by Janet Dailey
Soberly she watched Reilly Smith carefully working his way over the rubble. At each step, the ground shifted beneath his feet, miniature slides of loose gravel rolling away. Then he stopped, kneeling gingerly to push away the rock.
A patch of white was revealed and made larger. Using the length of his left arm as a barricade, he held back the gravel that tried to recover the patch. With painstaking slowness he pushed more rock away with his free hand, digging downward along the side of the plane.
His goal was the baggage compartment in the crumpled nose of the plane. The crash had buckled the door, popping it partly open at the bottom. Leah watched Reilly straining with only one free hand to open it the rest of the way.
When the last fragment of latch released itself, he quickly lifted it up, using it instead of his arm to hold back the gravel. Reaching inside, he wasted no time in dragging out his suitcase, then Leah's two pieces of luggage.
Gravel danced around both sides of the door in warning. He shoved the cases away, letting the rolling rocks carry them away from the plane. Leah held her breath as he slowly lowered the door. The trickle of rocks grew steadily louder as the angle lessened.
Above him, there was an uneasy shifting of rocks, but no fresh slide started when the door was down and immediately covered by slow-moving gravel. Turning, he inched his way down the slope in a half-sitting position to the luggage.
When he stood on firm ground again, Leah let out the breath she had been holding in a relieved sigh. Reilly picked up all three cases and walked to where she stood a safe distance away.
"Now we can change out of these clothes." The grooves around his mouth deepened to suggest a smile.
"I can hardly wait," agreed Leah definitely. Although she had dried out considerably from her soaking last night, her clothes still felt vaguely damp against her skin.
"Have you got a pair of jeans in there?" He set her bag and cosmetic case on the ground in front of her.
"Slacks," she told him.
"You'd better put them on, and some flat shoes."
Leah glanced around. The mountain side was sparsely covered with desert scrub. There was not a rock or boulder in sight large enough to use as a dressing curtain.
"Where can I change?" she asked finally.
An amused light danced in his green eyes. "Wherever you want," he shrugged.
"I mean somewhere private," Leah retorted. "I don't intend to strip in front of an audience."
"I guess you'll have to crouch behind one of the bushes, then." His expression changed to one of complete indifference as he bent to unsnap the lid of his suitcase. "I'm more interested in changing my own damp clothes than being an audience for you."
Pressing her lips tightly together, Leah knelt in front of her suitcase. Her injured left arm was held stiffly across her waist. It hurt badly this morning. She took care not to bump it accidentally as she unlatched the lid and began rummaging through the bag's content for fresh underwear, slacks, and top.
"I wasn't suggesting that you would sit and applaud while I undressed," she muttered tautly.
"Oh? What were you suggesting?" Reilly mocked cynically.
"Just a desire for some degree of privacy" Leah rolled her change of clothes into a ball and placed a pair of flat-heeled loafers on top.
"You can have all the privacy our primitive surroundings will permit." His strong, lean features were impassive.
"Thank you." She flipped the lid of her suitcase shut with a snap.
Rising awkwardly with her bundle, she marched toward a thick clump of sage, her nose tilted into the air. Damn! she cursed silently. She had done it again.
His jesting remark to dress wherever she wanted had not had the suggestive meaning she thought. She had taken offence and defended her sense of modesty without cause. The indignant outburst had been unwarranted and unjustified. The result was that she had been made to look the ignorant fool.
Why do I always put my foot in my mouth? she sighed angrily.
"Miss Talbot."
His low voice halted her steps. She turned hesitantly toward him, suddenly wary, knowing he deserved an apology yet still too angry with herself to make one that would sound sincere.
"What?" she asked, somewhat abruptly.
"Before you put a clean blouse on, I'd like to look at your arm."
"All right," she agreed, and resumed her course to the large bush.
Not until she had shed her damp clothes and put on clean underwear and the olive green pair of slacks did she realize that he wanted to look at her wound before she changed her clothes and not before she put on a clean blouse. The ripped sleeve of her blouse would have given him free access to the bandage.
The lacy edges of her brassiere accented too much the cleavage between her breasts for her to let him see her in only that. It didn't matter that it covered more than her bikini top. She looked with disfavor on the damp, rumpled blouse she had been wearing. She couldn't stand the thought of putting it on again.
"You get yourself into some fine messes sometimes, Leah Talbot!" she muttered to herself.
Picking up the crisp olive and yellow print blouse, she wrapped it under her arms and around her breasts, holding it securely shut with her right hand. With a wry twist of her mouth she decided that she was decently covered and stepped from behind the bush.
The morning air was cool yet, sharply scented by last night's rain with sage. A shiver danced over her bare shoulders. Leah couldn't decide whether it was from coolness or a chill of apprehension.
Reilly was in the clearing where they had spent the night, his back turned to her. He seemed to be buttoning the clean white shirt that hung down over a pair of dark blue denims. The sunlight glistened blackly on his hair.
"Do you want to look at my arm now, Mr. Smith?" Leah asked in a faintly defensive tone.
He glanced over his shoulder, then pivoted slowly, the shirt buttoned halfway. Without finishing his task, he reached down for the first aid kit.
"Yes, I will," he answered smoothly.
Leah walked toward him, holding her head proudly to hide the nervous hammerings of her heart. His gaze moved lazily to the white bra straps over her shoulders. A dull red flush crept into her cheeks.
"I misunderstood what you meant earlier. I forgot about the sleeve," she offered in self-protection.
"I realized that." A dark glow entered his jade eyes, but she couldn't tell whether or not he was laughing at her. "I was going to explain more fully what I meant, but I thought you might launch into another attack before I finished."
"I'm sorry." Leah lowered the angle of her chin by several degrees.
But Reilly was already removing the adhesive strips to examine her wound, accepting her apology without comment. The gentle probing of his fingers made her wince.
"Hurt?" His piercing gaze slid quickly to her face.
"Of course." Her teeth sank into her lower lip, nibbling at it to distract her mind from the pain in her arm.
"It looks clean. Does it feel as if there's anything in it? A piece of glass?" he questioned.
"No. It's just sore." Leah shook her head.
"I'll put a clean bandage on."
She watched as he deftly changed the bandage to a fresh one. Her gaze strayed to the tanned column of his neck and the hollow of his throat where the nugget of turquoise rested. Then it was drawn down the partially unbuttoned front of his shirt where his muscled chest gleamed bronze and smooth like a statue's. It was several seconds before she realized he was finished. Caught staring, she flushed guiltily.
"Thank you." Her fingers tightened on her blouse as his gaze moved over her face.
"You're welcome." There was a mocking inclination of his dark head. Then Reilly turned his back to her. "You can put on your blouse now." With definite overtones of laughter in his voice, he added, "As long as you promise not to watch me tuck my shirt into my levis."
Laughing softly, Leah promised and turned her back to him. She carefully eased her injured arm int
o the sleeve of her blouse, then twisted to find the other sleeve.
As she buttoned the last button, Reilly asked, "Finished?"
"Yes, you can turn around now." A wide natural smile was curving her mouth when he turned around, the dark jade of his eyes glittering brilliantly warm.
"Do you feel better?" He reached down to pick up a denim jacket lying across his suitcases.
"Clean, dry clothes are a wonderful improvement," Leah agreed. "The only way I could feel better is if I'd already had breakfast."
"The tin box sitting over there has some crackers in it," he suggested. "That's the best I can offer in the way of food until I can collect some firewood and get a fire going. There isn't much water in the canteen, so use it carefully," he cautioned.
"I will." She knelt beside the box and unlatched the lid. There was more than crackers inside. There were several packages of dried food that had to be mixed with water and sticks of beef jerky. "I didn't know that charter flights carried food survival kits."
"They don't as a rule," Reilly answered. "Grady was just superstitious."
"Superstitious? What do you mean?" Leah frowned.
"He served overseas during the Korean war. He flew light reconnaissance aircraft. Survival kits were carried almost as standard equipment," he explained. "One day Grady forgot his and his plane was hit by gunfire. He crashed in some heavy foliage, breaking a leg. Luckily he was in friendly territory, but it was almost three days before he was found. He swore he almost starved to death. After that he never went up without the kit and he was never shot down again. When he'd served his term and was released from the service he came back to the States and got a job flying. He kept on carrying a kit like this as a good luck charm."
The partially unwrapped cellophane of crackers was in her hand. The appetite Leah had thought she had had receded. "The kit didn't bring him very much luck this time," she murmured sadly.
Reilly didn't comment on that. "I pointed out to him once that those dehydrated foods wouldn't be much use in this desert country where the most valuable commodity is water. His reply was that he'd never have to use it anyway, but this way the food wouldn't keep spoiling all the time."
Dully Leah swung her gaze to the rocky mound of earth that covered the plane. "Can't we get him out of there?"
"No. It would take men and machinery and a way of holding back the slide." She had known what his answer would be, but she needed to hear it. "I'm going to look for some wood to build a signal fire," Reilly continued, switching the subject back to their original topic. "You stay here. You'll be all right."
"Yes." Leah was still staring at the gravelike mound that covered the plane.
"Keep an eye out for search planes. I doubt if they'll be this far east so early this morning, but keep watch."
His firm voice reminded her that their concern must be for their rescue. The pilot was beyond help. Breathing in deeply, Leah returned her attention to the small package of crackers in her hand.
"I will," she promised.
"Shout if you need me," he added.
At Leah's nod, he smiled in reassurance and started up the mountain slope toward the abondoned mine. His lithe stride chose a new path, avoiding the unstable ground of the slide. Leah watched him until he disappeared on the rocky ledge high above.
Taking care not to tear the wrapper, she opened the cracker package. The salty square tasted dry and chalky in her mouth. She ate only one and tightly wrapped the others in the package. As she picked up the canteen, Leah remembered Reilly's statement that water was valuable.
Hesitating, she took a small swig to wash the cracker down, then re-capped it. It was ironic, she thought, how a person always felt more thirsty when they knew water was scarce. The arid landscape made the nearly full canteen seem like very little.
Setting it aside, she reached for her cosmetic case. She creamed her face with cleansing lotion before applying fresh make-up. When her long hair had been brushed free of the snarls of sleep and laid about her shoulders in a silken curtain of light brown, she felt almost whole again.
Her hazel eyes, bright again with renewed spirit, scanned the western sky. Not a single cloud broke the pale blue scene. The storm clouds of last night had completely disappeared.
A bird was soaring lazily above the desert valley floor below the mountain. In the far distance, Leah could see the wispy ribbon of a jet trail. The desert seemed to stretch for endless miles. The awesome fact registered that she couldn't see one sign of human habitation, not a building and not a road.
A tremendous sense of isolation closed over her. The incredible silence of the desert mountains was loud. What if they weren't found? Before it overwhelmed her, Leah rose to her feet. She was not going to panic, she told herself. There was a search party looking for them. She was not stranded in this forbidding wilderness forever.
She glanced at the rocky ledge where she had last seen Reilly. She wished he would come back soon. Shout if you need me, he had said. Right now, she needed to know he was still out there. But she stifled the desire to call out to him.
Activity was the answer. Sitting doing nothing, she had let her imagination run away with her. The search party would find them. It was only a matter of time. Meantime, the best thing was to occupy herself with some small task until Reilly returned. Favoring her injured arm, Leah glanced around to find that task. Her gaze fell on the damp clothes she had laid on top of her suitcase.
They would never dry in that heap. Her blouse was on top. Leah picked it up and carried it to a bush, spreading it out for the sun to dry. Then she returned for the next piece of clothing. Deliberately taking her time, she made a project out of it, smoothing out the wrinkles and spreading all four corners of the garment over the bush. It served to prolong the task.
When her clothes were laid out to dry, she started on Reilly's. She was straightening the sleeves on his brown jacket when a loosened stone rolled down the slope behind her. Turning, she saw Reilly working his way down, his arms laden with small, broken chunks of wood. The bulk of it seemed to be pieces of timber from the mine.
"Hello!" Her greeting echoed the happiness and relief she felt at his return. Mostly it was happiness. "I see you found some wood."
"There's more up there, so we won't have to worry about wood for the time being." He flashed her a quick smile, the mask of aloofness gone. "I found something else, too."
"What?" Leah held her breath.
She sensed that whatever he had found pleased him. It was responsible for the brilliant light in his eyes that seemed to radiate a satisfied glow over his compelling features. Maybe he had seen a road or highway on the other side of the mountain.
"Water," Reilly stated, dumping the wood on to the ground near the center of the clearing. He looked back up the mountain. "There's a rocky outcropping on the east side beneath a slight overhang. It's shaped like a basin. Last night's rain filled it about half full."
"Then it's safe to drink?" It wasn't a sign of civilization he had found, but her cottony tongue said it was nearly as good.
"It's rain water." The corners of his eyes crinkled to match the smile curving the male line of his mouth.
"I feel like drinking the canteen dry to celebrate," she laughed.
"Be my guest." He motioned toward the canteen as he kneeled beside the pile of wood.
"Now that I know I can drink, I don't feel very thirsty," she shrugged.
Reilly picked out a thin plank of wood and used it as a scraper to clear a fire circle. "Would you gather some stones to make a fire ring? Some of those near the slide will do."
Hampered by her sore arm, it was a slow job collecting the medium sized rocks to form an outer protective ring. When Reilly had the ground cleared to his satisfaction, he took out his pocket knife and began splintering wood for kindling. The tiny mound of wood chips lay in the center of the circle.
"Do you have any paper?" Reilly asked.
"Some tissue in my cosmetic case," Leah volunteered.
> "That should work fine." While she went to get it, he removed a box of matches from his inside jacket pocket.
She handed him one of the white tissues and watched him stuff it beneath the wood chips. Removing one match, he struck against the side of the box. He cupped the flame protectively with his hand as he carried it to the tissue and kindling. The white tissue charred, then burst into flame. A teasing breeze swirled the tiny fire.
Reilly nursed it carefully so the fire wouldn't be blown out. "If there's one guarantee in lighting a fire, it's that no matter which way the wind is blowing when you start, it will change direction the minute the fire has started." He slid a glittering look at Leah, amusement in the crooked smile. "Invariably blowing the smoke at the person who started the fire."
"Is that a piece of Indian lore?" She laughed at the truth in his comment.
"Naturally." As the kindling started to burn, Reilly added slightly larger pieces of wood, stacking them in a pyramid around and above the small flame.
There was only a small breeze blowing, a mere breath of wind. Leah looked around the clearing at the dry-looking sagebrush that stretched over the mountainside. Here and there a pinyon tree dotted the slopes, but they were very few.
"There isn't any chance of starting a grass fire, is there?" she asked, trying not to imagine the horror of trying to escape from that.
"Very little," Reilly answered. "The fire ring will keep the flames from spreading as long as the wind isn't strong. Strangely enough, it's rare to have a fire sweep through the desert, considering how dry and flammable some of the plants are."
"Why?" Leah tipped her head curiously to one side, absently tucking the opposite side of her hair behind her ear.
"Mainly because it's so dry," was his cryptic reply. Then he explained, "There's so little moisture in the desert that the plants can't grow close together. Their roots systems are wide and deep to absorb every available trace of water, so they choke out any new plant that tries to grow. The distance between plants keeps any fire that starts from spreading."
He sat back on his heels, waiting for the pyramidlike stack of wood to catch fire. Leah understood what he had meant last night about it being a slow process to build a fire, without the aid of kerosene or starter fuel.