The Pleasures of Winter

by Evie Hunter

Jack considered her question. ‘I’ve never been married and never intend to be. As for the right woman, I don’t believe there is such a thing. Only the one who is right for now.’

  ‘And there have been a hell of a lot of those,’ Kevin said as he got out of his seat and walked up the cabin again.

  Abbie didn’t know what possessed her to ask the question. ‘How many?’

  One dark brow crooked in surprise. ‘It’s my turn to ask a question, and as we’re getting up close and personal –’ He leaned in closer.

  Abbie couldn’t help swallowing as she looked at his mouth.

  ‘When was the last time that you made love?’

  She flushed scarlet. It was weeks, maybe months; she couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

  ‘That’s a very personal question.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  Kevin returned with more iced tea. Jack took the bottle from him without taking his eyes off her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so utterly exposed, but then she had never had a man like Jack Winter look at her so intently. He popped the cap while she played with her recorder and tried to ignore the question, but it seemed he wasn’t going to let her get away with that.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘In that case, the interview is over.’ He stuck the bottle into the holder, pushed his seat all the way back, settled himself and closed his eyes.

  Jack had watched Abbie blush like a virgin with a mixture of amusement and fascination and wondered how far he could push her. As he lay back, he ignored her outraged gulp and waited to see how long it would take before she cracked and told him what he wanted to know.

  And he did want to know, he was surprised to find. Abbie Marshall wasn’t his usual type, but there was something about her …

  Even with his eyes closed, Jack had no problem picturing the shape of her face with its baby-soft skin and dusting of freckles. The women he normally dated wouldn’t be seen dead with freckles, they’d have had them peeled and sandpapered away. Her mouth was wide and inviting with the perfectly even teeth of someone who had spent years in braces.

  Her short hair framed her face, highlighting her eyes. He allowed himself a brief fantasy of running his fingers through that shiny dark hair, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be fighting half a pound of extensions and hair product. ‘Don’t touch the hair’ was a mantra with his dates.

  And those eyes: wide, green and sparkling with curiosity and intelligence. Oh yes, this was a woman who could stand up to him if necessary. He enjoyed the snap of animosity between them and if things had been different, would have enjoyed taking things further.

  But she was a journalist. That was bad enough, even without the cut-glass accent which he recognized as Old Money. He was never getting involved with a woman like that again. He’d learned his lesson the hard way.

  He heard her inhale.

  ‘Mr –’

  He opened one eye at her, shook his head and closed it again. Ms Marshall would learn that if she wanted to interview him, she had to play by his rules and answer his questions. His interest in her answer was beside the point.

  She huffed and he couldn’t resist a grin. She must have seen it because she huffed louder, but she refused to speak.

  Gradually, the previous thirty-six hours caught up with him and despite the drone of the engine, he dozed.

  The irregular splutter of the engines roused him. He opened his eyes and checked the cabin. Nothing looked out of place. Kev and Zeke had their heads together over an iPad and Abbie was curled up in her seat, her legs tucked under her in a way that his would never fit. When he glanced out the window, the engines looked as normal. But – he frowned – they were flying closer to the clouds than he would have expected.

  The engine coughed again and the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He got up and headed for the cockpit. On impulse, he snapped the safety belt around Abbie before he went.

  She woke up and scowled at him. ‘What are you doing?’

  She sounded cranky and he wanted to smile, but his instincts were kicking in. ‘Stay here, and keep that belt tight on you.’

  ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

  ‘Take this one.’ He didn’t have time to explain his unease.

  ‘Like I was going anywhere,’ she said, but she settled back down, with the belt still around her.

  Jack moved forward, noticing that there was a distinct slope in the floor of the cabin. Something was wrong.

  The cockpit was tiny, not so much a room as a seat with a bunch of electronics behind a folding screen, and only enough room for one pilot. Jack forced the screen open and asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’

  The pilot, a silver-haired man with ruddy skin, was paler than Jack remembered. His face had a light sheen of sweat and there was a blue tinge to his lips. ‘I don’t feel so well,’ he muttered. He gripped the steering column, but he seemed to be ignoring the urgent red lights blinking at him.

  Under Jack’s horrified eyes, the pilot’s grip shifted and the nose of the plane dipped another few degrees.

  ‘Got an aspirin? I’ve got a bit of a pain.’ The pilot rubbed his chest, pressing hard on it, before grabbing the steering column again. The man kept his eyes glued on the sky, but ignored the instruments. He paled even further and sweat rolled down his face.

  ‘Where are your meds?’ Jack asked. Please let him have meds that would fix this.

  The pilot’s voice slurred. ‘What meds?’

  2

  Fuck! To Jack’s untrained eye, the pilot was having a heart attack. He shoved his way back into the cabin. ‘Where’s the first-aid kit?’ he asked no one in particular. There should be aspirin in there.

  Kev dragged his attention away from the iPad. ‘The what?’

  ‘The first-aid kit. I need aspirin.’

  ‘I’ve got some paracetamol,’ Abbie said. She moved to unbuckle her seat belt.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Jack said and handed her the rucksack. He had no idea if it would do any good, but it was better than nothing. She fished though a pile of clothes, including some intriguingly lacy panties, and handed him a blister pack with two gone. ‘Thanks.’ He grabbed his bottle of iced tea to help the pilot wash it down. It would be warm, but who cared.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Abbie asked as he moved back towards the cockpit.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied gruffly. None of the others seemed to notice that anything out of the ordinary was happening and he wasn’t about to cause a panic by telling them.

  When he got back, the pilot’s face was grey and he was struggling for breath. His grip on the steering column jerked and he slumped forward. His head hit something and the plane shuddered. Jack hauled him up to force the pills into him, but it was too late. The pilot had stopped breathing – and the plane was heading down through the clouds towards the ground.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This wasn’t good. Jack frantically tried to remember the flying lessons he had taken for Fly Hard 3. The first thing was to take control of the plane. He had to get it level and restore altitude. He pushed the pilot out of his seat. The man slumped forward, clearing the seat but blocking the foot pedals and far instruments. He tried to pull him out of the way, but he was wedged in place. This was going to get dirty.

  Jack sat down in front of the controls, grabbed the steering column and pulled back on it, forcing the nose of the little plane up and away from the ground.

  What was the emergency frequency number – 121.5? As soon as he had a safe altitude, he’d call for help.

  He battled to keep the steering column pulled back, but the pilot must be pressing on something because the plane kept descending and pulling to the left. They dropped down into clouds and Jack found himself staring at a sea of white. The clouds muffled even the noise of the engines. If it weren’t for the altimeter’s rapidly changing numbers, everything would have se
emed strangely peaceful.

  Jack ran through every swear word he knew, and then stopped bothering while he battled the forces of gravity. His eyes watered from staring through the blanket of white, trying to pick out what was below them.

  There was no doubt they were going to crash. The only question was, would it be a crash they could walk away from?

  Without warning, the white gave way to green. Between one blink and the next, they were out of the cloud and flying directly above the canopy of the rainforest. Jack wrestled the controls, trying to keep the plane level until he could spot somewhere to land.

  The trees were directly underneath, so close that he swore a couple of them scraped the bottom of the plane. There was no way he could land. He checked his airspeed. Two hundred miles per hour. They were going to be mincemeat soon.

  To the right, something caught his eye. A gap in the green. He banked the plane, hoping it might be a river. If that pilot could land a plane on the Hudson, he could do it too. God, this was even better than a river. It was a tiny airstrip, undoubtedly cleared by drug runners. He sucked in a breath; he might be able to land the plane.

  He banked further, giving himself a bit of airspace before he began his descent. ‘Buckle up and brace yourselves,’ he yelled into the cabin. ‘We’re going down and it’s going to be a rough landing.’

  He ignored the others as they shouted back at him in alarm. The pilot was a deadweight pressing into his arm as he straightened their flight path for the landing. Jack pressed his shoulder against the man, trying to get at the controls. He eased back on the throttle to reduce the speed, and tried to line up with the airstrip. It was so small it was like threading a needle.

  The ground rushed up at him, faster than he expected. He cursed, trying to keep the nose up. Wheels are good, deploy the landing gear. Lower flaps, reduce speed, what else? Too late, he saw that the landing strip had been sabotaged. There was a massive trench across it, guaranteed to crash any plane that tried to land. Frantically, he hauled on the steering column, forcing the plane away from the wheel-trapping trench and into the forest.

  They were still carrying too much speed. Jack slammed on the brakes, but not before they smashed into the wall of green. All he could do was try to steer so that they didn’t collide head-on with one of the giant trees that stretched up to cloud level.

  The jerk of a wing hitting a small tree almost knocked him over, especially when it was followed soon after by another. So, we’re not flying out of here, then. He was nearly blinded by the vegetation rushing at the cockpit window.

  They were lucky they hadn’t crashed into anything solid enough to pulverize them. Their speed was dropping and Jack began to hope they might get out of this alive.

  The plane tipped forward, knocking him off his feet and crashing his head into the control panel. Only years of physical training kept him from tumbling straight into the window, which was now the lowest point of the cockpit. From the cabin he heard screams and a yell of pain.

  When Jack got back to his feet, he saw that they had tipped into a gully of some sort. They were near the top of it, and only one broken wing caught on a tree had saved them from plummeting to the bottom.

  Sweating, and ignoring the trickle of blood he could feel down his neck, he forced his way back into the cabin. The floor was tilted at a dangerous angle, but by grabbing the seat backs, he could make his way along.

  Abbie and Kev were buckled into the seats, both white-faced and panting, but safe. Zeke Bryan was on the ground, clutching his arm and whimpering. His seat belt was unfastened. The dickhead hadn’t done what he had told him.

  ‘Zeke? How badly are you hurt?’ he asked, as he tried to assess his injuries.

  The older man glared at him. ‘I broke my arm, you moron.’ He held one arm tenderly with the other. ‘What the hell were you playing at up there? Did you crash the plane?’

  ‘The pilot had a heart attack,’ Jack said shortly. He didn’t have time for explanations. ‘We need to get out of here now.’

  ‘I’m not moving. Can’t you see I’m injured?’ Zeke sounded more like a petulant child than Hollywood’s leading agent.

  Jack’s vision was fuzzy around the edges and his head hurt like hell. ‘Fine, stay here and when the plane falls, you can fall with it.’

  ‘Falls? What are you talking about?’

  ‘We’re at the top of a gully with a fair drop below us. If that wing goes, we’ll fall to the bottom. I’m guessing it’s a flood culvert and next time it rains, we’ll be flotsam. It’s time to get out of here.’

  Jack made his way over to the door. By bracing himself with one foot on the floor and one on the wall, he was able to open it. He assessed their situation. They’d have to climb down from the plane, drop on to the ground and then scramble up the side of the gully to the relative safety of the forest floor. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.

  ‘How is everyone holding up?’ he asked. The last thing he needed was a hysterical female on his hands, but it was Zeke who was hyperventilating and changing colour. ‘The hard part is over, now we just have to get out of here and we’ll be safe,’ he lied, knowing that the hard part would be staying alive.

  Before he could say anything else, Zeke broke in. ‘No, I’m not all right. I’m injured. I have a broken arm. I need to go to a hospital.’

  ‘We’ll get you to one as soon as possible. First we need to get out of here.’ He gestured to Abbie. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Forget that,’ Zeke told him. ‘I’m injured. She’s not. I need to get down out of here and find a doctor ASAP.’

  Abbie shrugged. ‘Fine by me.’

  Abbie watched as Jack lowered himself carefully from the plane and dropped the last couple of feet. He skidded further down the muddy sides of the small ravine and had to climb back up. Anchoring himself on a couple of prominent roots sticking through the mud, he called up, ‘OK, Zeke, come down and I’ll catch you.’

  Even with Kev lowering him and Jack guiding his feet, getting the agent out of the plane was a nightmare. He yelped and complained non-stop, occasionally screaming with pain. Jack caught him around the waist and lowered him to his feet before he helped him struggle up the few feet to the top of the gully. Zeke collapsed in a heap at the top, moaning piteously.

  Jack then changed his mind about the order of exit. ‘Kev, could you come down now and bring the first-aid kit with you?’

  Whatever happened to women and children first? If the plane moved again, she was going with it. Tragedy as journalist survives plane crash, only to drown in river.

  ‘Sure thing.’ Kev threw a small bag down to Jack, who tossed it up on to the bank. Then he guided Kev to a safe landing.

  ‘Now you, Abbie.’

  She took one last look around the cabin and patted her rucksack. Her laptop was safe, but where was her recorder?

  ‘Just a moment, I have to get a few things.’

  As she moved down the cabin, the plane shuddered.

  ‘Now, Abbie,’ Jack roared.

  ‘In a minute,’ she called. She dropped to her knees in front of the seat where she had been sitting. It had to be here. A shout from overhead startled her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? Get out of here now.’ Jack had climbed back into the plane and was glaring down into her open rucksack.

  ‘I’m trying to find my recorder,’ she snapped. ‘There’s some stuff on it I really need.’

  She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched. ‘We have crash-landed in the fucking jungle. It’s a miracle we’re not spaghetti sauce right now, and you are worrying about a bit of plastic? Forget the fucking recorder. Forget the laptop and leave your other stuff behind. We can’t carry it.’

  Abbie winced. Jack Winter in a temper was pretty terrifying, but she needed her notes. She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off.

  ‘You’re leaving this plane now. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.’

  ‘My recorder.’ The plane lurched again, and she
yelped.

  ‘You have thirty seconds while I get some supplies. Then you are going out that door on your ass.’

  Next thing, emergency parachutes and blankets were flying past as Jack tossed them through the open door. She saw him stuff his pockets with packets of nuts and miniature bottles of spirits and then filling a bag with bottles of water and pre-packaged meals.

  She touched the digital recorder wedged under the seat, pulled it out and shoved it into her pocket. She could hear Jack moving in the cockpit. There must be something she could do to help him.

  She was horrified when she saw the pilot’s distorted body and the front of the plane so badly smashed up. For the first time since they landed, she wanted to be sick. She didn’t know how Jack Winter had landed the plane safely. Her annoyance turned to admiration.

  The pilot was twisted into an awkward position in the mangled cockpit. Jack braced himself with his feet on the control panel and tried to pull him out. The pilot was stuck. He winced as a piece of mangled plastic dug into his side.

  Don’t be such a girl, Marshall. Help him. She grasped the plastic and moved it out of his way, stifling a cry as she sliced her palm on the sharp edge.

  ‘I don’t think that we can move him,’ Jack said.

  Abbie stared at the man wedged under the instrument panel. It could be any one of them. ‘We can’t just leave him here. We have to bury him.’

  ‘Abbie.’ Jack’s tone was sharp. ‘I need you to hold him up while I try the radio.’

  The pilot’s body was still warm. Abbie tried not to look at his face while Jack tried the radio, but it was as dead as the pilot. There was no help coming. They were stuck.

  The plane shifted again.

  ‘We’re leaving here, right now,’ he said.

  Abbie couldn’t move. Frozen to the spot, she could feel the plane shudder as it moved beneath her feet. Then Jack was grabbing her shoulders, urging her back into the main cabin. He paused long enough to rifle through the pilot’s locker, removing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, before pushing her to the door.

  Jack yelled at Kev to be ready. He threw down the bag of supplies and then lowered her down. Even in this situation, she couldn’t help noticing Jack’s distinctive scent, musk and man, something that was uniquely him. Her breasts brushed his chest and she blushed at the intimate contact.