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Health Service.”
    “I wondered how you ended up at the clinic in Bishop.” Moira retreated behind small talk. It beat perseverating about Ryan and his pet birds.
    “It was the only way I could afford medical school.”
    “Government service to pay off your student loans?” She turned to look at him.
    He nodded. Laugh lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and he had a deep cleft in his chin.
    Moira studied his walking stick. “That’s a beautiful staff. Maybe if there’s time later, I could take a closer look at the carving.”
    “Sure. It was a gift from Liam.”
    “The Druid, Liam?”
    He quirked a brow at her. “Did you ever meet him?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Grannie told me about him. To listen to her talk, I think she was half in love with him.”
    Tim laughed. “She might have been. He was quite the Lothario.”
    A snowflake hit her cheek, followed by another. The wind howled dolefully.
    “Boy, that came up fast. Wasn’t so bad when I was going uphill, but now I’m cold.” Tim’s breath whistled through his teeth. He zipped his inadequate jacket all the way closed and started jogging in place.
    Moira clicked through a few buttons on her altimeter watch and groaned. The barometer was definitely falling, which probably meant they were in for it—at least for the next few hours. She dove in without preamble. “We have to step up the pace. I’d send you back over the pass, but you don’t have enough clothes. Hopefully there are some at camp that will fit you. How cold did you think it would be anyway?”
    “Thirty?”
    “You wish.” She spun to face him. “If you’re lucky, it will bottom out at ten degrees. And that’s only if it snows. If it clears, zero is a distinct possibility.”
    “Oh.” He sounded subdued.
    Since he was a doctor, she could spare them both the lecture about how fast hypothermia could kill.
    “Don’t you think you’re being a bit draconian?” His smile faltered once the words were out.
    “No. Following protocols and planning ahead are what’s kept me alive in the backcountry all these years.”
    “What are you suggesting?”
    “That you stay in one of the trail crew’s tents until tomorrow. If the weather clears, you should go back over Baxter and let me do my job here.”
    And if it keeps snowing, we’ll be in a world of hurt.
    His set his jaw in a stubborn line. “Goddammit, Moira. You sound like my mother. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing—”
    “I’ve been part of too many search and rescue missions with bad outcomes. Look, Tim, if this storm keeps rolling, the only way out of here will be by chopper, either directly, or by a bird dropping skis or snowshoes for us. It’s not June. We’re headed into winter.”
    As if to underscore her words, it began snowing in earnest while they talked.
    He twisted his head from side to side, looking around him. Then he yanked his hood over his head. “Gee, you have a direct pipeline to the weather gods or something?”
    “You never know, I just might. We need to hurry. It’s coming down pretty fast. On second thought,” she unbuckled her pack, dropped it and pulled her weatherproof parka and pants out, sliding into them, “no point in getting soaked.” She yanked the hood over her head and zipped the garment—Park Service brown, just like all her gear—all the way up.
    He stood watching her. “I’m sorry.”
    “Huh?”
    “All I could think about was surprising you and getting to explain all the things I never could before. I didn’t plan this very well.”
    A place deep in her damaged heart started to melt. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate seeing you, but this might’ve been easier if we weren’t staring down the maw of what’s starting to look like a survival marathon.”
    “Like you said, we need to get moving.”
    Moira looked at him incredulously. “Oh brother, don’t tell me you don’t have storm gear.”
    “Uh, no. Didn’t think I’d