were open, revealing not the familiar Cessna 206 nor the equally familiar Piper Super Cub but instead a de Havilland Single Otter. Kate looked closer. No, her eyes did not deceive her, it was in fact a turbo.

Nearby, a de Havilland Beaver on wheels was warming up, with a pilot she‘d never met giving her the once-over through the windshield. From where she stood, it looked like every seat was full.

She went into the hangar and found George, tall, skinny, shovel-shaped unshaven jaw, lank dark hair thinning out on top. He still looked like George in oil-stained striped overalls and a greasy pair of Sorels. What didn‘t look like George was the rectangular piece of electronic equipment sprouting from his right ear. It bristled with knobs and dials and extruded an antenna from one end.