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Offering him a polite smile, I say, “I’m sorry we’re running a little behind.”
“A little?” he asks, his head snapping back. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago. I was just about to leave without you.”
He pauses and even though his eyes are covered, I can tell he suddenly knows who I am. I offer him my best Hollywood smile, hoping he’ll forget all about being grumpy now that he knows who he’s going to be flying to Gamble today. I don’t like to rely on special treatment because of my status, but there are times when it comes in handy. Right now seems like it could be one of those times.
Only the pilot doesn’t smile back. With a terse nod, he says, “Marge Simpson, huh?”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. “I have to travel under an assumed name. My real name is Harper.”
“Digger McKenzie. I run the Whistler Lake Lodge.”
Crap, I’m not going to be rid of him in two hours. “Andyou’re the pilot?”
“Yes, ma’am. Pilot, guide, cook, and maintenance crew all rolled into one package, which means I have a lot of people who rely on me.”
That must be another shot at me for being late. “That’s a lot of stuff for one person to do.”
“In Hollywood maybe, but up here we learn to fend for ourselves.” He dismisses me and turns to the kids. His face immediately breaks out into a broad smile. “I’m Digger.”
He holds out his hand to each of them for a fist bump while they introduce themselves. “You two ready to explore the wild?”
They both nod, little grins lifting their cheeks.
“Good. We’re going to go up in my float plane so you can get the best view of the most beautiful place on earth. But first you’ve got to grab your bags and lug them over to the plane.”
Both kids hurry to wheel their suitcases toward the dock. Digger looks over at me and gruffly asks, “You coming?”
Excuse me? “I can’t carry four suitcases all by myself,” I tell him.
Without saying another word, he picks up the two largest and leads the way to the float plane. So much for my warm Alaskan welcome …
Chapter8
Digger
Forget social media,Harper Kennedyis everything that’s wrong with this world. Entitled with a capital E. She may have apologized for being late, but people who respect other people’s time show up when they’re supposed to. The end.
Now, I’ve got to sit here hoping Jack and Evie manage to pull off a meal fit for a king (or worse, a cranky guest with an ax to grind). But there’s nothing I can do about it now. We won’t arrive until after supper is served.
The sad thing is that Miss Fancy Movie Star is going to raise her two adorable children to think the world revolves around them. She’s got them all dressed up, even though she had to have known they were coming to a place where the only tuxedos you’ll see are of the Canadian variety (denim up top and on the bottom). If I had to guess, I’d say she’s trying to show everyone she thinks they’re better than we are.
Although, maybe that’s not entirely fair. Her attitude doesn’t exactly say “stuck-up,” and so far, the kids seem nice enough—lots of pleases and thank yous when I opened the cooler for them. They probably learned those manners at school.
“See that, kids?” I ask, pointing to the right at a pair of juvenile bald eagles mid-flight.
“Are those hawks?” Liam asks, his headset askew as he cranes his neck for a better view. He’s sitting next to me in the front, while his mom and sister are in the middle row.
“Bald eagles,” I tell him.
“But they don’t have white feathers on their heads.”
This kid is sharp. “That’s because they’re teenagers. When they grow up in another year or so, their heads will turn white. Same with their tails.”
“I had no idea they started out looking so different,” Harper inserts herself into the conversation.
“Well, they do.” My level of enthusiasm is losing altitude quickly.
I peek in the rearview mirror at her, only to be hit with the same irritating reaction I had when I first set eyes on her. Apparently, my body hasn’t gotten the message that I don’t like her.
