Chapter 3
SHEP
Shep was tired of calling himself a coward. Time to rip the bandage off and tell Moose he was quitting.
Not exactly ideal conditions for life-changing conversations.
But then again, when was it ever ideal?
Two days ago. The supply room at the Tooth. That had been perfect.
He’d found Moose alone, restocking medical supplies after their last callout. Boxes of gauze and emergency blankets scattered across the metal table, inventory sheets clipped to a board. Just the two of them and the quiet hum of conversation of the team debriefing in the main room.
“Hey, can we talk?” Shep had started, closing the supply room door behind him.
“Sure. Hand me that box of splints, would you?” Moose hadn’t looked up from his checklist. “What’s on your mind?”
Deep breath. Here went nothing. “It’s about London and me. We’ve been talking about—”
The door had burst open. Axel, “Hey, you guys seen the new rope rescue gear? London said it came in yesterday, and I want to check the weight ratings before—” He’d stopped, looking between them. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Nope.” Shep had grabbed the splint box and handed it to Moose. “Just helping with inventory.”
Then the radio crackled to life. “Air One Rescue, we have a multi-vehicle accident on the Parks Highway. Two critically injured, need immediate helicopter extraction.”
Moose was already moving. “Duty calls. We’ll finish this later, Shep.”
But later never came.
Well, mostly because Shep had turned into a coward.
Now here they were, flying through a blizzard to maybe save Winter’s life, and the words were still trapped in his chest, burning.
“ETA to Winter’s last known position?” Moose’s voice crackled through the comm system. The man sat in the pilot seat, broad shoulders relaxed despite the challenging conditions, hands sure on the collective and cyclic. The man could fly a helicopter through a tornado and make it look easy.
“Twelve minutes,” London responded from the co-pilot seat, checking her GPS display. “Winds are gusting to twenty-five knots, but we’re maintaining course.”
“Copy that.” Moose adjusted their heading slightly, compensating for a crosswind that tried to push them off course. “Echo, you got an update on those weather conditions?”
Echo Kingston’s voice came through clearly from Copper Mountain base. “Storm’s holding pattern for now, but you’ve got maybe two hours before the next wave hits. Wind speeds are forecast to double by eighteen hundred hours.”
“Understood. Any word from Winter on the emergency frequency?”
“Negative contact since her last transmission fourteen hours ago,” Echo replied. “Search and Rescue has her last known coordinates locked in, but that’s a big search area.”
Axel looked up from his rescue equipment check, jumpsuit already loaded with gear for a potential rope rescue. “Radio silence could mean anything. Equipment failure, conserving battery, or she’s just staying put until we arrive.”
“Winter’s smart,” Shep said. “She knows how to survive until we get there.”
The helicopter bucked as they hit another pocket of turbulence.
Shep gripped his safety harness. Through his window, the wilderness stretched endless and white—peaks and valleys that could hide a thousand crashed planes.
Finding Winter in this was like searching for a specific snowflake in a blizzard.
Kind of like finding the right moment to abandon his team.
“Echo, be advised we’re approaching the Clearwater homesteads,” London said. “Should have visual in two minutes.”
As they crested a ridge, the small settlement came into view below—a cluster of cabins scattered along a frozen creek, smoke rising from several chimneys like dark ribbons against the gray sky. People moved between the buildings, bundled in heavy parkas, going about their daily business.
“Settlement looks normal,” London observed. “No distress signals or unusual activity.”
“Winter was heading here when she went missing,” Moose said, even as Shep studied the terrain ahead.
He banked them away from the village, following the frozen waterway that snaked through the valley.
“If the weather was deteriorating, she would have taken the river route. It’s the safest navigation in low visibility. ”
“Smart thinking,” London said. “River valleys provide natural wind breaks and clearer landmarks.”
They flew along the winding frozen river—ice creating a natural highway through the wilderness. Pine trees rose like sentries along a corridor the gray ribbon, the branches frosted with snow. The occasional clearing broke through the forest canopy.
Rugged, lethal land for the lost. But this was what Air One did. Connected remote places to the world. Brought help when no one else could reach the unreachable.
And he was about to walk away from it.
For love. For London. For a chance at the kind of happiness that didn’t involve risking his life every other day.
But watching Moose navigate them through the mountain passes, seeing the quiet competence in every movement, feeling the weight of responsibility that came with being part of something bigger than himself...
Maybe he was making the biggest mistake of his life.
“Contact!” Axel’s voice cut through the headset. “Eleven o’clock, approximately two miles. Metallic reflection on the ice.”
Shep followed Axel’s pointing finger and spotted it—a flash of something foreign to the wilderness, visible now that the clouds had thinned slightly. “Definitely aircraft aluminum.”
“Let’s investigate.” Moose adjusted their heading, and the helicopter surged forward through the snow, turbine engines picking up pitch.
As they closed distance, the shape resolved into something that made Shep’s chest tighten. A small plane. Intact but sitting at an odd angle on what looked like a wide section of the frozen river. One wing drooped low, but the fuselage appeared undamaged.
“Tail number November-Seven-Four-Winter-Sierra,” London confirmed, reading through binoculars. “That’s Winter’s Cessna. She’s down about ten miles from the village.”
“Looks like a controlled landing,” Moose said grimly. “Probably ice accumulation forced her down.”
“Movement below,” Axel said. “Two figures coming out of an orange shelter.”
Shep made out a bright orange dome tent pitched in the lee of the plane’s wing. Two figures stood in the snow, barely visible, save for a flare that they lit. It cast a red glow against the gloom.
“That’s Winter,” London said. “And it looks like Topher’s with her. Both mobile and signaling.”
Shep turned away, leaned back against the seat. Blew out a breath.
Today, no one died.
“Echo, Air One Rescue,” Moose keyed his radio. “We have visual contact with Winter’s aircraft and two survivors. Both appear mobile and responsive.”
“Outstanding news, Air One. What’s your assessment for extraction?”
Moose circled the crash site, probably studying the terrain, and now Shep joined him, searching for a place to land. The frozen river had widened here, creating a natural landing zone with plenty of clearance from the tree line on both sides.
“River ice appears solid,” Moose reported. “This section’s wide enough for a safe approach.”
“Wind conditions?” London asked and Shep glanced at her.
She sat, her blonde hair spilling down in a singular braid under a wool hat, cool, collected, capable. Managing her double life without a blink. While he—he just couldn’t tear his brain away from the fact that they’d just returned home from stopping a global terrorist attack.
Hard to love a woman who moonlighted as a spy.
Except, he did…oh, he did. And he couldn’t watch her back if she left him in Anchorage to rescue climbers who broke their ankles.
Moose could replace him—he was just a flight nurse.
But Shep couldn’t live with the what-ifs of London’s life…
not if he wasn’t there to watch her back.
“Manageable,” Moose said to her question about wind conditions. “We’ll take it slow and easy.”
Yeah, not exactly, because as they descended, the wind fought the bird, and they settled onto the river with a shudder. Shep was already unclipping his harness before the props slowed. He slid open the door and the Arctic air hit his face like a slap as he dropped onto the frozen river.
Winter and Topher fought through the snow toward them, both moving well despite spending a night on the ice.
Winter was grinning, her dark hair under a wool hat, and a parka hood.
She wore snowpants and thick leather mittens, the attire of someone who flew the back country and just might spend the night in the wild.
“About time you guys showed up!” she called out, breath forming white puffs in the frigid air.
“Starting to think we’d have to wait for the thaw. ”
“Jingle, jingle,” Axel said, getting out the other side. “Just call us Santa’s elves.”
Shep grinned, shaking his head. “You okay? Any injuries?”
“Cold and tired, but we’re fine.” Winter gestured toward her plane. “Ice buildup forced me down, and somehow my radio got damaged. Topher and I set up camp and waited for…the elves.”
Topher, bundled in a heavy parka with medical patches on the sleeves, nodded toward the helicopter. “Never been so glad to see Air One in my life. That tent’s warm, but it’s not exactly the Ritz.”
“Let’s get you loaded up and back to Copper Mountain. Or…maybe back to Anchorage, given the weather—”
“Nope,” Winter said, shaking her head.
Shep was walking over to the tent with Topher, to help him gather the supplies. Now he turned on Winter’s word.
“Nope?” London asked, having also climbed out of the chopper.
Winter pointed toward her plane. “I’ve got the Christmas mail delivery for four different villages. Kids’ presents, medical supplies, letters from family. If we don’t get these packages delivered before this storm really hits, those families won’t have Christmas.”
Moose made a face and for some reason, glanced at Shep.
He nodded. Poor guy had been searching for a puppy for his daughter, Hazel, and come up short. So yeah, probably Winter’s words latched on, twisted inside him.
Christmas would come and go without gifts and baubles and letters and a cooked goose. He’d learned that much watching the Grinch. But, he could admit to the tug to ensure a gift or two showed up under the tree for some of these kids who lived so remotely.
“How much cargo are we talking about?” Axel asked, already moving toward the plane.
“Maybe three hundred pounds,” Topher replied. “Christmas packages for the Clearwater homesteads, plus three other villages down river.”
Moose was already calculating in his head. “We can handle that load. What’s our weather window, London?”
“Maybe ninety minutes before conditions deteriorate,” she said, reading the clouds. “But it’s doable.”
“Operation Santa’s Elves?” Axel said, grinning.
“Okay,” Moose said and for the first time in days, he smiled. “Let’s make some kids’ Christmas dreams come true.”
Shep helped Topher pack up camp, while the rest of the team transferred packages from Winter’s plane to the helicopter, London updated the flight plan with Echo as Moose checked weight distribution. Winter and Topher sorted the packages by drop off.
This was what he’d be leaving behind. Not just the adrenaline and the danger, but moments like this. Doing the good thing.
“You okay?” London asked as he hefted a box marked ‘Merry Christmas, Sarah, love Grandma.’
“Yep,” he said, but his voice sounded weirdly choked. Sheesh.
She frowned at him, but Winter’s voice broke through any reply.
“The medical supplies for the Thompson family are priority one. Their baby’s been sick, and that antibiotic could save his life,” Winter said, indicating a box.
Moose nodded. “We’ll hit their place first.”
See, this was exactly why his conversation with Moose just stuck inside him, glued to his chest.
“All right, people,” Moose called out, doing a final check of the cargo straps. “Let’s go spread some Christmas cheer.”