1

      “FIRST TIME IN ALASKA?” Mack McCaulley asked to make conversation.

      It was three twenty-seven on a gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in late June, and they had been in the air for fifteen minutes. His passenger had yet to utter a single word. He was beginning to wonder if she was mute.

      The petite young woman wedged beside him in his Beaver floatplane, dubbed Edna Marie after his beloved grandmother, bobbed her head.

      An overabundance of clothing—upturned coat collar, turtleneck sweater, wool knit toque—almost swallowed up her round little face. And what the clothing didn’t obscure of her features, the thick glasses did.

      When he had picked her up at the Anchorage airport, she’d reminded him of a nearsighted marshmallow, so swaddled was she in goose down. She had dressed for a winter in Antarctica, not a balmy sixty-degree day in Bear Creek.

      No telling what kind of figure she possessed beneath the many layers. Not that he was interested.

      Actually, she seemed more Caleb’s type. Quiet, studious, introverted. Mack could tell with one glance she was much too timid to make a good Alaskan wife. At least for him. He considered fortitude the number one quality he required in a mate, and this woman was about as brave as bumbling deputy, Barney Fife, from the old Andy Griffith Show.

      She had inched into the plane, clutching at whatever handhold she could find as if she believed the metal might collapse beneath her insignificant weight. And when he’d placed a hand on her shoulder to help steady her, she’d gasped out loud at the casual contact.

      What? Had she thought he would ravish her on the spot? Maybe he should tell her he always toasted his marshmallows before eating them.

      In the ensuing moments since takeoff she had been staring at the floorboard, her hands clenched in white-knuckled terror.

      “Uh-huh,” she spoke so quietly, Mack had to tilt his head and lean in her direction to hear. She had taken so long to respond he’d almost forgotten the question.

      Thank heavens not all the women who’d shown up in Bear Creek following their advertisement in Metropolitan magazine were this uncommunicative. Mack smiled at the thought of his last fare. A foxy redhead with a killer figure who’d pressed her cell phone number into his hand and whispered, “Call me.”

      Now, she’d seemed very adventuresome. Mack exhaled audibly. Yep, he and his three friends were in for a hot, hot summer.

      Er…better make that two friends. Quinn was already spoken for, having courted and caught Kay Freemont, the beautiful reporter Metropolitan magazine had sent to cover their story.

      And this particular bachelor’s curiosity was not piqued by the geeky lass beside him. He would be more than happy to dump her at Jake’s B&B and head back to Anchorage for another bunch of bachelorettes. His next passengers were sorority sisters from the University of Las Vegas. Those women had to be livelier than this one.

      And he craved liveliness in his mate. He wanted an exciting wife who would embrace Alaska with all her heart and soul. A best friend. A woman who loved long dark winters and relished active sunny summers.

      To Mack, fearlessness was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

      In his pocket, he kept a “wife” list—an itemization of his future spouse’s ideal qualities. The list reminded him not to get sidetracked by a pretty face or a sexy body that turned out to have a couch potato soul, as he had in the past. As the last surviving McCaulley male he was serious about getting married and having kids. And he was very specific about what he wanted.

      “But my mother was born in Alaska,” Miss Marshmallow whispered after a silence so long he jumped when she spoke. “She was a bush pilot like you.”

      He almost didn’t catch the last bit. “For real?”

      The woman bobbed her head.

      “Where’s your mother from?”

      “Fairbanks.”

      Well, that explained her overdressing. Fairbanks, nearer to the Arctic Circle, was much colder than the southern coastal region.

      “So you’re an Alaskan by proxy.” He smiled. Poor thing. He felt kind of sorry for her. He had a sneaking suspicion if he yelled “boo” too loudly she would faint dead away from fright.

      “I guess so.”

      “Your mom let you come here all alone?” Mack could have sworn she wasn’t any older than sixteen.

      “Both my parents passed away when I was a kid.”

      Way to go, McCaulley. Open mouth, insert size thirteen-and-a-half boot.

      “Oh, wow. I mean, I’m sorry.”

      She shrugged. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

      “Did your folks die at the same time?”

      “No. A car crash killed my dad when I was six.”

      “That must have been terrible.”

      She nodded. “My mom was so grief-stricken she didn’t take care of herself. The doctors refused to say losing the love of her life caused her cancer to grow, but I know better. She and my dad were true soul mates. She even gave up Alaska and her life as a bush pilot for him.”

      “Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman.” Too bad the daughter hadn’t inherited any of her mother’s moxie.

      “She was.”

      “So you’re an orphan.”

      “My three doting great-aunts raised me. So I never felt like an orphan. But I miss my mom.”

      Her voice had gotten stronger as she spoke. She had the cutest little drawl. Mack had flown enough tourists in his day to pinpoint her heritage as Texas. Or maybe Oklahoma.

      “It’s nice. That you’re not all alone, I mean.”

      Geez, he sounded like an idiot. Good thing Miss Marshmallow wasn’t potential mate material. With these brilliant and insightful comments falling from his silver tongue, she would drop him like a stone and he couldn’t blame her.

      “How about you?” she ventured in a whisper. “Are your parents still alive?”

      “My father died last year. My mother?” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about his childhood. “She left me and my dad when I was eight. Couldn’t handle the Alaskan winters any longer. She lives in Georgia with husband number five or six, I forget which.”

      “Do you ever see her?”

      “Not much. She hates Alaska. Says the wilderness scares her.” He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have much staying power when it comes to relationships.”

      “Maybe you should reach out to her. She could be lonely.”

      Mack hooted. “She’s invited to a different party every night. I seriously doubt she’s lonely.”

      “She hurt you when she left, didn’t she?”

      Mack angled her a look. “Funny,” he snapped. “You seem too shy to be the nosy type.”

      “I’m not. I mean…oh drat…how much longer until we reach