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She hesitated, weighing her chances; then, unbidden, thoughts of Darlene and her immaculate city practice tripped through her mind. Had she envied Darlene’s life-style for its excitement? She chuckled while reaching into her saddlebag to drop her first flare. At least her grandfather would know exactly when she had started up the mountain.
About halfway up the steep trail Laura dropped a second flare. She glanced at her watch. It was 3:30, roughly four hours until dark, and she had yet to sight any of the wreckage. If she didn’t soon, night would catch her up here. She shuddered. The thought did not appeal to her. Squaring her shoulders, she forged ahead.
As she neared the plateau and her destination, the path brought her to the very edge of a rock precipice that plunged to the valley below. She dropped another flare, knowing Jonah waited anxiously below. Maleeka had to thread her way among boulders, making each step secure before taking another on the slippery surface. When Laura attempted to spur the bay on, the horse would not be hurried. She knew her business was to get her mistress safely up the treacherous trail.
Thirty minutes later the smell of scorched rubber wafted through the heavy damp air. The pathway turned inward, tunneling narrowly through walls of granite, before it opened onto a plateau in the side of the mountain. A stream cascaded from above and made its way around the inside perimeter next to a sheer granite wall. Against it rested a smoldering cockpit, nose down in the bubbling stream, and on the natural shelf fifty feet away sat the splintered tail section. Perhaps at the last moment there had been a break in the clouds and the pilot had attempted a landing on the broad ledge.
Laura dismounted and, after grabbing her bag, began a systematic search of the area. Wreckage lay scattered across the rocky terrain, while clothing and papers nestled in the softly swaying sagebrush. Inside the tail section only a shoe and a few books remained, silent evidence that anyone had inhabited the plane.
She left the aircraft and turned to the edge of the plateau. Peering over the side, she looked into a thick band of trees hugging the steep slope. She saw more debris scattered beneath the trees. Stepping into the evergreens, Laura grasped the prickly trunks, and, from one to the next, braced herself as she advanced toward the ledge, scanning for bodies. Several yards away she found a small notepad flung open and facedown, with the initials M.B.J. on the supple calfskin cover. Next to it was a pale-yellow jacket, now smudged with mud, monogrammed with the same initials. But no sign of the pilot. Had he escaped before the explosion? Why had she not found him somewhere on the ledge above?
Laura’s foot slipped on the wet foliage and she slid sideways into a stalwart evergreen, ripping her slicker. Rolling over on her stomach, she reached out toward a low sturdy branch to pull herself upright, when she spied a jean-clad leg protruding from beneath a tall bush just above her.
Urgency replaced caution, and she crawled, struggling through the dense undergrowth, oblivious to the vines and limbs catching and pulling at her clothes and hair. Reaching the small broad tree, she grabbed its prickly branches and jerked them back.
A tall angular man lay crumpled on his stomach. One arm was penned beneath him, the other lay flung out above his head, the hand stilled in a groping position. Laura shook her head. Something about the back of the man’s head, his broad shoulders, stirred a memory, a vague familiarity that danced just beyond her recall.
With pounding heart, she inched her way under the tree limbs toward him. Finally her hand touched him, then she moved in, positioning herself even with the upper part of his body. Gingerly, she sat up and slid one arm under his chest, while her other braced his shoulder. As gently as possible, she pulled him over. And came face-to-face with the inert form of Dr. Michael Bradford Jeremiah.
She took his limp hand in her icy fingers and detected a vestige of warmth still clinging to his. Frantically, she searched for a pulse. Leaning her face close to his, she felt a faint breath blow against her cheek…
“Oh, Lord, he is alive!” she exclaimed aloud, half in prayer, half in confirmation.
She dropped his hand to tilt back his head and further free his air passage. Then she jerked open her bag. Incredulity lit her face as she pointed her stethoscope to his chest and found a faint and rapid heartbeat. His skin was cold and clammy, partly from the weather but more likely from shock. She needed those blankets. And help. As soon as she could administer the necessary aid she would somehow climb back up the slope to her flares.
The wind moaned through the treetops and she cast an uncertain eye to the heavens. The clouds still lingered, but visibility, at least for now, was adequate for rescue. Still, she must hurry. Darkness came quickly on the mountain.
Cuts and scratches marred his handsome features; dried blood mingled with mud and pine needles clung to his clothes and skin. He appeared different from the debonair socialite she had met only two days before, but there was no doubt in Laura’s mind. This was the very same Dr. Jeremiah who could determine her future if she decided to leave the clinic. And Darlene’s fiancé.
Laura looked above her. The disturbed ground told a mute story of his tumble from the plateau above. He had probably pulled himself to the edge and rolled over, trying to escape the plane before it erupted in flames. He was lucky the dense bush had stopped his fall; whether or not it had saved his life still remained to be seen.
She completed her examination. His wounds appeared superficial; however, she suspected his leg was broken, probably in more than one place, as well as some ribs. He had a large knot on the back of his head where dried blood matted his thick dark hair.
As gently as possible she straightened his leg and brought his arm down to his side, but he made no movement. He was deeply unconscious, or the severe pain would have evoked some response. After taking sterile pads and alcohol from her bag, she bathed his face and with deft hands raised his head slightly to dress his wound.
Now she could leave him briefly for the climb up to the plateau above. Backing out of the bush, she sat on her heels, still holding the prickly branches in her hand. Pausing, she glanced at her patient. His damp hair clung to his forehead in dark curls, and his features, even with his eyes closed, were ruggedly handsome. His still form had a vulnerability about it that provoked a strange tenderness in Laura.
She remained rooted to the spot in front of his long, lean, muscular body, while questions rioted through her mind. What had prompted his flight to this area in this weather? Could he survive? What if he didn’t? Unwittingly, a deep sorrow burdened her heart, almost as if she were contemplating a personal loss.
She shook her head, puzzled at her strange response in this quiet stillness. Had her cool physician’s objectivity deserted her? she mused, just as the wind whipped a prickly branch into her hair, stinging her neck. She took a deep, calming breath and the physician in her once again resumed control.
Turning from him, she pushed her way, slipping and sliding, back up the embankment, where she retrieved blankets and discharged three flares—the signal there was a survivor. After setting emergency markers for the helicopter, she rushed back to her patient. Just as she reached him a small boulder dislodged beneath her feet and she fell, rolling down the steep slope, straight toward the sheer cliff below them.
Clutching the blankets in one arm, she groped wildly with the other for something to slow her descent. Blond hair and pine straw mingled in a matted mass. Her shoulders and legs painfully impacted rocks, but at last she grabbed on to a tree that held her, stopping her fall.
She sat up slowly, stunned for a moment, then winced as she touched her shoulder. She raised her arm; it moved with only minimal pain. Next she flexed her fingers. Amazingly, she seemed to have nothing more serious than a few scratches and bruises. She glanced hesitantly beyond her feet, where dense evergreens gave way to air, and shuddered. Ten more feet and Brad Jeremiah would have been alone on the mountain.
Laura’s mouth tightened into a grim line as she forcefully pushed the fearful “what might have beens.” aside. Stoically, she turned and began her climb back up to her patient, this time pulling herself from tree to tree while pushing her supplies before her.
After what seemed like hours but in reality was only minutes, she arrived at Brad Jeremiah’s side, to find his condition unchanged. He was still unconscious, and his breathing remained shallow.
She brushed the dirt and straw from the blankets and rolled them tightly to pillow each side of his head. Unable to assess fully his injuries, Laura knew that one jerk of his head, given a severe spinal injury, could put him beyond a surgeon’s help.
A few rays of afternoon sun filtered through the brush and Laura looked up gratefully. The light came from low on the horizon, but maybe the rescue crew could make it before nightfall. By the time Laura finished taking his vital signs again and administered what aid she could without moving him, the lateafternoon air had turned cool. She shivered, and realized that her patient must be cold, also.
After removing her bright yellow slicker, she covered him with it. As she placed the soft flannel lining around him, he stirred. Putting a hand lightly on each of his shoulders, she leaned in, her face close to his. Eyes like two small slits opened slightly.
Laura’s heart lurched as her eyes encountered his. Even now, a commanding power emanated from the ebony pools.
“Where—where—” He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed too thick to form any more words.
“Please lie still. You have had an accident. Your injuries don’t appear to be life threatening and assistance is on the way.” Laura spoke slowly, distinctly, while attempting a reassuring smile.
“What h-happened?” he persisted as his tongue stiffly formed the words. His eyes, showing no hint of recognition, burned into hers.
“Your plane crashed and you are on Boulder Mountain. A helicopter will be here to get you soon.”
“Crashed?” His eyes widened, and he struggled against the gentle pressure of Laura’s hands.
“Turn loose,” he commanded.
She smiled tightly and answered in a firm voice, without releasing her hold, “Until you are thoroughly checked out, you mustn’t move. Help will be here soon.”
“Who are you?” he asked weakly, gazing up at her beautiful image; her mud-smudged face and thick, golden locks, windblown and irrepressible.
“I’m Dr. Laura McBride from the Appalachian Clinic a few miles from here, Dr. Jeremiah,” she answered softly.
He closed his eyes and remarked, “No, wood nymph.”
He raised his hand in a helpless gesture, then his body relaxed beneath her grip. He had lost consciousness again. Once more Laura attached the blood pressure cuff to his arm. The gauge confirmed her fears: his pressure was falling. Help must arrive soon, for there was little else she could do for him. Placing her patient’s hand in hers, she waited for their rescuers.
The distant whir of a helicopter broke the stillness and jerked Laura from the lethargy that had claimed her. She had not realized how weary she was from the events of the past two days. Now her body moved reluctantly from fatigue.
A grim smile parted her lips. That ought to be some ride back down the mountain as sore and stiff as I am. She winced mentally as she thought about Maleeka patiently waiting for her.
A moan from her patient interrupted her anxious speculation and she put a cool hand to his forehead. Where it had been cold and clammy earlier, it was now warm with fever.
She whispered a prayer of thanks as the distant whir changed to a deafening roar. The trees overhead blew briskly as the chopper came to rest smartly between the red glowing markers.
“Haaalloooo, Laura. Where are you?” a familiar voice called from above.
Relief flooded through every fiber of her being when she recognized Mark Harrod’s voice.
“Here, Mark. And hurry. We need a stretcher and splints. But take care—the slope is very slippery.”
The warning had hardly been issued before Mark’s tall lean frame stood beside her. He took one look at her and, seemingly oblivious to the man prostrate on the ground, reached one long arm out and pulled her to him, enfolding her in his warm embrace, as he scolded softly, “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again. You wait for help next time!”
He placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her face, really looking at her for the first time. His pleasant face creased with concern. His hand moved upward to caress the cuts and scratches on her face.
“What happened to you?” he asked worriedly.
“Just banged up a bit, nothing serious. I kinda took a fall…”
“Down this embankment?” Mark all but shouted. “It ends in the valley below via Clingman’s Bluff.”
“But I didn’t end up there. Please, Mark, don’t waste time with me. He’s the one who needs your attention.” Her voice rose with anxiety for her patient.
“That’s all right, Laura. I’ll attend to him. Let Mark take care of you,” said a deep voice behind them.
Laura stood on tiptoe and peered over Mark’s shoulder, straight into the twinkling blue eyes of her father. The blood rushed to her face, tinting it scarlet. David McBride’s eyebrows raised quizzically as he took in his daughter firmly entrenched in the arms of his chief surgeon.
She pushed harder against Mark’s embrace, breaking free of the pinioning arms. “I said I’m all right!” she insisted.
“You don’t look all right. Sit down and let me dress those wounds. I don’t want that gorgeous face scarred,” Mark commanded as he stooped to open his bag.
“Don’t patronize me, Mark. Just because I’m a woman you think I need pampering.” She railed irrationally, embarrassment and fatigue taking their toll.
The young doctor glanced up, his eyes lingering on her beautiful, defiant face. She stood there glaring at him with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed uncharacteristically.
Now that he was certain she was safe, amusement danced in his warm brown eyes and he drawled, “Well, my pretty maid, I’ll have to admit it would be mighty hard for me to forget you’re a woman.” Then he added softly, “Now or anytime.”
Laura couldn’t deny the message in his eyes, the tone of his voice. It melted her stubborn resistance, and the hint of scarlet on her cheeks deepened. She stammered, “O-okay, if you insist, but I’m not hurt.”
“I do insist, and you are hurt as well as on the verge of total exhaustion. It’s a good thing I got back in time to come with your father. He’d have had his hands full trying to look after both of you.”
“Now, Mark—” she began, her eyes snapping.
“You’re right there, Mark,” the older doctor agreed. His face was serious and the twinkle gone from his eyes as he observed quietly, “This young man’s condition is touch-and-go. He may have some internal bleeding. His blood pressure has fallen some more. Were there any other survivors?”
Laura shook her head. “No. I searched this area thoroughly.”
“Were you able to get any information from him?”
“He opened his eyes once, but he was delirious— talked about wood nymphs!” Laura said as the two men stared at her, before both simultaneously burst into laughter.
Laura frowned. “I’m afraid I fail to see any humor in that.”
Her father chuckled. “I’m sure that it must have caused him some anxiety that a wood nymph was administering first aid to him.”
Laura shot him a sharp look before replying, “How did you know that?”
“That’s what you look like—some wildly beautiful forest creature,” Mark explained as he reached out and picked up a lock of her hair cascading down her back.
“I must be a sight. Perhaps I should request that the pharmaceutical company design a medical bag equipped with beauty supplies just for women doctors,” she teased, all former traces of irritation gone.
“I’ll have to disagree with that. I think this ‘new’ you is enchanting,” Mark added, his eyes perfectly serious.
“Thank you, Dr. Harrod. You’re a true friend as usual, but dreaming or not, our patient wasn’t so injured that he relished being treated by a woman doctor.”
“So that’s what got your ire up, and you took it out on poor little old me,” Mark countered.
“What are friends for if we can’t take out our frustrations on them and they still love us, right?”
“You couldn’t be more right, my dear,” the young doctor responded.
And Laura recognized the same look that she had earlier seen lighting his eyes.
For a moment the two stood staring at each other, Mark’s brown eyes immersed in her bright-blue ones. Laura stirred, uncomfortable with the raw emotion displayed in the gaze of her friend, who was usually so casual and congenial.
David spoke, breaking the spell. “He’s ready to go to the clinic now, and from my observation, not a moment too soon.”
The three doctors stood aside as two medics hoisted the stretcher and passed them on the short treacherous upward journey to the waiting helicopter.
The older doctor reached out and put an affectionate arm around his slender daughter. “You did a good job, Dr. McBride.”
She wrinkled her nose, a warm glow returning the affection in his eyes, “Thank you, Dr. McBride. Wish I could’ve done more.”
“You may well have saved his life. For sure if you hadn’t found him when you did, his chances of survival would have been slim. How does it feel saving two lives in twenty-four hours?”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she reminded him softly.
“That’s true, but without you there’d be no hope for this young man or Tom Crews last night.”
Laura’s eyes grew bright with unexpected tears. “That is what it’s all about, isn’t it, Dad? To save lives, to give people a chance at a better life?”
“Yes, honey. At least to me, that’s what all the work and study are about. To have you here with me, sharing my dream, fulfills my deepest hope.”
Dropping her head, she murmured, “I know, Dad. I know.”
Mark interrupted, “Okay, you two, it’s time we tried our luck at climbing that bank. Think you can make it, Laura?”
A glance at Mark assured her that the familiar, comfortable friend she knew had returned, and the uneasiness left her face. She smiled at him impudently. “What are you talking about, Dr. Harrod? I’ve been up and down that bank—I’m a pro.”
“But this time would you forgo your tumbling exercises? We really don’t have time for that!” Mark teased.
“All right, Doctor. That’s enough. I only tumbled when I came down—not going up!” She flashed a smiling response to his good natured teasing.
Mark’s easygoing personality always provided just the right amount of lighthearted repartee when she took life or herself too seriously. But she also depended on him for the strength and compassion that lay beneath his casualness. She valued his friendship as much as she did his professional skill.
Today was the first time Mark had addressed her with an endearment, but it was not the first time she had seen him, in an unguarded moment, look at her with something more than friendship in his eyes. In the past it had lasted only a moment, quickly veiled by his charming nonchalance. She had pushed it aside, not wanting to encourage or deal with it. She preferred his friendship—needed it, in fact. Theirs had been a comfortable relationship, one she wanted to remain as it was, at least for the time being.
They maneuvered up the embankment without incident, except for the resistance of Laura’s aching body. Soon they stood at the edge of the clearing, waiting for the medics to load the stretcher.
“I’ll ride Maleeka back, and you get in the copter with your dad—that is, if you won’t think I’m disparaging you because you’re a woman,” Mark teased.
Laura grimaced. “Did I really act that ugly?”
“Yeah, pretty ugly, but I’ll survive. It was momentary hysteria brought on by fatigue and exposure to the elements, not to mention the absence of one Dr. Harrod. I picked a busy time to leave, didn’t I? Did you note I said nothing or even suggested you were a hysterical woman?”
