by Sandra Brown
“Cooper, is it—”
“A chopper.”
Rusty ran out onto the porch and tossed him a pair of jeans. When she had awakened, first with the intuitive knowledge that her lover was no longer lying beside her, then with the sound of the helicopter, she had hastily pulled on her tattered slacks and bulky sweater. Now she, too, shaded her eyes and searched the sky in every direction.
“He must have seen the flares,” Cooper cried excitedly. “He’s coming back.”
“I don’t see him. How do you know?”
“I recognize the sound.”
Apparently he did. Within seconds, the helicopter swept over the tops of the trees and hovered above the cabin. Cooper and Rusty began waving their arms and shouting, even though it was obvious that they’d been spotted by the two men sitting in the chopper. They could even see their wide smiles through the bubble.
“They see us! Oh, Cooper, Cooper!”
Rusty launched herself against him. He caught her in a fierce bear hug and, lifting her off her feet, swung her around. “We made it, baby, we made it!”
The clearing surrounding the cabin was large enough to accommodate the helicopter. It set down. Hand in hand, Rusty and Cooper ran toward it. She was heedless of the twinge of pain in her leg. The pilot in the right-hand chair unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out. Ducking under the rotating blades, he ran to meet them.
“Miz Carlson, ma’am?” His Southern accent was as thick as corn syrup. Rusty bobbed her head up and down, suddenly shy and speechless. Timidly she clung to Cooper’s arm.
“Cooper Landry,” Cooper said, sticking out his hand and pumping the pilot’s in a hearty handshake. “We’re damn sure glad to see you guys.”
“We’re kinda glad to see you, too. Miz Carlson’s daddy hired us to look for her. The authorities weren’t doing the job to his satisfaction.”
“That sounds like Father,” Rusty shouted over the clapping sound of the turning blades.
“Y’all the only ones who made it?” They nodded somberly. “Well, unless y’all want to stick around, let’s git you home. Your daddy sure is gonna be glad to see ya.”
At the mention of the young woman’s father, the congenial pilot gave Cooper a worried glance, taking in his unfastened jeans. It was obvious that they’d been pulled on in haste and that the man wearing them was naked underneath. Rusty had the debauched, disheveled look of a woman who’d been making love all night. The pilot summed up the situation readily enough; it didn’t have to be spelled out to him.
They returned to the cabin only long enough to dress properly. Cooper retrieved his expensive hunting rifle. Beyond that, they came away empty-handed. As she went through the door for the last time, Rusty gave the cabin a wistful backward glance. Originally she had despised the place. Now that she was leaving it, she felt a trace of sadness.
Cooper didn’t seem to share her sentiment. He and the pilot were laughing and joking, having discovered that they were veterans of the same war and that their tours of duty had overlapped. Rusty had to run to catch up with them. When she did, Cooper slipped an arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her. That made everything all right. Or at least better.
“I’m Mike,” the pilot told them as he assisted them into their seats. “And that’s my twin brother Pat.” The other pilot saluted them.
“Pat and Mike?” Cooper shouted. “You gotta be kidding?”
That seemed hilariously funny and they were all laughing uncontrollably as the chopper lifted off the ground and skimmed the tops of the trees before gaining altitude.
“The crash site was spotted by a search plane several days ago,” Mike shouted back at them and pointed down.
Rusty viewed the sight. She was surprised that they had covered so much distance on foot, especially with Cooper dragging her in the handmade travois. She would never have survived if it hadn’t been for him. What if he had died in the crash? Shuddering at the thought, she laid her head on his shoulder. He placed his arm around her and pulled her close. Her hand curled around the inside of his thigh in a subconscious gesture of trust.
“The other five died on impact,” Cooper told the pilots. “Rusty and I were sitting in the last row. I guess that’s why we lived through it.”
“When the report came back that the plane wasn’t burned or anything, Mr. Carlson insisted on searching for survivors,” Mike said. “He hired my brother and me out of Atlanta. We specialize in rescue missions.” He propped his elbow on the back of his seat and turned his head to address them. “How’d you happen onto the cabin?”
Cooper and Rusty exchanged a troubled glance. “We’ll save that story and tell it only once, if you don’t mind,” Cooper said.
Mike nodded. “I’m gonna radio that you’ve been rescued. Lots of people have been lookin’ for ya. The weather’s been a real bitch. Sorry, Miz Carlson.”
“That’s okay.”
“We were grounded until yesterday when the weather cleared. Didn’t see anything. Then got an early start again this morning.”
“Where are you taking us?” Cooper asked.
“Yellowknife.”
“Is my father there?”
Mike shook his head. “He’s in L.A. My guess is that he’ll have y’all hustled down there before the day is out.”
That was good news to Rusty. She couldn’t say why, but she had dreaded having to relate the details of her ordeal to her father. Knowing that she wouldn’t have to face him right away came as a relief—perhaps because of what had happened last night. She hadn’t had time to analyze it. She wanted to savor the experience she had had with Cooper.
Their rescue had been an intrusion. She’d been glad about it, of course. Still, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. The only person she wanted to distract her was Cooper. With that thought, the uncharacteristic shyness stole over her again and she snuggled against him.
He seemed to read her mind. He tipped her face up and peered at her closely. Bending his head, he kissed her soundly on the lips, then pressed her head against his chest. He gathered her hair in a gentle fist. His actions were both protective and possessive.
They stayed in that position for the remainder of the flight. Neither pilot tried to engage them in conversation, but respected their need for privacy. Pertinent questions could wait.
“You’ve drawn quite a crowd.” Mike glanced at them over his shoulder and nodded toward the ground as they approached the airport, which was small when compared to metropolitan airports, but large enough to accommodate jet aircraft.
Rusty and Cooper saw that the airport below was teeming with people. The milling crowd was showing no respect for restricted areas of the tarmac. Vans labeled as portable television-broadcast units were parked end to end. In this remote area of the Northwest Territories, such media hype was virtually unheard of.
Cooper muttered a curse. “Who the hell is responsible for this?”
“The plane crash made big news,” Mike told him with an apologetic smile. “Y’all were the only survivors. I reckon everybody wants to hear what y’all’ve got to say about it.”
The instant Pat set the chopper down, the crowd of reporters surged forward against the temporary barriers. Policemen had a difficult time forcing them back. Several official-looking men ran forward. The helicopter’s twirling blades plastered their business suits against their bodies and slapped their neckties against their faces. The rotors finally wound down.
Mike jumped to the concrete and helped Rusty climb down. She cowered bashfully against the side of the helicopter until Cooper jumped down beside her. Then, after profusely thanking the twin pilots from Georgia, they moved forward. Their hands were clasped together tightly.
The men who greeted them were representatives of the Canadian Aviation Safety Board and the National Transportation Safety Board. The U.S. agency had been invited to investigate the crash since the passengers involved were all American.
The bureaucrats deferentially welcomed Cooper and Rus
ty back to civilization and escorted them past the squirming, shouting wall of reporters whose behavior was anything but civilized. They bombarded them with questions fired as rapidly as machine-gun bullets.
The dazed survivors were escorted through one of the building’s employee entrances, down a corridor, and into a private suite of offices that had been provided for their use.
“Your father has been notified, Miss Carlson.”
“Thank you very much.”
“He was delighted to hear that you are well,” the smiling official told her. “Mr. Landry, is there anyone we should notify for you?”
“No.”
Rusty had turned to him, curious to hear his reply. He had never mentioned a family, so she had assumed that there was none. It seemed terribly sad to her that no one had been waiting for Cooper’s return. She longed to reach out and lay a compassionate hand along his cheek. But the officials were crowded around them.
One stepped forward. “I understand you were the only two to survive the crash.”
“Yes. The others died immediately.”
“We’ve notified their families. Some are outside. They want to speak with you.” Rusty’s face turned as white as the knuckles of her fingers, which were still linked with Cooper’s. “But that can wait,” the man said hastily, sensing her distress. “Can you give us a clue as to the cause of the crash?”
“I’m not a pilot,” Cooper said shortly. “The storm was a factor, I’m sure. The pilots did everything they could.”
“Then you wouldn’t blame the crash on them?” the man probed.
“May I have a glass of water, please?” Rusty asked softly.
“And something to eat,” Cooper said in that same clipped tone. “We haven’t had any food this morning. Not even coffee.”
“Surely, right away.” Someone was dispatched to order them a breakfast.
“And you’d better bring in the proper authorities. I’ve got the deaths of two men to report.”
“What two men?”
“The ones I killed.” Everyone froze. He had succeeded in winning their undivided attention. “I’m sure someone should be notified. But first, how about that coffee?” Cooper’s voice rang with authority and impatience. It was almost amusing how it galvanized everyone into action. For the next hour, the officials flapped around them like headless chickens.
They were brought huge breakfasts of steak and eggs. More than anything on the tray Rusty enjoyed the fresh orange juice. She couldn’t drink enough of it. As they ate, they answered the endless rounds of questions. Pat and Mike were brought in to verify the location of the cabin relative to the crash site. While the weather was still cooperating, crews were dispatched to view the wreckage and exhume the bodies that Cooper had buried.
In the midst of the chaos a telephone receiver was thrust into Rusty’s hand and her father’s voice boomed into her ear. “Rusty, thank God. Are you all right?” Tears filled her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t speak. “I’m fine. Fine. My leg feels much better.”
“Your leg! What happened to your leg? Nobody told me anything about your leg.”
She explained as best she could in brief, disjointed phrases. “But it’s fine, really.”
“I’m not taking your word for it. Don’t worry about anything,” he told her. “I’ll handle everything from here. You’ll be brought to L.A. tonight and I’ll be at the airport to meet you. It’s a miracle that you survived.”
She glanced at Cooper, and said softly, “Yes, a miracle.”
Around noon they were taken across the street to a motel and assigned rooms in which to shower and change into clothes provided by the Canadian government.
At the door to her room, Rusty reluctantly let go of Cooper’s arm. She couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight. She felt alien, apart. None of this seemed real. Everything and everybody swam toward her like distorted faces out of a dream. She had difficulty matching words to concepts. Everything was strange—except Cooper. Cooper alone was her reality.
He seemed no more pleased with the arrangements than she, but it would hardly be suitable for them to share a motel room. He squeezed her hand and said, “I’ll be right next door.”
He watched her enter her room and safely close and lock the door before he went to his own. Once inside, he dropped into the only chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Now what?” he asked the four walls.
If only he had held off for one more night. If only she hadn’t asked that question of him yesterday morning after breakfast. If only she hadn’t been so desirable in the first place. If only they hadn’t been on the same airplane. If only it hadn’t crashed. If only some of the others had survived and they hadn’t been alone.
He could come up with thousands of “if onlys,” and the bottom line would still be that they’d made love all day yesterday and last night until the wee hours.
He didn’t regret it—not a single breathless second of it.
But he didn’t know how in the hell he was going to handle it from here. Rightfully, he should pretend that it hadn’t happened and ignore the shining recognition of mutual passion in her eyes. But that was just it: he couldn’t ignore her melting looks.
Nor could he callously disregard her dependency on him. The rules they’d laid down in the cabin were still in effect. She hadn’t acclimated yet. She was apprehensive. She had just survived a trauma. He couldn’t subject her to another one so soon. She wasn’t tough like him; she had to be treated with delicacy and tact. After the rough time he’d given her, he thought she deserved that much consideration.
Of course he was reconciled to having to turn his back on her. He wished she would turn hers on him first. That would relieve him of the responsibility of hurting her.
But dammit, she wouldn’t. And he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until it was absolutely necessary for them to part. Until then, even though he knew it was foolhardy, he’d go on being her Lancelot, her protector and lover.
God, he loved the role.
It was just too damn bad it was temporary.
The hot shower felt wonderful and worked to revive her physically and mentally. She scrubbed her hair with shampoo twice and rinsed it until it squeaked. When she stepped out of the tub, she felt almost normal.
But she wasn’t. Normally she wouldn’t have noticed how soft the motel towels were. She would have taken soft towels for granted. She was changed in other ways, too. When she propped her foot on the edge of the tub to dry, she noticed the unsightly, jagged scar running down her shin. She bore other scars. Deeper ones. They were indelibly engraved on her soul. Rusty Carlson would never be the same.
The clothes she’d been given were inexpensive and way oversize, but they made her feel human and feminine again. The shoes fit, but they felt odd and unusually light on her feet. It was the first time in weeks that she’d worn anything but hiking boots. Almost a week at the lodge and almost two since the crash.
Two weeks? Is that all it had been?
When she emerged from the motel room, Cooper was waiting outside her door. He had showered and shaved. His hair was still damp and well combed. The new clothes looked out of place on his rangy body.
They approached each other warily, shyly, almost apologetically. When their eyes met, the familiarity sparked. And something else, too.
“You’re different,” Rusty whispered.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. I might look different, but I haven’t changed.”
He took her hand and drew her aside, giving the people who would have rushed to cluster around them a “back off” glance. They moved out of hearing distance. Cooper said, “In all this confusion, I haven’t had a chance to tell you something.”
Clean and smelling like soap and shaving cream, mouth giving off the fresh scent of peppermint, he was very handsome. Her eyes moved hungrily over him, unable to take in this new Cooper. “What?”
He leaned closer. “I love the way your tongue feels flicking over my navel
.”
Rusty sucked in a startled breath. Her eyes darted toward the group that was huddled a discreet distance away. They were all watching them curiously. “You’re outrageous.”
“And I don’t give a damn.” He inched even closer. “Let’s give them something to speculate about.” He curled his hand around her throat and placed his thumb beneath her chin to tilt it up.
Then he kissed her unsparingly. He took what he wanted and gave more than she would have had the audacity to ask for. Nor was he in any hurry. His tongue plumbed her mouth slowly and deliciously in a purely sexual rhythm.
When he finally pulled away, he growled, “I want to kiss you like that all over, but,” he shot a look in the direction of their astounded observers, “that’ll have to wait.”
They were driven back to the airport, but Rusty never remembered leaving the motel. Cooper’s kiss had entranced her.
The hours of the afternoon dragged on forever. They were catered another meal. Rusty ordered an enormous chef’s salad. She was starved for cold, crisp, fresh vegetables, but found that she could only eat half of it.
Her lack of appetite was partially due to the breakfast she’d eaten only hours before, but mostly to her anxiety over the interrogation she and Cooper were put through regarding the deaths of Quinn and Reuben Gawrylow.
A court reporter was brought in to take down Cooper’s testimony. He told how they had met the two recluses, were given shelter by them, promised rescue, and then were attacked. “Our lives were in danger,” he said. “I had no choice. It was self-defense.”
Rusty gauged the reactions of the policemen and saw that they weren’t convinced. They murmured among themselves and kept casting suspicious glances toward Cooper. They began asking him about his stint in Vietnam and brought up the fact that he was a former POW. They asked him to recount the events leading to his escape from the prison camp. He refused, saying that it had no bearing on this issue.
“But you were forced to...to...”
