When she merely shrugged, they both scrambled to put on their boots. They slid their jackets on over their long johns and rushed for the tent door, but Luke pulled Camry to a stop. “Let me go first.”

“It’s obvious he’s only a harmless old hermit.”

“Who just happens to know our names? I spent two months on this mountain, and I never saw a trace of him. So just humor me, would you, and let me go out first?”

She stared into his eyes for what seemed like forever, then suddenly smiled and motioned toward the tent flap. “Be my guest, Maxine.”

Luke shot her a warning scowl, then poked his head through the flap to find the man sitting on the ground, laughing uncontrollably as Tigger attacked his face with her tongue. Max was flopped on his back with all four paws in the air, his tail thumping the snow as the guy rubbed his belly. Luke looked around for the shotgun and saw it leaning against the track of the snowcat, beside the . . . next to the . . .

He scrambled out of the tent, pulling Camry with him. The moment she stood up, Luke surreptitiously motioned toward the cat. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Oh my God,” she softly gasped. “That looks like Podly. Or at least its outer housing.” She glanced briefly at the man, who seemed to have completely forgotten them in favor of playing with the dogs. “He’s using our satellite as a sled?”

“You go check it out,” Luke whispered, heading toward the man. He stopped and held his hand down to him. “You can call me Luke, Mr. . . . ?”

The still-laughing man took hold of Luke’s hand, but instead of shaking it, he used it to pull himself to his feet. “Dag-nab-it, I seem to be getting older instead of younger,” he chortled, finally shaking Luke’s hand. “Name’s Roger AuClair. You like that sled, Missy MacKeage? I’d be willing to sell it to you,” he called to Camry. “Or if’n you want, I can custom make you one just like it, only out of wood scraps.”

He walked over to her. “A wooden one would cost you less than this one, ’cause this stuff don’t fall out of the sky every day, you know,” he said, running his gnarled hand over the charred metal. “I still got to polish it up some. You got any sweets in your fancy snow machine?” he asked, peering in through the window of the snowcat. He looked back at Camry. “I’m open to bartering. Pound for pound, anything I build for you in exchange for anything you got that’s sweet, be it home-baked or store-bought.”

“I believe we have some sweet granola bars,” Camry offered with obvious amusement. She glanced toward Luke, then down at the sled, then back at Roger. “But instead of trading me this beautiful piece, would you happen to have other parts of whatever fell out of the sky that we might barter for?”

“Something about this big, maybe?” Luke added, holding his hands not quite a foot apart. “Sort of square, and rather heavy for its size?”

“I might,” Roger said, scratching his beard as his gaze moved to Luke. “You know anything about satellite dishes? ’Cause this thing,” he muttered, kicking the sled, “knocked my television dish clean off my roof last June, just before it smashed into the trees behind my cabin. I fashioned another dish from the blasted thing’s parts, but I only get half the channels I used to.” His gaze narrowed. “I might be able to find something about the size you want, if’n you get all my channels to come in. As well as those sweet bar thingies your missy just mentioned.”

“I know a little something about satellite dishes,” Luke offered.

Roger snatched up his shotgun, grabbed the rope handle on his sled, and started off up the tote road they were camped beside. “Then come on, people! We only got two hours of daylight left. And today’s Wednesday, and Survivorman is on tonight. I already missed nearly six months of episodes.”

Luke stood beside Camry, both of them watching the man disappear around a curve, Max hot on his heels. Tigger, getting mired in the deep snow, rushed back to them and started whining.

Luke scooped up the dog. “Does AuClair look familiar to you?” he asked, still staring up the road. “Those green eyes of his, maybe?”

“I can’t say,” Camry murmured, “what with all that wild hair covering everything.” She glanced up at Luke. “How does he know our names? And what did he mean, he’s been waiting for us to show up for weeks?”

“I suppose we’re going to have to ask him.” Luke opened the door of the snowcat and set Tigger inside, then headed back to the tent. “Let’s get dressed and secure everything here so we can catch up with him.”

Luke crawled inside the tent, sat on the sleeping bag, and slipped off his boots to pull on his pants. “You know anything about television dishes?” he asked. “Because short of tying the old hermit up and ransacking his place—which, despite my actions to date, is one crime I refuse to consider—it looks as if we’re going to have to repair his dish if we want Podly’s data banks.”

Camry fastened her pants, then slipped back into her boots. She reached over and shut off their catalytic heater, then quickly straightened their sleeping bags before heading back outside. “How many rocket scientists does it take to repair a television antenna?” she asked with a giggle.

“Two,” Luke said, crawling out behind her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “One to stand on the roof holding the aluminum foil, and the other one to tell him which direction to turn.” He kissed her again, then hugged her so tightly she squeaked. “We just found Podly,” he whispered.

“Let’s not start celebrating just yet,” she warned. “For all we know, Roger AuClair dismantled the data bank and is using it for a tea tin.”

Luke dragged her to the snowcat. “Don’t even think it!”

Camry sat at the rickety old table in the ramshackle old cabin, sipping the peppermint tea Roger had made her before he’d taken Max and Tigger outside to supervise Luke as he repaired the dish.

The cabin sported two rooms, the dividing wall fashioned from mismatched snowshoes; several broken skis; and a large number of crooked sticks—some with the bark carefully removed to expose beautiful knots. An assortment of dishes and dented pots were neatly stacked on shelves beneath a sagging counter holding a pockmarked enamel sink and hand pump that looked more rusty than solid. The large wood cookstove sitting in the center of the sidewall, radiating the heat of a sauna, was covered with cast-iron pots wafting up steam that smelled of citrus and cloves.

Basically, Cam might have thought she was sitting smack in the middle of the nineteenth century but for the giant flat-screened television hanging on the opposite wall. On each side of it, rising from floor to rafter, were shelves crammed full of books. Sitting just a few feet in front of the television was a fine-grained leather recliner that looked as if it belonged in a New York penthouse. And tucked into every available nook and cranny scattered around the cabin were what appeared to be pieces of Podly—some the size of a gum stick, some as big as a basketball.

She did not, however, see anything that resembled a data bank.

Hearing Luke’s footsteps on the roof—which creaked threateningly under his weight—Cam reached into her coat and pulled Podly’s transmitter out of the pocket. She stood up to glance out the window and saw Roger sitting on the ground, fighting back two ecstatic dogs as he called instructions up to Luke.

Cam looked down at the transmitter. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Fiona,” she whispered as she started walking around the cabin, holding the tiny instrument out in front of her. “But if this is about that bib I gave you that said Shamans Rock, you’re a smart enough girl to know that I was only trying to piss off your daddy. You’re going to grow up to be a wonderful drùidh just like your parents, probably even more powerful. And really, I truly enjoyed spending time with you this past week—even if you were only messing with me. But please, Fiona, don’t mess with Luke. He’s such a good man, and he’s trying so hard to make up for eavesdropping on Podly. Help me help him find the data bank . . . in one piece,” she tacked on as she continued around the cabin.