“Me!”
“There comes a time when every pilot has to make the decision to sacrifice his plane to save himself,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye. She tried moving her left arm and found it nearly impossible. “Personally, I’d choose the trees. I don’t know if I can swim out of an upside-down plane right now.”
“You’re asking me to crash the plane?”
“An emergency landing, Mikey. There’s a difference.”
“I know. I know.” He stared down at the lake below them. “We’ve practiced the procedure often enough.”
“And now you get to try it for real.”
He turned to her. “I could kill us both.”
“Not if you focus on the principals I taught you. Full flaps, slow speed, and just fly it into the softest trees you can find,” she said, her voice steady and low. “It’s all a matter of deciding to do it, and doing it right. You’ve got the skill, Mikey.”
“But you’ve actually done it before, Nem. Couldn’t you take over long enough to get us down?”
“This is the ultimate chance for you, Michael.”
“This is no time for a lesson!”
“Pick your spot, Mikey. The sun’s setting. And I’m bleeding.”
He gritted his teeth as he leaned forward to look out the window. “I don’t know why I’m worried. If we make it down okay, Dad’s going to kill us anyway when he gets back.” He banked the plane down to the right. “There, Nem. How about those trees?”
“Maybe we should buzz the seaplane base and flash our lights, to let them know we’re in trouble.”
He all but dove for the base in the cove.
Emma watched out Mikey’s window. She couldn’t see out of her own; it was too shattered, with one neat little hole at shoulder height. They dove low over the seaplane base, and Emma saw several men look up at them.
“They saw us. Bring it down now, Mikey.”
“You’re sure the water wouldn’t be better? There’s help right there, Nem. They can get to us quickly.”
She shook her head, closing her eyes as a wave of pain shot down her arm. “The water’s unpredictable.”
“Here goes!”
He lined them up for an approach to a planting of young fir growth, as though he were lining up to a runway. Then he pulled down full flaps, causing the plane to feel as if he had put on the brakes. Their packs shifted in the backseat, and Emma’s arm throbbed as it banged against the door, making her bite back a moan.
“Just fly it down, Mikey.” She kept her voice calm and coaxing. “Bring back the throttle. That’s it. Easy, now. This is just like a glassy water landing. Let the plane fly into the trees. Flair, Mikey. Nearly stall it. That’s right, you’ve got it.”
At first it felt as if they were landing on a huge ball of cotton when the pontoons lightly brushed over the treetops. As they slowed even further and settled deeper, the soft cushion of fir got denser. And harder. Tops snapped below them in a sudden rush, just before the plane itself started shuddering.
“Flair out, Mikey. Flair!”
The plane squealed in protest. The stall alarm blared. The pontoons caught on the thicker trunks, violently jerking the Cessna as metal gave way to wood, the noise of ripping aluminum and snapping trees deafening. A branch finished shattering the window beside her and the thrust of her body against her harness was nearly unbearable.
It lasted only seconds.
And in the end, they ended up upside down anyway.
Michael was out of his seat belt first, hitting his head as he fell to the ceiling. He righted himself and carefully unbuckled Emma’s belt, catching her in his arms and easing her down. Then he kicked open his door and pulled her out with all the care of a father handling his infant for the first time.
Emma was laughing and praising him and bawling like a baby the whole time. He pulled her a safe distance away from the plane, propping her up against one of the lifesaving fir trees to examine her, all but counting her fingers and toes. He pulled off his shirt and held it up to her shoulder.
“You’re one big mess, Nemmy.” He looked back at the plane and then at her, grinning like a drunken fool. “But we did it! We walked away from my first official crash.”
“Not many people have crashed so gracefully, Mikey. You did good, big man. You earned your wings today.”
His euphoria suddenly vanished. “We’ve still got to face Dad.”
Emma smiled. “Which means you get to earn your son badge next—because you’re the one who gets to tell him,” she said, just before everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
Ben stood outside the small, rural hospital’s room, not ready to face what he would find inside. Not until his anger cooled. Not until his hands stopped shaking. And definitely not until he trusted himself not to strangle the woman who seemed determined to give him a heart attack.
He was afraid that if he walked in there right now, he would lash out at Emma with the full force of the wrath he was feeling. Then again, he could just as easily crawl into bed with her, wrap her in his arms, and weep with relief.
So he stood silently outside the door, blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation taking place between his son and the woman he intended to marry as soon as he could find a preacher.
“You look worse than I feel,” Emma said, her voice a mere croak.
Ben moved just enough to see Mike standing beside the bed, his posture subdued, his face bruised, the flowers he’d brought forgotten in his hand.
“I … uh … Dad’s here,” the boy whispered as he moved closer. “And you know that civilized veneer we talked about?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well, it’s gone, Nem.”
Ben very nearly smiled when he saw Emma’s eyes widen in horror. Then she looked more closely at her nephew. “He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he?” she asked, her voice stronger—and outraged.
“I almost wish he had. He’s angry enough to kill someone, but I don’t think we’re the target he’s looking for.”
Ben saw Emma heave a giant sigh. She looked damn good for someone who had been shot and then managed to survive a plane crash. Her left arm was bandaged against her ribs and there was another bandage on her forehead, but otherwise she looked fit enough to face him.
He pushed the door open and quietly walked in.
“Give your aunt her flowers, Mike,” he told his son as he approached. He laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re strangling them to death.”
Deep jade eyes the size of dinner plates stared up at him from the bed. Ben moved closer, and carefully touched his lips to her cheek. “Hello, Emma. Been keeping out of trouble while I was gone?” he asked softly.
She shook her head, then suddenly started nodding it up and down, her eyes still huge and unblinking. It looked to Ben as if she’d stopped breathing.
“So you’ve earned the present I brought you from New York?”
Hesitant, and clearly suspicious, she nodded again. Ben kissed her again, this time on the lips, then walked over and opened the window. He nodded to the man outside, and gave a low whistle through his teeth.
A large German shepherd lithely bounded through the window into the room.
A surprised squeak came from the bed.
“Meet Beaker, Em.” He touched the dog’s head and turned to Emma, bringing Beaker with him. “He’s six years old and he wants to move in with a family. He’s tired of city life, and is looking forward to retiring to Maine.”
The recipient of this gift was eyeing the shepherd with ill-concealed horror. Beaker was eyeing her in return, his nose pushed through the rails of the bed and his tongue lolling off to the side.
“Retiring from what?” she asked in a barely audible voice.
“Beaker’s been a personal security dog for the last three years.”
“What happened to whoever he was guarding? Did he eat them?”
Ben pushed Beaker’s head out of the way and dropped the ra
il on the bed. He sat down by Emma’s hip and patted the bed beside her. Beaker immediately accepted the invitation and lifted his front paws onto the bed and sniffed her.
She squeaked again and tried to scoot over to the other side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to bring a dog into the hospital, Ben. It’s unsanitary or something.”
“Beaker and I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ben frowned. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you, Emma?”
“N-no. Not small, harmless dogs with teeth the size of toothpicks.”
He looked over at Mike, who had taken two steps back. The boy’s face looked as pale as Emma’s.
Well, hell. The Sandses were afraid of dogs.
Ben cupped Emma’s hip just as Beaker leaned forward and gave her a wet lap on the hand. She whimpered at the gentle greeting.
“Beaker won’t hurt you, Em. Actually he’s partial to women.” He looked at Mikey. “He likes boys, too,” he added as he pushed the dog down.
“We … we can’t have a dog at Medicine Creek Camps, Ben,” she said, her voice growing stronger in direct relation to Beaker’s distance. “They chase deer.”
“Beaker won’t. He’s been trained to stay close to people.”
Her gaze was on her new pet, who was now eyeing Mike with interest. The boy was all but plastered to the wall, and it looked like he’d stopped breathing, too.
“Good God, people. He’s not going to eat you,” Ben said with waning patience. “He’s a fine dog and will be a good addition to the household.”
“He’s nearly as big as Pitiful.” Emma pushed a button and lifted the head of her bed.
She immediately stopped when Beaker turned at the noise.
“Then the two of them should get along great.” Ben stood up, his hands on his hips and his expression showing that his patience was gone. “Beaker needs you as well as the peace and quiet of your woods. You’re going to have to coddle him. Take him with you wherever you go. He loves riding in the truck.”
He started out of the room. “So make peace with the animal, Emma. You’re all that’s standing between him and a nervous breakdown.”
“Wait!”
He stopped and looked back at her.
“Where are you going?”
“To clean up the mess you started yesterday.”
He stopped just outside the door, and waited to see how the three inside were going to deal with one another.
“Walk over to this side of the bed,” he heard Emma whisper. “Slowly, Mikey. Don’t spook him.”
Ben leaned forward to peek in the room. Mike was making a Herculean effort to unglue himself from the wall. The boy slowly inched his way around Beaker, never taking his eyes off the dog.
“Nice dog,” Emma said softly, staring at Beaker. She had her water pitcher in her hand, looking ready to hurl it at the poor, unsuspecting dog should he attack her nephew.
Ben shook his head. They were petrified of a gentle dog?
Well, Beaker was gentle with his charges. The highly trained guard dog could rip an assailant into pieces if he wanted to. He was intelligent, perceptive, and vigilant, having been trained at one of the best facilities in the country.
Ben only hoped the poor animal had plenty of patience.
“He doesn’t look that mean, Nem,” he heard Mike say, now that the boy had the safety of the bed between them. “He’s kind of handsome. And look at his eyes. They’re sort of sad-looking.”
“They look crafty to me. Who knows what he’s
really thinking?”
“Dad wouldn’t have brought you a dangerous pet, Nem. Beaker was trained to protect the people he lives with, not eat them.”
Ben saw Emma eyeing Beaker with suspicion. “I don’t like dogs—especially when they’re bigger than me. One bite and I could lose an arm or a leg.”
“Aw, Jeez, look at him. We’re hurting his feelings. We should talk to him.”
“Why don’t you walk over and pet him, then?”
Mike vigorously shook his head. “Nope. You heard Dad. Beaker’s your dog. You should make the first move.”
Emma glared up at her nephew and then at the doorway. Ben moved back into the shadows and waited.
“I can’t believe he has the nerve to bring a dog in here!”
“I don’t think anyone would have stopped him if he’d brought him in the front door. They scrambled into action when he asked to see your doctor. I actually tried to hide behind the vending machine.”
“He just dumped this animal with us and left! He didn’t even ask how I was feeling,” Emma said, sounding utterly dejected.
Ben hadn’t trusted himself to mention her condition, much less how she’d gotten here. But he’d read her chart three times. She had a flesh wound in her upper left arm that had required ten stitches, but the bullet hadn’t done any major damage. She had a nasty bump on her forehead, her right ankle was wrapped because of a sprain, and she had bumps and bruises that she’d certainly feel tomorrow morning.
The doctor had said Ben could take her home this evening.
As for Beaker, he was more than ready to begin his new job as her personal guardian. Ben was the one on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
“That’s what scares me, Nem. He hasn’t said a word about the crash or your arm, or even asked how it happened. He just showed up here and asked to speak to whoever was in charge. Then he hugged me for two solid minutes, and told me to come in here while he spoke with the doctor.”
“I … I think maybe I should stay with Greta a few days,” Emma said. “You could, too, if you want.”
“In the same house as Wayne?”
So that bastard Poulin was somehow involved in this, was he? With renewed anger, and now with a direction to aim it, Ben left the hospital.
Emma had been expecting a lecture, and would have preferred it to that peck on the cheek and a gift that had teeth the size of elephant tusks.
She’d nearly killed his son, and now she’d opened a can of worms that had left her with a wound that ached like the devil, a nephew who was bruised and battered, and a tangle of metal that had once been her plane.
And a dog.
Emma ignored the beast that fell into step beside them as Ben carried her up to the house. Mikey was trailing behind, still looking a little lost as he carried the flowers he’d brought to the hospital.
Emma looked over Ben’s shoulder at the cove, where her Cessna usually sat. She’d loved that plane. She had scrimped and saved and extended herself to buy it five years ago. It was the workhorse of her business. Now it was gone, and she was laid up for at least a month. She’d have to call all the sports she had booked for this month and cancel their reservations.
Deer hunting season was her most lucrative time of year. Now she was going to have to return all the deposits and eat the loss, and leave a lot of people disappointed.
“Do you want me to take you to your bedroom, or do you feel like sitting up for a while?” Ben asked as they entered the kitchen.
Which was already occupied.
Her curiosity outweighing her fatigue, Emma said she’d sit at the table. “Mikey. Could you make me a cup of tea?” she asked as she eyed the two men standing by the counter.
Not appearing surprised to find men in his house, and with the energy of someone glad to have something to do, Mikey put the kettle on to boil.
Emma studied the two men with open curiosity.
Ben cleared his throat. “Emma. I would like you to meet Atwood,” he said, gesturing to one of the men. “He’s my secretary in New York.”
The man smiled. “Nice to meet you, Miss Sands.”
Emma stifled a snort as she shook his hand. Secretary, her ass. Atwood looked like he ate babies for breakfast. There was no way those beefy hands dallied on a keyboard all day—nor could she see him answering phones and serving coffee to clients. His hard, piercing blue eyes never stopped moving, as if he expected someone to come crawling out of one of the cupboards with a machine gun.
The other man, who was dressed like Paul Bunyan, looked like he hunted down the babies for Atwood’s breakfast.
“This is my brother-in-law, Skyler,” Atwood said, now standing back by the counter. “Mr. Sinclair was nice enough to let him join me for this trip. He’s on hiatus.”
From some battlefield, Emma decided.
Ben had returned from New York with a security dog, two bodyguards, and who knew how many other foot soldiers lurking in the shadows. She’d bet Medicine Creek Camps that for every man standing in her kitchen there were at least three more wandering around town right now.
When pushed, Benjamin Sinclair was apparently going to push back with enough force to start World War III.
Mikey must have spilled his guts last night when he’d called his father to tell him what had happened, and Ben had immediately assembled an army.
“Have either of you been to Maine before?” she asked, already knowing the answer. The closest either of these men had come to this wilderness was shopping at L.L.Bean or Cabela’s.
“No, ma’am. We’re used to slightly warmer country,” Skyler said, giving her a smile that was more feral than friendly.
Emma sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Well, you might as well make yourself at home in cabin five. It’s suddenly vacant.” She looked at Mikey as he set her tea on the table—along with a bowl so full of Elmer Fudge cookies, they were falling out. “We’ve got to call all my bookings for the rest of this month and cancel them, Mikey. Tomorrow you can help me send back their deposits.”
“Oh, Lord, Nem. I hadn’t thought about that. You can’t guide and we don’t have a plane anymore.”
“That’s only a temporary problem. The Cessna was insured. I’ll start hunting for a new one tomorrow.”
“You’re going to be busy tomorrow,” Ben said, sitting across from her and grabbing a handful of cookies.
“Doing what?”
“Recuperating.” He popped an Elmer Fudge into his mouth.
She was going to have to teach him how to properly eat the cookies, she decided, ignoring his unsubtle suggestion that she sit back and do nothing. She attempted to pull the two halves of her own cookie apart but her left hand failed her, and the cookie went sailing through the air. Beaker caught it before it could hit the floor.
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