by Jillian Hart
What Sam had said tonight proved he suspected how she was feeling.
She still had her pride. That was something. As much as she wanted to give in to the pain of her disappointment, the pain she felt on Sam’s behalf was greater.
She carried around more guilt and sorrow than she could face over a past she could not change. But Sam seemed to be hurting even more. How deep did his wounds go? Would they ever heal?
She’d lost her dreams. Secret ones she’d never even realized she had until now. What his proposal would be like. What ring he would buy her. How it would feel to walk down the church aisle and see him waiting at the altar to make her his wife.
Troubled, she worried as she drove. How was she going to face him tonight, or ever again, and keep her heart from breaking even more?
Sarah needed her, and there was no way Kirby could hide in the car all night. She turned off the sedan’s headlights, pocketed her car keys and grabbed her medical bag from the back seat. Her chest felt heavy, and it was hard to breathe as she headed toward Sam’s helicopter.
How had she been so wrong? She’d been sure he loved her. Certain of his caring for her.
Luckily he was busy with his preflight check and, with his back to her, didn’t see her as she climbed on board.
All she had to do was be professional. After all, she and Sam volunteered together. They were neighbors. So, she’d fallen in love with him. Well, she’d fall right back out. They would never again be friends, but they could be friendly.
Sam popped in through the side door, slammed it tight into place and locked it. Simply seeing him made pain rip through the center of her chest.
She was only lying to herself. Friendly?
She still loved him. She filled up from the bottom of her soul to the top of her heart from simply being near him.
What was she going to do? There was no future, she knew. There would be no dating and no proposing. No wedding and no happily-ever-after. That’s what he’d told her tonight, in his own way.
He didn’t want her enough. He didn’t want to risk loving anyone again.
Sam stared at his clipboard, talking to her as if she were a stranger. “The doc is hiking south of Glacier. They got him on his cell and he’s driving in to the local airstrip. We’ll pick up him first, then head east for the girl.”
Kirby nodded. Sam looked miserable. His eyes were shadowed and sad.
There was no spirit to him as he studied the clipboard so he didn’t have to look at her. “They’re tracking a storm just west of us. I’m going to try to swing around it, but it’s supposed to be a slow mover. I might catch a little turbulence, so make sure you stay belted in.”
“Fine.” Was this how it was going to be between them? Strained? As if strangers?
Suddenly Kirby realized the risk she’d taken and knew she was feeling the price of it. Gone was the companionship she’d felt with Sam. The easygoing connection that had sparked between them, like the stars in a night sky, crisp and pure and inspiring.
But she’d lost more than his valuable friendship. She’d lost the love of her life. She’d never felt this way about any man. She knew, beyond a doubt, she never would again. Sam was special. He matched something in her soul, and she couldn’t say what it was or how it was. It just was.
The whop-whop of the blades had her gripping her seat. The rotors whined, the ground gave way and the helicopter shot up into the sky. It was a queasy feeling, to know only thin strips of metal were keeping her safely up in the sky.
Sam was a good pilot, and she trusted him.
She trusted him with her life.
The flight would take a while, so Kirby pulled a book from her bag. She turned the paperback to the dog-eared page and read in the glow off the running lights.
But the words were meaningless. She really didn’t feel like reading. Not with her mind spinning and her heart aching with Sam’s words. My aunt seems to think I might get married one day. I’ll never do that again. Ever.
Surely there was a chance. There was always a chance. Maybe if—
She caught herself. Couldn’t believe she was thinking this way. Sam had made it clear. He didn’t want to marry her.
There was no way to fix this. No way to heal this. For once she had to accept something the way it was, not try to take responsibility for it and make it right.
Sam didn’t feel the same way about her. It was that simple. And he was telling her how his wife had married him without really loving him, and the disaster that had brought them both.
No, marriage was a serious and sacred commitment. One to be taken with care.
Sam wasn’t going to fall in love with her.
And she had to let her love for him go.
The cabin swayed. Like a yo-yo on a string, back and forth. Her stomach lurched, but she’d be okay. She knew Sam could handle any turbulence. She wasn’t worried about him, but then she did remember the accident. The sensation of falling out of the sky—
Don’t think about it. She squeezed her eyes shut along with those old memories.
Then light burned behind her eyelids. The sky rocked with thunder. It’s only a bad storm, she thought, but she put her book away and held on to her seat with both hands. They were safe. They were fine. The Lord would keep them safe.
Lightning flashed, thunder rattled like breaking metal. Kirby bowed her head and started to pray, in case Sam could use a little help. She didn’t want anything to go wrong. There was a child in need of a bone marrow transplant, and she was depending on them for her life.
The helicopter dipped hard to the right as Sam banked, and they bounced and swayed in the angry wind.
“Guess that storm is moving faster than those weathermen predicted,” he said. “Hold on, it’s gonna get rough,” he called out. “Don’t you worry. This kind of flying is fun for me.”
“Fun?” It was a comfort to know he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. She was grateful for the seat harness pinning her into the seat as the entire helicopter rose and fell like a child’s top. The crash had been like this, the same wild sweeps of movement, the falling…
Please see us through this, Father, she prayed. She forced the memories down, blocking out the blood and death and flames. She gripped the seat more tightly.
Sam’s a good pilot. He’ll keep us safe. The certainty of that thought calmed her even as lightning electrified the night and burned her eyes.
She could vaguely hear Sam muttering to his controls on the other side of the metal panel, talking to his helicopter as if that would make a difference. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was calm. She could hear it in his voice as he handled the situation with his usual unflappable strength.
What was it that Sam had said? Maybe God makes sure that when things go wrong there are faithful and merciful people in our lives who can make tragedies bearable.
She wasn’t alone, she realized, and she never had been. Not that afternoon when she’d been laughing with her sister one minute and pummeling toward the earth the next. Not after, when she’d woken to feel her sister’s arms around her, her older sister who’d covered her with her body before impact. And saved her life. She wasn’t alone in the wreckage as she’d tried to save lives with no medical supplies, no bandages, no help and not enough training.
She hadn’t been alone in the hospital afterward or through the years that followed. She had her family, her friends, her church, her community. She had Sam.
And she had the Lord.
Who did Sam have? Ruth. His only living relative. He’d come to Montana from a life of impermanence to put down roots. To find community and comfort.
That’s why she’d been brought into his life, she realized. And why he was in hers. Life was a hard journey—it was the way life was. There could not be day without night, light without darkness, happiness without pain, peace without trial.
The best part of life wasn’t only the journey, but the love found along the way.
It wasn’t over between the
m, she realized, hope taking her to a quiet, steady place as lightning speared toward her and the helicopter absorbed the impact. The frame sparked, the metal beneath her feet burned, the brightness seared her eyes like fire.
Then they were falling and falling. Silent except for Sam’s steady talk.
“C’mon, honey, don’t stall on me. C’mon, you can do it. That’s right, let’s restart. C’mon, start, show me you’re the best bird in the sky. You can do it, honey, c’mon.”
The altimeter was ticking down. Sam kept an eye on it and the flashing light telling him there was no engine power.
Oh, really? As if he needed a light to tell him that. He had ten, twenty seconds at most, and they were gonna land hard. Right in the middle of the Rockies.
Wasn’t that just his luck? Why was it, when he was going to crash, it was always in the worst possible place? A stone’s throw from an enemy camp. In the middle of a jungle. Over the sharp peaks of the Rocky Mountains.
Okay, he wasn’t going to get his rotors going. He prayed as he problem solved. The stick was tacky and unresponsive, but he put his muscle into it, and he got some response. Enough to mean he’d miss a direct hit to the jagged peak of the mountain. He put his weight on it and prayed for a little more slope. Then he’d catch some cushion, maybe even get the blades turning enough to slow their fall….
Okay, God, a little more help, he prayed, working by rote. He loved the military, bless ’em, for their training. He didn’t have to think as he radioed in his distress, his position and shouted for Kirby to make sure she was belted in and to put her head down. They were going to hit. She’d better be alive when this was over, or he’d have a few choice words to give St. Peter when he saw him.
Sam knew he needed his nose down, but the stick was locked up tight. C’mon, God, help me out here, just a little. That’s all. He wasn’t going to let Kirby down.
He gritted his teeth, put all his weight and strength into it and the locked, rigid stick gave a fraction of an inch. That’s it! C’mon, keep going, a little more—
The chopper tipped forward. He saw the ponderosa pine branches a second before glass shattered. Pain exploded in his face, in his chest. His last thought was I did it.
He’d made sure he took first impact. Kirby had a chance to survive. That was all that mattered, he thought as darkness swallowed him and, for the first time in his life, he felt real love. Deep love.
Pure. Bright. Perfect.
He’d found his heart. Every piece of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Kirby was certain someone was hitting her on the head with a sledgehammer. She recognized the signs of a concussion—blurry vision, disorientation, dizziness—but fought her way out of the seat harness. Sam.
She stumbled upright, but realized the entire helicopter, broken and crushed as it was, was in one piece and tilting forward. What remained of the chopper was wedged into the cradle of old-growth pines, and the nose was crushed. All she could see was the broken earth where the front of the craft had hit and shattered.
Sam. She scrambled out of her harness, wincing as her ribs ached. Dazed, she struggled over broken branches and pieces of glass and metal. She could only stare. The front of the helicopter—the glass, the controls, the seats—was gone. She smelled fuel and blood and pine sap.
Where was Sam? Panic clawed through her. He was dead. She knew he was. Was he gone? Grief struck her like a fatal blow. She dropped to her knees, trying to hold on. She had to find him. Maybe he’d survived, and if he had, he’d need medical help. He’d need her.
No, God wouldn’t do this to her twice in a lifetime. He wouldn’t take someone she loved like this.
Shaking from shock, she climbed through sheets of crumpled and torn metal. She lost her balance, slid off a branch and landed hard on the blessed ground.
Sam. His body was propped against the tree. As if he’d taken one step and had sunk to the ground. Blood was everywhere. Lord, she needed strength. Enough to handle Sam’s death. Enough to save him if she could.
And if she couldn’t? Then the strength to comfort him.
He didn’t move as she dropped to her knees at his side. His eyes were closed, his head slumped to one side. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
Focus, Kirby. Assess the situation. Was he alive? Her hand trembled as she laid two fingers on his wrist. Joy surged through her at the faint pulse of his beating heart.
Grateful. So grateful. Tears filled her eyes as she went to work. Head trauma. Lacerations. She had to rule out spine injuries and internal bleeding.
His eyes opened. Thank God he was conscious. Relief left her spinning, dizzy.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He held out a bloody hand, trembling, and took hers. “Thank God you’re safe.”
“Exactly.” She held on to him so tight. Couldn’t believe he was really there. Alive. He was really alive. “Sam.”
His arms wrapped around her. Holding her, holding on. She gave a prayer of thanksgiving for being here, tucked safe against his chest, where she’d never thought she would be again.
“I can’t believe this. You’re alive? You’re alive.” She touched his face, his chest, just to make sure. Her head was hurting too much to think clearly. “I don’t believe this. This isn’t possible.”
“Sure it is. The same way we live each day. By God’s grace.” He brushed her tangled hair from her face. “I told you I was pretty good at crashing. You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Nothing serious. Not like you.”
“Oh, Kirby.” His heart broke. Nothing in his life, not his time in the army, not Carla’s death, nothing hurt like seeing the blood on her face, the wound bleeding in her scalp and knowing he could have lost her.
He’d been sure he had. He thought he was a dead man. He thought he’d never set eyes on her again. He’d known he’d never again hear the music of her voice, see the beauty of her smile, or know the sweetness of her touch. Of her love.
She was alive and safe, and he was so grateful. So grateful he didn’t know how he’d be able to thank God for it. For this blessing in his life.
Sam had found his heart. He felt the love in it. He loved her. With the strength and integrity of the man he was. To the depth of his soul. Forever.
She withdrew and studied his lacerations, his injuries. Her brow wrinkled with deep worry. “I’m surprised to see you sitting around on the job, Captain.”
“It’s my nature. I sit around a lot. Moss grows on me.”
“Me, too.” Kirby studied him, tried to figure out what she needed to do first. Could Sam move? What about spinal injuries? Internal injuries?
She touched his cheek tenderly, careful of the lacerations. He needed her comfort. He needed to know she loved him and he wasn’t alone. “I’m writing to customer service. I intend to complain about that landing.”
Instead of smiling, the way she’d hoped, his brows furrowed together, as if he was trying to focus, too. “You’re bleeding.”
“You’ve already said that.”
“I should have done a better job. I’m sorry.”
“For what? You kept us alive—that’s better than most pilots can do.” She brushed a kiss to his forehead, just beneath his hairline. His hair was sticky and dark with blood.
Was the medical equipment on board salvageable? She needed it. If there was internal bleeding—
“Hey, Florence Nightingale, where are you going?” He caught her wrist, holding her when she tried to stand. “You’re not climbing back in there. Give me another minute to catch my breath and get on my feet, and I’ll do it for you.”
“You’re injured.”
“So are you.” He found the strength to pull her down to her knees. “What about you? You’re limping. Zip that coat, will ya? And just sit here. I’ve got GPS on board. They know we went down, and they know where we are, but it may take a while. We stay warm and alive until they get here, okay?”
/> “I’m holding you to that.” She dimly realized that it was raining. Cold, hard rain that wasn’t rain at all. It was snow. In May?
They were in the peaks of the Rockies, she remembered. Where snow stayed until midsummer. Sam was injured, and they had to worry about shock, hypothermia—a thousand different worries flashed into her mind.
“Don’t worry, I’m the ranking officer in this crew, and I know what to do.” He kissed her cheek. Still commanding, still the same old wonderful Sam. “Let’s see your arms. Anything broken?”
“No. I told you, I’m fine. My leg hurts, and my back is sore, but just a little. No traveling pain, no numbness, no weakness. I’m okay. Can you say the same?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m tough. I don’t admit to pain. And speaking of pain, I think my head is starting to clear. Let’s see if I can stand without getting sick.”
“Sam, you need to rest.” She thought of all the ways he could be injured. Of all the ways she could still lose him.
“I’m gonna be fine.” He stood, shaky, but he was a big man, a strong man. He limped as he walked over to stare at what remained of his helicopter. “Wow. Good thing I sprang for the extra insurance.”
“Good, because I’m going to sue the company for its choice of unfit pilots.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, what are you going to do to the pilot who saves your life? Who has the training it takes to keep you from freezing to death overnight?” He swiped the blood out of his eyes, looking tough and vulnerable, invincible and wounded. And strong. So very strong.
The love she held in her heart for him bubbled over until her eyes teared. How many chances did a person get in life? If she was ever going to learn her lesson, this was it. She’d done her best for her sister and loved her until the end. Loved her still. Sometimes all a person could do was their very best. The rest was up to God.
Sam was right. How many times would she have to fall out of the sky to accept it? Love was all we had to count on. And in the end, it was all that mattered.
The first chance she could, she was going to tell Sam what he meant to her. If he didn’t like it, too bad. She needed him. She loved him.
