“If you tear your stitches, I’m not stitching you up again, I swear it, Dane Townsend.”
“I won’t tear my stitches.”
“Fine.”
He nodded once, the case settled, and then started down the hill. I knew from the experience of hiking up this slope that each step was a challenge, the snow making it feel as if there were weights in your shoes. I could only imagine what that felt like with a large wound in your thigh, but I didn’t say a word. I did however mutter, “Stubborn,” under my breath. I swore I saw a small quirk of his lips when he turned his head to the side, but he didn’t comment. Wise man.
There was about ten to twelve inches of icy snow covering the outside of the plane, and I could see that more snow had blown inside and covered the interior. Icicles hung from the bottom of the twisted metal, glittering in the thin streams of sunlight that broke through the clouds, a savage sort of beauty.
Dane leaned around the plane, pressing his lips together, obviously contemplating the best way to check the stability. After a minute, he said, “I need something longish and sturdy.”
“For what?”
“I’m going to go down to the front of the plane, but I won’t be able to see if the cliff drops off under the snow so I need a stick or something to precede my steps.”
“No! Dane, that sounds too dangerous.” I shook my head, a tremor of fear moving through me. “It’s why I didn’t go to the front of the plane a couple of days ago.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.” He reached inside the plane, brushing some snow from a piece of metal off to the side.
He pulled on it and though it took some obvious effort, it came loose after a minute, not a jagged piece of metal, but a two-sided piece of edging—perhaps the piece that had run along the base where the seats had once been. He pulled it out and stamped it twice into the snow. “Feels sturdy enough,” he muttered, taking hold of it in the middle since it was so long.
Panic suddenly seized me as he moved away and I grabbed at his arm. Don’t leave me, not again, I thought wildly. He turned and when he saw whatever was in my expression, he stopped, turning fully around.
“Hey,” he said, concern lacing his tone. “I wouldn’t do this if it was overly risky.”
I nodded, a jerky movement. “Just . . . be careful. Please. It’s icy.”
He put one plastic covered hand on my fabric-covered cheek, looking into my eyes. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I breathed, nodding again.
The wind whipped past me again as Dane began the slow trek to the nose of the plane. It was so cold, but my complete focus was on how he stuck the piece of thin metal in the snow, tapping at the ground before each step. The crunchy sound of the thin layer of ice breaking accompanied his movements, echoing through the small canyon and rising above the wailing wind.
“All good,” he called. “It looks like this tree is undamaged and sturdy. The one on the left is leaning because it must have taken the brunt of the plane’s weight. Half the trunk is gone, so only the remainder of it is holding the plane in place.” He paused for a minute, looking as if he was tapping at the damaged tree, but I couldn’t exactly tell from where I was standing.
Dane turned, making his way back to me. “I don’t trust that tree to hold the plane forever, but I think it’s sturdy enough for me to get in and out quickly.”
I shook my head. “No, Dane—”
“It’s important.” He took my plastic-covered hands in his. “Trust me. Listen, if that tree does start to give, I’m going to have plenty of warning. It’s going to crack and groan like the devil and all I’ll have to do is leap out. To go over the cliff, it will have to turn and slide to get around those trees. That will take a few minutes. I only need half a second to take a running leap.”
“Your leg’s not going to allow you to leap.”
“My leg is going to be just fine leaping if it has to. You stand out here and tell me if you hear anything at all.”
I released a breath, the warm air locked in the fabric of the shirt that was covering my mouth. “All right. But if there’s even the smallest snap, I’m calling your name and you better be out of the plane before I have time to take a breath.”
“Deal.” He gave me a small wink and a slight tilt of his lips, disarming me for a moment and making me forget my worry. He’d always been able to do that.
“Go. Hurry.”
He stepped up and over the sharp, twisted metal at the edge, though it was covered with snow. He obviously remembered my description well of getting him off the plane. He shuffled forward slowly, having to bend at the waist because of the sagging ceiling. He looked around, and pulled gently at a few things, but didn’t stop until he was at the cockpit. I couldn’t see what he was doing and I was almost afraid to breathe, listening intently for any small sound from the trees surrounding the plane. It looked like he was digging around in the cockpit, but I was grateful he didn’t step inside.
After thirty seconds, he turned, making his way toward me. He stopped at the overturned chair I’d been sitting in when the plane crashed. For a second he just stared at it, and despite it being mostly covered in snow now, his lips formed a grim line. Come on, Dane. Get out of there. He brushed at the snow and then reached underneath it, his arm disappearing for a moment, his eyes slanted upward, his expression focused, and then exultant as he brought his arm out. A magazine? Really? He’d gone into that deathtrap for reading material? He put the magazine inside his jacket and then finally, stepped to the edge of the plane and got off.
I let out a long exhale, realizing that my knees were shaking and I hadn’t even dared speak for fear the vibration of my voice would alter the stability of the plane.
Dane took two steps toward me, and when I met his eyes, I blinked. The look on his face was so intense it alarmed me for a moment. He stepped closer and tipped my chin so I was staring into his eyes from only a few inches away. His breath was a ghost of white fog in the space between us. “You should have left me there, Audra. Jesus, from that cockpit, it looks like the plane’s hanging right over the edge.” His eyes moved over my face, and he wore an intense expression of something that resembled panic that I didn’t understand. “You should have left me there. If I had been conscious, it’s what I would have insisted you do. But”—his gaze filled with both pain and tenderness—“thank God you didn’t.” His voice was gravelly. With one quick movement, he pulled the shirt down so my mouth was exposed and kissed me, hard and quick, returning the shirt to where it’d been and stepping back.