I took a deep breath and opened the door. Alex stood on the step, dressed in a crisp white shirt that emphasized his tan and neatly pressed black trousers. His eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and down my body.
“Wow,” he said, “you clean up good.”
“You didn't say where we were going,” I said defensively. “I wasn't sure what I should wear.”
I'd washed my hair and let it dry naturally, so it waved lightly onto my shoulders, with long bangs pulled over the bruise on my forehead. I was wearing a silky, cherry-red sleeveless blouse with a deep cowl neck line, A-line black skirt, and strappy red sandals.
“Let me rephrase,” Alex said. “You look gorgeous.”
Heat crept up my neck to my cheeks.“Thank you.” I stepped back from the doorway. “Would you like to come in for a moment? We could have a drink, if you'd like.”
“I would like.”
Honey coloured sunshine slanting in the big bow window to the right of the front door warmed the slatted wood floor and brightened the orange petals of the gerbera daisies set on the coffee table. I'd tossed Zach's ratty old blanket into his room and vacuumed crumbs off the couch. Large, brightly coloured cushions were scattered about the room.
Alex relaxed onto the low couch. I looked down at him. “I have wine, beer, iced tea....?”
“Wine would be great.”
I went to the kitchen to get the bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. The only two matching wine glasses I owned were washed and ready. I placed everything on the coffee table and settled onto a scarlet and emerald floor pillow.
“This is a beautiful neighbourhood,” said Alex as I wielded the corkscrew. “I love these old character homes. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life.” I eased the cork out and began to pour the wine. “My parents own it, but a few years ago they built themselves a new house just outside of town. So now I rent this from them. My brother lives with me.”
“Do you have a large family?”
I handed Alex his glass. “For these days, I suppose so. Four brothers. I'm second youngest.”
Alex whistled and I smiled. “How about you?” I asked.
“Spoiled only child,” he grinned. “I'm used to getting my own way, so watch out.”
I laughed. We were still chatting about family when I heard the back door open. “That'll be Zachary,” I said to Alex.
My brother came into the room clad in dusty coveralls with a hard hat tucked under his arm. “Hey, June, do you have any idea where...oh, sorry, didn't know you had company.” He looked from Alex to me and then quickly back again. “Hell, what happened to you?”
I'd tried to cover the scrape on my chin with foundation, but had given it up as a bad job and decided it was less noticeable if I left it alone. “I had a bit of an accident,” I said reassuringly, “it's nothing really.” Alex made a movement in protest, but a quick look from me caused him to subside.
“Are you sure?” asked Zach.
“I'm sure,” I smiled. “What were you going to ask me?”
“Oh,” he said, “I was just wondering if you knew where Mom and Dad were. I went over to see them and they're not home.”
“They're in Vancouver for the week visiting Jake, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” A frown creased his brow. “Well, whatever. I'm going out with the guys tonight,” he said. “See you later.” He nodded at Alex, then headed to his room.
“Why didn't you tell him what happened?” asked Alex.
“It's no big deal,” I said. “He's my youngest brother. He's used to me taking care of him.”
“If you were my sister,” Alex said, “I'd want to know about it.”
“Lucky I'm not, then,“ I said cheerfully.
“Yes,” said Alex. His look was intense. “Yes, it is lucky.”
I swallowed, then ran my tongue over suddenly dry lips. “Should we be going?”
Alex stood, then put out his hand. “Sure,” he said. “I'm starving.” In one swift motion he pulled me up, then circled my waist with his free arm, and drew me close. Standing in my heels, I could almost meet his eyes. We stood still for a moment, bodies barely touching. Alex leaned forward and tenderly kissed my forehead, then trailed his lips down my skin to brush them gently against the mark on my chin. Icy feathers trailed down my spine, followed by a heated flush.
“All better?” he whispered.
“Much,” I whispered back.
“Then let's go.”
Alex took me to a heritage house on a bluff overlooking the Fraser River that had been renovated into an elegant restaurant. Public areas had been restored in keeping with the original 1920's fashion. The rooms were small, with only three or four intimate tables in each. Alex and I were seated in a window nook with a sweeping view of the silt laden river below and the sandy cutbanks above.
There were few other diners, in keeping with a quiet Monday evening. Our waiter, a middle aged man with a comfortable paunch and a paucity of hair, smilingly brought our drinks and took our orders. After he left we sat in easy silence. I watched the water flowing sluggishly past. When I looked at Alex one corner of his mouth was crimped in a small smile.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. This is...nice. For want of a more expressive word.”
The maitre d' returned, ushering other diners to a table at the far corner. I looked over at the sound of a familiar voice. Two men, one of whom was Richard Fleetham, were just taking their seats.
“See that man over there, the one with the curly hair?” I said quietly to Alex.
Alex let his eyes slip casually across the room.
“That's Richard Fleetham, from RiverForce.”
“Whose that with him?” Alex asked.
“I don't know.” The second man was large and bulky, and gave an impression of strength. His hair was dark gray and brushed aggressively back from a high forehead. He was speaking, and I could detect a heavy accent, Eastern European, perhaps German. Just then Richard looked across the room. His eyes passed over Alex and me, then came back to me.
“Excuse me,” he said to his companion, and crossed the room to stand by our table. “June! How are you?”
“I'm fine, Richard. Alex, I'd like you to meet Richard Fleetham. Richard, Alex Weaver.”
“Hello, Alex,” Richard said heartily, shaking hands. He smiled down at me, then his brows narrowed in concern. “Whatever happened to your face, June?”
“I had a bit of an accident after the meeting last night,” I said. “A motorcyclist knocked me to the ground.”
“No! In the university parking lot? Have you any idea why?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue.”
“I certainly hope you're okay. Well, I must get back to my guest.” He gestured across the room. “It was nice to meet you, Alex.” He started towards his table, then stopped, his eyes focused on Alex. “You wouldn't be the same Alex that June was telling me about yesterday? The conservation officer she helped in a search for poachers?”
“That's me,” said Alex.
“Any news on the investigation?”
“I have nothing to add to what June would have told you,” Alex said carefully.
“It's an awful situation,” Richard said sorrowfully. “I wish you luck catching the criminals.” He left us, just as our waiter returned after weaving through the tables with a plate in each hand, fingers protected with large, snowy white napkins.
We'd both decided on rare roast beef, fresh asparagus, and baked potatoes. As we ate, our leisurely, exploratory conversation continued. We were still lingering over our coffee when Richard and his foreign-sounding guest left.
As we waited for the waiter to bring our check, I reached across the table and ran a finger over Alex's knuckles as he clasped his coffee cup. We smiled at each other. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled invitingly.
“Thanks for a lovely meal,” I said.
“Thanks for sharing it with me.”
Alex drove me home in his drab olive green jeep. Its gray hard top, four wheel drive and frame promised a sturdy,not a fast, ride. Alex pulled smoothly up to the curb in front of my house.
I turned in my seat. His profile was sharply lit from behind by a street light. He leaned forward slightly to turn the key in the ignition, then leaned back, and looked at me.
“Thanks again,” I said.
“No problem.”
We sat looking at each other.
“Good night, June,” he said finally.
“Good night.” I slid out of the jeep as gracefully as I could and shut the door. Alex started the engine, waved briefly through the window, and pulled away. I let myself into the house and began to get ready for bed.
I had no chance to see Alex during the next few days. Although my heaviest workload of classes was done for the year, I was picking up some credits by taking part in a summer session program that ran for five days in a row. Only nine other undergrads were involved, and most of our days were spent with the instructor at various field locations, studying the practices of forest management as they affected water resources. When all necessary reading and homework assignments were added to the hours on-site, I had very little free time. But five concentrated days gained me the same number of credits as a semester long lecture course, with the added bonus that I was able to spend most of it out of doors.
The good weather I'd enjoyed while on Longworth Mountain continued to hold throughout the days of the program, but Saturday night thunderheads rolled in, bringing high winds and slashing rain. By Sunday morning the worst of it had blown over. I stood sipping my coffee and peering through a water pebbled window at the backyard. Yesterday a few stubborn blossoms still clung to the old apple tree. Today the pink and white petals were scattered across the lawn.
The phone rang and I answered it with a cheerful hello.
“Hey,” said Alex, “how'd your course go?”
“Good! And how was your week?”
“Uneventful until yesterday. I was on call, and my pager went off last night. Another grizzly.”
“Where?”
“MacGregor area. A tree planting crew found it. I'm heading out right away. Want to come along?”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm heading out in the 'copter. I can pick you up in 30 minutes.”
“I'll be ready.”
I quickly wrote a note for Zachary, who was still sleeping, and packed my smaller rucksack with bottled water, granola bars, extra socks, and a polar fleece sweater. Then I dressed in heavy cotton pants, short sleeved t-shirt under a light knit sweater and wind breaker, pulled on heavy socks, and shoved my feet into sturdy hiking boots. I was waiting on the sidewalk when Alex's jeep pulled up. He leaned over to unlock the door, and I hopped in.
“So, where exactly are we going?” I asked.
“The supervisor of the planting crew gave me the co-ordinates from his GPS, and I checked on the map at my office this morning. The carcass was found about 3 miles from the other, as the crow flies.” Alex changed lanes to pass a lumbering motorhome with Texas plates. We crossed the Yellowhead Bridge over the Fraser River.
“Could it be the same poachers?”
“It's certainly possible.”
We arrived at the airport. Alex parked next to a metal sided building. Using a key on his ring, he unlocked the padlock securing a gate in the chain-link fence, and we carried our bags to the helicopter sitting on the tarmac.
“You can stow your stuff in here.” Alex opened a small panel in the side of the helicopter and moved aside so I could slide my pack in. “And you can get in the right side while I do my checks.”
The dash was a maze of instruments, some of which seemed fairly straightforward, others whose function I couldn't even guess at. A headset hung on a hook by my head. I put it on and adjusted the fit. Alex climbed in, put on his headset, flicked switches, and adjusted knobs. The rotors started to spin, gradually picking up speed. Vibrations traveled through the shell.
After receiving permission from the tower, Alex began manipulating the two hand levers. The copter broke away from the ground with a small jerk, then rose smoothly straight up into the air. It was an odd feeling. Instead of the normal pressure you'd sense in an airplane, which pushed you into the seat back, the sudden vertical lift gave me the odd sensation of compressing my spine. I deliberately sat up straighter.
The nose dipped towards the ground and we began to travel forward. I could see the pavement slipping away underneath my feet, through the plexi-glass bottom of the bubble. We rose higher in the air, negotiated a range of small hills studded with microwave and cellular towers, and left the criss-cross of roads behind us.
I watched Alex as he calmly controlled the craft using both hands and feet. His movements were deft and sure. Once we were firmly on course, he looked over at me and smiled.
“What do you think?” he said. His voice came directly into my headphones, his lip movement oddly disorienting.
I grinned back. “It's fantastic!”
“We should be there in 20 minutes or so.” He went back to monitor the various gauges, and I turned to look out the window. The range of sight was tremendous without a wing blocking my view. At one point I was sure I saw a moose crossing an old clearcut area.
We flew into a wide valley. Ahead and to our left I spotted a haphazard collection of canvas coloured rectangles. As we drew nearer, they sorted themselves out into eight to ten large tents, surrounding an even bigger fabric structure. As I watched, a figure walked to the grassy area outside the circle of tents and stood waiting.
There was a lifting sensation in my stomach, and I noticed the altimeter drop. Alex lowered the craft into the alpine meadow and turned off the engine. The rotors slowly whined down, and stillness settled over us.
The person I'd seen before became defined as a tall, thin man wearing a red check flannel shirt, khaki shorts sprouting a multitude of pockets, and a brightly striped toque, under which hung dark blond hair, streaming past his shoulders.
Alex and I pulled off our headphones and stepped down on to the ground. There was a faint buzzing in my ears as they recovered from the constant racket of the helicopter and white noise from the headphones.
“Hello,” the man said, extending his hand to Alex. “I'm Ryan Persson. You must be the Wildlife guy.”
“And you must be the Camp Manager.”
Ryan nodded.
Alex introduced himself, then gestured to me. “And June Brandt.”
Shaking Ryan's hand, I felt rough callouses on his palm, and noyiced his finger nails were chipped and lined with dirt. But his eyes with bright with intelligence under the vibrant cap, and his teeth gleamed whitely in the light stubble on his chin.
“I supposed you'd like to get right out there.”
Alex nodded. “That'd be great. How far do we need to hike?”
Ryan pointed into the camp. “Just behind that tent,” he said, and smiled at our looks of incomprehension. “I've got a couple of four-wheelers we can use. Beats walking any day.”
Alex and I retrieved our packs from the helicopter and made sure the craft was secure. Moments later we were buckling on borrowed helmets and tossing a coin to see who got to drive the ATV. As I settled triumphantly into the driver's position, Alex strapped our packs to the carrying grid, then climbed on behind me. When Ryan saw we were set, he took off on his own machine, negotiating carefully through the camp, then picking up speed on a barely visible dirt track that followed the base of the valley wall.
On the mountainside to our left a logging road zig-zagged up the steep incline. Forest practices have changed a lot since the first sawmills were built in Northern BC. Companies were now regulated in myriad ways designed to protect the flora and fauna of the area, although some environmentalists thought the rules were not strict enough.
These day, once an area had been logged, a tree planting crew was brought in to restock the forest with native conifers. I'd spent one summer a couple of years ago as a planter, and had nothing but respect for the men and women who did the work. It requires great physical stamina as well as an attention to detail. I had been very happy to get back to university.
In a few minutes we came upon a temporary base for the tree planters. A couple of sturdy four by four pickups and a large passenger van were parked at the base of a slope. Dotted about the incline were perhaps twenty men and women. Large canvas bags, rather like those old-fashioned paperboys used to carry, were filled with tiny seedlings and slung over their shoulders, and they carried shovels with long, narrow blades. As we slowed to go past the vehicles, I had a chance to watch them as they moved fluidly through the motions – place shovel, step on blade to sink it into the earth, bend to insert seedling, straighten, press with boot heel to ensure correct planting. Good planters could do many hundreds of trees in one day.
Once past the workers we picked up speed again, but it wasn't long before Ryan came to a stop near a large, black form. We climbed off our ATV's and stood over the desecrated body.
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