“I thought your mom baked pies yesterday. Don’t tell me she’s swearing over fixing me lunch? Granted, I’ve had nothing but coffee today, so I could eat a mule raw. Maybe I’ll settle for nibbling on you.” Mick made growly noises as he teasingly went after his niece’s bony shoulder.
She giggled and shrieked until Mick set her down. “Mama’s not baking pies, Uncle Mick. She made supper for tomorrow, and had it in a pan when she ’membered a ’portant in…gredient.” The girl stumbled in her attempt to explain.
“Ouch, no wonder she’s saying bad words. Where’s Wylie?”
“Dad’s out taking inventory of the campsites in his area,” Dean said. “Sometimes campers steal fire grates, or mess up the trash barrels at the end of camping season. He has to make a list of the sites that need stuff stocked before the park opens in the spring. I usually help tie tarps over the leftover firewood so it stays dry for the winter,” the nine-year-old said proudly. “Dad knew you were coming, so he let me stay home to help you unload Mom’s supplies. He said she’s not allowed to pick up anything over five pounds.”
“I never turn down help, Dean. Somewhere in this monster, I believe you’ll find Halloween treats for two kids who tote boxes to the house.”
“Yippee!” the kids yelled out, setting the dogs off again.
Marlee hurried down the path to see what was going on. Her usually well-kept blond hair looked a fright. And at seven months pregnant, she barely fit into the men’s plaid flannel shirt that stretched over her bulging middle.
Mick was shocked to see her waddle more than walk out on the asphalt. Last time he’d stopped in to visit, his sister was just starting to show.
“Wow, sis, you look like the pregnant guppy Mrs. Walters brought to our sixth grade science class. Didn’t we name her Fatso?”
“Thank you, Mick.” Marlee’s blue-green eyes narrowed ominously. She snapped his arm hard with a dishtowel she’d used to wipe what looked like blood off her hands. When he stopped trying to evade her, Mick saw it was tomato sauce.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized even as he and the kids laughed over her antics. “Honestly, Marlee, you’d better have a look-see in the mirror before Wylie gets home, or he’ll beg me to take you back. No offense, but you look like hell. Okay, okay, Jo Beth! I know I said a bad word.”
Since her grandmother had drilled into her head that swearing was unacceptable, Jo Beth rarely failed to point out Mick’s indiscretions. Or Pappy’s when he was alive.
“Spoken like a bachelor. Maybe your girlfriends are fashion plates,” Marlee said, her lip quivering, “but this past month I’ve passed the point of getting into anything in my closet. Tell me you have freight from Mervyn’s Online or I’ll die. I ordered maternity clothes, and if they didn’t come you’ll be going to the potluck tomorrow without me.” She burst into tears, further shocking Mick.
“I have them…your order,” he said, trying to rectify his error of saying how awful she looked by awkwardly patting her. “Jeez, Marlee, I was teasing.”
“It’s okay.” She smothered her face in the sauce-streaked towel, which made matters worse. “Hormones gone berserk, I guess. I swear I didn’t do this with my first pregnancy.”
“Is it normal? I mean, is everything okay?” Mick asked worriedly. “When did you last see a doctor?”
“When she flew me to Seattle for my checkup,” Dean said, again corralling the boisterous dogs. “My dad told me and Jo Beth that’s how women who are gonna have babies get.”
“No kidding?” Mick frowned into one upturned face, then the other. The kids didn’t seem all that positive they shouldn’t be doing something to help.
“If Wylie said it, sport, it must be true. Let’s give your mom some space. Come on, kids, it’s getting colder. Help me haul this freight in.” He flung open the door that led to the Huey’s dark belly, levered himself into the cavern and began handing out the smallest cartons.
“The Polly Pocket amusement park I wanted! Is this my Halloween treat, Uncle Mick?”
“Jo Beth,” Dean exclaimed, running excitedly over to his stepsiste, “Uncle Mick gave me the scary black knight and castle I’ve been asking Dad for.”
Marlee managed to wipe most of her tears away, but left bits of tomato sauce smeared across her cheeks. “Mick, you spoil the kids. Last time you came you brought half a toy store. I told you to stop already.”
“What are bachelor uncles for? Or bachelor brothers…? On my last trip to Missoula, I found some perfume to replace the bottle I broke when we moved you here. A clerk also helped me with stuff for the baby. Let’s go up to the house. After you clean up, you can open boxes to your heart’s content.”
“What’ll be left to give us when you come for Christmas?”
Her brother jumped down gingerly, and pulled a stack of various-size boxes into his arms before he shut the cargo door. “Uh, I’m thinking of taking off for parts unknown after Thanksgiving. I thought I’d find me a warm spot to ride out winter. Maybe I’ll go before Turkey Day. Stella said she’ll watch the house.”
“Mick!” Marlee couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You need family your first holiday without Pappy. Losing him was worse for you than me. I came home almost a stranger after being gone ten years. You gave him reason to live as long as he did.”
Mick stared toward the mountains. “I keep expecting him to come out for breakfast or to find him puttering in the workshop. It’s hard.”
“I understand. After Cole died I felt like running away. Only, I had Jo Beth. But…you have us, Mick.”
“I know,” he said, dropping back to match his long stride to her waddle. He stopped on the path when the top box threatened to fall. “Will you grab that. I think it’s your perfume. I’d hate to break a second bottle.”
She took the package. “Talk to me, Mick. It’s not good to hold your feelings inside. We’re twins. There was a time we shared all our hopes and dreams… and sorrows.”
“Back then our dreams were one and the same. To fly for the navy. It’s all either of us ever wanted. Now… Life’s a bitch sometimes.”
“So, your wanting to get away at Christmas has to do with…losing your career? It’s been six years, Mick. You rebuilt Cloud Chasers after Pappy let it slip, and it’s a great success. And who’ll fly mercy missions over the winter if you up and take off? To borrow Dean’s term, you’re Angel Fleet’s best sky knight.”
“Sky knight.” Mick snorted.
“Apt. I overheard the kids talking on a flight to Seattle for Dean. Jo Beth bragged that she and I were sky angels. Wylie had just told us about a girl Angel Fleet asked you to fly out for a kidney transplant. Dean said angel sounded too girly for you. He’s so into the knights and castles toys. He officially dubbed you Sky Knight.”
They’d reached the house and Mick was saved from commenting. He was a volunteer flyer. Why gussy up his role? The coordinators of Angel Fleet raised funds to keep flights free or nearly so for needy sick and injured people living in remote locations. The staff were the real knights.
The kids had dumped their boxes on the kitchen table, and were in the living room ripping open their new toys. Both dogs had flopped in front of a fireplace that had been laid with kindling and firewood, but not lit.
Mick hadn’t bought only the black knight and Polly Pocket sets for the children; he’d piled on a board game he knew they’d like, and books and music CDs. Wylie didn’t have TV reception, although Mick knew he was considering installing a satellite dish.
He handed his sister her maternity clothes, and shooed her off to the bedroom.