The Job

The last thing I wanted to do with my October was show a billionaire the wilderness he planned to ruin.

But the bank doesn't care about principles, and neither does the electric company. So here I was, standing on the tarmac of the Fairbanks airport, watching a private jet taxi toward the hangar while I reminded myself that money was money and this job would keep my business alive through winter.

"You must be Ms. Wilder." The voice came from behind me, and I turned to find Callum Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Development, real estate mogul, professional destroyer of wild places. He looked like his photographs, only taller. Dark-haired, the kind of polished handsome that said personal trainers and expensive suits.

"Rowan's fine." I didn't offer my hand. "The plane's fueled and ready. We can head out whenever you are."

"Eager to get started?"

"Eager to get paid."

His eyebrows went up slightly. Surprise, maybe. Or amusement. Most people probably didn't talk to Callum Blackwood that way. Most people probably hadn't spent the last three years watching his company gobble up pristine wilderness and turn it into luxury resorts for people who'd never sleep outdoors without heated floors.

"Fair enough." He gestured toward the bags being unloaded from his jet. "I'll need about twenty minutes. My assistant has the contracts if you want to review them while we wait."

I'd already reviewed the contracts. Three days, charter flight, ground transportation, full guide services. He wanted to see the Bristol Valley area, one of the last untouched regions in this part of Alaska. Prime development territory, if you were the kind of person who thought paradise needed a spa and a golf course.

"I've seen them. Twenty minutes is fine."

He walked toward the hangar, phone already at his ear, and I caught fragments of the conversation as he moved away. "...Kane's bid is aggressive, but his environmental record is a liability... No, I'm not selling to Marcus Kane, not at any price... Tell the board I'll handle it when I return..."

Marcus Kane. I'd heard that name before. Another developer, though from what I'd read, he made Blackwood look like a conservationist. Kane Development had been fined three times for violating protected habitats, and there were rumors of worse.

Callum disappeared into the hangar, and I watched him go with the familiar taste of compromise in my mouth.

"He's not that bad, you know."

I turned. A woman about my age had materialized beside me, sleek, efficient, the kind of assistant who made billionaires possible.

"I'm Sara. Mr. Blackwood's assistant." She offered a professional smile. "I've read about your work with the conservation groups. He knows you don't approve of his projects."

"Then why hire me?"

"Because you're the best." She said it matter-of-factly. "Every guide we contacted said if we wanted someone who actually knew that territory, it was you. He respects expertise."

"He should respect the land itself."

"Maybe he will, after he sees it." Her smile didn't waver. "That's partly why we're doing this, you know. He wants to understand what he's working with before he makes any decisions."

"He's already made his decisions. He's already bought options on half the valley."

"Options aren't construction permits." She pulled out a folder and handed it to me. "Look, I'm not going to pretend this is an environmental mission. He's a developer. That's what he does. But he's not a monster, and this trip isn't a done deal. Show him what you show everyone else. Let the land speak for itself."

She walked away before I could respond.

I stood on the tarmac, folder in hand, and wondered if she was naive or if I was too cynical. Probably both. The land had spoken to plenty of developers over the years, and they'd responded by bulldozing its voice into silence.

But money was money.

And maybe, just maybe, three days in the real wilderness would teach Callum Blackwood something about what he was planning to destroy.

Twenty minutes turned into forty. I spent the time doing final checks on my Cessna 206, fuel levels, control surfaces, emergency equipment. The weather was decent now, but October in Alaska was unpredictable. I'd seen clear skies turn to blizzards in less than an hour.

"That's yours?"

I looked up from the engine cowling. Callum was standing at the wing tip, studying the plane with an expression I couldn't read.

"For the past twelve years. She's solid."

"She looks... experienced."

"She's flown me through worse than anything we'll see today. Unless you'd prefer to take your jet." I nodded toward the sleek aircraft still parked at the hangar. "Though I'm not sure where you'd land it."

"Your plane is fine." He looked at the cargo hold, where his assistant was supervising the loading of his bags. "How much can she carry?"

"More than you're bringing. We're only going for three days."

"I like to be prepared."

"There's prepared and there's paranoid. That's a lot of luggage for a scouting trip."

"My assistant packed. She errs on the side of caution."

I watched as a third bag was loaded, heavy from the looks of it, designer label visible on the handle. Whatever Callum Blackwood thought he needed for three days in the wilderness, I doubted it would be useful.

"We should go." I checked my watch. "Weather window is good for the next few hours. After that, I can't guarantee anything."

"Lead the way." Our actual pilot was already at the Cessna, running his own pre-flight. Jim Cobb, sixty-three, silver-haired, the kind of bush pilot who'd flown these routes since before I was born. He'd taught me half of what I knew about float flying.

"Morning, Rowan." Jim nodded at Callum. "Mr. Blackwood. Weather's looking cooperative, but I want to get ahead of that system to the west."

"Agreed," I said. "Let's not push our luck."

He climbed into the passenger seat with the ease of someone used to small planes. Good. At least I wouldn't have to deal with white-knuckle terror on top of everything else.

Jim ran through the pre-flight checklist while I handled comms with the tower. He taxied toward the runway, and I settled into the co-pilot's seat, monitoring instruments. The Cessna hummed beneath me, familiar and reliable, and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. Whatever else happened on this trip, at least I'd be in the air. At least I'd be heading somewhere real.

"You've been doing this a long time," Callum observed as I lined up for takeoff.

"Guiding? Since I was eighteen."

"And the flying?"

"Same."

"That's impressive."

I didn't bother responding. Instead, I watched Jim push the throttle forward and let the plane answer for us, the acceleration, the lift, the moment when the ground fell away and the sky opened up. Whatever Callum Blackwood thought of our operation, the plane didn't lie.

We climbed into the October sky, leaving Fairbanks behind. Below us, the landscape shifted from city to suburbs to nothing, endless forest, rivers cutting silver lines through the trees, mountains rising in the distance like promises no developer could keep.

"It's beautiful," Callum said quietly.

"It is."

"I can see why you fight for it."

"I can see why you want to build on it. Beauty's valuable."

"That's not..." He stopped himself. "Okay. Fair point. But that's not all I see."

"What else?"

He was quiet for a moment, looking out the window at the wilderness sprawling beneath us.

"Potential," he finally said. "And I know that word makes you want to throw me out of the plane. But potential isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it means possibility."

"Possibility for what?"

"For people to experience this. Not everyone can fly a bush plane into the backcountry. Not everyone has your skills. But that doesn't mean they shouldn't get to see places like this."

"They can. There are plenty of ways to experience Alaska without paving over it."

"I'm not talking about paving anything."

"Your company's track record suggests otherwise."

He turned to look at me, and for a moment I saw something behind the polished exterior, frustration, maybe, or something more complicated.

"I'm aware of our track record. I'm also aware that it could be different. That's part of why I'm here."

"To figure out how to build your resort with a smaller footprint?"

"To figure out if I should build anything at all."

I didn't know what to say to that. It sounded almost genuine. But I'd heard developers make environmental promises before, right up until the moment they didn't.

"We'll see," I said. "The valley has a way of speaking for itself."

We flew in silence after that, the plane carrying us deeper into the wilderness, toward something neither of us could have predicted.