She smiled wearily, unable to touch him enough. His love for her amazed Storm. She’d never realized a man could need touching as much as a woman.
Sighing happily, Storm closed her eyes, thoroughly content. As she slid off to sleep, she heard the wind picking up outside the apartment. There would be bad weather tomorrow. But with Jim’s arms around her, she felt safe and warm.
Chapter Ten
JIM LEANED OVER the counter, studying a detailed map, a cup of coffee in his hands. It was 7:00 a.m., and the entire building echoed with ringing telephones and the raised voices of hunters ready to return to the lower forty-eight. Storm remained at Jim’s elbow, absently eyeing the gathering storm clouds outside. The forecast called for the first heavy snowfall of the season by midday.
“Well,” Jim said good-naturedly, glancing up at Storm, “I think we’ll go as the crow flies today. We’ll have a strong tailwind until we hit the Alaska Range.” He traced the projected route on the map. “From there, we’ll cross Mentasta Pass at fifteen thousand feet, then drop down and fly over Dot Lake, and then make a beeline for Eagle, which sits on the Yukon River. Sound good?”
Storm nodded. Ordinarily, flying over the Alaska Range didn’t faze her, but today, something about it bothered her. Nevertheless, she decided not to voice her worry. For the past couple of weeks her emotions had gone crazily up and down. First, she had seen ghostlike movements in the hangar late at night. Now a feeling of dread had settled in the pit of her stomach.
She forced a smile for Jim’s benefit. “Are we taking the Aztec? There are only two hunters left to pick up at Camp Seven.”
Jim folded the map neatly and put it in his black briefcase. “No. We’re going to take the Cessna Crusader. It’s fully equipped with TFR and has autopilot.” He took her arm, walking with her out of the office. “With this storm coming up, I want a plane that will go as high as twenty thousand feet—above the cloud soup—if we have to.”
Storm grinned, zipping up her heavy parka. “I ought to fly with you more often. With you I get to ride in the top of the line,” she teased.
The white Crusader was parked in hangar three, its blue-and-black stripes running midfuselage from the nose to the tail. Storm’s eyes roved appreciatively over the turbo-charged, twin-engine aircraft. It was one of the Cessna models especially good at taking off and landing on short runways. She patted the nose and automatically began to inspect the elevators, rudder and other important points. Jim dropped the air stair and carried on their navigation case and small-box lunches, which Stella had packed for them.
He looked up as Storm made her way to the copilot’s seat. “Do you want to fly on the way back?” he asked.
“Of course. The plane’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
He leaned over, slipping his hand around Storm’s neck and drawing her forward for a kiss. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look this morning?” he whispered, releasing her.
She colored and then strapped herself in. “You really know how to shake me up,” she confided.
Jim put on the headset, changing the radio channel to the air-control frequency. “You’d better get used to it, my Irish storm goddess. That’s part of your problem. You haven’t been loved properly or enough.”
Storm studied his buoyant, happy face. “You’ll spoil me rotten, Jim.”
“Why not?” He flipped several switches on, and the propeller on the port wing began to turn. It caught, coughed and then roared to life. “Besides, Storm, I want to spoil you.”
She completed the cabin check, wrapped in joy. The second engine caught and within moments Jim had skillfully worked the throttles so that their RPM pitch remained equal.
Even as they taxied out on the gusty runway toward their departure point, Storm barely took note of the weather conditions. The cabin temperature was comfortable, and all the gauges and indicators waved their dials within normal ranges. Most important, she was with Jim—the man she loved so much that she didn’t know how to tell him.
“Have you flown the Crusader before?” Jim asked, readying the plane for takeoff.
“I was briefly checked out on it before I came to Alaska. She seems to be a workhorse of a plane.”
He shoved the throttles forward, balancing his toes on the rudder brakes. “She’s a tough little twin. This trip will give you an idea of what she can do. Here we go.”
Storm loved the sudden surge forward as Jim released the brakes. The engines throbbed in powerful unison, lifting the Crusader off into the wind. Powerful gusts buffeted the aircraft, jostling it about. Storm’s grip tightened on her harness as they rode out the worst of it, climbing rapidly through gray, rolling clouds. Finally, they broke through the lower layer, moving along at a comfortable two hundred knots. Below them, the clouds looked like fluffy gray cotton. Above them lay another gray layer.
It was calmer at seventeen thousand feet, and Storm let out a small sigh of relief.
“It was a little rough,” Jim admitted, as if reading her thoughts.
“Is it always like this in the late fall?”
“Only sometimes. It’s different every year. It looks to me like winter is going to come in like a tiger. Are you all right? You look pale.”
Storm ignored his question and deliberately changed the subject. “What happens if the storm hits Anchorage before we return?”
“It depends on how fast the snow-removal equipment can clear the runways. If it looks bad once we land at Eagle, we’ll pick up our passengers and detour southeast to Whitehorse, Canada. We’ll wait there until the storm moves on.” He grinned. “Come to think of it, I know of a real nice little hotel in Whitehorse. It has good food, too.”
Storm laughed. “You’re impossible! Always turning a bad situation into a positive experience.”
“Might as well. Remember, every cup is half-full, not half-empty.”
Storm settled back in her seat, since there was very little to do. They were now passing over the Alaska Range. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Wrinkling her nose, she wondered if she was going to get nauseous again. No one else was having flu symptoms. In fact, the flu season didn’t seem to have begun in Anchorage at all. Suddenly, Storm inhaled sharply.
“What’s wrong, Storm?” Jim asked, concerned.
“Nothing,” she stammered, sitting up straight. Perspiration moistened the palms of her hands as she mulled over something her mother had once said: “It seems to be a hereditary trait in our family. All the women have morning sickness starting at noon and lasting until dinner.”
Storm closed her eyes, the possibility hitting her like a sledgehammer. Good Lord, was she pregnant? At thirty-two? Without thinking, she placed a hand on her abdomen. Her thoughts raced, and, with a sinking feeling, she knew it might very well be true. She and Jim had made love five weeks ago, and once since then…. She chewed her lower lip, torn between fear, uncertainty and joy. She was on the pill. She was supposed to have been protected. She stole a glance at Jim, and her heart seemed to burst with love. His profile was clean and strong, exuding confidence. She loved him. How she loved him! And now she might be carrying his child.
As if sensing her turmoil, Jim turned to her. “You’re absolutely colorless, honey. Are you sure you’re not running a temperature?” he asked.
“N-no,” she murmured, uncertain of what to say.
“Maybe you’re slightly anemic. That can happen when you’re pushing fourteen hours a day and not getting enough sleep.”
Storm squirmed. She knew it was only a matter of time before he put all the pieces together.
“You should get a checkup when we get back,” he continued.
She nodded dumbly, still unable to believe what she instinctively knew was true. It felt right…and good. She stared out the cockpit window, lost in thought. How many times had she wanted a child and had Jack said no? Perhaps that had placed an irreparable strain on their marriage. She had wanted at least two children, and he had wanted to wait until their air school was on a solid foot
ing.
Storm rested her chin on her hand, shaking her head. To Jack’s way of thinking, the air school would never be on a solid enough footing. Had he been frightened of taking on the responsibility of raising children? Yes, she admitted, he could barely deal with people his own age, much less older or younger. In some ways, he had never grown up.
A cloak of worry descended over her. How would Jim react to the news? He’d proposed once, but would he be willing to assume responsibility for both a wife and a child? And if he did marry her, would it be because he loved her or because of the baby she carried? She glanced out the starboard window and realized it was beginning to snow. Their visibility had narrowed considerably, and Storm automatically switched on the deicing equipment, which would keep the wings free of ice.
Jim’s hand rested lightly on her thigh, and she turned, studying his handsome face. “This weather stirs up a lot of bad memories for me,” he began quietly. “About looking for Heather and the way we were hampered by poor visibility and the drop in temperature. We almost lost two other planes because the deicing equipment just couldn’t stand up to the severity of the storm.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a lot of adjusting to do, Storm.”
“In what way?” she asked.
“Getting used to the idea that you’ll be flying even though I may not be with you. In my head I realize my fears are groundless. But in my heart it feels like someone has taken a wrench and twisted it every time I think about your ending up like Heather.”
“I love you for trying to understand my need to fly,” she said softly.
He brightened, caressing her cheek. “I like hearing those three words from you.”
She looked at him questioningly. “That I love you?”
“Yes. I see it in your eyes and I feel it in the way you touch me, but it’s nice to hear it, too.”
Storm smiled and kissed the palm of his hand. “I thought you knew.”
“I don’t take anything for granted, honey. Not since I lost Heather and our child. I’ll be telling you ten times a day until you get sick of hearing it.”
She leaned over, her lips brushing his cheek. “Never, darling. I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” she whispered huskily. Just then, the radio switched on, the sounds faint and indistinct, the crackle of static making the message indecipherable. Storm settled back in her seat, her hand still on Jim’s broad shoulder. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he altered the radio reception band.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know….” he replied, pressing the headset against his ear. He picked up the microphone. “This is delta 552 niner. Please repeat the message.”
He motioned her to put on her headset. “See if you can pick up their call.”
The static was getting worse, and Storm barely caught the words, “Danziger,” “engines” and “sab—” She gave Jim a questioning look and shrugged her shoulders.
“Damn,” he growled, and tried to call the base station at Anchorage once again.
Suddenly, without warning, an explosion ripped away the cover on the starboard engine. Storm was thrown forward, blackness rimming the edge of her vision. She cried out and gasped for breath, suddenly unable to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. Her ears popped and pain ripped through her head. Darkness kept pulling her down into a cottony world of muted sounds. She was being tossed helplessly by a savage force, buffeted and jerked about the cabin.
Cold. Bone-chilling cold was numbing her fingers and hands. She gasped repeatedly for breath.
“Storm!”
She tried to respond but she couldn’t get enough air, and she was freezing—yet warmth seemed to flow down across her face.
“Storm! Can you hear me? Wake up!”
I am awake, I am, she thought disjointedly, feeling as if her arms were not connected to the rest of her bruised, aching body. Vaguely, she heard Jim calling her again and she shook her head, trying to clear her vision. Moving her fingers across her face, she discovered to her horror that they were covered with blood. The sight shocked her into action. She raised her head slowly and saw Jim’s grim expression.
“Storm!” he yelled. “Radio a mayday. Do you hear me! Now!”
The Crusader heeled sluggishly to a more even keel as Jim wrestled with the controls. Storm reached shakily for the radio, haltingly calling in a mayday and listing their GPS position. The aircraft yawed left, and she watched as Jim worked the rudder to keep them stabilized and in the air.
They were below ten thousand feet now, and still she was gasping for breath. It was so cold. Again she called mayday and gave their GPS position. Every plane was outfitted with reliable instruments to show their location, too.
She had no time to think, only to react. Gray clouds enveloped them. They were flying blindly. Her head thudded painfully and she stared with terror as she noticed a giant crack in the wing. It was growing wider!
“Storm, tighten your harness,” Jim commanded. “Hurry up. I can’t keep the plane on an even keel much longer.”
She fumbled with the straps, tightening them until they bit deeply into her shoulders and hips. “Where are we, Jim?”
“Somewhere north of the Alaska Range.” He glanced at her, his face tense. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m cold. When are we going to break out of this?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high.
“Did you get an acknowledgment from Anchorage?”
“I—I don’t know. The static…Jim…” She halted. “The crack in the wing. My God, it’s growing. Every air pocket we hit is opening it up more and more.”
He nodded, his lips thinning as he pushed the air brakes hard. With only one engine operating, the plane pulled to one side. “Keep calling. It’s our only chance.”
The plane continued to fall toward earth as Storm repeated the emergency call over and over again, wondering if they would survive the landing. Suddenly, she cried out in alarm as pieces of metal plating were torn off the damaged wing. The Crusader dipped, nosing into a tailspin.
Then they were out of the clouds, heading rapidly toward a white landscape punctuated with angular rock formations and upthrusting evergreens. There was no place to land!
“Help me!” Jim cried.
Storm wrenched back on the yoke, perspiration soaking her as she struggled to bring the plane’s nose back up. The wounded Crusader responded sluggishly.
“I’ve got it now,” Jim called.
“We’d better get down,” she gasped. “That wing is going to go at any moment.”
They were skimming the trees, barely three hundred feet above the rocky terrain. “Storm, get into crash position.”
She shook her head, steadying the yoke. “No. You’re going to need help.”
Jim’s features contorted and he jammed her head down between her knees. “Stay there, dammit!”
She was about to protest when the plane sank and tipped crazily. She stifled a cry of pure fear as one wing caught the top of a large spruce tree. The plane appeared to bounce off the tops of the thick grove of trees for a brief moment. Then, out of nowhere, the carpet of seemingly endless pines opened up into a small clearing. Storm hugged her arm over her head, watching as Jim applied full flaps and nosed the Cessna sharply down. She screamed as they hit the earth. The plane nosed over in a small cartwheel, and then excruciating pain leaped up her left arm. She heard Jim cry out in pain and then blackness claimed her.
Chapter Eleven
THE SMELL OF AVIATION fuel acted like ammonia thrust under her nose. Storm groaned and slowly opened her eyes. Snowflakes were twirling through the shattered cockpit windows, making a thick layer over her head, shoulder and arm. It was quiet. Her heart pounded as the unnatural silence deepened. She was suspended by her harness at a sharp angle, the plane having come to a final rest on the port side, the wing snapped off.
Storm’s throat was constricted with fear. She could taste the metallic flavor of blood and reached up jerkily, realizing it was coming from her own mou
th. She was dazed and shocked. Slowly, she noticed Jim lying below her. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she began to struggle with the harness. “No!” she whimpered. “No. Jim…Jim, can you hear me! Oh, say you can. Please…”
When he didn’t move, she became hysterical. Her fingernails tore as she tried to unsnap the stubborn harness. She lay panting against him, sobbing. Finally, she began to think more clearly. Pain moved relentlessly up and down her left arm, and she realized that it was broken. She studied the harness, forcing herself to think one step at a time.
The smell of fuel made her gag and reminded her that they had to get out of the cockpit. Somehow, she had to find out if Jim was alive.
She nearly fell on top of his prostrate body as she managed the last buckle and released herself from the harness. Throwing out her right hand, she steadied herself against the side of the cockpit. The aircraft seemed to wobble slightly as she moved. Placing her numb fingers against Jim’s neck, feeling for a pulse, she held her breath, her eyes never leaving his pale face. There! A faint beat. And another! She closed her eyes. “You’re alive,” she whispered.
Storm ignored the shrieking wind and heavy snowfall as she labored to free Jim. Carefully leaning over him, she noted a large, ugly gash on the side of his head. She ran her hands over his limbs with gentle sureness. As she slid her hand down his left leg, he moaned softly, but remained unconscious.
His leg had been jammed beneath the instrument panel and twisted downward by the impact of the aircraft’s nosing into the rocky earth. Storm felt the protrusion of bone beneath the skin and drew in a deep, unsteady breath. At least the bone hadn’t broken through the skin. Still, it was a compound fracture, and the swelling was sizable. There could be internal hemorrhaging.
Laboriously, painstakingly, Storm fashioned a makeshift sling for her arm. Then, crawling into the back of the plane, she brought forward three blankets and a small first-aid kit. There was no morphine to dull the pain she knew Jim would experience when he woke up. If he awoke. All she could do was keep him warm and dry.
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