Next she had to deal with his broken arm. She removed the inflatable splint from the first-aid kit, then shuffled through the box, looking for painkillers. She groaned in frustration. There didn’t seem to be any.
Duke rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep,” she whispered. Her fears were rampant. At least the bleeding from her own cut seemed to have stopped. Her injuries appeared minor compared to Duke’s.
“I’m going to have to do something about your arm.”
He offered her a lopsided smile. “Have at it, sweetheart. Anything you do can’t make it hurt any more than it already does.”
Sweetheart. He’d called her that twice now, and with an unmistakable tone of affection. Always before, he’d said it in a caustic way, as if he meant to insult her.
“It’d probably be best if I got out of the plane and came around and worked on it from your side.”
“No!” He spit out the word. “Don’t leave the plane... If anything happened, I wouldn’t be able to help you.” His protest seemed to drain him of what little strength he had. His good hand clenched hers, cramping her fingers. “Promise me,” he whispered breathlessly. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll stay right here.”
“I promise,” she said.
He closed his eyes again and sighed audibly.
“Your arm...”
“It’ll be fine.”
“No, let me do what I can. If I crawl behind your seat, I might be able to get the splint around it. Please, let me try.”
“All right.”
Tracy climbed into the narrow space behind him. In an effort to give herself more room, she climbed out his door and stood thigh-deep in the fallen snow. The cold and wind felt like tiny needles on her face and hands. She did the best she could to make Duke’s arm comfortable, attaching the splint and inflating it, praying all the while that she wasn’t hurting him more.
He bit off a groan.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Get back inside. Hurry now,” he said. “It’s too cold out there for you.”
“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’ll feel a lot better when you’re right here beside me.”
For the first time since the accident, Tracy smiled. Duke actually wanted her with him. From the very beginning, Duke had gone out of his way to challenge her, provoke her, tease her—and it had always worked. He irritated her faster than any man she’d ever known. But she realized now that she’d actually begun to look forward to their heated exchanges. Their arguments invigorated her. At the moment, though, an argument was the last thing she wanted.
By the time she clambered back inside the plane, she was shivering. Her fingers felt numb; she clenched and unclenched them in an effort to bring back feeling.
“I wish there was something I could give you for the pain.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, dismissing her concern. “I’ll be all right.”
But she knew from his pale drawn face and harsh uneven breaths that he was in a great deal of discomfort.
“I have some pills—they’re like aspirin—in my purse. Would that help?” she asked. She didn’t mention that the medication was designed for menstrual cramps.
Duke closed his eyes and nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.”
After a few minutes of awkward searching, she located her purse. She dug around until she found the package, then fed him three tablets. He swallowed them without water.
“Where are we?” she asked. Snow covered the windshield, making it impossible to see out.
“Best I can figure, we’re close to Kunuti Flats.”
Not close enough, otherwise they would’ve missed the trees, Tracy mused. Swallowing hard, she asked the question that concerned her most. “How long will it take for someone to find us?”
“Don’t know. Not to worry...emergency locator beam goes off immediately—links with a satellite network. They know where we are. Someone’s on the way... Radio, need to contact them by radio...”
Tracy could see that he was struggling to remain conscious. “Duke!” she cried, reaching for his hand, gripping it in both of hers. His eyes rolled and he slumped forward.
Gently she eased him away from the plane’s steering device. Never had Tracy felt so alone—so helpless and afraid. These were unfamiliar emotions for her, and she fought to regain a sense of control.
The radio. Before he passed out, Duke had said something about the radio. She didn’t know how to use it. But she had to contact Fairbanks. When they took off, she’d watched Duke speak into the microphone attached to the headset. She could do that, couldn’t she?
Careful not to disturb him, she removed the headset from him and placed it over her own head.
“Hello,” she said, trying to control her voice. “Hello. Anyone there?”
Nothing.
In desperation she stared at the instrument panel. No lights showed, although she was sure they had earlier, before the crash. Obviously, damage to the plane had been severe. Now what?
Despite everything, she felt surprisingly calm. She knew there had to be a way to reach help and forced herself to think clearly. She studied the panel with all its gauges and instruments; they meant nothing to her.
A two-position switch caught her eye. Battery. Stretching forward, she flipped it up. Lights flashed across the panel and a sense of exhilaration filled her. Static popped in her ears.
“Mayday. Mayday. SOS. SOS!” she shouted into the tiny microphone.
The static cleared and a voice returned, “Fairbanks radio, Baron two, two, niner five hotel. I’m approximately five zero miles south-southwest of reported position of distressed aircraft.”
The man didn’t seem to be speaking the same English as Tracy. “This is Tracy Santiago. I’m a passenger with Duke Porter out of Hard Luck. Our plane is down—we crashed. Duke thinks we’re near Kunuti Flats.”
Tracy heard another voice respond and realized this man was talking to the one who’d spoken first. She was listening in on their conversation. The second man was on the radio in Fairbanks. But he didn’t seem to want to talk to her. Once more, she started pushing buttons.
“Hello, hello. Help!”
A click sounded in her headset. She waited, suddenly remembering the old Sky King television reruns she’d watched as a child. She needed to press down and speak, then release the button for a reply.
She’d figured it out. A sense of jubilation shot through her. “Hello, someone answer me, please. Over.” Sky King had always said “over.”
“Radio calling, this is Fairbanks radio. You are on the emergency frequency.”
She had the right place.
“Do you have an emergency?” the same voice asked.
“Do I ever! I’m with Duke Porter.”
“Is your aircraft Cessna seven two eight bravo gulf?”
“How would I know?” she demanded impatiently. “How many planes do you people have that’ve crashed?”
“What’s your status? Do you have injured?”
“Yes. The pilot’s unconscious. Just get someone here, fast. I don’t know how badly Duke’s hurt.”
“What are his injuries?”
She told him what she could, and then answered what seemed to be an endless list of irrelevant questions, about supplies and what they were wearing and how she felt. Not once did he answer her one major question—When would help arrive?
“We have your ELT signal. Suggest you turn off battery to conserve power,” he instructed. “We had you on radar all the way down. Help will be dispatched, weather permitting.”
“How long? Can’t you at least tell me how long that’ll be?” She prayed it would be
soon, but she hadn’t liked the gist of his questions, nor the suggestion that she turn off the battery to save power. His tone indicated she and Duke might be here for more than a few hours.
“Air Force Rescue copter will be dispatched as soon as weather permits,” the man on the radio repeated.
“When will that be?” she cried, growing more frantic.
“Meteorological forecasts call for clearing in six to twelve hours. Conserve your warmth and battery power. This frequency will be monitored continuously should you require further assistance.”
“Thank you—but please do what you can to get here soon,” she pleaded, her heart sinking. Then she flipped the switch and severed her contact with the outside world.
The silence was intense.
A thousand questions bombarded her all at once. She could survive another six to twelve hours, but she didn’t know about Duke. He was in terrible pain and she could do nothing to help.
Fear and loneliness returned full force. Soon she was shaking with cold. She reached for a sleeping bag and wrapped it around Duke and herself, then sat back, closed her eyes and tried to think positively.
Six to twelve hours. That wasn’t so long—not really. They’d be fine for a few more hours, wouldn’t they? Sure, it was cold and scary, but together they’d make it. Perhaps if she said it often enough, she’d come to believe it.
Tracy felt herself growing tired. Duke weaved in and out of consciousness; she knew that by the way he breathed and sometimes groaned. She wanted to stay awake for him, watch his vital signs, but the lure of sleep tugged at her.
If she was to die, she’d be with Duke.
Strangely the thought comforted her.
* * *
Sawyer didn’t think he’d ever experienced such frustration. Duke was down, and what information he’d received so far was sketchy at best. For hours now, he’d been sitting by the radio, waiting.
Despite the storm, every one of his available pilots was in the air. He hadn’t asked them to track the emergency locator beam; they’d volunteered.
Sawyer knew that John, Ted, Ralph and the others felt as if they were searching for family. His pilots were a close-knit group, and Sawyer was fiercely proud of each and every man.
Duke was popular with the others, a natural leader. They looked up to him and often sought his advice. He’d been with Midnight Sons longer than almost anyone. Sawyer valued him as a colleague—and as a friend.
But recently they’d come close to losing Duke; he’d threatened to quit. Threatened, nothing. In a fit of righteous indignation, Duke had handed in his notice.
Christian had been at the heart of the trouble. His brother had grounded Duke for a single flight, and the pilot had been furious. To this day Sawyer didn’t know what had happened between them, but Christian had gone over to the bunkhouse and they’d somehow settled their differences.
Sawyer shuddered at the thought of Duke’s leaving. The fact was, he considered Duke his best pilot—certainly his most experienced. If anyone could get out of this alive, it was Duke Porter. But then, Sawyer was uncomfortably aware that these kinds of decisions often weren’t in a pilot’s hands.
More than ten years earlier Sawyer had gone down in a plane himself. He hadn’t been alone, either; he’d been with his father. Weather conditions had been bad, but better than they were now.
Unfortunately that hadn’t saved David O’Halloran. Before help could arrive, Sawyer’s father had died in his arms.
Memories of that day flooded his mind, charged his senses back to those last moments when he’d watched the life ebb out of his father. The pain returned, as fresh now as it had been that afternoon. Sawyer rubbed his eyes, wanting to stop thinking, stop feeling. Forget.
Inhaling sharply as he tried to push the memories aside, he ignored the pain. But the scene remained steadfastly in his mind. Again and again it flickered like an old silent movie, frame after frame. Impotent rage and defeat came at him like a fist in the dark.
“Sawyer.”
He gasped and whirled around to face his wife. His relief was instant. Abbey—his wife, his love, his salvation.
“Have you heard anything more?” she asked quietly. Her face was tight with worry.
“Nothing,” he told her.
Abbey walked to his side and slipped her arm around his shoulders. Sawyer welcomed her touch, needed her tenderness to help erase the memories. His fears for Duke and Tracy were overwhelming.
Sawyer placed his arm around Abbey’s thickening waist. Touching her gave him comfort no words could express. That she was pregnant with their child was a second miracle for a man who hadn’t expected the first.
She bent down and kissed the top of his head. “Everything will be fine.”
“I hope so,” he said. “From what I understand, the rescue team won’t be able to reach Duke and Tracy until the weather clears.”
“You mean they’ll be stuck out there?”
“It looks that way. We don’t have any choice.”
Abbey tensed. “Why?”
“The chopper can’t get to them in this storm.”
“Does anyone know if they’re hurt—or how badly?”
That was the question that plagued Sawyer the most. Surviving in the cold for any length of time was difficult enough, but with their injuries... “Tracy talked to the controller herself.”
“Tracy?”
He nodded, unsure how much to tell her. He didn’t want to alarm Abbey unnecessarily. “Duke appears to have sustained the worst of it,” he said finally. “Cuts, bruises, broken arm. But there’s also the possibility of internal injuries.”
She pressed her cheek to his. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I know,” Sawyer murmured. He had a gut full of anger mingled with guilt—for what, he didn’t know. And fear. Yes. More than anything, fear.
It had been like this the day he’d lost his father, the day the light had gone out of his life. For years Sawyer had carried the guilt of that crash, although David had been piloting the plane. Afterward he was left to wonder if there’d been something, anything, he should have done, could have done, that might have spared his father’s life.
He hadn’t realized the extent of his emotional injuries until he’d met Abbey and married her. His wife’s love had been a gift, a healing balm that eased away the self-recrimination.
“Tracy and Duke together,” Abbey murmured. “Do you think they can last the night without killing each other?”
For the first time since he’d learned about the crash, Sawyer grinned. “You might have a point there.”
* * *
When Tracy awoke it was dark. Her eyes fluttered open and she noticed that her head was propped against Duke’s shoulder. She felt warm and almost comfortable.
His good arm was around her.
“Duke?”
“So you’re awake.”
“You, too... I was so afraid. You passed out.”
“You afraid?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t think you even knew the meaning of the word.”
He must be feeling better if he was up to teasing her. “If I didn’t know it before, I do now,” she admitted shakily.
Concerned that she was hurting him by leaning against him, she shifted and attempted to sit upright.
“Stay,” he said in a whisper.
Tracy wished she could see him properly. But if he was awake and not in obvious pain, that could only bode well.
“I’m not too heavy for you?”
“No.” His face was so close his breath stirred the hair at her temple.
“Do you need any more...aspirin?”
“No, thanks. Save them for later. I’m about as comfortable as I’m likely to get.”
Her arm re
sted against his middle, and her head remained on his shoulder. “It’s already dark. How long did I sleep? What time is it?” she asked.
“Three, maybe.”
“The helicopter won’t come for a while. I figured out how to work the radio.” She couldn’t help being proud of this. “Fairbanks seemed to think it would be six to twelve hours.”
“I guessed as much. We’ll be fine.”
“You blacked out on me. I got on the radio and—” To Tracy’s shock, her voice broke. She took a moment to compose herself, breathing deeply, but instead, her throat closed up and her eyes filled with tears.
“Tracy?”
She buried her face in his warmth and held back the emotion as long as she could. When it burst free, the sobs shook her entire body. “I thought you were dead! I didn’t know what to do...alone. I was afraid of being alone.”
His hand stroked her back. He murmured something, but so softly she couldn’t make out what it was. But his message was clear; he offered her solace and comfort.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered when the tears were spent. “I didn’t mean to...” Embarrassed now, she wiped the moisture from her face.
“I was afraid, too.”
“You?” Now that was something Tracy had trouble believing. The great Duke Porter. The man was fearless.
The wind howled outside the plane. From the side window, Tracy could tell that it had stopped snowing, but the sky was dark and ugly. She couldn’t see any stars. The only light in the plane came from the moon reflecting off the snow.
“You okay now?”
“Yeah.” But she wasn’t.
“I’ve got a candy bar in my jacket. Want some?” he asked.
Now that he mentioned it, she realized she was hungry. “Sure.”
In the dim moonlight, Duke retrieved the candy from inside his coat pocket and handed it to her. The chocolate bar was squashed and mangled.
“You might want to see if you can read the expiration date,” he suggested. “I have no idea how long I’ve been carrying it around.”
At this point Tracy was too hungry to care. She peeled back the wrapper and broke off the top square. She gave it to him, then took a piece for herself.
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