Read Online Pathways (9780307822208) by Lisa T. Bergren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa T. Bergren
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sounding board.
The cabby turned off Highway 3 at an abandoned real estate office and headed toward Talkeetna. To Bryn’s left was a magnificent, perfectly still lake—a picture postcard—lined with pointy black spruce, and in the distance, the Alaskan Range made its appearance, suddenly bigger and closer. Not much farther Bryn passed a small lake that opened up toward the Talkeetna Mountains with a lovely hand-carved sign advertising a floatplane service run by …
“Wait!” she cried, leaning forward in her seat. “Please. Go back.”
The driver silently pulled over and made a U-turn. “That floatplane service?” he inquired over his shoulder.
“Yes.” Bryn peeked out one window and then the other, tryingto read the sign even as they were moving. ALASKA BUSH: FLOATPLANE SERVICE , the sign read. ELI PIERCE, PROPRIETOR .
Eli
.
Her mind raced back five years to that day outside Seward, when Eli told her he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be involved with her. Didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. What at one time had been a bone-crunching pain was now merely a twinge. He had been right, of course. It was the wrong time; there was no way they could have been together. They had flirted, had a summer fling. He was simply being sensible.
Eli Pierce, proprietor
. He’d done it. Built his de Havilland into a full-fledged business. She needed a ride to Summit. Who better than her old neighbor? Maybe he’d cut her a deal. She had the cabby pull into the parking lot along the highway and wait while she walked to the small log cabin she assumed was the office. Below her, on a tiny lake, was the Beaver, with its perfectly proportioned pontoons, thick high-lift wings, big flaps, and powerful engine. She remembered Eli telling her it was the ideal plane for getting into and out of small bays and short lakes at the higher elevations, especially with people or cargo to haul.
She raised her hand to knock on the door, hesitated, then rapped four times. There was no answer. Bryn checked her watch—eleven-thirty—and sighed. She’d taken the red-eye to get here and was eager to finish her travels to Summit. Where could he be? This wasn’t the way to run an efficient operation—
Sunday
.
It was Sunday. And Eli Pierce, the most moral man on the planet, was most certainly at church. She smiled and headed back to the taxicab, picking up a brochure from an outdoor display, reading in a whisper as she walked. “Unguided Hunts—Remote Lake andRiver Fishing—Rainbow Trout, Four Species of Salmon & Northern Pike—River Floating—Backpacking (Drop Off & Pick Up)—Flight Seeing Glacier Tours and Flights Around Mount McKinley in Denali National Park—Wildlife Tours (4 Years Experience).”
Bryn rode the rest of the way to town and had the driver canvass the few church parking lots, ending up at the Christian Center. She was sure she saw Jedidiah’s truck out front and supposed the Pierces were inside. “You can drop me off here,” she told the cab driver.
“Sign says it started an hour ago.”
“It’s fine. I have a friend inside. He can take me where I want to go.”
She thought about going into the church, but told herself that the service was probably just ending, that she would disrupt things. But most of all she was afraid of feeling … weird. She hadn’t been inside a church since she was a kid with her grandparents.
So Bryn sat down on the front bumper and perched there, waiting for Eli to emerge. She could hear singing, and it sounded so sweet and fervent, she almost wished she were inside to better listen. She fidgeted, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, leaned her elbows on her thighs, chin in hand, then crossed her arms and leaned back. She turned slightly sideways, so he’d see her best side first.
What are you doing, Bryn?
She blew air out from between her lips, angered at herself for posturing—her preparation for flirtation, attraction. Eli Pierce was likely to be involved with someone else by now. Or
The cabby turned off Highway 3 at an abandoned real estate office and headed toward Talkeetna. To Bryn’s left was a magnificent, perfectly still lake—a picture postcard—lined with pointy black spruce, and in the distance, the Alaskan Range made its appearance, suddenly bigger and closer. Not much farther Bryn passed a small lake that opened up toward the Talkeetna Mountains with a lovely hand-carved sign advertising a floatplane service run by …
“Wait!” she cried, leaning forward in her seat. “Please. Go back.”
The driver silently pulled over and made a U-turn. “That floatplane service?” he inquired over his shoulder.
“Yes.” Bryn peeked out one window and then the other, tryingto read the sign even as they were moving. ALASKA BUSH: FLOATPLANE SERVICE , the sign read. ELI PIERCE, PROPRIETOR .
Eli
.
Her mind raced back five years to that day outside Seward, when Eli told her he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be involved with her. Didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. What at one time had been a bone-crunching pain was now merely a twinge. He had been right, of course. It was the wrong time; there was no way they could have been together. They had flirted, had a summer fling. He was simply being sensible.
Eli Pierce, proprietor
. He’d done it. Built his de Havilland into a full-fledged business. She needed a ride to Summit. Who better than her old neighbor? Maybe he’d cut her a deal. She had the cabby pull into the parking lot along the highway and wait while she walked to the small log cabin she assumed was the office. Below her, on a tiny lake, was the Beaver, with its perfectly proportioned pontoons, thick high-lift wings, big flaps, and powerful engine. She remembered Eli telling her it was the ideal plane for getting into and out of small bays and short lakes at the higher elevations, especially with people or cargo to haul.
She raised her hand to knock on the door, hesitated, then rapped four times. There was no answer. Bryn checked her watch—eleven-thirty—and sighed. She’d taken the red-eye to get here and was eager to finish her travels to Summit. Where could he be? This wasn’t the way to run an efficient operation—
Sunday
.
It was Sunday. And Eli Pierce, the most moral man on the planet, was most certainly at church. She smiled and headed back to the taxicab, picking up a brochure from an outdoor display, reading in a whisper as she walked. “Unguided Hunts—Remote Lake andRiver Fishing—Rainbow Trout, Four Species of Salmon & Northern Pike—River Floating—Backpacking (Drop Off & Pick Up)—Flight Seeing Glacier Tours and Flights Around Mount McKinley in Denali National Park—Wildlife Tours (4 Years Experience).”
Bryn rode the rest of the way to town and had the driver canvass the few church parking lots, ending up at the Christian Center. She was sure she saw Jedidiah’s truck out front and supposed the Pierces were inside. “You can drop me off here,” she told the cab driver.
“Sign says it started an hour ago.”
“It’s fine. I have a friend inside. He can take me where I want to go.”
She thought about going into the church, but told herself that the service was probably just ending, that she would disrupt things. But most of all she was afraid of feeling … weird. She hadn’t been inside a church since she was a kid with her grandparents.
So Bryn sat down on the front bumper and perched there, waiting for Eli to emerge. She could hear singing, and it sounded so sweet and fervent, she almost wished she were inside to better listen. She fidgeted, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, leaned her elbows on her thighs, chin in hand, then crossed her arms and leaned back. She turned slightly sideways, so he’d see her best side first.
What are you doing, Bryn?
She blew air out from between her lips, angered at herself for posturing—her preparation for flirtation, attraction. Eli Pierce was likely to be involved with someone else by now. Or
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