Call It Magic

by Janet Chapman

  Jane took pity. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I have a gun. I can shoot back.”

  “What kind of gun?” he asked cautiously, apparently not knowing if he should be alarmed or thankful.

  “It’s a shotgun.”

  He snorted.

  “I have slugs for it. Sabots can go through anything short of armored steel. And their range is impressive.”

  “What were you hunting? Elephants?” he asked dryly.

  Jane took back her pity. “I was hunting partridge.”

  He snorted again.

  “I was planning to find a gravel pit later and do some target practicing,” she said defensively.

  “Are you out here alone?” he asked, apparently dismissing the issue of the gun.

  “Yes.”

  He dropped his head and muttered that single foreign word again as he rubbed his face in his hands, then sighed and looked in her direction. “How far are we from civilization?”

  Jane didn’t get a chance to answer. The plane was back. She ignored his second command to come to him—also ignoring the fact that he sounded rather angry himself—and stepped onto the small beach and shouldered her shotgun. She knew she’d only get off one or two surprise shots before they flew out of range, but she intended to give them something to think about before they left.

  The plane swooped low over the lake again, the man with the machine gun straining out the door trying to spot his prey. Jane fired off a shot at the approaching plane, then slid the action on her gun and fired again, causing the Cessna to sharply bank away when her slug connected with metal. She quickly jacked another shell into the chamber and fired one last time at the turning plane, satisfied to see the man in the door throw himself back when the slug tore through the fuselage over his head.

  She shouted in triumph at the retreating plane, then danced her way over to the wounded pilot, setting down her gun and going to her knees in front of him as she boldly stated she’d just scared those monsters silly. She never noticed he wasn’t exactly celebrating with her until he reached out with unbelievable swiftness and blindly grabbed her. He hauled her toward him with surprising force, repositioned his grip on her shoulders, and shook her.

  Jane squeaked in alarm and tried to break free. “You’re hurting me!”

  “I’m going to throttle you, you little idiot! You could have been killed!”

  “Well, I wasn’t. And neither were you, thanks to me,” she shot back, forgetting her precarious position. “And you’re welcome, you Neanderthal!”

  He shook her again.

  “If you don’t quit manhandling me, you’re going to find yourself back in the lake,” Jane said, her voice a whisper of warning as she tugged on his wrists.

  Although she did register the fact that she was gripping what felt like solid steel, she didn’t back down from her threat, not caring if he could see her glare or not. She broke free and immediately stood up, then backed a safe distance away and simply stared at the scowling pilot.

  He was a huge, wet, battered mess if she ever saw one, his face scorched and his eyes watering and blinking frantically. But even sitting on the ground in an undignified heap, the guy still looked lethal—his wet leather jacket clinging to a trim torso and his large hands clenched in either anger or pain or both.

  Jane quietly stepped to the side and watched his blinking gaze follow her movement. “Just how blind are you?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I can see you,” he confirmed. “But you’re blurry,” he added, rubbing his eyes.

  “Don’t do that.” Jane rushed back to him and gripped his head between her hands, then leaned down and studied his injuries. “You’ll make it worse. Your face is red, but I can’t see any real damage to your eyes. It’s possible they’re only badly irritated.”

  He leaned away from her grasp. “A fire broke out just before I hit the water.”

  “Well, it was a lovely landing, Ace.”

  He snorted again. “If you don’t count the fact that my plane is upside-down in a lake.”

  “You walked away.”

  “Just barely. Ah . . . thank you,” he said, trying to focus on her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We have to get out of here. They will be back.”

  Jane looked in the direction the Cessna had disappeared. “They’re going to eventually run out of fuel.”

  “Is there a place near here where they could land?”

  Jane shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “The closest airport is thirty miles to the south, but some of the tote roads might be wide and straight enough in places. Do you think they’d risk landing and come after you—us—on foot?”

  “I think it likely. Do you have a vehicle nearby?”

  Jane nodded, then sighed, again forgetting he was blind. “It’s a couple of miles away.”

  The man cocked his head. “Is it parked out in the open? Could the plane spot it?”

  “Ah . . . yes.”

  “Thanks to your shooting at them, they know I’m no longer alone. Your car is not a safe destination. How far to the nearest town?”

  “About twenty miles in any direction.”

  He stopped mid-sigh and suddenly perked up. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  Jane finished sighing for him. “It’s in my car. And even if I had it with me, it would take me several hours to climb a mountain to get a signal.”

  The man said that nasty word again. And even though she was tempted to ask what it meant and what language it was in, Jane decided the less she knew about him, the better. She was already more involved than she cared to be, and figured that once she got him to safety, the authorities could deal with him.

  “What do you have for ammunition?” he asked as he slowly stood up. He staggered, then steadied himself by leaning against the giant pine and looked at her through still blinking eyes.

  “I have a shotgun with maybe ten rounds of bird shot and now seven slugs. And I have a handgun with a box of twenty bullets.”

  “How big a handgun?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “A .357 Magnum.”

  He stopped, one side of his mouth lifting slightly. “Loaded for bear, aren’t you?”

  Jane bristled, taking her own step toward him. “Only an idiot would come out here alone without being prepared.”

  He detected her movement and held his hands up in supplication. “I’m not complaining.” He cocked his head again. “You seem to be able to take care of yourself just fine. Where did you learn that trick of feeding me air while I was trapped in the plane?”

  “I didn’t learn it anyplace. I just thought it might help.”

  “Well, you are most resourceful. And your lips were most welcome. You tasted of butterscotch,” he added with a grin as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

  Jane was glad the man was nearly blind when she felt her face heat up. “Come on. You said we’ve got to get out of here.”

  He bowed. “I am in your care, madam.”

  “The name’s Jane Abbot.”

  “And my name is Mark.”

  “Mark what?”

  “So which way, Jane?” he asked instead of answering.

  Jane frowned in the direction of her vehicle. “My car is still the quickest way out of here. You need to see a doctor. Are you hurt anyplace else?”

  He shrugged, then winced. “Everyplace. But your vehicle is not a safe destination.”

  “You think you can walk twenty miles?” she asked, thinking the hike to her car would be a stretch for him.

  “If I have to. And you? Are you hurt anyplace? You said a bullet grazed you.”

  Jane lifted her left arm. “It’s only scratched. It’s not even bleeding now.” She looked at the man named just Mark, and then she looked at the floats out in the center of the pond. “I
s there anything in your plane you might need? Medicine or anything?”

  Rubbing his eyes again and looking at the pond himself, Mark seemed to think about that. Finally he sighed. “I have some things I would like to retrieve, but it’s too cold to get them.”

  “I could get them,” she offered, repressing a shiver.

  Mark looked in her direction again. “It’s too cold,” he repeated.

  “What’s in the plane?” She gasped when he hesitated. “It’s not full of drugs, is it? I’m not standing in the middle of a drug war, am I?”

  Mark stilled, then barked out in laughter—only to quickly cradle his ribs. “I’m not a drug runner. Leave the plane. I will find a way to retrieve my belongings later.”

  For some reason, probably stupidity, Jane believed him. “Well, come on, then. We’ve got a twenty-mile hike ahead of us, because driving is our only viable option of getting out of—”

  A long burst of distant gunfire suddenly shattered the air, immediately followed by a muted explosion forceful enough to scatter the already disgruntled birds from the nearby trees. Mark moved with surprising speed and gathered Jane into his arms, pressing her head to his chest as he looked in the direction of the blast.

  “What was that?” she whispered, closing her eyes as she wondered if the plane had crashed trying to land—not that that explained the gunfire.

  “I would guess your car.”

  She snapped her head up to look at him. “They blew up my car?”

  He stepped back. “We are like sitting ducks. Do you know these woods, Jane Abbot? Can you lead us to safety without leaving a conspicuous trail?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve spent nearly my whole life in these woods.”

  He suddenly shot her a warm, genuine smile. “I have the damnedest luck. I’ve crashed into the arms of a guardian angel, have I not?”

  “And don’t I just have the darnedest luck,” Jane shot back. “I was minding my own business one minute and dodging bullets the next.” She picked up her jacket and backpack and shotgun. “Come on, Ace, the sooner we start walking, the sooner I can get rid of you,” she muttered, grabbing his hand and heading in the opposite direction from her destroyed car.

  They’d blown up her car!

  “Would you happen to have any more butterscotch, Jane?”

  About the Author

  Janet Chapman was the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance novels, all set in the state of Maine, where she lived with her husband, surrounded by wildlife. Best known for her Highlander series, including Tempting the Highlander and Loving the Highlander, and her Spellbound Falls series, including The Highlander Next Door and Courting Carolina, Janet also had several contemporary series set on the coast and in the mountains.

  When she wasn't writing, Janet and her husband spent their time camping, hunting, fishing, and generally rubbing elbows with nature.

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