by J. D. Robb
He’d been right, of course. Grace had never denied it. But until the words had been spoken aloud, she’d been able to pretend otherwise. Now she needed to face some cold, hard facts about herself. She was a loner. Always had been, and probably always would be. It’s what made her so successful in her career, and such a mess when it came to relationships.
With a sigh she returned her attention to the job at hand. She’d fully anticipated spectacular autumn scenery. Aboard the small supply plane that brought her to this isolated spot, she’d been expecting to see a ring of fiery trees reflected in the waters of a clear crystal lake. What she’d found was this dull, almost muddy landscape of colorless trees, a bleak, biting wind whipping the waves into foam, and a sense of foreboding that had her glancing heavenward to check for storm clouds. There were none. The sky was a gray, blank canvas.
This assignment had initially been offered to one of her fiercest competitors, who was beginning to make a name for himself with the readers of the World. That fact hadn’t been lost on Grace, whose ambition had carried her to the top of her profession. When he’d discovered a conflict of dates, Grace had generously stepped up, even though she’d just returned from an exhausting assignment in the Middle East.
“You need some time off, Grace.” Her editor, Mark Wellington, though grateful for her offer, sat flipping through his file of photographers, looking for a replacement.
“Time off for what?” Grace shoved aside a mountain of papers from the chair beside his desk and took a seat.
He glanced over. “Visiting family. Shopping. Going to the spa. Isn’t that what women usually do when they have some time?”
“I have no family. I’m more comfortable in torn denims and hiking boots than designer dresses and stiletto heels. And having my chipped nails filled with gel and my sunbaked skin oiled would bore me silly.”
Mark spared her a quick glance. “And then there’s Richard.”
“Richard is old news.” She never even paused before adding, “Now about this assignment . . .”
Her editor heard the finality in her tone. This wasn’t the first time Grace had chosen career over romance.
He held out a two-page document. “Here it is. Pilots and fishermen swear they see a light dancing across the water of Spirit Lake. Dozens of them have responded, thinking it was a boater in trouble. The closer they get, the more the light begins to take on the shape of a woman. By the time they guide their plane or boat to the spot, the light, or whatever, is gone. Now I figure it’s the play of moonlight or starlight on the water, but you know how these things turn into folklore.”
Grace met his smile with one of her own.
“I see you agree with me. If you’re up for it, you’ll leave tomorrow. You’ll go in by supply seaplane and be picked up in three days, weather permitting. In, out, and a four-page spread in the next issue, depending on what you find. Even without solving the mystery, you ought to get some fabulous autumn shots of a lake that has all the curiosity factor of the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe you can play up the dark spirits angle.”
“Done.” She took the information from his hand and sauntered to the door of his office. “I’m betting this mystery light–woman is the long-suffering wife of one of the fishermen, who just got tired of staying home while he was off having all the fun.”
Her editor chuckled. “You get a picture of that, we’ll have her on all the talk shows. See you the end of the week. And Grace, thanks for volunteering.”
“No problem. This one’s easy. No fuss, no bother, just me and my trusty camera.”
Her words came back to haunt her as she sat, deep in thought. If the mystery light never appeared, what was she going to use to fill four pages of one of the most popular news magazines in the world?
She gave a soft laugh. What did it matter? She would have the next few days to spend all by herself.
All by herself.
Didn’t that define her life? If she felt a little twinge at the realization that her future was looking as empty as her past, she shrugged it aside. She was very good at being alone. She’d had plenty of practice.
With her feet dangling inches above the water, she stared at the endless stretch of water. What would it feel like to slip beneath the waves? Was it possible to embrace death without a fight? Or would her subconscious take over and force her to swim? Not that she was actually contemplating doing such a thing. But the sight of all that dark water, the ancient trees surrounding it like a fiery fortress, was hypnotic. She couldn’t ignore the nagging little thought inside her head that kept asking if anybody would miss her. Oh, there were a few friends and acquaintances, but for the most part, she’d lived her entire life isolated from the world, trying to please just one person—her stern, unyielding father. When she’d chosen a career that would take her far from him, they’d had a terrible row. And now, like everyone else in her life, he was gone, and there was no chance to make it up to him.
At first Grace was so deep in thought, she wasn’t aware of the drone of the plane’s engines overhead. When the sound finally penetrated her consciousness, she looked up absently, wondering if the supply plane had doubled back on its route.
The drone of the engines grew louder, and she lifted a hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. What she saw had her leaping to her feet. It wasn’t the supply plane that had brought her here. It was another plane, smaller and flying much too low. If the pilot wasn’t careful, his craft was going to clip the tops of those trees. Even as the thought formed, the plane began spinning end over end. Just as it disappeared from view there was a tremendous explosion, followed by a fireball of smoke and flame that billowed up from the forest.
Heart pounding, Grace started running toward the site. It would be impossible for anyone to survive such a crash.
The acrid smell of smoke assaulted Grace as she picked her way through the woods. She could feel the waves of heat even before she pushed through the brush and into the very heart of the crash site. Small trees had been leveled, deep grooves cut into the earth where the plane had skidded before coming to rest against a solid wall of forest. All that was left of the airplane was twisted metal and charred rubble. If there were any bodies inside, they were beyond rescuing now.
With a sigh she backed away from the intense heat of the fire. As she turned she saw a blur of color against the drab landscape. Stepping closer she caught sight of a man’s body.
Was he dead?
Grace knelt and touched a hand to his throat, searching for a pulse. There it was. Faint. Thready.
Alive. Relief poured through her. But there was blood. So much of it. Grace reached into her pockets. Where was a clean tissue when she needed one? Whipping off her hooded sweatshirt, she unbuttoned her cotton shirt underneath and used it to mop at the blood that spilled from a cut on his arm, and another on his leg that had soaked through his pants.
She tore away his shirtsleeve and pants leg and examined the wounds. Despite the amount of blood, the cuts appeared to be fairly superficial. With a sigh of resignation, she tore her shirt from top to bottom, tying the torn fabric firmly around each cut to stem any further flow.
The fact that the stranger remained unconscious led her to probe the back of his head, but she could find no evidence of swelling or trauma. While she examined him, she thought he stirred. But when she looked down, his eyes were closed.
She debated the wisdom of moving him. If there were internal injuries, any movement could make matters worse.
Coming to a decision she wrapped her hooded sweatshirt around him for warmth. “You may be in shock. If so, you’ll need blankets and . . .” She knew she was babbling to someone who couldn’t possibly hear her, but she felt the need to say something comforting. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone now. I’ll be back soon with some supplies. Just . . . hang in there.”
She patted his arm before turning away and racing back to the cabin.
Josh felt gentle hands probing, and the warmth of breath against h
is temple. Angels, he concluded. After what he’d gone through, there was no other logical explanation.
He’d always known, of course, that the risks he took in the lifestyle he’d chosen carried the strong possibility of an early death.
Like his father.
He took in a long, deep breath, expecting it to be his last. Now, finally, he would see the face of the man who, though he had died far too young, had left an indelible imprint on his son’s life.
Ignoring the occasional twinges of pain, he gave himself up to whatever fate awaited him in the afterlife.
Grace struggled to wheel the heavy cart over roots and rocks and mounds of earth. The forest was not only dense, but unforgiving. A backpack would have been more efficient, but since she had no idea how long she might have to survive without shelter, she’d brought all she could pack into the cart, and had replaced her bloody shirt with a warm sweater, and over that a heavy parka.
At the crash site she worked as efficiently as possible unzipping a down sleeping bag and struggling to get the unconscious man into it.
Draping his arm around her shoulder she gently eased him into a sitting position. “Come on now, work with me.”
Though she coaxed and cajoled, the unresponsive man was a dead weight. Finally, through sheer effort, she managed to roll him into the sleeping bag and zip it closed.
Then she set about collecting wood for a bonfire. Getting the fire started was simple, since the remains of the plane were still smoldering. Holding a stick to the rubble until it flamed, she crossed to the logs and waited for the kindling to catch fire.
Draping a blanket around her shoulders, Grace sat cross-legged beside the unconscious man and touched a hand to his forehead. There seemed to be no fever. He made not a sound, so she couldn’t determine whether or not he was suffering.
As the sun slowly made its arc across the sky, she drew the blanket more closely around her and studied the man in the sleeping bag. His chest rose and fell in a steady, silent rhythm. He looked warm and peaceful. If she hadn’t witnessed his plane crash, she could easily believe he was just asleep.
Praying that he was in no immediate danger, she stretched out beside him and, for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.
Three
Josh lay very still, eyes closed, and listened to the soothing sounds around him. Water lapping somewhere nearby. A breeze whispering through the branches of a tree. A chorus of birdsong.
He seemed imprisoned in a cocoon of warmth that rendered him unable to move. That fact, and the absence of pain, had him convinced that he was indeed dead. His last conscious memory had been the moment of impact, when his plane had hit the ground and skidded several hundred yards before slamming into an impenetrable wall of forest.
He’d watched the windshield of his plane shatter inward. Had heard the terrible screeching sounds of metal twisting. Had felt the plane shudder beneath him. And then a feeling of weightlessness, as though he’d been lifted in the arms of angels and carried ever-so-gently to earth.
Another memory returned. A woman, wearing nothing but a lacy bra and snug denims, holding him close. Tying something around his arm.
An angel? In bra and denims?
The thought had him grinning as he opened his eyes and saw her asleep beside him. He couldn’t see her face, but her hair was a glorious tangle of red-gold curls.
His mysterious passenger.
She’d shed her blanket and parka, and what he could see of her slender figure in the faded jeans and sweater was model-perfect. Too bad she’d pulled on that sweater. Still, the sight of her snug backside had his smile deepening.
He looked up at rays of golden light filtering through the leaves of the forest. Like a benediction from heaven.
The woman stirred and brushed hair from her eyes before sitting up and turning. He realized in that instant that she wasn’t his passenger. This stranger’s hair was more red than gold, and her eyes were a startling shade of green, with little gold flecks. The kind a man could happily drown in.
When she realized that he was looking at her she scrambled to her feet.
“You’re awake.”
He’d heard that same voice before. Soft. Breathy. Calming. It had penetrated deep into his subconscious and had given him the most amazing sense of peace. He’d been given the assurance that he wasn’t alone. That someone was nearby, looking out for him.
“Yeah. I’m awake. Or whatever they call it here.”
“Here?”
“Heaven. That’s where I am, right?”
She gave a quick laugh. “I’ve never heard the Spirit Lake Wilderness Refuge called heaven before. But I suppose to some hardy souls it might be.”
“Spirit Lake?” He blinked. “I’m alive?”
“You are, though I don’t know how. There’s nothing left of your plane but ash and twisted metal.” She pointed, and he could see wisps of smoke still rising from the rubble.
“If I’m alive, why can’t I move?”
“Oh.” She knelt and reached for the zipper on his sleeping bag. “Sorry. I was worried that you might go into shock from the accident, so I did my best to keep you warm through the night.”
“I’ve been here all night?”
“And most of today.” She pointed to the sun slanting low on the horizon. “It’ll be evening soon.”
“Are you telling me I slept all night and half the day?”
She nodded. “I checked on you a dozen times or more, and each time you were sound asleep. I tried waking you, but when I couldn’t, there didn’t seem to be much I could do except wait for you to wake on your own.” She looked embarrassed. “I don’t know if it was seeing you sleeping, or the fact that I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything until I knew you were going to be all right, but whatever the reason, I slept, too. Not as many hours as you, but a lot more than I’ve slept in a very long time.”
He was watching her closely. “Am I dreaming this, or are you real?”
“I’m real enough.”
“Who are you, and how did you find me?”
“Finding you was easy enough. I just followed the smoke through the forest.” She wiped her hand on her jeans before extending it. “My name is Grace. Grace Marin. And you are . . . ?”
“Josh. Josh Cramer.” He stuck out his hand, then, spying his gloves, he grinned before slipping them off.
At her arched question he felt the need to explain. “My good luck charms.”
“They seem to have worked.”
“They do the job every time.”
“Every time? Are you telling me you’ve been through something like this before?”
“Not a plane crash. But close.”
“Are you feeling all right? No fever?” She tentatively touched a hand to his forehead.
He experienced a rush of heat so intense he could feel it in every part of his body. How could there be such heat from one soft, cool hand? He found himself hoping she would keep it there, just so, against his flesh. He felt a wave of disappointment when she lowered her hand and sat back on her heels.
He struggled to sit up. Instinctively she placed a restraining hand on his chest. “I don’t think you should move. There may be some internal injuries.”
“I don’t feel any pain.”
“None?” She seemed stunned by his admission.
“Except for a little twinge in my arm.” He wiggled a foot. “And some in my leg.” He sat up and looked around. “Where’re my friends?”
“Friends?”
This wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. “There was a second plane following me. I figured they’d put down on the lake as soon as they saw the crash.”
Grace shook her head. “Sorry. I never saw a second plane.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” He frowned. “What about my passenger?”
Her eyes widened before she looked away quickly. “I’m sorry. You’re the only survivor I was able to find. I just assumed you were alone, especially since I searche
d every inch of this area, and there was no trace of anyone else, or any remains.”
As the enormity of these events began to sink in, his demeanor became brisk and businesslike. “I need a phone. Right away.”
Grace shook her head. “There’s no power out here. Even cell phones won’t work, since there are no relay towers.”
He’d known, of course. Still, there had to be some emergency measure. “How do you summon help if you’re in trouble?”
“I was told to use the ham radio at the cabin. While you were asleep, I tried to power up the generator to report the accident, but I must have done something wrong. I couldn’t get it to work.” Seeing his look of disgust she added, “When you’re strong enough to walk to the cabin, you can give it a try. Do you know anything about generators?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t call electronics my strong point, but I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ll take a look at it. I’m sure I can figure it out.”
When he started to stand Grace reached out to steady him. “Are you sure you’re strong enough?”
“I’ve got to get up and start moving. I need to get a message out to my friends right away.”
“Then let me help.” She got to her feet and offered her arm.
He leaned on her and absorbed a quick jolt as he stared into her eyes. A trickle of sweat worked its way between his shoulders and down his back. Instinctively he pushed free and took a step away. What was the matter with him? Like any man, he enjoyed being close to a woman. Especially a beautiful woman. But he’d never had a reaction to a woman like this before. The thought of tasting those lips was almost overwhelming.
Having his emotions so close to the surface was probably a result of the crash.
“Thanks. I’m fine now.”
And he was, he realized. After a few tentative steps, he was aware that, despite a crash that had left his plane mangled and burned, he seemed to have suffered no serious injuries at all. What were the odds of such a thing? For anyone else, he supposed, a million to one.