Untamed Desire (12 page)

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.

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 signal 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.

The first thing Storm saw upon regaining consciousness was Stella’s worried face. The white walls of the hospital room barely registered on her sluggish mind. Slowly, she flexed her fingers and then her toes, glorying in the feel of them, relieved to findthem all there. Her whole body felt wonderfully warm and relaxed.

Stella’s voice was strained. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Good.” Storm’s mouth was dry, and she was terribly thirsty, but she had to know. “How’s Jim?” she rasped thickly.

Stella’s hands fluttered nervously. “Oh, wait…let me get Dan in here. He can tell you,” she answered uncertainly.

Fear tore through Storm, and she struggled into a sitting position. Her left arm was splinted and wrapped tightly against her chest. An IV had been inserted in her right arm.

The door opened, and Dan Bradford entered. His skin had a grayish cast, and his eyes were watery—perhaps from lack of sleep. Several days’ growth of beard covered his thin cheeks.

“Storm?” He walked forward, his hand coming to rest lightly on her shoulder. His voice wavered. “Thank God we found you.”

“What about Jim? Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” she cried out softly.

Dan smiled benignly. “He’s resting comfortably, Storm. He got out of surgery three hours ago.”

Relief washed over her, making her tremble.

“How’s his leg?”

Dan shrugged. “The doctors say there’s been a lot of damage, but with time and rest and physical therapy, they think he can recover full use of it.”

She released an uneven breath. “Thank heavens.”

The door opened, and Oscelot stuck his head around the corner. His brown eyes danced with unabashed happiness. He squeezed in between Stella and Dan.

“Chérie! You look one hundred percent better than out there in the meadow.” He smiled broadly and tugged on his black beard.

“Thanks for rescuing us, Oscelot. I kept firing off those flares every half hour and—” Storm’s voice cracked, and she looked down at the blanket, unable to speak.

“Ma chérie, it eez all right! You scared me witless! Fainting on the stairs as I was leaving the plane. Hey, you did a fine job on Jim’s leg.” He grinned. “Bet he won’t gripe about your medical skills anymore, eh?”

Storm sniffled loudly. Stella handed her a handkerchief.

“We were lucky you found us, that’s all,” Storm whispered. She looked up at him. “We couldn’t have lasted another night.”

Dan studied the tips of his shoes and muttered, “Danziger sabotaged your plane, Storm. He thought no one was going to use the Crusader, so he put a timed bomb in the starboard engine, intending to damage it while it sat in the hangar. We don’t usually use the Crusader except for Seattle pickups, but at the last moment, Jim decided to fly it. Danziger came tearing into the office, yelling at me to stop you, but by that time you were well on your way.” He shook his head sadly. “He wanted to force our insurance rates up, make our company look bad and slow down business.” His gaze settled on Storm’s drawn features. “And to think he nearly killed both of you.”

“I’m glad it’s over, Dan. Because of the weather we heard only bits and pieces of your transmission.”

“Fortunately, chérie, we heard your mayday. Me and Leapfrog were up in a matter of minutes!” Oscelot snapped his fingers, dramatizing the point. “Voilà! I saw your flare and all was well.”

“I saw the damage to the Crusader, Storm,” Dan Bradford murmured. “You both did a fine job of keeping it in one piece. Reaching that meadow took some skillful flying.”

Storm shook her head. “Jim is the one to thank. He rode it down. I couldn’t do much because we lost our cabin pressure and I blacked out. I don’t know how Jim managed to stay conscious.”

Oscelot grinned mischievously. “Ah, you know those jet jockeys. Jim’s marine corps pilot days. He told us lots of stories of how he lost oxygen and held his breath until he reached ten thousand feet and could breathe normally again.”

“Well,” Storm said, smiling, “I didn’t even think to hold my breath. I’ve never been so scared.”

Dan rested his hand on her shoulder. “We were all scared, Storm. But you need to rest. I’ll ask the doctor to come in.”

“I want to see Jim.”

“Non, chérie. He’s still sleeping off the effects of the anesthetic. Give him another two or three hours, and then I’ll put you in a wheelchair and take you over to his room. Oui?”

Storm agreed reluctantly, suddenly very tired.

Later that day, Oscelot whistled gaily as he wheeled Storm down the spotlessly clean hospital hall. Marie, his petite wife, walked beside the chair, chatting softly in a melodic French accent. Storm’s heart raced, and she gripped the arm of the chair in anticipation.

“Is he awake? Is he coherent?” she asked Marie.

“Oui, chérie. Very much awake and very anxious to see you.” A warm, meaningful look passed between Marie and her husband. “Isn’t love wonderful?”

Storm blushed. “Ah, you are so fortunate, Storm.” Marie tittered. “That man loves you fiercely! I could tell by the look in his eyes when he woke and asked for you.” She gave Oscelot a reprimanding look. “We will not stay long.”

“No, of course not,” he agreed, grinning merrily.

Marie opened the hospital door, and Oscelot wheeled Storm into the private room. Storm anxiously sought Jim’s face. He was pale, and his leg was suspended from a system of pulleys above the bed, but he was smiling and held out his hand to her as she drew closer. Tears sprang to her eyes as she sat next to him, unable to speak.

“Come, Jacques!” exclaimed Marie. “The children! We must get home. We will say goodbye for now, Storm and Jim.”

Storm smiled. “Thanks…thanks so much for everything. Both of you.”

Oscelot bowed and winked. “We will visit again tomorrow.” He and Marie left the room, closing the door behind them.

Jim looked back down at Storm. “Why the tears?” he asked softly, brushing his fingers along her cheeks.

“Because—” she sniffed “—because it’s over and we’re both alive.”

He gave her a tender, searching look. “I wish like hell I wasn’t trussed up in this bed right now. All I want is to feel you in my arms.”

Storm pushed the chair closer until it paralleled the bed, and rested her head against his strong arm. “That’s all I want, too.” She pressed his hand to her lips. “I want you to know that I’ve got my usual afternoon sickness right on schedule.”

Relief washed over his face. “Have you told the doctors yet?”

“Yes. They ran a blood test while you were still under the anesthesia. I am definitely pregnant.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked, a grin pulling at his mouth.

“I’ll get an ultrasound later and we’ll know.” She smiled, running her fingers up his bare arm. “But my newly awakening instincts tell me it will be a boy. Would that suit you?”

“As long as the baby is healthy, I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl,” he answered fervently.

The evening sun shone through the partly closed blinds, lending a radiance to the bare room. Storm glanced through the window, watching fleecy clouds against the dark blue sky. She shook her head. “Seeing how peaceful it is outside now, it’s hard to believe that that ferocious storm hit only a few days ago.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jim agreed. “But to change the subject, I’m going to count the days until we can get out of here.” He began caressing her cheek in a loving gesture. “Because as soon as this leg heals enough for me to stand up on it, we’re getting married. And then we’ll have Oscelot fly us up to my cabin, north of Anchorage, for a long, very private honeymoon. How does that sound?”

Storm closed her eyes and nodded in agreement. “It won’t be for at least six weeks, you know. And then you’ll be hobbling around on a cane for another three or four.”

He smiled and kissed her hair. “Cane or no cane, we’ll be married and spending some very special time at our cabin. Are you game, honey?”

Storm lifted her chin, lips parted and eyes glittering. “It can’t be soon enough,” she whispered.