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tired of these welcoming parties.
    “You’ll let John pick up the new librarian over my dead body,” Duke barked. “We all know what happened the last time he flew a woman into Hard Luck.”
    “I keep telling you that wasn’t my fault.”
    “Forget it! I’ll pick her up.” Sawyer looked away from his squabbling pilots in disgust and happened to notice the blackboard where Ben wrote out the daily lunch and dinner specials.
    “Beef Wellington?” he asked.
    “You got a problem with Beef Wellington?” Ben muttered belligerently. “I’m just trying to show our new librarian that we’re a civilized bunch.”
    In Sawyer’s opinion, this whole project didn’t show a lot ofpromise. He’d bet none of these women would last the winter. The bad feeling he’d experienced when they first discussed the idea had returned tenfold.
    “You talk to that Seattle paper yet?” Ben asked, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him.
    “No.” Sawyer frowned. The press was becoming a problem. It wasn’t surprising that the media had gotten hold of the situation and wanted to do stories on it. They’d been hounding Sawyer for interviews all week—thanks to Christian, who’d given out his name. He was damn near ready to throttle his younger brother. And he was sorely tempted to have the phone disconnected; if it wasn’t vital for business, he swore he would’ve done it already.
    Now that the first woman was actually arriving, Sawyer regretted not discussing The Plan with their oldest brother. Although Charles was a full partner in the flight service, he was employed as a surveyor for Alaska Oil and was often away from Hard Luck for weeks on end. Like right now.
    When he did get home, Charles would probably think they’d all lost their minds. Sawyer wouldn’t blame him, either.
    “Well, the cabin’s ready, anyway,” Duke said with satisfaction.
    After they’d scrubbed down the walls and floors, Sawyer and a few of the men had opened up the storeroom in the lodge and dug out some of the old furniture. Sawyer had expressed doubts about sleeping on mattresses that had been tucked away for so many years, but Pearl and various other women—including several who were wives of pipeline maintenance workers—had aired everything out. They’d assured him that aside from some lingering mustiness, there was nothing to worry about. Everything had been well wrapped in plastic.
    As much as Sawyer hated to admit it, the cabin looked almost inviting. The black potbellied stove gleamed from repeated scrubbing. The women had sewn floral curtains for the one window and a matching tablecloth for the rough wooden table. The townspeople had stacked the shelves with groceries, and someone had even donated a cooler to keep perishables fresh for a few days. The single bed, made up with sun-dried linens and one thin blanket, did resemble something one might find in a prison, but Sawyer didn’t say so. Pearl and her friends had worked hard to make the cabin as welcoming as possible.
    When he’d stopped there on his way to Ben’s for breakfast, he saw that someone had placed a Mason jar of freshly cut wildflowers on the table. Right beside the kerosene lantern and the can opener.
    Well, this was as good as it got.
    “How are you going to know it’s her when she steps off the plane?” Ben asked, standing directly in front of him and watching him eat.
    “I’m wearing my Midnight Sons jacket,” Sawyer answered. “I’ll let her figure it out.”
    “What’s her name again?”
    “Abbey Sutherland.”
    “I bet she’s pretty,” Duke muttered.
    His pilots gazed sightlessly into the distance, longing written on their faces. Sawyer wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
    “I’m getting out of here before you three make me lose my breakfast.”
    “You sure you don’t want me to ride along with you?” John asked hopefully.
    “I’m sure.” Sawyer would also be bringing back the mail and a