21
Carly sat way in the back of the Firehawk and wondered how in blazes Emily had talked her into coming. They had another twenty minutes roaring through the skies until they reached the Rogue River, up in the heart of the Umpqua National Forest.
One moment she’d been mostly asleep under the covers at six in the evening, in the privacy of her own cabin. The next she’d been holding a cheerfully burbling Tessa in her arms while Emily and Aunt Margaret were getting out her fishing gear, sleeping bag, and tent, and folding clothes into a knapsack. Her cabin was small—bedroom, kitchen and a miniature great room. So they didn’t have far to go to find everything.
Now she was wedged between TJ’s ice chests and Betsy’s cooking gear. Henderson and Emily were flying; Emily had her daughter. Carly
