The Sweetest Gift (The McKaslin Clan: Series 1 Book 2) (14 page)

The best part of life wasn’t only the journey, but the love found along the way.

It wasn’t over between them, she realized, hope taking her to a quiet, steady place as lightning speared toward her and the helicopter absorbed the impact. The frame sparked, the metal beneath her feet burned, the brightness seared her eyes like fire.

Then they were falling and falling. Silent except for Sam’s steady talk.

“C’mon, honey, don’t stall on me. C’mon, you can do it. That’s right, let’s restart. C’mon, start, show me you’re the best bird in the sky. You can do it, honey, c’mon.”

The altimeter was ticking down. Sam kept an eye on it and the flashing light telling him there was no engine power.

Oh, really? As if he needed a light to tell him that. He had ten, twenty seconds at most, and they were gonna land hard. Right in the middle of the Rockies.

Wasn’t that just his luck? Why was it, when he was going to crash, it was always in the worst possible place? A stone’s throw from an enemy camp. In the middle of a jungle. Over the sharp peaks of the Rocky Mountains.

Okay, he wasn’t going to get his rotors going. He prayed as he problem solved. The stick was tacky and unresponsive, but he put his muscle into it, and he got some response. Enough to mean he’d miss a direct hit to the jagged peak of the mountain. He put his weight on it and prayed for a little more slope. Then he’d catch some cushion, maybe even get the blades turning enough to slow their fall….

Okay, God, a little more help,
he prayed, working by rote. He loved the military, bless ’em, for their training. He didn’t have to think as he radioed in his distress, his position and shouted for Kirby to make sure she was belted in and to put her head down. They were going to hit. She’d better be alive when this was over, or he’d have a few choice words to give St. Peter when he saw him.

Sam knew he needed his nose down, but the stick was locked up tight.
C’mon, God, help me out here, just a little. That’s all.
He wasn’t going to let Kirby down.

He gritted his teeth, put all his weight and strength into it and the locked, rigid stick gave a fraction of an inch. That’s it! C’mon, keep going, a little more—

The chopper tipped forward. He saw the ponderosa pine branches a second before glass shattered. Pain exploded in his face, in his chest. His last thought was
I did it.

He’d made sure he took first impact. Kirby had a chance to survive. That was all that mattered, he thought as darkness swallowed him and, for the first time in his life, he felt real love. Deep love.

Pure. Bright. Perfect.

He’d found his heart. Every piece of it.

K
irby was certain someone was hitting her on the head with a sledgehammer. She recognized the signs of a concussion—blurry vision, disorientation, dizziness—but fought her way out of the seat harness. Sam.

She stumbled upright, but realized the entire helicopter, broken and crushed as it was, was in one piece and tilting forward. What remained of the chopper was wedged into the cradle of old-growth pines, and the nose was crushed. All she could see was the broken earth where the front of the craft had hit and shattered.

Sam.
She scrambled out of her harness, wincing as her ribs ached. Dazed, she struggled over broken branches and pieces of glass and metal. She could only stare. The front of the helicopter—the glass, the controls, the seats—was gone. She smelled fuel and blood and pine sap.

Where was Sam? Panic clawed through her. He was dead. She knew he was. Was he gone? Grief struck her like a fatal blow. She dropped to her knees, trying to hold on. She had to find him. Maybe he’d survived, and if he had, he’d need medical help. He’d need her.

No, God wouldn’t do this to her twice in a lifetime. He wouldn’t take someone she loved like this.

Shaking from shock, she climbed through sheets of crumpled and torn metal. She lost her balance, slid off a branch and landed hard on the blessed ground.

Sam.
His body was propped against the tree. As if he’d taken one step and had sunk to the ground. Blood was everywhere. Lord, she needed strength. Enough to handle Sam’s death. Enough to save him if she could.

And if she couldn’t? Then the strength to comfort him.

He didn’t move as she dropped to her knees at his side. His eyes were closed, his head slumped to one side. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

Focus, Kirby. Assess the situation. Was he alive? Her hand trembled as she laid two fingers on his wrist. Joy surged through her at the faint pulse of his beating heart.

Grateful. So grateful. Tears filled her eyes as she went to work. Head trauma. Lacerations. She had to rule out spine injuries and internal bleeding.

His eyes opened. Thank God he was conscious. Relief left her spinning, dizzy.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He held out a bloody hand, trembling, and took hers. “Thank God you’re safe.”

“Exactly.” She held on to him so tight. Couldn’t believe he was really there. Alive. He was really alive. “Sam.”

His arms wrapped around her. Holding her, holding on. She gave a prayer of thanksgiving for being here, tucked safe against his chest, where she’d never thought she would be again.

“I can’t believe this. You’re alive? You’re alive.” She touched his face, his chest, just to make sure. Her head was hurting too much to think clearly. “I don’t believe this. This isn’t possible.”

“Sure it is. The same way we live each day. By God’s grace.” He brushed her tangled hair from her face. “I told you I was pretty good at crashing. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Nothing serious. Not like you.”

“Oh, Kirby.” His heart broke. Nothing in his life, not his time in the army, not Carla’s death, nothing hurt like seeing the blood on her face, the wound bleeding in her scalp and knowing he could have lost her.

He’d been sure he had. He thought he was a dead man. He thought he’d never set eyes on her again. He’d known he’d never again hear the music of her voice, see the beauty of her smile, or know the sweetness of her touch. Of her love.

She was alive and safe, and he was so grateful. So grateful he didn’t know how he’d be able to thank God for it. For this blessing in his life.

Sam had found his heart. He felt the love in it. He loved her. With the strength and integrity of the man he was. To the depth of his soul. Forever.

She withdrew and studied his lacerations, his injuries. Her brow wrinkled with deep worry. “I’m surprised to see you sitting around on the job, Captain.”

“It’s my nature. I sit around a lot. Moss grows on me.”

“Me, too.” Kirby studied him, tried to figure out what she needed to do first. Could Sam move? What about spinal injuries? Internal injuries?

She touched his cheek tenderly, careful of the lacerations. He needed her comfort. He needed to know she loved him and he wasn’t alone. “I’m writing to customer service. I intend to complain about that landing.”

Instead of smiling, the way she’d hoped, his brows furrowed together, as if he was trying to focus, too. “You’re bleeding.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I should have done a better job. I’m sorry.”

“For what? You kept us alive—that’s better than most pilots can do.” She brushed a kiss to his forehead, just beneath his hairline. His hair was sticky and dark with blood.

Was the medical equipment on board salvageable? She needed it. If there was internal bleeding—

“Hey, Florence Nightingale, where are you going?” He caught her wrist, holding her when she tried to stand. “You’re not climbing back in there. Give me another minute to catch my breath and get on my feet, and I’ll do it for you.”

“You’re injured.”

“So are you.” He found the strength to pull her down to her knees. “What about you? You’re limping. Zip that coat, will ya? And just sit here. I’ve got GPS on board. They know we went down, and they know where we are, but it may take a while. We stay warm and alive until they get here, okay?”

“I’m holding you to that.” She dimly realized that it was raining. Cold, hard rain that wasn’t rain at all. It was snow. In May?

They were in the peaks of the Rockies, she remembered. Where snow stayed until midsummer. Sam was injured, and they had to worry about shock, hypothermia—a thousand different worries flashed into her mind.

“Don’t worry, I’m the ranking officer in this crew, and I know what to do.” He kissed her cheek. Still commanding, still the same old wonderful Sam. “Let’s see your arms. Anything broken?”

“No. I told you, I’m fine. My leg hurts, and my back is sore, but just a little. No traveling pain, no numbness, no weakness. I’m okay. Can you say the same?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m tough. I don’t admit to pain. And speaking of pain, I think my head is starting to clear. Let’s see if I can stand without getting sick.”

“Sam, you need to rest.” She thought of all the ways he could be injured. Of all the ways she could still lose him.

“I’m gonna be fine.” He stood, shaky, but he was a big man, a strong man. He limped as he walked over to stare at what remained of his helicopter. “Wow. Good thing I sprang for the extra insurance.”

“Good, because I’m going to sue the company for its choice of unfit pilots.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, what are you going to do to the pilot who saves your life? Who has the training it takes to keep you from freezing to death overnight?” He swiped the blood out of his eyes, looking tough and vulnerable, invincible and wounded. And strong. So very strong.

The love she held in her heart for him bubbled over until her eyes teared. How many chances did a person get in life? If she was ever going to learn her lesson, this was it. She’d done her best for her sister and loved her until the end. Loved her still. Sometimes all a person could do was their very best. The rest was up to God.

Sam was right. How many times would she have to fall out of the sky to accept it? Love was all we had to count on. And in the end, it was all that mattered.

The first chance she could, she was going to tell Sam what he meant to her. If he didn’t like it, too bad. She needed him. She loved him.

And she prayed he felt that way, too.

Watching Kirby work alongside him made Sam more certain than ever. Kirby McKaslin was one in a million. She’d tended his wounds, bandaged his cuts and splinted his left knee and thigh with merciful care. The gentle ministrations, her healing hands, her loving concern stayed with him even as the storm worsened, the snow thickened and the night grew dangerously cold.

“I think I have enough dry branches.” Kirby, her hands scratched from the rough work, piled the small brittle limbs in the corner of the shelter.

He’d managed to saw enough bigger pine branches to make a shelter of sorts from what he’d been able to salvage. The dense foliage would keep them dry. Hypothermia was a real threat as the temperature plummeted.

“It won’t keep us toasty, but it will keep us from freezing.” He held the branch aside that served as a door, and let her in first. “Get comfortable. I’ve got a few more supplies to fetch, and then we’ll stay in for the night.”

He’d made them a snug nest of pine and fir branches. And while the cold damp of the earth made her shiver, the small shelter was smartly made.

Leave it to Sam. Was there anything he couldn’t do? He was remarkable. He didn’t seem aware of it. She took one of the blankets he’d scavenged from the wreckage and wrapped up in it. She was cold, exhausted and shaking. She was in pain.

Don’t think about it. Sam’s hurt much worse than you are. She could hear him moving outside. What was taking him so long? She worried about him. He might be more hurt than he was saying. She could have lost him tonight, and she wanted him close.

The long thick limbs rustled as Sam shoved them aside to climb into their snug den. The flashlight strapped overhead shadowed him as he hauled in a duffel bag, a plastic container the size of a shoe box, and a flare gun. “In case we hear rescue planes,” he told her.

He was covered with snow. His teeth chattered as he closed the entrance behind him. “Are you warm yet?”

“Toasty.” She shivered, but she smiled.

“Me, too. I found my bag. I have a pair of sweats we can share. Do you want the bottoms?”

“Yeah.” They would fit over her jeans. She accepted the soft thick garment and pulled them on over her tennis shoes. “Got anything to eat in there?”

“Well, I always keep an emergency pack. Let’s see what I’ve got.” He snapped open the plastic lid and handed her a packet of beef jerky. “I’ve got granola bars for breakfast. And an entire pound of chocolate candies.”

“You put chocolate in your emergency pack?”

“A day without chocolate is an emergency.” Sam stole a stick of jerky from the package she held. “I’ve got soda, too. We’ll have enough to last. Now, bundle up.”

“Do you know how amazing you are?” She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t keep her feelings hidden any longer. And why should she? Life was too short. Too much of a gift. “You can handle anything, can’t you?”

“I have my faults, like anyone else.” He took a bite of jerky and chewed while he handed her a small silver package. It unfolded into a thermal survival blanket.

Perfect. Sam
could
do anything. Kirby’s regard for him felt as high as heaven and as infinite.

“Come closer. We have to keep you warm.” He took her hand and helped cover her with the blanket before he unfolded his own.

With her body heat trapped by the blanket Kirby began feeling less frozen.

“Feel good?” He moved closer and placed his hand on her back. He began to stroke in slow, even caresses that made her hurting spine sing with relief.

Good? She felt fantastic. Well, she was cold and a dull pain was settling into her middle and her head was killing her, but she had Sam. Precious, wonderful Sam. “We should have died tonight. You know that.”

“I know. Like I said, the grace of God.”

“Yes.” She traced the strong, confident angle of his nose with her fingertips. The sparse cut of his lips. The indomitable cut of his jaw. Tenderness filled her, as warm and as sweet as honey, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Do you know how much I love you?” she said. Just like that, with her heart racing and her fingers trembling and everything at risk.

His eyes widened. Probably with fear.

“Oh, I know what you said tonight. And I know why you said it.” She wasn’t going to back down. “You don’t want to remarry. You don’t want to risk loving anyone again. I understand that. But you could have died tonight. And if you had, then you would have left this earth without knowing how deeply I love you.”

“Kirby, look, I can’t let you—”

“No, I could have died tonight without telling you how I feel. I need to say this. You are the one man I never thought I’d find. The love I never thought I could deserve. You move my soul like nothing else, and I love you deeply and truly, more than anything on this earth. And I always will.”

He closed his eyes. Covered his face with his hands. Rested his elbows on his knees. He looked tortured.

She placed her hand at his nape, at the wide strong column of his neck. She could feel the warm life of him, the give of flesh and muscle and the hard column of his vertebrae. He was so strong.

And as fragile, just like anyone.

“Nothing will ever change how I love you. Even if you don’t want me. I’m not like Carla. My feelings for you are real and unbreakable. You could have died tonight without knowing how deeply you are loved.”

“Shhh…” He couldn’t take any more. He pulled away, feeling as if she’d reached through his ribs and pulled out his heart, his soul. There was nothing left inside him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” It couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t let it be.

“Yes, I do. I’m not the dimmest bulb in the pack.”

It
wasn’t
true. It couldn’t be. When a woman as good and as incredible as Kirby said words like that to him, she probably had a concussion, because she couldn’t mean it. Or maybe it was the situation, the emotion of surviving a second crash, being grateful she was alive, and clinging to him. It was the situation. That’s what it was.

Her arms came around him from behind, and she laid her cheek against his shoulder blade. Her touch was a love he’d never felt before.

It did match his love for her. Bright. Rare. Terrifying.

How could someone so good be meant for him? He’d been lost for so long, and given up on the hope that there could be happiness for him. Happiness of any kind. So he’d settled for contentment, as lonely as that was.

How did he explain to Kirby that she had to be wrong? That happily-ever-afters were not his experience in life. That he’d learned the hard way that if it looked too good to be true, it was.