“I’ll get home and take a look at the ceiling. Where’s the cabin?”

“Ten miles west of your place. Cabin 37.”

He knew it. “I flew that area a couple hours ago. Lots of ice. Nearly took me down.”

“I hear that, Dodge,” Deke said. He looked at the sky, the layering of snow. “I guess we’re all grounded until this weather clears.” His mouth tightened, and he looked back at Dodge. “The call came in from Peyton Samson. The victim is Echo.”

Dodge stared at him, a fist closing around his chest. “Tell her I’m on my way.”

No one was coming and Holly was going to die. Echo threw another log on the fire, watching as sparks leaped into the sky, swept away at once by the wind. The snowstorm had passed, leaving a fresh-fallen layer over her now-sleeping dogs, but as the sky cleared, a terrible wind from the north swept through.

No one could land in these conditions.

She should pack up the dogs and head out into the night. Eight hours of running, and they’d be home by dawn.

By the arc of the moon, it was well past midnight. She’d heard what she thought had been a plane thunder by hours ago, but no one had appeared on the trail. Her guess was the high winds, the snowpack, and the darkness had aborted the rescue mission.

She pulled her sleeping bag around her. Ice rimmed her balaclava despite the glow of the fire. The bear hadn’t returned, but her capture gun sat within reach.

Please, get here. Echo clung to the tiny hope that someone would find a weather pocket and swoop in. Save them all.

“Dodge Kingston is back.”

She’d be lying if she didn’t hope that someone might be six feet two, have dark curly hair, blue eyes the color of a stormy sky, and bear the smile that she couldn’t forget.

Maybe even with it, forgiveness.

Sometimes, she went back to that night, replayed it. Made different choices.

Said no to Colt and his charm before she got in over her head. Before she caused the Kingston Family Feud.

Before she lost the only man she ever loved.

“Echo?” The voice drifted out over the cold.

Peyton stood in the door, her jacket on. “I think Holly is going into shock.”

Echo got up, shot a look at the darkness, at the fading fire, then grabbed the capture gun and headed inside.

Holly still lay in front of the potbellied stove. Granite had moved away but perched on the cot, his eyes on his offspring.

Echo knelt beside Holly, felt her pulse, put a hand in front of her nose. “She’s breathing okay.” She lifted her lips. Pale. She pressed on her upper gum and watched how fast the color returned. Shoot.

“You’re right. She probably needs blood. Any news from Copper Mountain?”