Alaska Home

by Debbie Macomber

  “I guess I should be on my way,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. “I had a marvelous weekend. Thank you.”

  “We’re glad you could make the wedding on such short notice.”

  It had taken a bit of finagling, but Tracy had managed to change her schedule, flying in on Friday afternoon. This was one wedding she hadn’t wanted to miss, even though it meant traveling more than twenty-five hundred miles.

  Duke was inspecting the exterior of the plane when Tracy joined him. “You can get in,” he said absently.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, more certain than ever that this one-hour flight would feel like a lifetime. She’d taken Mariah’s advice and dressed warmly in wool pants and a thick cable-knit sweater. Since the interior of the aircraft was heated, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to keep her coat on or take it off.

  Tracy was about to ask, but decided the less conversation between her and Duke, the better. Since he wore his jacket, she’d wear hers, too.

  Once inside the aircraft, Tracy fastened her seat belt and held her breath. Flying didn’t usually frighten her, but she’d rarely flown in a storm or in an aircraft this small. Neither Sawyer nor Duke had expressed any qualms, though, and they were the experts. Midnight Sons was proud of its safety record, and she was confident they wouldn’t fly if conditions were hazardous.

  Duke climbed into the plane and started the engine, which fired readily to life. Next he reached for the headset, adjusting it over his ears, and spoke into the small attached microphone. She could hardly hear him over the roar of the engine.

  They taxied to the end of the runway, then turned around. She watched him do an equipment check, pushing various gauges and buttons. According to Sawyer, Duke was the best pilot they had. This ride wasn’t going to be a lot of fun, with the snow coming down fast and furious, but the weather didn’t seem to concern him, so Tracy resolved not to worry about it, either. Easier said than done, however...

  The engine noise increased dramatically as Duke boosted the power and roared down the snow-covered gravel runway. Soon they were airborne. A few minutes later, he removed his headset and tucked it under her seat. After that, he looked in her direction once, as if to check on her.

  “I’m fine,” she shouted. But he must’ve known she was afraid from the way she kept her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  It came to her that if she was willing to put her differences with the O’Halloran brothers behind her, she should be willing to do the same with Duke. The words, however, stuck in her throat.

  With Duke it was...personal. Duke felt a woman needed to be tamed. Indeed! It was time the man woke up and realized he lived in the twentieth century. Good grief, almost the twenty-first!

  She supposed that nothing she could say or do would change his opinions, and it would be useless to even try.

  Sighing, Tracy closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Not that it would be possible, but if Duke assumed she was asleep, he might ignore her.

  Tracy wasn’t sure when she noticed a difference, but at one point she became aware that something wasn’t right. It seemed, to her uneducated ear, that the engine noise had altered slightly. She opened her eyes and straightened to find Duke studying the instrument panel.

  “What is it?” she asked, studying the gauges herself.

  He gave no outward indication that anything was wrong. She might not have known if it wasn’t for the increasingly odd noises the engine made.

  “Duke, don’t play games with me!” she cried. This was no time to pay her back for that silly kiss—and yet she hoped that was exactly what he was doing.

  He looked at her as if he didn’t know what she meant.

  “Okay, so I had Mariah kiss you,” she said, and didn’t care that she sounded frantic. “I admit it was a stupid thing to do. I... I don’t know why I did it, but if you’re trying to retaliate and frighten me, then I—”

  It was as though he hadn’t heard her. He cursed loudly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The engine sputtered, and there could be no denying they were experiencing some kind of trouble. Big trouble.

  “We’re losing—”

  The engine faltered again.

  “Start looking,” he ordered tersely.

  “For what?”

  “A place to land. We’re going down.”

  No sooner had he spoken than the engine quit completely.

  * * *

  Christian and Mariah sat outside their gate at the Fairbanks airport waiting for their flight. Christian’s arm was around his wife’s shoulders.

  His wife.

  The realization took some getting used to, but it was a good kind of adjustment. Mariah tucked her head under his chin, and he stroked her hair contentedly.

  “Our flight should be called soon,” he told her. An entire two weeks on a cruise ship with his bride sounded like heaven. His life had been turned upside down in the past three weeks. A month ago he would’ve laughed at anyone who suggested he’d be married now. Yet here he was, and about as happy as any man had a right to be.

  Mariah’s eyes were closed, but she was smiling.

  She had good reason to be tired—and happy. Their wedding night had been one of discovery and joy. Christian was still shocked that he’d been so clueless about his feelings for Mariah all these months. Once he’d recognized that he was in love with her, it was as if his whole world had expanded.

  For the first year of their acquaintance, he’d barely been able to work in the same room with her, convinced she was nothing but trouble. Everyone else was crazy about her, but ironically, she was trouble—for Christian’s heart.

  He’d sensed that his self-contained emotional life was about to be blown wide open. Knowing he was in grave danger, he’d raised a protective barrier against her. He’d been ill-tempered, unreasonable and cantankerous, yet she’d put up with him day after day.

  It would take him a lifetime to make up for the dreadful way he’d treated her, but it was a task he accepted willingly.

  “Christian,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Why’d you assign Duke to fly Tracy out of Hard Luck?”

  Christian grinned. Tracy and Duke. Those two were like fire and ice. Complete and total opposites.

  “They don’t get along, you know,” Mariah said, as if he wasn’t already aware of it.

  “Don’t get along” was putting it mildly. He wouldn’t be surprised if they argued the entire flight. He could picture it now. Duke would start the argument because he thrived on verbal battles. Christian suspected he particularly enjoyed getting Tracy riled up. Then she’d respond, and soon the fur would fly.

  “It seems like cruel and unusual punishment to subject those two to each other for any length of time,” Mariah said.

  “Your parents will be there to mediate.” He kissed the crown of her head. “Have I told you yet how much I love you?” he asked, changing the subject.

  A slow, contented smile spread over her face. “As a matter of fact, you did. I love you, too.”

  His arm tightened briefly around her shoulders. “I know.” Her love was one thing he’d never doubt.

  “By the way,” she said, raising her head to meet his gaze, “when did you start drinking your coffee black?”

  Christian figured heaven would bless him for the restraint it required not to laugh outright. As his secretary, Mariah had served him coffee every morning for more than a year. Some days she added cream, others sugar, occasionally both, but only rarely did she get it right.

  “Just recently,” he answered.

  His heart swelled with love, and he wondered if it would always be like this with him and Mariah. Sawyer seemed to indicate that it would. He’d married Abbey a year earlier and had never been happier. Charles, the oldest brother, had gotten
married last spring.

  At the time, Christian had felt light-years away from making a commitment to any woman, yet here he was, less than six months later, with his new wife by his side. The best part was how happy he was. He’d always thought that when it was time to get married, he’d go into the relationship with some reluctance, knowing his bachelor days were over. It hadn’t been that way at all. He felt like the most fortunate man alive.

  “You never did answer my question,” Mariah said, nestling her head more securely against him.

  “What question?” He was easily sidetracked these days.

  “About assigning Duke to fly Tracy into town.”

  “I didn’t assign him the flight,” Christian murmured.

  She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes filled with unasked questions.

  “It’s true,” Christian assured her.

  “But I saw it on the schedule myself. I even warned Tracy and promised her it wasn’t my doing, and now you’re telling me Duke isn’t flying her into town?”

  “No,” he said, and laughed smugly, “I’m telling you I didn’t give Duke the assignment.”

  “Then how—”

  “Duke requested it.”

  “He did?” Her wonderfully expressive face revealed her shock.

  Christian nodded. “I thought it was a bit strange myself. But who am I to question such matters?”

  “Really.” Mariah’s smile was back. “So Duke requested it. I’m beginning to suspect there’s more going on with those two than meets the eye.”

  Christian opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. Everything he knew about love and romance he’d learned from his wife. She was the expert.

  * * *

  Aviate. Navigate. Communicate.

  The words raced through Duke’s mind at laser speed. His first response was to take whatever measures were needed to restart the plane’s engine. From the way the oil pressure was falling, Duke guessed the line had ruptured. The engine sputtered to life once or twice, then died with a final spurt. Nothing he did could restart it, despite his continuous efforts.

  “What do you mean we’re going down?” Tracy sounded close to panic.

  “We’ll be making an off-field landing,” he shouted. And then, because he knew she was frightened, he added, “They happen all the time.”

  “Maybe they do for you. You have done this before, haven’t you?”

  “Plenty of times.” He hoped the lie would keep Tracy from panicking. The truth was, he’d made only one emergency landing, years earlier, in conditions a lot better than this.

  He reached for his headset and began talking, linking with the air-traffic controller in Fairbanks, communicating his coordinates. He sounded calm, but his heart was beating so loudly he was sure it could be heard over the microphone.

  As the plane descended through the clouds and snow, it became more and more difficult to make out the terrain below.

  “Duke...” Tracy grabbed his arm, her grip tight. He felt her terror, experienced his own.

  “Look around,” he ordered. “We need to find a clearing where we can land.”

  September and March. Every pilot in Alaska knew those were the most dangerous months in which to crash. Snow on the ground, and the rivers and lakes had yet to freeze over.

  In another week he could’ve settled this baby down on a frozen lake. If he tried that now, they’d both be dead in a matter of minutes.

  Fact was, he didn’t know what their chances were.

  Not good, he decided. Not even promising.

  Because of the snow and the wind, the plane glided. He worked the rudder, manipulating the aircraft any way he could, hoping to navigate it.

  “I... I can’t make out anything below,” Tracy said.

  Duke couldn’t, either.

  “What should I do?” she asked, and once more he heard the panic in her voice.

  “Hold on as best you can.”

  “I’m already doing that!”

  “You might pray,” he suggested next.

  “Pray? I don’t think I know how. It’s been a while.”

  He guessed they were both about to get a crash course in the art of prayer. Crash course. If it wasn’t so terrifying, he would’ve laughed.

  As they drifted down from the sky, Duke glanced at Tracy and winked. “Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

  He was beginning to make out the contours of the land, silently cursing when he saw trees. This was the worst possible scenario.

  “Right before we land,” he said, straining to sound cool and collected, “open your window and the door.”

  “I’ll fall out.”

  “No, you won’t.” Although controlling the plane required his complete concentration, he reached over and grabbed the end of her seat belt. He yanked hard, making sure it was as tight as possible.

  Then he did the same with his own.

  Out of the driving snow, a small clearing appeared. Working as fast as his hands would let him, Duke shut down the plane’s electrical system, including the rudders. The last thing they needed on impact was a spark to set off a fire.

  “Hold on,” he shouted as the aircraft slammed into the ground. A tree tore off the right wing, and Tracy screamed, covering her face with both hands.

  The plane spun out of control, cartwheeling like a broken toy over the harsh landscape. Duke was nearly wrenched from his seat. A piercing pain stabbed his left arm as he felt the bone snap, and then he felt nothing.

  Three

  Tracy was viciously jolted from side to side. The aircraft smashed against the side of a tree and spun around. The entire world became a blur, colors blending, lights blinking. The oxygen seemed to be sucked from the air.

  Tracy heard Duke cry out and at the same moment felt something hit her head. Warm liquid trickled down her face. Blood? A scream froze in her throat. That was when she knew. She was going to die.

  The incredible thing was that she felt no fear, no terror—nothing but a strange sense of peace.

  Abruptly the tumbling aircraft hit something solid. The jolt was strong enough to nearly rip her seat from its hinges. The seat-belt restraints were the only thing that kept Tracy from being hurled through the front window.

  Then there was silence. Absolute silence.

  It hurt to breathe, and she struggled for each lungful of air. Her chest felt as if a heavy weight was pressing against her. She managed a raspy breath and choked.

  The seat belt kept Tracy in an upright position. It was painfully tight, and she realized that was the cause of her distress. She needed every ounce of strength she had to release it.

  “Duke.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper as she turned her head to look at her companion. Her distress increased tenfold when she saw him. Blood flowed freely from a gash on the side of his head.

  Tentatively she reached out and touched his face, not knowing if he was dead or alive. “Please, oh, please don’t be dead. Duke, be alive. Please be alive.”

  Although she felt as if her arms and legs had been jerked from their sockets, her fear propelled her into action. She located the pulse in his neck and nearly sobbed with relief.

  Next she twisted around in her seat and applied pressure to Duke’s wound, which continued to bleed profusely. The cut was jagged and very deep. Even to her inexperienced eye, it was obvious that he needed stitches.

  Every time she moved, her body screamed with pain. But she maneuvered herself around so that she was kneeling on her seat. Then she pulled her scarf from her jacket and opened a package of tissues she found in her pocket; with these she constructed a makeshift bandage for Duke’s head.

  Judging by the odd position of his left arm, she assumed it was badly broken, perhaps a compound fracture. She leaned her forehead aga
inst his shoulder, struggling not to weep with frustration and fear.

  Duke groaned and rolled his head to one side.

  Tracy’s relief was so great she brought both hands to her mouth. “Duke! We’re alive. We’re alive!”

  He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw her kneeling next to him. “I told you this’d be a piece of cake,” he murmured.

  “Where’s the first-aid kit?” she asked. “Your arm’s—it looks like it’s broken.”

  He nodded. “Feels like it, too.” His face was deathly white. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Raising his good arm, he touched her face, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You’re hurt.”

  “No,” she countered, “I’m fine really. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

  His hand came away covered in blood. “You have a cut...” His voice started to fade. Tracy was afraid he might be going into shock.

  “Duke, where’s the first-aid kit?” she asked again. She tried to remember the emergency medical class she’d taken her first year in college, but worried she’d forgotten too much to be of any help to either of them.

  Duke told her, and she scrambled into the back, digging through the emergency equipment. She found two sleeping bags and several packets of brown plastic bags. These, she discovered, were something called Meals Ready to Eat. Or so the package claimed.

  The first-aid kit was the last item she pulled free. Tucking the plastic box under her arm, she squirmed forward. By the time she got back to her seat, she was breathless and weak.

  Duke’s face remained white with pain. She considered unwrapping one of the sleeping bags and covering him with that, but there was so little room. If only she could get to her suitcase.

  “I’ve got the kit,” she said, feeling triumphant for having accomplished this one small feat. Then she went about treating his injuries.

  She unwound her scarf and examined his cut, relieved to find the bleeding had slowed. She applied new tissues and retied the scarf.