Just a few weeks, and the old man would be able to fly again, and then Dodge could restart his life.

Until then, he needed groceries and real grub in his gullet, and when he’d driven by Vic’s, an old, errant habit had him pulling into the gravel lot, parking next to the clutter of other grime-streaked pickups, and finding an empty stool at the bar.

He knew a few souls inside—Mal and Hudson Bowie were at a booth, their eyes glued to a hockey game on the flat-screen. And Shasta Starr had come right up to him, given him a hug, and said she’d missed him. So that was something.

“On the house,” Vic said, setting down a golden, foamy beer in front of him. She still had short blond hair and that steely set about her that kept this place in shape. But her eyes warmed when they fell on him. “Glad to see you back.”

“Thanks, Vic. But I don’t drink.” He pushed the beer away. “Coffee?”

“You got it.” She took the drink away and pulled a mug from one of the hooks behind the bar. She filled it with black coffee and set it in front of him. “You flying for Sky King?”

He took a sip. Still brewed at a thickness that could keep him awake for a month. “Yep.”

“How’s your dad?”

“On the mend. Angry that he’s grounded.”

She nodded. “He doesn’t come in much anymore. What’re Ranger and Colt up to?”

Aw, he knew that was coming. “Not sure. Ranger’s a SEAL, but I haven’t heard from Colt for a while.” He kept his voice easy, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on anything.

A while meant ten years, and the last time he’d seen him, Colt was in a hospital bed. They hadn’t talked, but Dodge had looked through the door window to make sure he was still alive.

Their Dad was parked at Colt’s bedside, and that was all Dodge needed to walk away and down to the recruiter’s office.

“Glad you’re home,” Vic said. “I’m sure Echo will be glad to see you when she gets back.”

“Back?” He dismissed the other part.

“She’s out in the bush with Peyton Samson, stalking wolves.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Peyton’s on a three-year grant to track a pack of wolves, study their mating patterns or something. She’ll be glad to sit you down and wax on about it for a few tedious hours.”

He laughed. “She likes to warm up one of these stools?”

“She likes my chili fries.” Vic headed down the row to serve a couple guys who’d ventured in from the cold. The snow had started to drift from the sky, the weather pattern he’d outrun. The one that nearly took him down had found its way to Copper Mountain.