him, a flood of warm tingling rushed through her. It felt so good. But it just ... it wasn't ... it wasn't sensible ! And there was no way she could think about it rationally while she was around Nathan.
"There are flights out of town, aren't there?"
"Oh, yes, dear; I think the daily flight to Ottawa is about to leave shortly. Would you like me to call you a cab?"
"Yes," April said, before she could lose her nerve. "Please do that."
10. Nathan
On his short, bumpy drive into town, Nathan leaned out the window of the truck to watch one of the "big" jets thunder overhead, on its way to the larger airport on the west side of town. It was a twin-engine passenger plane, the kind that would have brought April here a couple of days ago. They got a few long-distance flights a day, mostly cargo flights serving the mining and oil companies, as well as the single regularly scheduled passenger flight to Ontario.
Anyway. April. He didn't have her cell number, but at least he knew where she was. The hotel options in town were basically Mary Okpuk's place, a snug little hotel called the Arctic Tern, or the chain hotel across town that catered to oil workers. He called Mary.
"Nathan dear! I read about the crash ..."
After Nathan had managed to field her earnest inquiries after his health, he asked about April.
"Oh, that nice little girl checked out this morning, dear. I believe she's going back to Ontario."
"What?" Nathan said blankly, the shattered pieces of his future falling down around him.
"Oh dear, it's not your fault! She was very kind about it. You know how these city people are, always busy and in a hurry to get somewhere ...."
Nathan hung up on Mary without saying goodbye. Suddenly the jet he'd just watched land took on new and ominous implications. There was only one passenger flight a day. If she left on that plane, he wouldn't be able to follow her. She'd be gone, out of his life, when she'd only just come into it. His mate !
His phone rang again. He glanced down, saw it was yet another of his cousins, and turned it off with a stab of his finger. Screw them. His entire future was getting away.
He tore through town and onto the road to the larger airport. From here, across the flat tundra, he could see the distant silver gleam of the passenger jet. Its engines were warming up. It was taking off.
No, he thought—no! He'd waited too long. He should have tried harder to talk to April yesterday, should have told her what she meant to him. He should have explained that she was his destined mate, that there would never be another for him. She wasn't a shifter; she didn't even know! And like a fool, he'd just let her walk away.
He pushed the pedal down, but there was no way he could make it. The jet was already gathering speed for a takeoff.
Nathan stopped the truck and helplessly watched as it coasted down the runway, caught the wind, and rose gleaming into the sky ... carrying his heart with it.
Too slow, he berated himself. Too damned slow. He didn't even have her number, and the next flight wasn't leaving until tomorrow. She'd vanish into the anonymous crowds at the Ottawa airport, and he'd never find her again.
But maybe he could find someone else going down that way. A private oil-company jet, for example. Maybe he could catch a ride with some of the reporters. With a renewed sense of purpose, he put the truck in gear.
He passed the town's only two taxis leaving the airport, as well as a shuttle to the chain hotel. Already marshaling his arguments to use on anyone who might have a flight leaving for Ottawa in the next few hours, Nathan drove up to the front of the tiny one-room terminal. The small crowd of deplaning passengers had dispersed. There was no one there now except a single person leaning against the wall, studying their cell phone.
Nathan very nearly drove by before he registered the familiar waves of dark hair. The way she stood, the tilt of her head—April!
Standing in front of the
"There are flights out of town, aren't there?"
"Oh, yes, dear; I think the daily flight to Ottawa is about to leave shortly. Would you like me to call you a cab?"
"Yes," April said, before she could lose her nerve. "Please do that."
10. Nathan
On his short, bumpy drive into town, Nathan leaned out the window of the truck to watch one of the "big" jets thunder overhead, on its way to the larger airport on the west side of town. It was a twin-engine passenger plane, the kind that would have brought April here a couple of days ago. They got a few long-distance flights a day, mostly cargo flights serving the mining and oil companies, as well as the single regularly scheduled passenger flight to Ontario.
Anyway. April. He didn't have her cell number, but at least he knew where she was. The hotel options in town were basically Mary Okpuk's place, a snug little hotel called the Arctic Tern, or the chain hotel across town that catered to oil workers. He called Mary.
"Nathan dear! I read about the crash ..."
After Nathan had managed to field her earnest inquiries after his health, he asked about April.
"Oh, that nice little girl checked out this morning, dear. I believe she's going back to Ontario."
"What?" Nathan said blankly, the shattered pieces of his future falling down around him.
"Oh dear, it's not your fault! She was very kind about it. You know how these city people are, always busy and in a hurry to get somewhere ...."
Nathan hung up on Mary without saying goodbye. Suddenly the jet he'd just watched land took on new and ominous implications. There was only one passenger flight a day. If she left on that plane, he wouldn't be able to follow her. She'd be gone, out of his life, when she'd only just come into it. His mate !
His phone rang again. He glanced down, saw it was yet another of his cousins, and turned it off with a stab of his finger. Screw them. His entire future was getting away.
He tore through town and onto the road to the larger airport. From here, across the flat tundra, he could see the distant silver gleam of the passenger jet. Its engines were warming up. It was taking off.
No, he thought—no! He'd waited too long. He should have tried harder to talk to April yesterday, should have told her what she meant to him. He should have explained that she was his destined mate, that there would never be another for him. She wasn't a shifter; she didn't even know! And like a fool, he'd just let her walk away.
He pushed the pedal down, but there was no way he could make it. The jet was already gathering speed for a takeoff.
Nathan stopped the truck and helplessly watched as it coasted down the runway, caught the wind, and rose gleaming into the sky ... carrying his heart with it.
Too slow, he berated himself. Too damned slow. He didn't even have her number, and the next flight wasn't leaving until tomorrow. She'd vanish into the anonymous crowds at the Ottawa airport, and he'd never find her again.
But maybe he could find someone else going down that way. A private oil-company jet, for example. Maybe he could catch a ride with some of the reporters. With a renewed sense of purpose, he put the truck in gear.
He passed the town's only two taxis leaving the airport, as well as a shuttle to the chain hotel. Already marshaling his arguments to use on anyone who might have a flight leaving for Ottawa in the next few hours, Nathan drove up to the front of the tiny one-room terminal. The small crowd of deplaning passengers had dispersed. There was no one there now except a single person leaning against the wall, studying their cell phone.
Nathan very nearly drove by before he registered the familiar waves of dark hair. The way she stood, the tilt of her head—April!
Standing in front of the
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