He gritted his teeth as he leaned forward to look out the window. “I don’t know why I’m worried. If we make it down okay, Dad’s going to kill us anyway when he gets back.” He banked the plane down to the right. “There, Nem. How about those trees?”
“Maybe we should buzz the seaplane base and flash our lights, to let them know we’re in trouble.”
He all but dove for the base in the cove.
Emma watched out Mikey’s window. She couldn’t see out of her own; it was too shattered, with one neat little hole at shoulder height. They dove low over the seaplane base, and Emma saw several men look up at them.
“They saw us. Bring it down now, Mikey.”
“You’re sure the water wouldn’t be better? There’s help right there, Nem. They can get to us quickly.”
She shook her head, closing her eyes as a wave of pain shot down her arm. “The water’s unpredictable.”
“Here goes!”
He lined them up for an approach to a planting of young fir growth, as though he were lining up to a runway. Then he pulled down full flaps, causing the plane to feel as if he had put on the brakes. Their packs shifted in the backseat, and Emma’s arm throbbed as it banged against the door, making her bite back a moan.
“Just fly it down, Mikey.” She kept her voice calm and coaxing. “Bring back the throttle. That’s it. Easy, now. This is just like a glassy water landing. Let the plane fly into the trees. Flair, Mikey. Nearly stall it. That’s right, you’ve got it.”
At first it felt as if they were landing on a huge ball of cotton when the pontoons lightly brushed over the treetops. As they slowed even further and settled deeper, the soft cushion of fir got denser. And harder. Tops snapped below them in a sudden rush, just before the plane itself started shuddering.
“Flair out, Mikey. Flair!”
The plane squealed in protest. The stall alarm blared. The pontoons caught on the thicker trunks, violently jerking the Cessna as metal gave way to wood, the noise of ripping aluminum and snapping trees deafening. A branch finished shattering the window beside her and the thrust of her body against her harness was nearly unbearable.
It lasted only seconds.
And in the end, they ended up upside down anyway.
Michael was out of his seat belt first, hitting his head as he fell to the ceiling. He righted himself and carefully unbuckled Emma’s belt, catching her in his arms and easing her down. Then he kicked open his door and pulled her out with all the care of a father handling his infant for the first time.
Emma was laughing and praising him and bawling like a baby the whole time. He pulled her a safe distance away from the plane, propping her up against one of the lifesaving fir trees to examine her, all but counting her fingers and toes. He pulled off his shirt and held it up to her shoulder.
“You’re one big mess, Nemmy.” He looked back at the plane and then at her, grinning like a drunken fool. “But we did it! We walked away from my first official crash.”
“Not many people have crashed so gracefully, Mikey. You did good, big man. You earned your wings today.”
His euphoria suddenly vanished. “We’ve still got to face Dad.”
Emma smiled. “Which means you get to earn your son badge next—because you’re the one who gets to tell him,” she said, just before everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
Ben stood outside the small, rural hospital’s room, not ready to face what he would find inside. Not until his anger cooled. Not until his hands stopped shaking. And definitely not until he trusted himself not to strangle the woman who seemed determined to give him a heart attack.
He was afraid that if he walked in there right now, he would lash out at Emma with the full force of the wrath he was feeling. Then again, he could just as easily crawl into bed with her, wrap her in his arms, and weep with relief.
So he stood silently outside the door, blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation taking place between his son and the woman he intended to marry as soon as he could find a preacher.
“You look worse than I feel,” Emma said, her voice a mere croak.
Ben moved just enough to see Mike standing beside the bed, his posture subdued, his face bruised, the flowers he’d brought forgotten in his hand.
“I … uh … Dad’s here,” the boy whispered as he moved closer. “And you know that civilized veneer we talked about?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well, it’s gone, Nem.”
Ben very nearly smiled when he saw Emma’s eyes widen in horror. Then she looked more closely at her nephew. “He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he?” she asked, her voice stronger—and outraged.
“I almost wish he had. He’s angry enough to kill someone, but I don’t think we’re the target he’s looking for.”
Ben saw Emma heave a giant sigh. She looked damn good for someone who had been shot and then managed to survive a plane crash. Her left arm was bandaged against her ribs and there was another bandage on her forehead, but otherwise she looked fit enough to face him.
He pushed the door open and quietly walked in.
“Give your aunt her flowers, Mike,” he told his son as he approached. He laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re strangling them to death.”
Deep jade eyes the size of dinner plates stared up at him from the bed. Ben moved closer, and carefully touched his lips to her cheek. “Hello, Emma. Been keeping out of trouble while I was gone?” he asked softly.
She shook her head, then suddenly started nodding it up and down, her eyes still huge and unblinking. It looked to Ben as if she’d stopped breathing.
“So you’ve earned the present I brought you from New York?”
Hesitant, and clearly suspicious, she nodded again. Ben kissed her again, this time on the lips, then
