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Cherokee. It's parked out on the street." She dumped keys into his hand. "Hopp said one of us should show you how you work the heat block for the engine."
    He'd read about those, too. Heaters designed to keep an engine warm when at rest in subzero temperatures. "We'll get to it."
    "Sun's coming up."
    "What?" He turned, looked out the window.
    Then he just stood, his arms at his side, the keys weighing down his hand, as the sun bloomed orange and rose in the sky. The mountains came alive under it, massive and white with the gold streaks sliding over them.
    They filled his window. Left him speechless.
    "Nothing like your first winter sunrise in Alaska."
    "I guess not." Mesmerized, he stepped closer to the window.
    He could see the river where he'd landed—a long, saggy dock he hadn't noticed before, and the sheen of ice under the lightening sky. There were hills of snow, a huddle of houses, stands of trees—and he noted, people. There were people, bundled up so thickly they looked like globs of color gliding over the white.
    There was smoke rising, and Jesus, was that an eagle soaring over head? And as he watched, a group of kids went running toward the iced ribbon of river, hockey sticks and skates over their shoulders.
    And the mountains stood over it all, like gods.
    Watching them, he forgot about the cold, the wind, the isolation and his own quiet misery.
    Watching them, he felt alive.

 
     
     
    THREE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    MAYBE IT WAS too damn cold, maybe people were on their best behavior, or it might have been that the holiday spirit was entrenched in that week between Christmas and New Year's, but it was nearly noon before the first call came in.
    "Nate?" Peach came to his door holding a couple of knitting needles and a hank of purple wool. "Charlene called from The Lodge. Seems a couple of the boys got into a ruckus over a game of pool. Some pushyshovey going on."
    "All right." He got to his feet, fishing a quarter out of his pocket as he walked out. "Call it," he said to Otto and Peter.
    "Heads." Otto set down his Field & Stream while Nate flipped the coin in the air.
    He slapped it on the back of his hand. "Tails. Okay, Peter, you'll come with me. Little altercation over at The Lodge." He snagged a two-way, hooked it to his belt.
    He stepped into the entry, began dragging on gear. "If it hasn't broken up by the time we get there," he said to Peter, "I want you to tell me the players straight off, give me the picture. Is it something that's going to turn nasty or can we resolve it with a few strong words?"
    He shoved out the door, into the blast of cold air. "That mine?" he asked, nodding toward the black Jeep at the curb.
    "Yes, sir."
    "And that cord plugged into that pole there would be attached to the heater on the engine."
    "You'll need it if it's going to sit for any time. There's a Mylar blanket in the back, and that'll cover up the engine and keep the heat in for up to twenty-four hours, maybe. But sometimes people forget to take them off, and then you're going to overheat. Jumper cables in the back, too," he continued as he pulled the plug. "Emergency flares and first-aid kit and—"
    "We'll go over all that," Nate interrupted, and wondered if navigating down a road called Lunatic Street would entail the need of emergency flares and first aid. "Let's see if I can get us to The Lodge in one piece."
    He climbed behind the wheel, stuck the key in the ignition. "Heated seats," he noted. "There is a God."
    The town looked different in the daylight, no doubt about it. Smaller somehow, Nate thought as he maneuvered on the hard-packed snow. Exhaust had blacked the white at the curbs, and the storefront windows weren't exactly sparkling, and most of the Christmas decorations looked the worse for wear in the sunlight.
    It wasn't a postcard, unless you looked beyond to the mountains, but it was a few solid steps up from dreary.
    Rugged was a better term, he decided. It was a settlement carved out of ice and