she’d believed at age four, and maybe, if she was lucky, some dogs and cats.
She clearly remembered that summer day when her mother told her,
But it had been almost a year since she’d last seen Uncle Gillette. At least she knew he’d be there. Uncle Gillette never left Slipper Hollow.
Time to get a move on. She wanted to be there before noon—if she could get her car fixed that fast. Her stomach growled, and in her mind Rachael saw Mrs. Jersey, the best cook in Kentucky, according to her mother, and the owner of Monk’s Cafe, and wondered if she was still there. She’d seemed ancient to a twelve-year-old. Ah, but those hot blueberry scones she made, Rachael could still remember the taste, and those hot blueberries burning her tongue. Monk’s Cafe opened early back then, for truckers, and maybe it still did. If Mrs. Jersey was still there, Rachael prayed she wouldn’t recognize her, prayed no one in Parlow would recognize the twelve-year-old girl in the woman, and hoped she’d let Rachael use the landline since cells didn’t work out here in the boondocks, and tell her who the best mechanic was in Parlow. She wasn’t going to call Uncle Gillette; she was careful now, very careful. She had no intention of leaving any trail, no matter that they believed her dead, no matter that as faras she knew, they’d never heard of Parlow, Kentucky, or Slipper Hollow.
She shivered, remembering the slapping cold of the water, and pulled her leather jacket closer. She’d forgotten how cold it was here in the early morning even in the middle of June. She looked around again at the fog- shrouded mountains, a grayish blue in the early morning light. But this morning she wasn’t moved by the incredible raw beauty, she only wanted to get home. She wanted to plan, and Uncle Gillette would help her. He was very smart, a marine captain. There was no such thing as an ex-marine, he’d said once with a snap in his voice, and she’d never forgotten.
But her Charger had let her down on the final lap. Rachael hitched her duffel onto her shoulder, looked toward Parlow, seeing houses dot the distance among trees and hills and narrow winding roads.
She’d taken three steps when she froze in her tracks at a distant noise, a sputtering sound, an engine coughing, and it was coming closer.
She looked up but didn’t see anything. Maybe it was a car coming on another road, maybe it was ... No, no way could it be them. She drew a deep breath, then continued to scan the sky. No, what she’d heard—well, she didn’t know what she’d heard.
But still she didn’t move. She stared toward the end of long, narrow Cudlow Valley, cut like a knife slice through the mountains. She stood there, her hand shading her eyes from the slivers of sunlight trying to break through the fog.
And there it was, a single-engine plane coming over the low mountains at the far end of the valley, jerking and heaving, black smoke billowing out near the tail. The plane was in trouble, dear God, it was going to crash, no, the pilot was pulling the bucking plane to line up at the far end of the narrow valley. She saw flames shooting out through the smoke, moving up toward the wings. He wasn’t going to make it. She watched, couldn’t take her eyes off that plane even as she began to run toward it.
Was Cudlow Valley long enough and flat enough to land a plane? She had no idea, she’d never learned to fly. She watched the wings straighten, pictured the pilot willing his plane to a sloping trajectory, lower and lower. She held her breath, and prayed.
An explosion rocked the small plane, nearly flipping it over, and it began to spiral, out of control. FOUR
Unbelievably, the pilot wrenched it back in line. The next second, the engine went dead and the small single-engine plane dropped like a stone. She knew she was going to watch him die, there was no way he could bring it in. But somehow, somehow, he caught an air current and managed to glide the dying plane forward and down until the wheels finally touched the ground. The plane bounced and lurched, the front came up, then slammed down again. It jerked and shuddered before coming to a rolling stop not fifty feet from where she stood at the very end of the valley. Smoke gushed out and the flames licked higher.
Rachael started running toward the plane even as she saw the pilot kick open the door and struggle to drag an unconscious man across the seat and out the narrow door. She didn’t know how he did it, but he did. He hauled the man over his shoulder and began to run away from the plane.
He stumbled and went down. The unconscious man flew over his head and landed hard, his head striking a clump of rocks. He didn’t move. The plane exploded into a bright orange ball, flames gushing high into the air, spewing parts of the plane in every direction. She saw the pilot pull himself up and stagger toward the unconscious man. What looked like part of the tail struck his leg and he went down, and this time he stayed down.
It was terrifying, Rachael thought—life or death, all decided in under two minutes. She’d had maybe another minute.
She reached the unconscious man first and dropped to her knees. He lay on his back, motionless, eyes closed. He was slight, and older, near fifty, and there was blood on his head and all over his chest. She pressed her fingers to his throat. He was alive, but his pulse was faint. She lightly shook him. “Can you open your eyes?”
He didn’t move. She sat back on her heels. Without thinking, she took off her leather jacket and covered him as best she could.
Her head whipped up when she heard the pilot groan. She was at his side in a moment, looking down at his smoke-blackened face, blood matting the dark hair against the side of his head, a thick trickle of blood snaking down from his left ear. There was blood oozing out of a tear in his pants where part of the tail had slashed into him. He wasn’t moving.
Rachael lightly laid her hand on his shoulder, shook him slightly, but he didn’t move. She felt his arms, his legs. Nothing seemed broken, but inside he could be seriously hurt. He was much younger than the other man, around her age, big and fit. He wore a black leather jacket similar to hers over a white shirt and tie, black pants, low black boots. She lightly slapped his face. “Please, wake up.”
He moaned, jerked onto his back. She leaned close, slapped his cheek again. “Come on, wake up. You can do it. I can’t lift you by myself and I’m alone. The other man is unconscious and he needs your help. Wake up. Please.” She slapped his face harder.
A hand grabbed her wrist. She yelped but he didn’t release her.
Jack opened his eyes. Long straight hair brushed his face, hair the color of sunlight. Blond and brown and gold, with one skinny braid running down the side, and he tried to lift his hand to touch it, but he couldn’t get his arm up there. He said, “I like the braid. I’ve never seen that before. You pack quite a punch.”
“Yes, well, sorry, but you have to wake up. I’ve got to get you and your friend medical help. Where are you hurt? What happened?”
To her surprise, he actually smiled. “Am I dead? Are you an angel? No, you’re not an angel, your hair’s too pretty and that braid—angels don’t wear braids like that. And you’ve got dirt on your nose.”
“I’d like to be an angel but I guess that would mean you’re imagining me, and thank God you’re not. I’m Rachael.” She swiped at her nose. “There’s a cut that’s bleeding above your left temple; it’s only a trickle now. I saw part of the plane tail hit you, knock you down. Your right thigh is bleeding pretty bad. We need to put pressure on it.”
“Use my tie.”
She pulled off his bright red tie with little colorful squiggles on it and eased it under his leg. “Tell me when you think it’s tight enough,” and she pulled.
“That’ll get it. Knot it good. Anything broken?”
“No, not as far as I can tell, but I’m not a doctor.”
“Usually broken bones tend to be pretty obvious.”
“There’s your innards. Anything could be going on inside you.” He was silent a moment, communing, she supposed, with his insides. “Feels okay, so far.”
“Good. I’m not a pilot, either, but I watched you bring that plane down. I have no idea how you managed it, but you did. That was amazing. I’ve never been so scared. Well, maybe one other time.”
