Dodge crossed his arms, glued there because, of course, Larke was right.

He was afraid. Afraid of the memories that still broke free sometimes. And most of all, afraid of the words that he longed to hear and never would.

He should leave. He’d made himself promises, and he’d already broken the first one by standing in this corridor. Yes, stupid impulses.

“Oh, thank God, Dodge, you’re here.”

The voice jolted him, made him turn.

Winter Starr. Daughter of the legendary bush pilot Sheldon Starr. Her family ran Starr Air Service, northwest of Copper Mountain. She wore her dark hair in two long braids and had on a pair of boots and a Starr Air sweatshirt. She probably ran her own plane by now.

He had no words when she walked right up to him and pulled him down in a hug. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

She’d beat him out for valedictorian by a half point and that had intrigued, if not irked, him enough to like her. But she’d also been Echo’s best friend, so that was as far as his interest went.

“Thanks.”

She let him go. “I was coming up to talk to Larke, but I’m so glad you’re here. We can divvy up his charters, but I can’t do his mail route, Dodge. I just can’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve already got the mail run to Paxton, plus every homestead east of the Copper River, and if I add the western mail, that fills me right up.”

“You’re running the mail?”

“And medical and groceries for most of the east side north of Susitna. Your dad has the western run, over the range, to Nikolai and Stony River, and even out to Russian Mission.”

Of course he did. An area that would probably keep him in the air for days.

“He also checks in on the homesteads in the area—he’s got a schedule.”

“I know it.” He’d flown that route more times than he could count.

She cut her voice down. “They’re talking pilot error.”

“No. Otto Smith said his wing was coming off.”

“Ernie Wright just did a hundred-hour inspection on the plane. It was cleared.” She sighed. “I don’t know how much you know, but your dad has had a few close calls lately. Nearly clipped another plane in the Copper Mountain airfield during taxi, and I heard he spooked a recent group by flying too close to one of Huntington Mountain’s spires.”

“Aw, that’s just Barry Kingston showing off.”

“The National Air Transportation Board is coming in to do an investigation, and depending on what they find, he could be shut down. At the very least, he can’t fly, not for a while, right?” She gestured to his room.

“Larke is here. She knows the routes—”