He should just give up. “Thanks.” Besides, he knew about just in case. His emergency pack—a sleeping bag, water, food, flares, a tent and propane stove—was shoved under his seat.

“Fly smart, son,” his father said.

“I got this.” He didn’t meet his father’s eyes as he took the pack. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Dodge had lifted a hand, glad it wasn’t visibly shaking.

He’d fought through the coil in his gut and was skyward before the sun could clear the mountains, heading west, a glare on his instrument panel.

But the day was bright and crisp, the snow glistening, the clouds to the northwest and a day of flying spread out ahead of him, and sometime in all that, his stomach had loosened.

Yes, he had this.

He chased a herd of caribou as they scattered through the snow south of the park line. Followed the river through Cache Creek Canyon, the familiar terrain latching on to his memory.

“You don’t want to get too close to the walls—a gust of wind could push—”

“I got this, Dad.”

Even when he was sixteen, they’d been at odds.

When he emerged into the flattened area southeast of a massive spur of mountain, Dodge spotted a bull moose standing just offshore in the snow, feeding on rushes. It lifted its massive head and watched the yellow intruder snake through the valley.

Dodge ascended, crossed the ridge, kept an eye on the ceiling, then headed south on the Yentna River, scanning the ground for the Farley homestead.

When Dodge was in high school, Spike, a former military paratrooper, and his wife and infant daughter had moved north, following the dream of so many—gold and the freedom to live as they liked.

Recognizing a spur in the river, where it angled west, Dodge spotted the Farley homestead. The cabin sat on a hill in a cleft in the mountain overlooking the river. A trail had been cut out between the trees that led down to a dock.

They’d enlarged the place to include a barn, a greenhouse, and what looked like a clearing for dogs.

For a moment, Echo slipped into his brain. “There’s no greater freedom than running dogs.”

He wondered if she’d watched that Norwegian racer check in at the halfway point of the Iditarod this weekend.

Nope. Not going there.

On the ground, someone had heard him and come out of the house and was now waving a red flag. He dipped his wings, then banked, checking out his landing on the beach of the frozen river. Despite the recent warmth in Anchorage, the freezing nights still kept the river solid. And today’s cold spell had deepened the freeze.

He angled in, adjusted his flaps, straightened her out, and set the PA-14 down on the beachhead.

The plane sputtered to a stop, and Dodge opened the door, stepped out on the strut.