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‘It’s fine, really, I’ll fix it.’ He heard an unfamiliar huskiness in his voice.
Her hand paused, hovering above his lap, and then it shot back to her own. Her gasp of realisation sounded in his headset. Her cheeks burned red. ‘Sorry.’ This time embarrassment clung to the word.
She pivoted away and stared resolutely out the window, her discomposure evident. He bagged the remaining offending mints and wished he was out on the slopes, in the cold. His libido, which had been dormant for some time, needed some alpine air to cool it down.
Oh, God! Meg knew eggs could be fried on her cheeks. What had she not been thinking when she’d tried to pick up those mints?
She shook her head and kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window. Not that she could see that much as the brilliant blue sky had become overcast. The gaps between the clouds became shorter and less frequent, and a huge cumulonimbus cloud loomed ahead. Grey black, thunderous and full of snow. Must be the weather Tom had mentioned coming in.
She sat up a bit straighter and nibbled her bottom lip. She didn’t like the look of that cloud at all.
‘We’ll take a bit longer than usual because of the head wind, folks.’ Tom’s voice broke into her thoughts.
A few moments later, rain started to trickle down the windowpane, the droplets looking like fat tadpoles. A flicker of anxiety skated along her veins. She quickly reminded herself that flying in rain was safer than driving a car in it.
She glimpsed the snow line and relaxed. Pretty soon Tom would be circling to bring the plane in to land. And fifteen minutes after that she’d be home, having a hot cup of tea and checking that her mother had not overdone things while she’d been away.
Meanwhile, she gazed out at the tall, straight snow gums, their shiny dark green leaves creating a thick canopy. Thank goodness for national parks. It was hard to imagine that this whole alpine area had once been densely treed just like this, barely a space to glimpse the snow on the ground.
The airstrip abutted the national park and she heard Tom on the radio, talking to the resort’s control tower about the landing and giving their position. She could smell home.
Cold started to seep into her and she pulled on her jacket. Although she loved this little plane, there were times she felt like she was inside a tin can. The outside temperature was often reflected inside.
‘Right, folks, we’ll be there in ten minutes. We could be in for a bit more turbulence but I’ve been given clearance and we should make it in ahead of the storm. Meg, you might want to grab that sick bag.’ Tom turned and gave her a cheeky grin.
Once she’d been sick and, although it had been more to do with bad take-away chicken than a rough flight, Tom loved to tease her about it.
‘You OK?’
A thread of warmth spun inside her at the sound of Will’s smooth, deep voice. She looked up and nodded. ‘Fine. Thanks. And you?’
Argh! What was wrong with her? Now she couldn’t even sound coherent, her words coming out in a staccato beat. She focused on the rain.
Suddenly, the plane lurched violently and her seat belt pulled against her, pinning her to her seat.
Hail pounded the plane, balls of ice battering metal, the noise deafening, like bullets on a target. Fear sliced through Meg, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would bound out of her chest. Without thinking, she reached over and gripped Will’s arm.
Immediately his hand covered hers, steadying her.
‘He’s an experienced pilot.’ His hazel-green eyes, flecked with topaz, held her gaze, but his hand tightened around hers.
The smoothness of the engines suddenly sounded rough. Meg’s heart seemed to stop as dread rushed through her like white water through a gorge. You’re just imagining engine trouble. She forced her mind to think of tranquil rainforests. It will be OK.
Will’s hand tensed on hers.
Across his shoulder she saw ice forming on the window.
Ice!
Surely that was just a build-up of hail? She prayed it was. Ice on the wings wasn’t good. Planes didn’t fly well when ice weighed them down.
Engines didn’t like ice either.
She turned and focused on Tom’s back, feeling impotent. She watched his every action as if that would help them through the storm. Could he keep the carburettor warm, keep the ice at bay? Could he see the horizon? Could he see the ground?
She couldn’t see anything out her window. Nothing but grey fog.
Her heart hammered, sounding loud in her ears. The hail pounded the fuselage. All the noise combined, making her want to put her hands over her ears like a child. Her breath stalled, fear paralysing her lungs.
And then silence.
The hail had stopped. Her breath rushed out in one long swoosh. For the briefest moment she relished the peace.
It’s too quiet, the voice screamed in her head, clawing, pounding against her brain. The usually loud, rhythmic piston engines were silent.
She automatically leaned forward, watching Tom, wanting to do something, willing him to do something.
He throttled the engines back and forth, his shoulders rigid.
Meg prayed for a fuel blockage that would be easily fixed by his action.
The silence lingered like a malignant growth.
‘Bloody hail. No fuel’s getting through the carburettor.’ Tom’s voice trembled. ‘I’m sending out a mayday.’
Fear tore at Meg and she turned to Will. ‘But the hail’s stopped. I don’t understand.’
His handsome face paled but strength lingered. ‘The moisture in the air, combined with the drop in temperature, caused the ice. If the engines can’t get fuel, they can’t restart.’
‘Oh, my God.’ She knew under this fog lay the national park and her beloved gum trees. But they wouldn’t love a plane. They stood firm, strong and too close together to gently receive a plane.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at five thousand feet, heading north. Both engines failed. Do you have me on radar?’
The radio buzzed static.
‘Right.’ Tom’s voice sounded in control again. ‘Emergency drill. Tighten your seat belts. I’m turning off the fuel tap and I’m going to glide her down.’
‘But you can’t see anything!’ Terror forced the words everyone knew out of her mouth.
‘Meg, love, I don’t have any choice.’ The finality in his voice sealed her fear.
Meg wanted to run. To jump out of the plane. Anything but stay there and do nothing.
‘Put your head down on your knees, Meg.’ Will spoke quietly but his voice was laced firmly with control.
Dazed with shock, she followed his instructions, not wanting to let go of his hand, not wanting to let go of his supportive strength, but knowing she needed her hands to cradle and protect her head.
‘Let’s do it on the count of three.’ Will nodded at their clasped hands, understanding the need they both had to stay connected. Knowing they couldn’t.
She bit her lip. ‘One, two, three.’ She let go of his hand and felt the plane dropping through the sky.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at two thousand feet heading north. Both engines failed, do you have me on radar?’ The desperation and fear in Tom’s voice rang through the plane.
The shudder ripped through her as the plane hit the canopy of trees.
Glass shattered.
Timber splintered.
The crunching noise of ripping, crumpling metal screamed in her ears as her own screams stayed trapped in her throat. She was going to die.
She didn’t want to die.
The plane dived forward nose first, the weight pulling it inextricably downward to unforgiving solid ground.
An almighty boom sounded in her ears.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fb7fcd2b-080c-59a3-a3a4-971a2b2bb045)
BLACK fuzz swirled in Will’s brain, confusing him as he stiffened against the pain burning through his body. He dragged his eyes open against a trail of warm blood. A tree protruded through the plane directly in front of him. Vegetables and green glass, the shattered remains of champagne bottles, surrounded him.
He forced himself to think through the fog that clogged his mind, to really focus. He couldn’t remember the impact, only the icy fear that had preceded it.
An eerie silence encircled him, broken occasionally by the creaking of the trees.
He turned his head slowly, grateful he could move at all. He flexed his fingers, his arms and his legs. All moved. He breathed in deeply. Knife-sharp pain lanced him.
Ribs. His hand cupped his side. Broken or bruised, he couldn’t tell.
He heard a moan.
Meg.
The confused fog lifted instantly.
Meg. Tom. They had to get out of the plane. It could explode, catch fire. His mind started racing. He had to get them out of the plane.
He fumbled for his seat belt and clumsily released the catch. ‘Meg?’ His hand gripped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.
She swivelled around, her gaze resting on him, her face blanched white but scarred red by blood. She opened her mouth. No words came out.
‘Can you move?’ He gently released her seat belt.
‘I…I don’t know…I…’
Hell, she was shocked. He needed her brain to kick back in like his had. ‘We have to get out of the plane, Meg. Now.’ He used her name. Shocked people responded to their name. ‘Meg, can you move your legs?’
She wriggled her toes. She stretched out her legs. ‘I can.’
‘Good. I’m going to help you stand up.’ He put his arm under her shoulder, biting his lip against his own pain as she pulled forward and stood. She grimaced as her ankle took her weight.
‘Tom.’ She looked around wildly, her view obscured by the tree. ‘Tom.’ Her voice rose frantically.
‘Meg.’ Will continued to grip her arm and locked his gaze with hers. ‘We have to get out of the plane on this side of the tree and then we’ll get to Tom.’
Her blue eyes, dull since the crash, suddenly cleared to the vivid blue he’d so admired when he’d first met her. Her head snapped around, taking in her surroundings. The tree had come through the side of the plane where the door had been. ‘We’ll have to kick out the back emergency exit.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll do it. Your ankle shouldn’t kick anything.’
Clambering over the freight toward the tail of the plane, glad he was wearing his hiking boots, he swung a kick at the exit. The metal gave way and he slithered out. Enormous snowflakes tumbled onto him and cold air bit his skin. He breathed in, praying to smell only fresh alpine air.
He got a lungful of aviation fuel. Dread clawed back. Hell, he only hoped the snow fell heavily enough to put out any sparks. Hoping that if the plane was going to explode, it would have done so by now. The engines had given out a couple of minutes before they’d crashed so they probably weren’t hot enough to catch fire on impact.
Still, he wanted out.
He leaned back into the plane. ‘Meg.’ He held out his arms.
She crawled toward him and he heaved her through the gap, his ribs screaming as she fell against him. For a brief moment he held her tight, needing to feel her heart hammering against his chest. Needing to know they both lived, they had both survived.
Clutching her tightly and trying to hold off the fear that Tom was dead.
‘Tom. Go to Tom.’ She pushed him away and turned back, leaning into the plane to reach for something. ‘I’ll send up the emergency flares.’
He ran forward, snow biting into his eyes, ignoring the fire of pain in his side. The plane had dived nose first, the front section taking the impact. Tom was strapped in his seat but the seat had moved forward, wedging him against the controls. He sat still, his head slumped sideways covered in blood.
It looked as if his face had hit the control panel on impact and then whipped back. His jaw sagged, probably broken, along with his nose, which looked crushed.
And they were the injuries Will could see. Hauling the pilot’s door open, he yelled, ‘Tom.’
No response. He put his first two fingers on Tom’s neck, feeling for the carotid pulse.
A weak and thready beat pulsed under his finger pads. Tom needed to be out of plane a.s.a.p. but moving him without a neck brace risked paraplegia. He didn’t have a neck brace so his choice was limited. Alive but paralysed? Or dead?
Will hated triage.
‘Is he alive?’
Will swung around at the sound of Meg’s terrified voice to see her clutching a large black backpack, a tarpaulin and coats.
An overwhelming need to protect her surged inside him. ‘Get back. I don’t need you being blown up if the plane explodes.’
‘And how are you going to get him out on your own? Don’t be ridiculous.’ The terrified tone had been replaced with an ‘in-charge’ voice. She shoved the coat and gloves at him. ‘Put this on, I don’t need you getting hypothermia. You’re a doctor, you know the risk.’
To his complete amazement she hauled out a soft neck brace from the black pack. ‘Here, put this on Tom and then we can carry him in the tarp.’
He grabbed the proffered brace. ‘Are you Mary Poppins? What else have you got in that bag?’
