Untamed Desire (11 page)

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.

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 mouth. 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.

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 was 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.”