The light was fading fast. Storm warmed her hands enough to tinker with the radio dials. She repeated “mayday” over and over, but the only answer was silence.
Hunched against the copilot seat, Storm watched Jim for another hour. Finally, to her relief, he began to regain consciousness. She wedged herself between the seats, kneeling next to him.
“Jim,” she whispered huskily, “don’t try to move. Do you hear me?”
He moaned and opened his eyes. “God,” he managed, his voice tired and weak.
“We’re alive, Jim. We’re down but alive,” she urged softly, touching his face. “Just lie still and get your bearings. Do you understand?”
He seemed to have difficulty focusing on her face, only inches away. Finally, his lips formed a word. “Heather?”
Storm cringed. “No, darling. It’s Storm. Heather is dead, remember?”
She choked back a sob, watching him closely. The crash had probably brought back the terror of losing Heather. Storm caressed his face. His left eye was dilated and unresponsive to changes in light. He must have a concussion.
“How do you feel, Jim? Can you tell me where you hurt besides your left leg?”
“Leg,” he muttered. His brow furrowed and he stiffened, then gripped his thigh, biting back a groan.
“No!” Storm cried out, gently pulling his hand away from his leg. “I’ve got to get you out of here, Jim. I’m going to have to set that leg and you’re going to have to help me pull you clear of the cockpit.”
Another half hour passed before he became coherent. He reached out, weakly gripping Storm’s hand. “Hell of a mess, isn’t it?” he whispered, managing a twisted smile.
Storm nodded and squeezed his hand.
“At least we’re alive,” she answered.
“I feel sick to my stomach,” Jim muttered, touching the wound on his head.
“You have a concussion. Your one eye isn’t dilating properly.”
“Well, at least our medical knowledge helps,” he mumbled. His gaze settled on her. “How are you?”
“I have a broken arm and a few missing back molars. Other than that, I’m okay.” She forced a smile. “I’m in better shape than you are.”
He seemed satisfied and closed his eyes for a moment, stiffening from the pain in his leg. Storm grasped his arm, wanting to transfer some of that pain to herself. She could barely stand to watch his face twist with agony. “We have to get you out of here,” she said, her tone stern. “Right now. Come on, Jim. Put your arms around my waist, and I’ll pull you out.”
He managed to grin. “If I put my arms around you, honey, it will be to make love to you.”
Storm shook her head. “Do you ever lose your sense of humor?”
“No. Especially not at a time like this. Okay, I’m ready. Just pull steady, honey, and don’t—” he grimaced “—don’t pay any attention to my screams. Just do it.”
Storm slipped her fingers into his belt. “Sure, just call me superwoman. It’s going to take several pulls, Jim.”
“You are my wonder woman, honey. Do the best you can,” he urged gently. “I’m a little out of my head. I get dizzy and feel like I’m blithering—”
“Well, you are. Hold on,” she growled, and began to strain her weight against his bulk.
It took four tries to pull him from the mangled cockpit and into the back of the plane. Storm’s heart twisted with anguish as Jim fought against the pain. After clearing a space in the middle of the cabin, she covered him with the three blankets, then struggled to open the compartment in which the splint boards were kept. Her frustration mounted at her slow progress, but eventually she was able to release the jammed door and dislodge the boards.
Jim looked alarmingly wan when she returned to him, which frightened her until she realized that he had fainted from the pain. It made the job of setting his leg much easier. Still, she was exhausted when she’d finally finished the task. Storm rested briefly against the bulkhead beside him, for the first time becoming aware of her own nausea. A sliver of a smile touched her lips. Morning sickness in the afternoon. Just like her mother.
She sat slumped against the bulkhead, listening to the unrelenting wind buffeting the sides of the plane, shivering uncontrollably. Would her parents ever know she was carrying Jim’s child? That she was finally going to have a baby? The thought of a small life living within her sent a warming thread of joy throughout her trembling, exhausted body.
She wanted to wake Jim up and share the exciting news with him. Her hand lingered on her abdomen in a protective gesture. If he hadn’t ordered her to strap in as tightly as she had or get in the crash position, she might have lost the child. She still might lose it. All three of them might die out there.
The thought roused Storm from her lethargy.
“Storm?”
She leaned over and touched Jim’s face. “Thank God you’re awake,” she murmured. “How’s the pain?”
“Bearable. You look awful. You’re shaking like a leaf. Here, settle down next to me,”
Storm slid carefully against Jim’s left side, her head nestled against his shoulder. She winced as he drew the blankets across her left arm.
“Is there any morphine?” he asked, his hand resting against her hair.
“No. I wish we had some. Your leg…”
“It was a clean break, wasn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“I could feel the bones grating against each other. The pain’s bearable now. You did a nice job of setting it.”
“Thank God.” She shut her eyes, feeling safe against his body. His pulse beat evenly under her cheek. She sighed softly. “This is all I could hope for,” she whispered. “Jim, when I woke up, I was so afraid you were dead. We still don’t have much of a chance. I don’t know where we are and—”
“Shh,” he coaxed. “Slow down, Storm. Everything will be all right. You radioed our GPS position. All we have to do now is wait out the storm. They’ll be searching for us as soon as it stops.” He placed a light kiss on her forehead.
Storm’s position was making the pain in her arm worse. She managed to sit up, keeping Jim covered.
“Does it hurt?” he murmured, watching her.
“A little.”
“A lot.”
“Maybe,” she hedged softly.
“Are you hungry?”
“Me?” She gave him a wry smile. “Not very. But I should take an inventory of our supplies. Are you?”
“I’m awfully thirsty.”
“Okay, I’ll get some snow and melt it down. Was there any coffee left in the thermos?”
“A little. Listen,” he muttered, his voice fading. “I—I’ve got to go to sleep, honey. That’s not a good sign…coma…don’t know. Maybe you should make me stay awake.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s easy. I’ll just kick your bad leg. Look, you’re starting to come out of shock, and it’s natural to want to sleep. What do you think?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice. A bad concussion could easily develop into a coma, and then…Storm didn’t want to consider the possibility. What if Jim died? What if he died right here, on the side of a mountain, without ever knowing she loved him? Without knowing she was carrying his child?
Jim had closed his eyes. “Sleep, honey…when I wake up, I’ll have…that water….”
Storm worked hard for the next four hours, periodically checking Jim’s pulse and counting his respirations per minute. His vital signs had stabilized, which was encouraging. She gathered their meager food rations, a flashlight, a flare gun and the thermos bottle, which, miraculously had remained intact. She melted snow in the plastic cup by holding it against her body, beneath her heavy fur parka. The storm had increased in intensity, and by building a nest around them from boxes of equipment, she did her best to shelter them.
It was dark when Jim regained consciousness. Storm was dozing at his side when she heard him groan. The pain in her arm was acute, but at least it meant she w
as alive.
She needed to survive, to think, to be responsible for both of them at this terrible moment in their lives. She leaned down, her fingers carefully touching Jim’s blanketed chest. “Jim?”
He sighed. “When we get back, remind me to send out a memo ordering morphine to be included in all first-aid kits.”
She laughed huskily. “You sound better.”
“I have a terrible headache, my leg aches like hell, I’m dying of thirst and starving to death, but otherwise I feel great.”
Storm grinned. “When you start complaining I know you’re better.”
“Is your arm getting worse?”
“It’s about the same as your leg.”
“How about the water?”
“You’ll have to lift your head. I can’t see a thing.” She pressed the cup to his mouth and he sucked at it noisily. “More?” she asked.
“Yeah. About a half a gallon more.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her worried expression. “Are you still nauseous?”
“All the same signs and symptoms. Don’t worry. I have a hard head, honey.” He fumbled in the darkness, finally found her good hand and squeezed it. “I feel more rested from the sleep, thanks.”
Silence settled between them and Storm stared into the darkness, shivering from cold. Jim seemed fairly comfortable with the three blankets. The strength of his hand on her own reassured her. Another sharp blast of wind rocked the Crusader.
“How long has this storm been going on?” Jim asked.
“It’s gotten worse in the last couple of hours,” she explained. “Do you remember if it was a fast-or slow-moving storm?” If it was moving slowly, it might linger for three or four days. Storm shuddered at the prospect.
“Fast. Moving in an easterly position at thirty-five miles an hour.”
“Thank goodness. Then the center must be over us by now.”
“The wind should drop fairly rapidly in another hour or two,” he agreed.
His hand tightened around her fingers. “Honey, I don’t care how uncomfortable it is for you, slide in by me. This cold is dangerous. Come on.”
It was a slow and agonizing process. Storm felt like a contortionist, trying to maneuver herself next to him. Finally, she was able to lay her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes as his mouth brushed her nose and cheek. “I—I’ve never been so cold,” she admitted, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“I know,” he whispered, touching her hair gently. “Now I know what Heather went through. But this time…this time it isn’t going to end the same way.”
“We’ll survive,” she agreed firmly.
“Are you feeling a little warmer?”
His voice was like a soothing balm. She nodded, although the pain in her arm was aggravated by her awkward position and trembling body. She stared sightlessly into the black void. “Jim…there’s something I need to tell you. Now.”
He caressed her cheek. “Sure, honey. I’m listening.”
“I—I don’t know how to say it.” Her voice quavered.
“Now, come on It can’t be that terrible, Storm.”
She sniffled. “I don’t think it’s terrible.”
He managed a soft chuckle. “Okay, my Irish storm goddess, what is the good news, then? We could stand some.”
“Would—” She took a deep breath. “This isn’t coming out right. Oh, damn. I’m so good at fighting back, but I can’t tell you something that’s so wonderful….” She sensed his smile in the darkness. She pictured his strong mouth curving up at the corners, and his gray eyes dark with understanding. She nuzzled his neck and kissed his jaw.
“I’ve never known another man like you, darling,” she whispered. “And I love you so much that I can’t begin to tell you how much. We’ve created a child through our love, Jim. It happened six weeks ago. I’m on the birth control pill, but I don’t know what happened.”
His heartbeat quickened against her ear and his arms encircled her ever so gently. His mouth sought her parted, trembling lips. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mingling with his own as they clung to each other. They were tears of a happiness Storm had thought impossible…even in her wildest imaginings.
All at once this situation struck her as incredibly funny, and she began to laugh, hiccuping through her sobs. Their heads rested together, their shared laughter filling the battered plane. Their voices, ringing with joy, chased away every dread. And in a moment of poignant awareness, Storm felt her old anxieties and defenses crumble and fall away forever.
At last, silence filled the cabin. Jim stroked Storm’s cheek. “Will it be a boy or a girl?” he whispered. “Are we going to have an Amelia Earhart or a Charles Lindbergh?”
She giggled. “I haven’t the slightest idea. You have to give me a chance, you know. Motherhood is new to me. The thought scares me a little,” she admitted.
“Nonsense,” he reprimanded tenderly. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. And wife. And lover. And—”
She laughed, dizzy with elation. “Stop it! Please. You’ve gone through some of this before, but I haven’t.”
“Believe me, honey,” he said, a slight catch in his voice, “becoming a father is going to be one of the best things that has ever happened to me, just slightly less important than slipping a ring around the fourth finger of your left hand.”
“Oh, Jim…”
“Hey, no more tears. Do all Irishwomen cry so much?”
She shook her head. “No, just pregnant ones, I guess. I haven’t been this emotional since—since, I don’t remember when.”
“I like you soft, warm and open. It becomes you, Storm. For too many years you were forced to be tough to survive.” He kissed her forehead. “Just remember, I saw the real you all along.”
“Even when you wanted to fire me?”
He groaned. “Yes. And I was wrong. But you understand why now, don’t you?”
“Because,” she ventured shyly, “you fell in love with me and wanted to protect me?”
His arm tightened around her shoulder, making her wince slightly with pain. “I guess I fell for you the first time I saw you. My God, Storm, do you know how lovely you are? Your wide blue eyes, the way your mouth curves when you smile, and that magnificent fighting spirit. You should have been born in Alaska because you embody Alaska’s boldness, its courage.”
“Well,” she murmured, “I’m going to need all the courage I can muster, to get us out of this mess.”
“Don’t worry,” he chided. “They’ll find us. Soon, very soon. Go to sleep, honey. After all, you have to sleep for two now.”
She smiled tenderly. “I’m going to detest this afternoon morning sickness, but I’m going to love being pampered by you.”
“Just wait,” he promised softly.
Chapter Twelve
STORM STOOD IN the door of the plane, gripped the flare gun more tightly in her hand and narrowed her eyes against the blinding brightness. The morning had dawned crystal clear. Only a few clouds scudded across an orange-and-salmon-pink sky, and the sun cresting the top of the Alaska Range made the snow sparkle.
Storm jumped the last few steps to the snow and sank up to her knees in the powdery fluff. Forcing one foot steadily in front of the other, she headed toward the middle of the meadow.
She had slept little during the night, her mind dwelling feverishly on what would happen if no one came to rescue them. But one of the search planes might see a flare. It was their only hope, and one she was anxious to test.
Facing west, she drew the flare gun overhead and squeezed the trigger. The pistol recoiled with a sharp crack that sent pain through her arm. Letting the gun drop to her side, she watched intently as the brilliant red flare gained altitude, burning brightly in the blue sky. A small parachute opened, sustaining the flare’s signal for another thirty seconds before it floated below the tree line.
Storm returned to the meadow to let off a flare every half hour. Several hours later, she was down to the last one. The GPS sig
nal on the plane, provided it survived the crash, should bring rescue. She trudged to the meadow one final time and stood without moving, straining to hear the sounds of a rescue plane. A timber wolf howled close by and she smiled grimly. Maybe the pack had seen the flare and was coming to investigate. A shudder ran through her.
Raising her arm to shoot off the last flare, she paused momentarily. Was that the sound of an airplane engine? She cocked her head, listening intently, trying to locate the direction of the distant hum. Her heart began to beat faster. Yes! There it was again. Squinting, she searched the sky.
Finally, a small Cessna equipped with snow skis for landing appeared. Storm screamed at the top of her lungs and waved her right arm frantically. The aircraft drew closer and dipped down the eastern side of the mountain where they had crashed. Finally, Storm jerked the trigger back on the gun, releasing the last flare, which arced skyward like a Fourth of July rocket. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the plane wander along the upper mountain slopes. Would the flare attract the pilot’s attention? She clenched her fist, fighting back hysteria.
Suddenly the plane veered, banking sharply to port—toward the meadow. Storm released a sob and dropped slowly to her knees. As the aircraft passed overhead, she recognized from the lettering on the side that it was from Bradford’s. The pilot would radio back to Anchorage and arrange to have an emergency medical team standing by. Tears streamed down Storm’s cheeks as she staggered back toward the Crusader. They would survive!
She turned at the stairs to watch the Cessna drop below the tree line, full flaps extended, ready to make the short approach landing. The skis hit the soft surface, sending up a cloud of snow around the plane. Storm sat down wearily on the stairs as her last reserves of strength flowed from her body. Numb with cold, she leaned against the handrail and closed her eyes. She had to sleep. Just for a moment. Her mind spiraled into darkness as finally, unable to fight exhaustion, she succumbed to the overwhelming need to sleep. As she drifted off, she heard Oscelot’s voice calling her.
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