Chapter Ten

He was going to miss the chopper. He knew that. He always did. But he kept running anyway. He always did that, too. Jungle foliage blocked his path. He clawed his way through it toward the clearing. He was running so hard his lungs were on fire. His breathing sounded loud to his own ears.

But he could still hear the rotating blades of the chopper. Close. So close. Noisy.

I’ve got to make it this time, he cried to himself. I’ve got to make it or I’ll be captured again.

But he knew he wouldn’t make it, although he kept running. Running. Running...

As always, after having the nightmare, Cooper sat up, chest heaving with exertion and drenched with sweat. God, it had been real this time. The racket of those chopper blades seemed—

Suddenly he realized that he could still hear the helicopter. Was he awake? Yes, he was. There lay Rusty, sleeping peacefully beside him. This wasn’t Nam; this was Canada. And, by God, he heard a helicopter!

He scrambled to his feet and crossed the cabin’s chilly floor with running footsteps. Since the day they’d missed the search plane, the flare gun had remained on a shelf next to the door. He grabbed it on his way out. When he dashed across the porch and leaped to the ground, he was still naked, but the flare gun was clutched tightly in his right hand.

Shading his eyes with his left, he scanned the sky. The sun was brilliant and just even with the tops of the trees. His eyes teared because it was so bright. He couldn’t see a damn thing. He only had six flares. He mustn’t waste them. Each one had to count. But he could still hear the chopper. So he acted on impulse and fired two of the flares directly overhead.

“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 Rusty 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...”

“Kill?” Cooper asked with ruthless candor. “Yes. I killed a lot of them on my way out of there. And I’d do it again.”

Telling looks were exchanged. Someone coughed uncomfortably.

“He’s leaving out a vital point,” Rusty said abruptly. Every eye in the room turned to her.

“Rusty, no,” he said. His eyes speared into hers in a silent plea for caution and discretion. “You don’t have to.” 

She looked back at him lovingly. “Yes, I do. You’re trying to spare me. I appreciate it. But I can’t let them think you killed those two men without strong motivation.” She faced her listeners. “They, the Gawrylows, were going to kill Cooper and...and keep me.”

Shock registered on the faces encircling the table where she was seated with Cooper. “How do you know that, Ms. Carlson?”

“She just knows it, okay? You might suspect me of lying, but you have no reason to think she is.”

Rusty laid a restraining hand on Cooper’s arm. “The older one, Quinn, attacked me.” In plain language, she told them what Gawrylow had done to her that morning in the cabin. “My leg was still seriously injured. I was virtually helpless. Cooper returned just in time to prevent a rape. Gawrylow reached for a gun. If Cooper hadn’t acted when and how he did, he would have been killed instead of Gawrylow. And I would still be at the old man’s mercy.”

She exchanged a long stare of understanding with Cooper. She had never deliberately inflamed the hermits. He had known that all along. He silently asked her to forgive him his insults and she silently asked him to forgive her for ever being afraid of him.

Cooper’s hand splayed wide over the top of her head and moved it to his chest. His arms wrapped around her. Ignoring everybody else in the room, they held each other tight, rocking slightly back and forth.

Half an hour later, Cooper was relieved of all legal responsibility for the deaths of the Gawrylows. Facing them now was their meeting with the victims’ families. The weeping, somber group was led into the office. For nearly an hour Rusty and Cooper spoke with them and provided what information they could. The bereaved derived some comfort from the fact that their loved ones had died immediately and without having suffered. They tearfully thanked the survivors for sharing their knowledge about the crash. It was a moving experience for everyone involved.

The meeting with the media was something altogether different. When Rusty and Cooper were escorted into the large room that had been set up for the press conference, they were greeted by a restless crowd. A pall of tobacco smoke obscured the ceiling.

Seated behind a table with microphones, they answered the barrage of questions as thoroughly, but as concisely, as possible. Some of the questions were silly, some were intelligent, and some were painfully personal. When one gauche reporter asked what it was like to share a cabin with a total stranger, Cooper turned to one of the officials and said, “That’s it. Get Rusty out of here.”

The bureaucrat didn’t move fast enough to suit him. Taking it upon himself to remove Rusty from the carnival atmosphere, he slipped his arm beneath hers and assisted her out of her chair. As they made their way toward the exit, a man came rushing up and shoved a business card into Cooper’s face. It identified him as a reporter for a newsmagazine. He offered them an enormous sum of money for exclusive rights to their story.

“But if that’s not enough,” he stammered hastily when Cooper glared at him with icy malevolence, “we’ll up the ante. I don’t suppose you took any pictures, did you?”

Emitting a feral growl, Cooper pushed the reporter aside and told him what he could do with his magazine, using descriptive words that couldn’t be misunderstood.

By the time they were boarded onto the L.A.-bound jet, Rusty was so exhausted she could barely walk. Her right leg was aching. Cooper had to practically carry her aboard. He buckled her into her first-class seat next to the window and took the aisle seat beside her. He asked the flight attendant to bring a snifter of brandy immediately.

“Aren’t you having any?” Rusty asked after taking a few fiery and restorative sips.

He shook his head. “I’ve sworn off the booze for a while.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a slight smile.

“You’re very handsome, Mr. Landry,” she remarked softly, gazing up at him as though seeing him for the first time.

He removed the snifter from her listless fingers. “That’s the brandy talking.”

“No, you are.” She raised her hand and touched his hair. It slid through her fingers silkily.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Dinner, Ms. Carlson, Mr. Landry?”

They were surprised to realize that the airplane was already airborne. They’d been so preoccupied with each other that they hadn’t even noticed the takeoff. Which was just as well. The helicopter ride hadn’t been so bad for her because she hadn’t had time to anticipate it. But as the day stretched out, the thought of flying to Los Angeles had filled Rusty with apprehension. It would be a while, if ever, before she was a completely comfortable flyer.

“Dinner, Rusty?” Cooper asked. She shook her head. To the flight attendant he said, “No, thanks. They fed us several times today.”

“Buzz me if you need anything,” she said graciously before moving down the aisle. They were the only passengers in the first-class cabin. When the flight attendant returned to the galley, they were left alone for the first time since being rescued.

“You know, it’s funny,” Rusty said musingly, “we were together so much that I thought I’d welcome the time when we could be apart. I thought I missed being with other people—” she fingered the pocket of his shirt “—but I hated the crowds today. All that pushing and shoving. And every time I lost sight of you, I panicked.”

“Natural,” he whispered as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been dependent on me for so long, you’re in the habit. That’ll go away.”

She angled her head back, “Will it, Cooper?”

“Won’t it?”

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

He said her name softly before his lips settled against hers. He kissed her ardently, as though this might be his last chance. There was a desperation behind his kiss. It persisted when Rusty looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

“You saved my life. Have I thanked you? Have I told you that I would have died without you?”

Cooper was frantically kissing her neck, her ears, her hair. “You don’t need to thank me. I wanted to protect you, to take care of you.”

“You did. Well. Very well.” They kissed again until they were forced to break apart breathlessly. “Touch me.”

He watched her lips whisper the words. They were still glistening from their kiss. “Touch you? Here? Now?”

She nodded rapidly. “Please, Cooper. I’m frightened. I need to know you’re here—really and truly here.”

He opened the coat that the Canadian government had supplied and slipped his hand inside. He covered her breast. It felt womanly and warm and full beneath her sweater.

He laid his cheek against hers and whispered, “Your nipple is already hard.”

“Hmm.”

His fingers played with the tight little bead through the knit. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not.”

“Are they always like this? Where were you when I was fourteen?”

She laughed softly. “No, they’re not always like this. I was thinking about last night.”

“Last night lasted a lifetime. Be specific.”

“Remember when...” She whispered a sultry reminder.

“Lord, yes,” he groaned, “but don’t talk about that now.”

“Why?”

“If you do, you’ll have to sit on my lap.”

She touched him. “To cover this?”

“No, Rusty,” he said through gritted teeth. And when he told her what they would be doing if she sat on his lap, she chastely removed her hand.

“I don’t think that would be proper at all. For that matter, neither is what you’re doing. Maybe you’d better stop.” He withdrew his hand from her sweater. By now both her breasts were showing up hard and pointed beneath it. They gazed at each other, their eyes reflecting a sense of loss. “I wish we hadn’t been so stubborn. I wish we’d made love before last night.”

He sighed deeply. “I’ve thought about that, too.”

A sob rose in her throat. “Hold me, Cooper.” He clasped her tightly and burrowed his face in her hair. “Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t. Not now.”

“Not ever. Promise.”

Sleep claimed her before she got his promise. It also spared her from seeing the bleak expression on his face.

It seemed that the entire population of the city was waiting for their arrival at LAX. They had landed only briefly in Seattle and hadn’t had to deplane. None of the boarding passengers had joined them in first class. That takeoff had been uneventful.

Now, anticipating a mob scene, the senior flight attendant advised them to let all the other passengers disembark first. Rusty welcomed the delay. She was terribly nervous. Her palms were wet with perspiration. Jitters like this were foreign to her. At ease on every social occasion, she couldn’t imagine why she was sick with anxiety now. She didn’t want to release her grip on Cooper’s arm, although she kept flashing insincere, confident smiles up at him. If only she could slip back into her regular life without a lot of fuss.

But it wasn’t going to be that easy. The moment she stepped through the opening of the Jetway and entered the terminal, her worst expectations were realized. She was momentarily blinded by television lights. Microphones were poked into her face. Someone inadvertently bumped her sore shin with a camera bag. The noise was deafening. But out of that cacophony, a familiar voice beckoned her. She turned toward it.

“Father?”

Within seconds she was smothered in his embrace. Her arm was jostled away from Cooper’s. Even as she returned her father’s hug, she groped for Cooper’s hand, but she couldn’t find it. The separation left her panicked.

“Let me review the damage,” Bill Carlson said, pushing his daughter away and holding her at arm’s length. The reporters widened the circle around them, but cameras snapped pictures of this moving reunion. “Not too bad, under the circumstances.” He whipped the coat from around her shoulders. “As grateful as I am to the charitable Canadian government for taking such good care of you today, I think you’ll feel much better in this.”

One of his lackeys materialized and produced a huge box, from which Carlson shook out a full-length red fox coat exactly like the one she’d been wearing when the plane crashed. “I heard about your coat, darling,” he said as he proudly draped the fur around her shoulders, “so I wanted to replace it.”

Oohs and aahs rose out of the crowd. Reporters pressed closer to take pictures. The coat was gorgeous but far too heavy for the balmy southern California evening. It felt like chain mail weighting her down. But Rusty was oblivious to it, to everything, as her eyes frantically probed the circle of light surrounding her in search of Cooper. “Father, I want you to meet—”

“Don’t worry about your leg. It will be seen to by expert doctors. I’ve arranged a room for you at the hospital. We’re going there immediately.”

“But Cooper—”

“Oh, yes, Cooper Landry, isn’t it? The man who also survived the crash. I’m grateful to him, of course. He saved your life. I’ll never forget that.” Carlson spoke in a booming voice that was guaranteed to be overhead by the newspaper reporters and picked up by microphones.

Diplomatically his assistant wielded the long coat box to clear a path for them through the throng of media people. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll be notified if anything else comes out about the story,” Carlson told them as he ushered Rusty toward a golf cart that was waiting to transport them through the terminal.

Rusty looked everywhere, but she didn’t see Cooper. Finally she spotted his broad-shouldered form walking away from the scene. A couple of reporters were in hot pursuit. “Cooper!” The cart lurched forward and she grabbed the seat beneath her for balance. “Cooper!” she called again. He couldn’t hear her above the din.

She wanted to leap off the cart and chase after him, but it was already in motion and her father was speaking to her. She tried to assimilate his words and make sense of them, but it seemed that he was speaking gibberish.

She fought down her rising panic as the cart rolled down the concourse, beeping pedestrians out of the way. Finally Cooper was swallowed up by the crowd and she lost sight of him altogether.

Once they were inside the limousine and cruising toward the private hospital where Carlson had arranged for a room, he clasped Rusty’s clammy hand. “I was very afraid for you, Rusty. I thought I’d lost you, too.”

She rested her head on her father’s shoulder and squeezed his arm. “I know. I was as worried about how you’d take the news of the crash as I was about my own safety.”

“About our tiff that day you left—”

“Please, Father, don’t let’s even think about that now.” She lifted her head and smiled up at him. “I might not have survived the gutting of that ram, but I survived a plane crash.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if you remember this— you were very young—but Jeff sneaked out of his cabin at Boy Scout camp one summer. He spent the entire night in the woods. He got lost and wasn’t found until well into the next day. But that little scrapper wasn’t the least bit scared. When we found him, he had made camp and was calmly fishing for his dinner.”

Rusty returned her head to his shoulder, her smile gradually fading. “Cooper did all that for me.”

She felt the sudden tension in her father’s body. He usually bristled like that when something didn’t meet with his approval. “What kind of man is this Cooper Landry, Rusty?”

“What kind?”

“A Vietnam veteran, I understand.”

“Yes. He was a POW, too, but managed to escape.”

“Did he...handle you well?”

Ah, yes, she was thinking. But she capped the fountain of passionate memories that bubbled inside her like uncorked champagne. “Yes, Father. Very well. I wouldn’t have survived without him.”

She didn’t want to tell him about her personal involvement with Cooper so soon after her return. Her father would have to be apprised of her feelings gradually. They might be met with resistance, because Bill Carlson was an opinionated man.

He was also intuitive. One didn’t easily pull the wool over his eyes. Keeping her tone as casual as possible, Rusty said, “Will you try to locate him for me tonight?” It wasn’t an unusual request. Her father had contacts all over the city. “Let him know where I am. We got separated at the airport.”

“Why is it even necessary for you to see this man again?”

He might just as well have asked her why it was necessary for her to go on breathing. “I want to thank him properly for saving my life,” she said as a diversion.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Carlson told her just as the chauffeur wheeled under the porte cochere of the private clinic.

Even though her father had paved the way, it was two hours later before Rusty was left alone in her plush room. Decorated with original works of art and contemporary furniture, it resembled a chic apartment more than it did a hospital room. She lay in a firm, comfortable, mechanized bed with soft pillows beneath her head. She was wearing a new designer nightgown, one of several her father had packed in the suitcase that had been waiting for her when she checked in. All her favorite cosmetics and toiletries had been placed in the bathroom. She had the staff at her beck and call. All she had to do was pick up the phone on her nightstand.

She was miserable.

For one thing, her leg was sore as a result of the surgeon’s examination. As a safety precaution X-rays had been taken, but they revealed no broken bones. “Cooper said nothing was broken,” she quietly informed the doctor. He had frowned over the jagged scar. When he lamented the crude stitching that had been done, Rusty jumped to Cooper’s defense. “He was trying to save my leg,” she snapped.

Suddenly she was fiercely proud of that scar and not all that excited about seeing it erased, which, she was told, would require at least three reconstructive operations—maybe more. To her, the scar was like a badge of courage.

Besides, Cooper had spent a great deal of time with it the night before, kissing the raised, puckered skin and telling her that it didn’t turn him off in the slightest and, in fact, made him “horny as hell” every time he looked at it. She had contemplated telling that to the pompous plastic surgeon.

She hadn’t. Indeed, she hadn’t said much of anything. She simply didn’t have the energy. All she could think about was how blessed it was going to be when she was left alone to go to sleep.

But now that she had the opportunity, she couldn’t. Doubts and fears and unhappiness were keeping her awake. Where was Cooper? Why hadn’t he followed her? It had been a circus at the airport, but surely he could have stayed with her if he’d really wanted to.

When the nurse came in offering her a sedative, she gladly swallowed the pill. Otherwise she knew she’d never fall asleep without Cooper’s hard, warm presence embracing her.