Page 41 of Alaskan Blackout
Thirteen
Strapped in the back of the bush plane Quinton had hired to fly him out to Galbraith Lake, McKenna braced herself for landing. Her gaze flicked toward the cockpit, where the father of her baby sat beside their pilot. Quinton’s handsome profile was visible from her seat of cargo netting, his headset in place as they approached Coldfoot, Alaska, about 250 miles north of Fairbanks. The engine rumbled too loudly for any conversation except through the headset, so she’d been saved from any discussion about where things stood between them.
For now, at least.
With the aircraft descending after a flight of less than an hour, the time for a conversation with Quinton rapidly approached. Would he accompany her back to Fairbanks and put her on a plane alone for Dutch Harbor while he returned to his tech company’s base of operations in Silicon Valley? Or would he head straight to Montana to meet up with Clayton in the weeks ahead? There hadn’t been time to ask either Clay or Quinton questions when Clay interrupted her walk along the frigid glacier lake to bring her in his off-road vehicle directly to the plane. The cloud cover had been getting denser, according to their pilot, and he’d urged her to hurry aboard to beat the weather before the Brooks Range was completely hidden in fog.
McKenna hadn’t been able to read Clay’s expression when he’d handed over her already-packed duffel bag, but when he’d hugged her goodbye, he promised he would phone her the next day.
Did that mean he’d settled things with Quinton, who’d boarded the plane before her? Certainly Clayton trusted Quinton enough to allow her to fly home with him. But had they made peace? And if so, where did that leave her? Would Clayton forsake his life in Alaska for good to start over in Silent Spring?
The lonely ache inside her at the thought of saying goodbye to her brother was a pale echo of the loss she felt over alienating Quinton, but it still hurt. Had part of her determination not to share Clayton’s whereabouts with Quinton been born of a desire to keep Clayton close? She really hoped not. She hoped her love for others was more giving than that. But she’d sure undermined two important relationships lately—with Quinton and with her brother.
Whether that had been a subconscious impulse or not, McKenna recognized the time had come to let her brother go with a full heart. When he phoned her tomorrow, she would tell him why he should travel to Montana. Why he had to accept a legacy he deserved.
The Beaver plane touched down smoothly, jostling her only a little. McKenna gripped the seat restraints more tightly as the aircraft slowed and then halted altogether. Out the window, she spied a rustic, one-story cabin lit by a single floodlamp over the main entrance. A picnic table sat outside near a four-wheel-drive pickup truck she didn’t recognize.
Was Quinton staying here?
Her heart stuttered. She tried to recall what had been said about their destination when they’d taken off back at Galbraith Lake. She’d been frazzled about having to hop directly into the aircraft without even returning to the travel trailer, her brain too full of questions to process much more than Clay telling her she should “head back” with Quinton.
Now, she unstrapped herself from the jump seat while the pilot opened the cargo door. The cold wind of early evening rushed in, stealing the air from her lungs. She’d been better about carrying her inhaler with her since the panic-induced episode of the blackout, however, so she was able to breathe just fine despite the drop in temperature and the stress of the impending conversation with Quinton about their future apart.
A moment later, Quinton stepped out of the plane, coming around to her side of the aircraft. Their eyes met, the weight of all uncertainties between them a tangible presence. They needed to figure out what happened next. But not in front of Dave, who was pulling their bags out of the back of his plane.
“That should do it.” The pilot planted the bags on the picnic table. “It’s been a pleasure flying you.”
Quinton shook the man’s hand while McKenna wished him a safe flight home. Apparently Dave’s air taxi service was based out of Coldfoot until winter set in, so he only needed to fly another twenty miles to return to his home.
They waved a goodbye to him in the growing dark as they watched the navigation lights fade out of sight. The weather had changed considerably once they reached the other side of the Brooks Range, the sky clear and crisp now. The wind still gusted, however, lifting her ponytail from the shoulder of her down insulated jacket.
While she waited for Quinton to speak—to inform her of what would happen next for them—she shivered a little. Tucking her chin into the vee of her zipper where she hadn’t pulled the fastening all the way up, she folded her arms across her chest.
“Are you hungry?” he asked at last, turning warm brown eyes her way, his whiskered jaw illuminated by the sole outdoor lamp. “I left some food in the fridge inside.”
“I’d rather talk first. I’m honestly too nervous to eat with so many questions between us.” She would face whatever came her way head-on, determined to handle it for the sake of her baby. Their baby. Admittedly, she would be devastated if Quinton wished to leave. But she wouldn’t allow him to chain himself to her for life for the sake of their child. “How did things go with Clayton? Are you reconciled? Is he leaving Alaska?”
Perhaps it had been cowardly of her to start there—with topics that were far afield from the most important question of her heart. But she needed to work up the nerve first.
“Should we go inside where it’s warm first?” Quinton reached for the bags. “There are two beds inside and I don’t want to try making the drive back to Fairbanks in the dark.”
Had he mentioned two beds because he didn’t want her anymore or out of respect for her boundaries? Either way, they had time to talk and for her to find the answer. The Dalton Highway, which had been built for the Alaskan pipeline, wasn’t paved the whole way, with long stretches of gravel between the smoother areas. She didn’t blame Quinton for not wishing to drive such a dangerous stretch of highway at night. But she wasn’t sure she was ready for the intimacy of that small cabin yet. Not when she needed answers about what lay ahead for them and the child they shared.
It hurt just thinking about going their separate ways.
Besides, it was easier to hide her emotions out here in the dark, with a stiff wind to cool her burning eyes.
“Would you mind if we just sat here for a little bit?” She pointed to the picnic table. “I could use the fresh air after everything that’s happened these last few days.”
“Of course.” Quinton was already shifting their bags around to clear a spot for them. “Let me grab a blanket out of the truck.”
She climbed up onto the warped bench to sit on the flatter surface of the table while Quinton retrieved a plaid wool emergency blanket from a bag inside the silver pickup truck.
Even now, when he had every reason to want to distance himself from her, he was thoughtful of her. Caring. Her throat constricted as he took a seat beside her, shaking out the wool throw so that it lay over her lap and his too. An outsider looking at them might think they were a couple, that Quinton was solicitous.
McKenna knew, however, that he behaved that way because she carried his child. Also because he was just that kind of good person. He protected the people around him, a quality she’d observed in him from the very beginning when he’d gone out of his way to help Julie Weatherspoon after she’d been scammed. McKenna’s heart swelled with feelings for him as Quinton’s voice rumbled in the darkness beside her.
“To answer your questions, I’m not sure if Clayton and I are reconciled, but I can tell you I feel a whole lot better about where things stand between us now.” Quinton turned toward her, his expression clear in the soft glow of the exterior light on the cabin. His lips curved up on one side. “I have the feeling I made out better with him because you broke the news about the pregnancy. Thank you for that.”