Sweat trickled into her eyes, her black hair matted against her brow as she struggled to her feet and ran harder than ever. Weaving between the bushes within the grove, Rachel worked her way toward the top of the hill, half a mile away. If she could just make it over that crest, maybe she could lose them and regain her freedom. Below, she heard the American fighters roaring over again in a second attack. If they could keep the enemy engaged, she could escape!
Keep moving, keep moving, Rachel McKenzie! Don’t you dare slow down! Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, each breath torn from her mouth in a ragged gulp. Tripping, falling, getting back to her feet, Rachel weaved drunkenly through the grove. The rocky hill sported parched strands of yellowed grass, mute testament to the lack of water. Her thighs were cramping from the sheer exertion of her efforts. It didn’t matter. Rachel crouched instinctively when one of the fighters roared only feet overhead.
Her eyes widening, Rachel saw greasy black smoke trailing the Mustang as it sank below the hill, obviously in trouble. She could hear the engine sputtering and coughing. Oh, no! One of the Americans had been hit trying to help them! Tears jammed into her eyes. She scrambled up the hill, the rocks cutting viciously at her palms and fingers.
The crown of the hill became Rachel’s goal. Within minutes, she’d crested it and was running in long, uneven strides down the other side. Above her, she saw the silver Mustang struggling to gain some altitude, more black smoke pouring from the engine and tongues of fire spurting from beneath the cowling.
Everywhere Rachel looked, thick groves of trees dotted the rocky hills. Gasps of air exploded from her mouth as she forced herself to continue to run down the hill, heading toward the valley below lined with trees and heavy brush. At any moment that officer could be sending out a patrol to track her down. She owed these brave pilots more than that.
New determination flowed into Rachel as she slipped into the grove of trees at the bottom of the valley. Looking back, she saw no one following her. Not yet. Lifting her eyes skyward, she saw that the fighter definitely was in trouble, and so was the pilot. Halting, her legs shaking with weariness, Rachel leaned heavily against a tree, watching the drama unfold before her eyes.
The fighter was barely maintaining five thousand feet. Suddenly the engine quit. Rachel drew a sharp breath, stifling a cry. She saw the canopy pop open and tumble off. The pilot leaped from the plane. Her bound hands flew to her mouth. Just as he made his jump, the fighter rolled in the same direction, out of control. The pilot’s helmeted head smashed into the tail section of the plane and his body went limp just as the parachute opened.
“My God,” Rachel muttered, already beginning a slow trot in the direction of where the pilot would land. Even from this distance, she could see he was a big man, his arms and legs hanging lifeless, silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the sky.
Her legs were rubbery from exertion, but Rachel doggedly trotted down into the valley, always keeping an eye on the white parachute swinging lazily from side to side in the afternoon breeze. The North Koreans had probably seen the plane go down. Were they aware that the pilot ejected?
Rachel leaped across a dry streambed. She spotted a thin outcrop of rock near the bank. By this time, the pilot and parachute had come down somewhere beyond the grove of trees. She knew the approximate area where he’d landed, about a mile ahead of her. Bending down, Rachel placed her leather bound wrists against the rock, rubbing them back and forth.
After several minutes, the rock sliced through the leather, freeing her hands. Rubbing her numb bluish wrists, Rachel forced herself to stand. Her legs were beginning to cramp again. Disregarding the pain, she trotted along the creek bed. The pilot was down. Was he dead? If he had survived the terrible collision with his aircraft, he’d be badly injured. Her mind racing, Rachel felt helpless. Even if he had survived, she had no medical supplies to help him.
“One thing at a time,” she ordered herself sternly, her breath coming in heaving gasps. The pilot had risked his life to save hers. Any effort she could expend would never make up for what he’d done. Her focus must be limited to reaching the American before the enemy could capture him.
The valley narrowed, the grove thinning. Huge rocks and boulders seemed like gray and black guardians dotting the slope. A veelike entrance to the valley was bordered by steep cliffs that towered hundreds of feet into the air.
Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest, but now, as she spotted the pilot lying unconscious on the hillside, his chute still partially billowing in the breeze, the beat increased markedly. Weaving between boulders and dodging smaller rocks, she cautiously surveyed the area. The pilot was in the open, visible to enemy eyes. A patrol on one of those hilltops could spot him with binoculars. Time was of the essence.
Rachel’s gaze swung from the hills to the pilot’s face as she cautiously approached him. Blood was leaking from beneath his helmet, covering half his waxen face. “Please, don’t let him be dead….” she whispered, kneeling down and reaching out with shaking fingers, pressing them against the carotid artery on the side of his neck.
Rachel felt a bounding pulse beneath her fingertips. Good, he was alive, and if she was any judge of the situation, not in too deep shock—not yet. His face was square, with a prominent nose, thick brown eyebrows and a generous mouth. Rachel marveled at the length and thickness of his eyelashes, thinking how they softened the hardness of his high-cheekboned features, as she fumbled with the parachute straps across his chest.
He was a big man, large boned and in good shape. His chest was well shaped and massive. Dragging the harness off one arm, Rachel noticed the shape of his hand. Despite his size, he had long, almost artistic-looking fingers. They were large knuckled with plentiful hair across the tops of them. Male. He was definitely male in every sense of the word.
Pulling the rest of the chute harness off him, Rachel hurriedly gathered up the silk, jamming it between two large rocks. Hurrying back to the pilot, she began to assess the extent of his injuries. His white helmet was cracked on the right side, where he’d tangled with the tail of his fighter. She had no doubt that he was suffering from a concussion.
Gently squeezing his arms and legs, Rachel ascertained he had no broken bones. Placing several rocks beneath his heels, she elevated his legs in an effort to combat the shock symptoms. The sun was burning down, and she saw the flies starting to gather around the pilot’s head. Shooing them away, Rachel shakily unstrapped the helmet. It would have to come off in order for her to evaluate the true extent of his injury.
Carefully Rachel eased the helmet off his head. The sunlight struck his short brown hair, highlighting the gold strands woven with the darker walnut-colored ones. Just as she placed the helmet aside, the pilot groaned. Joy raced through Rachel and she placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly to give him a toehold on reality. Her heart picked up in beat as his lashes fluttered. What color were his eyes? Rachel could tell so much by looking deeply into someone’s eyes. For her, they truly were a mirror to the soul.
Unconsciously she held her breath. Then, as if the pilot realized she was kneeling at his right side, he rolled his head in that direction. As his lashes lifted, they revealed cobalt-blue eyes with huge black pupils. He reminded her of an eagle, his eyes large with hard intelligence.
“Don’t move,” she told him in a hushed voice. “I’m Lieutenant Rachel McKenzie. You injured yourself when you bailed out.”
Chase blinked once. Angel… The word drifted across his clouded vision along with waves of throbbing pain. What a beautiful woman. He must have died…. A silly smile pulled at the corners of Chase’s mouth. Closing his eyes, her image hovered sweetly before him. Yeah, she was heaven, all right. She was talking again, but he didn’t understand her, the words garbling inside his head. It didn’t matter.
“Can you hear me, Captain? What’s your name?” Rachel placed her hand against his cheek, cradling his head. “Open your eyes,” she commanded firmly. Her hands were sweaty, and it wa
sn’t from physical exertion, it was because of him. A semblance of a smile tugged momentarily at one corner of his mouth. What was funny? If Rachel hadn’t been so concerned about his condition and their dangerous situation, she would have smiled in return. Since when had any man made her feel giddy and nervous like this?
Angel Eyes. Yeah, that was a good name for her, Chase decided. Sweet face, stubborn chin and glorious evergreen eyes fraught with such concern over him. Those thick black lashes were like soft frames, emphasizing their beauty, Chase thought disjointedly. And those lips. He groaned, thinking about how they would feel against his mouth. This was one special angel. What a way to die.
“Captain,” Rachel repeated anxiously, leaning down, her lips very close to his ear. “Can you understand me?”
Her moist breath fanned his ear and neck. Chase could swear she was real. She couldn’t be. He was dead. The moment her fingers caressed his cheek, he realized differently. The words impinged upon his spinning state, and he worked at lifting his heavily weighted lids. Did she realize how much effort it took to simply open his eyes?
A tremulous smile pulled at Rachel’s lips as the pilot barely opened those heart-stopping blue eyes once again. “You’re doing fine, Captain, just fine,” she whispered, her voice husky with feeling. To examine his heavily bleeding wound, Rachel carefully moved several strands of his hair aside.
“What’s your name? Can you remember?”
Chase groaned as she touched his scalp. Damn, he felt like a mule had kicked him. Name. Sure, he had a name. He opened his mouth, his mind drifting again.
The wound was long and clean. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, assured his skull hadn’t been broken. The gash needed to be sewn shut, but that was out of the question right now. She returned her attention to him, drowning in the darkness of his blue eyes. He was looking at her in confusion. Again Rachel repeated her name and the fact she was a nurse.
“Angel?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Captain. My name is Rachel. What’s yours?”
Taking in a deep, unsteady breath, Chase tried to remember. All he could see was her beautiful face dancing like a mirage in front of him, her husky voice washing across him like a warm waterfall. Her hair was black, a reddish cast to it, and fell into a semblance of a page boy, barely brushing her slender, proud shoulders. Well, she might call herself Rachel, but secretly, she’d always be his angel. Gathering his limited focus, he forced the words out.
“Chase…Tray—Trayhern.”
“You’re doing fine, Chase,” Rachel soothed, delighted at his progress. “Come on, I have to get you hidden or we could be spotted by the enemy.” Placing her arm beneath his shoulders, she helped him into a sitting position. He leaned heavily against her, completely disoriented by the movement.
Rachel wasn’t prepared for his bulk or weakness. He was like a newborn foal—completely uncoordinated. Wrestling to maintain his balance in a kneeling position, Rachel brought his arm around her shoulders. “Chase, you’ve got to help me. We have to move. Now! Push up with your legs.”
Her words kept fading then coming back into clarity, but Chase responded to the desperation in her voice. He shoved himself into a standing position. Despite her size, she held him steady. Chase was amazed because he towered over her.
Rachel gritted her teeth, taking the pilot’s full weight. “Dammit, help me!” she groaned. “I can’t hold you!”
Stung by her plea, Chase rallied. He’d been too long without the firm warmth and softness of a woman in his arms. She felt utterly delightful, and he wasn’t apologetic about leaning on her or pressing his face against her ebony hair. Rachel smelled musky and feminine at the same time, his limited senses noted. Burying his face in the silky strands, he felt each jolting step they took down the hillside. And each jarring movement created more pain in his head.
The short walk to the grove of trees took a toll on Rachel. The pilot was semiconscious when she eased him to the ground. Gasping for breath, her shoulders aching from the bulk of his weight, Rachel elevated his feet again. His eyes were closed, his flesh colorless from the exertion. Leaning over, she pressed her fingertips to the side of his neck. Good, his pulse was steady and full.
Rising, Rachel trotted back to where the chute was stashed. Taking a sharp rock, she ripped several large gashes into the silk and tore out wide strips of the material for makeshift bandages and dressings. If only there was water nearby! Searching, eyes narrowed, Rachel spotted a small area of green grass about a quarter of a mile away. Green grass meant water. Returning to Chase, she made sure he was as comfortable as possible, then headed for the grass in the distance.
Occasionally Rachel would stop within the grove and study the hills intently, looking for patrols. Her mind revolved back to the three doctors as she continued her trek. Had they made good their escape? If all four of them made it to safety, the officer in charge of the convoy would be torn about which way to send patrols to hunt them down. Hall’s decision to split up had been a good one.
Green grass surrounded the water in the creek. Luckily it was situated at the edge of the tree grove so she didn’t have to fully expose herself to possible enemy eyes. Bending down, she dipped some of the chute silk into the clear pool. Rachel spotted a tin can nearby. Washing out whatever contents had been in it, she filled it, walking quickly back to where Chase lay unconscious.
Some of Rachel’s panic was receding. So far, there was no sign of an enemy patrol. As she kneeled down to clean away the blood around Chase’s head wound, Rachel took a good look at the pilot for the first time.
He was solidly built, reminding her of a powerful warrior from a bygone era, she decided, gently sponging the blood from his slack face. How he fitted into the narrow cockpit of a fighter stymied Rachel. Usually pilots were shorter and leaner. Each time she touched him, a ribbon of pleasure moved through Rachel, confusing her. No man had ever provoked that reaction.
Rachel sat back on her heels, hands resting on her thighs, and studied Chase’s features. He wasn’t handsome. At least, not in her opinion. Then what was it that drew her so powerfully to him? Was it his mouth? Despite the cragginess of his features, his mouth was gentle, she decided. The lower lip was full, the upper well shaped, with corners turned up. Chase laughed a lot. That was proven by the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
The thought made Rachel feel better about Chase. Never had she met a man who seemed so overwhelmingly male. As she cleaned and wrapped his head wound, a warmth grew within her. There was something vulnerable about Chase in his unconscious state. It felt good to be the strong member of their team in the dangerous circumstances. It was her brains and efforts that had thus far saved them from capture.
Thirst drove Rachel back to the small pool of water. She was careful not to walk in the open, always hugging the tree line or moving cautiously from one huge rock to another. The humidity was rising, and the armpits of her fatigues darkened with splotches of sweat. Rachel wondered if she should risk a quick spit bath. She could smell the fear on herself from her capture earlier that day.
Perhaps later, something cautioned her. She checked the ridge of the hills around them. Seeing no one, she slipped out to the pool, dipping the can into the water and drinking her fill. Trickles of water slid down from the corners of her mouth, flowing the length of her throat and soaking into the fabric of her collar. After consuming two more cans of water, she moved back beneath the trees. Her father had always said she had the instincts of a good hunter even though she never wanted to be one. Now, Rachel thought as she hurried back to Chase, those instincts would be put to the test in saving their lives. The pilot was in no condition to lead. But he would have to be ready to walk very soon. To stay here would be foolhardy. Even deadly.
Chase felt coolness against his sweaty face. Cold against heat. He hated the hot, humid Korean summers. The gentle sponging continued downward from his face, to his jaw and then his neck. Sighing, the feeling decidedly sensual
, he enjoyed the stroking motion.
“Chase? Are you awake?”
The angel’s voice. His mind was functioning more quickly now, and his lids didn’t feel like lead weights. Lifting them, Chase stared upward.
“You…” he croaked. How did she get prettier? Her cheeks were flushed, the color high, as if she had been running. And her golden skin had a sheen to it, emphasizing the beauty of her forest-green eyes. Chase lost himself in the warmth of them, noting the flecks of emerald in the darker green—and the look of care laced with amusement.
“Did you expect someone different?” Rachel asked with a low laugh. She sat back on her heels. Chase was alert this time, and it sent a prickle of delicious awareness through her. She felt his penetrating gaze, as if he were indeed an eagle sizing up his next quarry. Those blue eyes were so very readable, and she responded unconsciously to the invitation within them. Were all women as affected by his gaze as she was? Rachel managed a nervous smile.
“Can you speak?”
Slowly Chase brought up his hand, finding his brow bandaged. “Yeah…I think I can. What the hell happened? I remember taking small-arms fire and then bailing out.”
Rachel poured a little more water over the parachute silk in her hands, swabbing down his neck and getting rid of the dried blood. “I saw you eject. The plane rolled on its side just after you leaped out, and your head hit the tail.”
Scowling, Chase gingerly felt his bandaged wound, wincing. The area was tender and he had a horrendous headache. “I hit the tail?”
“Yes. It knocked you out.” Rachel lifted aside the collar of his tan flight suit. Dark hair covered the area just below his collarbone. She swallowed hard, ensnared by his blatant masculinity. Quickly finishing her ministrations, Rachel retreated a few feet from the pilot. She felt heat crawl into her cheeks.
Her touch had been incredibly delicate. Chase had the urge to bring Rachel to his side and explore the softness he was sure she possessed. It was a stupid thought at a time like this, and Chase reprimanded himself. There was something about her slenderness, her unconscious grace, that struck him in the heart. How could a woman be so ethereal and yet possess such strength? And there was strength in her, Chase admitted sourly. It was obvious in her small but defiant chin and the way she squared her shoulders.
Dawn of Valor Page 3