body relaxed, then she tightened her hold on the stick. A lot was at stake. She’d been in Anchorage more than a month and this was the first solid lead she’d had. This might be her chance.
Kate was in the air only a few minutes when she spotted the airfield. Smart of him to set up alongside a lake. He can use pontoon planes during the summer. Memories of the dark waters of Rimrock Lake hurtled through Kate’s mind. She’d managed to get back into the air, but had never attempted a pontoon landing since the accident. I’ll do it when the time comes , she told herself, only half believing her own resolve.
She made her approach and settled easily on the dirt runway. What looked like a shed sat at one end of the field. She taxied toward it. A small slender man, wearing a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, stood at the doorway.
By the time Kate turned off the engine, he’d walked to the plane. He wasn’t the type to stand out in a crowd, except for the way he was dressed. Along with his hat, he wore blue jeans and western-style boots. Kate figured he couldn’t be more than thirty and wondered if he was the owner or one of the pilots.
She removed her helmet and climbed out of the plane.
“Afternoon,” the man said. “That’s a fine bird you’ve got.”
“Thank you. She’s been good to me.”
He walked around the craft, studying it. “Interesting name you’ve got for her—Fearless Kate.” He grinned. “Let me guess—you’re Kate.”
“I am.” Feeling the heat of embarrassment, Kate glanced at the side of the plane where she’d painted Fearless Kate in black letters. “I was a bit exuberant when I first got her.”
“No harm in that.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her squarely. “I’m Sidney Schaefer. What can I do for you?”
“I was told you might need a pilot.”
“Maybe. You know one?” Mischief lit his eyes.
Kate swallowed hard and got hold of her nerve. “I’m a good pilot.”
His expression turned serious. “I’m sure you are. But I need experience and someone who’s strong—strong enough to load gear for hunters and stow bagged trophies, someone who doesn’t mind a bit of blood or puke, who can handle an aircraft in any kind of weather.”
“I can do all that.” Kate spotted a feed sack leaning against the shed. She walked straight to it and picked it up. It smelled and felt like potatoes. She carried the sack back to Sidney and set it at his feet.
He grinned and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Not bad. That’s nearly seventy-five pounds.”
“I’ve been working all my life. I’m strong and I know how to work hard.”
“That’s well and good, but it doesn’t make you an ace pilot. What kind of experience do you have?”
“Been flying since I was a kid. My father taught me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bill Evans.”
“Never heard of him.”
Feeling as if Sidney had made a dig at her father, Kate said, “He flies in Washington, and there’s no better pilot.”
“So, you’re new to Anchorage?”
“I’ve been here about a month.” Doubt assailed Kate. Would he even consider a woman pilot?
“What makes you think you can fly in this country?”
She searched for a satisfactory answer. “I have more hours in a cockpit than most. I’ve flown in good and bad weather— rain, snow, wind. And I’ve crossed the Cascades several times. Those mountains will give any pilot a run for their money.” His expression told her he wasn’t satisfied. “I flew here, on my own, from Washington.”
“Alaska can throw more trouble at a pilot than they can think up. You know how to land in snow and ice?”
“We had plenty of that in Yakima.”
“Do you have experience with pontoon landings?”
The dark waters of Rimrock Lake flashed through Kate’s mind. She met Sidney’s eyes. “Not a problem.”
He studied her, then with a shake of his head, he said, “I don’t think so. I’m sure you’re a fine pilot, but . . .” His look was
Kate was in the air only a few minutes when she spotted the airfield. Smart of him to set up alongside a lake. He can use pontoon planes during the summer. Memories of the dark waters of Rimrock Lake hurtled through Kate’s mind. She’d managed to get back into the air, but had never attempted a pontoon landing since the accident. I’ll do it when the time comes , she told herself, only half believing her own resolve.
She made her approach and settled easily on the dirt runway. What looked like a shed sat at one end of the field. She taxied toward it. A small slender man, wearing a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, stood at the doorway.
By the time Kate turned off the engine, he’d walked to the plane. He wasn’t the type to stand out in a crowd, except for the way he was dressed. Along with his hat, he wore blue jeans and western-style boots. Kate figured he couldn’t be more than thirty and wondered if he was the owner or one of the pilots.
She removed her helmet and climbed out of the plane.
“Afternoon,” the man said. “That’s a fine bird you’ve got.”
“Thank you. She’s been good to me.”
He walked around the craft, studying it. “Interesting name you’ve got for her—Fearless Kate.” He grinned. “Let me guess—you’re Kate.”
“I am.” Feeling the heat of embarrassment, Kate glanced at the side of the plane where she’d painted Fearless Kate in black letters. “I was a bit exuberant when I first got her.”
“No harm in that.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her squarely. “I’m Sidney Schaefer. What can I do for you?”
“I was told you might need a pilot.”
“Maybe. You know one?” Mischief lit his eyes.
Kate swallowed hard and got hold of her nerve. “I’m a good pilot.”
His expression turned serious. “I’m sure you are. But I need experience and someone who’s strong—strong enough to load gear for hunters and stow bagged trophies, someone who doesn’t mind a bit of blood or puke, who can handle an aircraft in any kind of weather.”
“I can do all that.” Kate spotted a feed sack leaning against the shed. She walked straight to it and picked it up. It smelled and felt like potatoes. She carried the sack back to Sidney and set it at his feet.
He grinned and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Not bad. That’s nearly seventy-five pounds.”
“I’ve been working all my life. I’m strong and I know how to work hard.”
“That’s well and good, but it doesn’t make you an ace pilot. What kind of experience do you have?”
“Been flying since I was a kid. My father taught me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bill Evans.”
“Never heard of him.”
Feeling as if Sidney had made a dig at her father, Kate said, “He flies in Washington, and there’s no better pilot.”
“So, you’re new to Anchorage?”
“I’ve been here about a month.” Doubt assailed Kate. Would he even consider a woman pilot?
“What makes you think you can fly in this country?”
She searched for a satisfactory answer. “I have more hours in a cockpit than most. I’ve flown in good and bad weather— rain, snow, wind. And I’ve crossed the Cascades several times. Those mountains will give any pilot a run for their money.” His expression told her he wasn’t satisfied. “I flew here, on my own, from Washington.”
“Alaska can throw more trouble at a pilot than they can think up. You know how to land in snow and ice?”
“We had plenty of that in Yakima.”
“Do you have experience with pontoon landings?”
The dark waters of Rimrock Lake flashed through Kate’s mind. She met Sidney’s eyes. “Not a problem.”
He studied her, then with a shake of his head, he said, “I don’t think so. I’m sure you’re a fine pilot, but . . .” His look was
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