Champagne Romance (Romance Novel) (3 page)

Suddenly, the small space of the 707 tail
seemed claustrophobic. He needed to get out---he had to get out!
Gently, he laid Swan aside and silently “hightailed” it to the
sunny outdoors.

Slater lit a cigarette, thankful for the pack
that remained in his left hand pocket. He had been thinking about
quitting for some time. This sure as hell wasn’t going to be the
chosen day.

Slater looked over the scenic view of the
mountains. The immediate area seemed calm. It surprisingly looked
and felt normal. There seemed to be very little disturbance to
indicate the raging storm and horrific explosion of disaster only a
few days ago.

The snow on the mountaintops was a powder
sugar white, pure and sparkly like little crystals as the sun shone
down from the middle of the sky picking at each piece as though it
were a grain of glitter. It was smooth and wavy, much like looking
at an ocean of white foam. Other mountains loomed in the distance
each covered with the same snow and each with their own unique
shape. All of them seemed to beckon like a siren promising death to
those unacquainted with the treacherous hazards of their lethal
beauty. Dark gun metal gray clouds floated overhead surrounding and
threatening as they looked down on the serene picture below, a
likely indicator of more storms to come.

The Colorado forest line appeared to be a
mile or two away. The only unusual disorder was the charcoal path
of burned evergreens where Flight 330 had made a trail after
breaking off the tailpiece and before crashing into the side of the
mountain a few miles away.

The irony of the near death situation was not
lost on Slater. He had always been a lucky bastard. He got to test
that theory once again.

As Slater was about to enter the makeshift
lodge, a movement caught his eye. Squinting, he tried to get a
visual at the edge of the dark forest, scanning for any form of
life. He studied the forest line a while longer. Whatever it was,
it appeared to have moved into the dense interior.

Slater secured the crude entrance to their
cold, but cozy cabin. He gathered enough clothing debris for a
small fire. A quick glance at Red told him that she had not moved
since he had evacuated their cramped space. Perhaps with luck, she
would regain her vision long before their ordeal was over. He had
to admit that at times when he thought about being alone with a
gorgeous sexy woman in some isolated get-away, this was not exactly
the dream he envisioned.

Swan awoke in the middle of the night to the
stable heartbeat of the man wrapped around her as he lay sleeping.
She could hear the wind blowing outside and the howl of a lonely
wolf. She shivered. It was comforting to have this stranger close
beside her as she dozed off again to Never Neverland.

The smell of smoke woke Swan from her deep
sleep. She opened her eyes. Frowning, she could see nothing. She
grouped for the man that had been beside her. He wasn’t there.
Gulping for air, Swan tried to orient herself. Panic began to set
in. “Is anyone there?”

Slater watched for only a half second and
immediately came to her side. “I’m right here,” his deep voice
rumbled.

Relief was immediately evident as each
frowning feature began to disappear and she reached out for human
contact. “I smelled smoke,” she explained in a quivery voice.
“What’s burning?”

“
I built a small bonfire to keep us
warm,” he replied.

The minute the words were out of his mouth,
Slater wished that he could have taken them back. Empty eyes
suddenly filled with tears and began to run down her cheeks.

Watching this brave woman struggling with the
realization of blindness was almost Slater’s undoing. He had seen
gruesome things on battlefields that had affected him less. Pulling
her to him, he began to rub her shoulders as they started to shake
with emotion. Then, the really hard sobbing began as Slater
continued to hold and tried to sooth Swan. It wasn’t until sometime
later, the sobbing stopped and her body became very still. Slater
thought that she had escaped into a sleep mode. He was surprised
when she spoke.

“
Why can’t I see?”

“
Your pupils are dilated and I think
you probably have a concussion.”

She seemed to accept the explanation.

Trying to divert her thoughts, he asked,
“What should I call you?”

Swan didn’t answer right away. She was still
struggling to swallow her emotions. One word was all she could
choke out, “Swan.”

“
So,” Slater thought, “I guess that
that was all the information Red was going to divulge.” He could
play that game. “I go by Ace.”

Swan didn’t react----so much for
conversation.

After a pregnant silence, Swan finally
offered an unnecessary apology. “I’m sorry that I became so
frightened, but you weren’t beside me.”

Slater wasn’t sure how to reply to that
statement. He wasn’t used to relying on anyone, but himself. That
was the way it was when he was growing up, that was the way it was
when he was in Kuwait. Except for a few certain buddies that he
knew he could always rely on in the most desperate of situations
and vice versa, that was the way it always had been.

Slater immediately felt something deep in his
gut. Unable to identify this new emotion, he reacted as he always
did with pure instinct. He tucked Swan’s head under his chin and
began to stroke her reddish corn silk hair. It tickled the edge of
his nose and smelled of fresh roses. A corkscrew lock of curly red
hair wound itself around his little finger. Little did he know that
it was also intertwining like soft fingers on a vine around his
heart.

Slater looked down at the light blue circles
under Swan’s sightless eyes. Driven by an unknown emotion and
hoping to reassure her, he reached out to run his thumb over her
silky chin line---big mistake! His soothing touch relaxed Swan and
she was soon in another world. Sleep for Slater on the other hand
was once again a long time in coming.

CHAPTER 6

Slater woke with the same adrenaline
alertness that he always did when he sensed that there was an
ominous sinister change around him. The blistering embers from the
fading fire still had a soft eerie glow that gave the makeshift
tent a dreamy slow motion feel, but it also gave an inch of light
that was adequate for him to seek out the shadows of his statue
like surroundings. At first, he thought that it was just the shift
of the incessant howling wind, but vital experience taught him that
it was something else. He listened. There it was again, a very
faint sound of heavy breathing and soft cautious walking as though
a four legged animal were vigilantly looking for the most
vulnerable entrance into the frozen igloo.

All of Slater’s electro lights went on full
circuit. He carefully untangled himself from his precious bundle
and crept silently to the entrance. He grabbed a piece of sharp
metal as he approached the only opening of the icy tent. Inching
the makeshift door open only a small wedge, he tried to evaluate
the situation. As a Navy SEAL, he was supposed to always be
prepared for the unexpected. He must be getting a little rusty, as
he was not primed to be eyeball to eyeball with the cunning
creature of the northern timber wolf!

A half a second passed as each adversary
gauged the strength and intelligence of the other. The North
American Wolf was in his element, but what he didn’t know was that
so was Slater. The tenseness of the situation made Slater at his
most dangerous and he could be just as lethal as any wild
animal.

The warning sound of a low snarling growl and
a set of razor sharp teeth inches from his nose, goaded Slater into
immediate action. Suddenly, 150 pounds of muscle attacked, slamming
at the entrance, snarling and snapping as though it were a
battering ram! With the metal shield in one hand, Slater pushed
back with 230 pounds of pure muscle of his own. It was man versus
beast. Slater was not a stranger to difficult moments and physical
demands. At six foot four, Slater’s daily ritual religiously begins
with pumping iron, running inclines, and other physical workouts to
stay in shape and ready in case his private special ops unit was
called upon in a moment’s notice.

The first attack lasted less than two
minutes, but it seemed much longer as Slater dug in his heels and
held his own. The aggressiveness of this lone wolf told Slater that
this was a either a very determined wild animal or a very hungry
one. The violent assault suddenly halted; however, soft panting
gave Slater the clue that a second vicious attack was eminent. He
was right.

When the second strike finally ended and it
appeared that the beast decided to find easier prey, Slater began
rapidly securing the entrance with more steel and plane seats that
he was able to twist and pile making it a stronger more formidable
sanctuary. As a final touch, he built a fire for
discouragement.

It was then that he looked at Swan. She
hadn’t said a word during the entire attack. She was obviously very
frightened, but holding it together.

In a wobbly voice she asked, “Wh-what
attacked?”

Slater replied, “Wolf, a big one. We’re safe
and secure for the moment.”

She nodded, accepting his word as fact. “How
can I help?”

That comment brought up all kinds of
possibilities. Slater was accelerated. He had been in his element.
He had met his enemy and won. With his adrenaline pumping, he knew
just what was needed to calm him down. He covered the small
distance between them in a single step with the determination of
the wild darkness within him. He roughly pulled Swan into his arms
and planted a very sexual kiss on her ruby red lips. He left no
doubt of what he was insisting--no demanding! Wrong move! Through
his lusty haze, it finally penetrated his foggy brain that Swan was
resisting him--the killer charmer. It never occurred to him that
she might have other ideas. As he pulled back he realized that she
was pushing and sobbing. He released his iron grip. She rolled over
on her side away from him into a fetal curl. He watched her
shoulder’s shaking and felt like the “heel” he was.

“
Swan?” He tried to touch her, but she
would have none of him. Simultaneously, the beast outside howled as
the beast within felt the same frustration.

CHAPTER 7

Day five began somewhat routinely as it had
the previous day and the day before that with two
exceptions--tension inside and out. Slater had awoken several times
in the middle of the night to stroke the dying fire and check on
Swan. He was in a crappy mood. He had just checked the area outside
around the tin tent. Their surroundings were “poxed” with
footprints as in plural.

Slater was concerned that a pack of wolves
had been scouting his domain. He was hoping for only the one rogue
loner of the night, but soon discovered that he was probably
dealing with a pack of five or six---maybe more. Some super male
wolf harems are known to have as many as fifteen. A small group
might be manageable, but a large pack signified significant danger
for him and especially, Swan, if he were unable to protect her.
Slater had been watching the lethal leader for some time now
through the plane window. The alpha male wolf looked as though he
were capable of keeping a large group in check with hardly so much
as a snarl. He was solid black with cunning yellow eyes that Slater
had experienced up close and personal. His shoulder height even at
this distance appeared to be 36-39” with a minimum weight of
130-150lbs, probably the latter---a formidable opponent in a
hand-to-hand combat.

His alpha female counterpart was lying beside
him. They mated for life. Slater hadn’t notice her immediately
until she had reached up with her long pink tongue to lick his ear.
She blended into the snowy surroundings. She was his opposite with
pure white fur. She had matching identical deadly fangs and
probably the same determination and the same sadistic need for
blood and power---a well-matched mate.

The black devil didn’t look like he was ready
to cut and run. That would have been cowardly and Slater didn’t
think that would be acceptable to this wild carnivore. He stood
still and silent, seeming to majestically be waiting for something
as he stood guard at the top of his icy mini peak.

CHAPTER 8

Slater eyed Swan warily as she struggled to
come to a sitting position. He watched as what seemed like an
exhausted effort push a strand of wayward heavy mane from her
furrowed brow. She looked so lost and helpless that something
stirred in the middle of his gut that he chose not to identify. He
was unusually tense when softly she called out to him. It took him
by surprise when he realized that was his great white hope and that
all he wanted to do was hold her, comfort her, and chase away her
demons. He was more than a little concerned that she might still
consider him one of those diabolical monsters that she seemed to be
fighting both asleep and awake throughout the night. That was not
going to happen again!

Slater had always been an exceptionally good
lover. Rarely, if ever, did he have to wait for any signal from the
opposite sex. He didn’t brag about it--that was just the way it
was. Females were always stud friendly. Never had his actions ever
been rebuffed! This was a totally new and surprising experience. He
always relied on his swarthy good looks with olive skin, coal black
hair, Roman nose, high cheek bones, sky blue eyes, and “devil may
care attitude” that except for his baby blues, all gave testimony
to his American Apache heritage. All he needed to do was turn on
the charm and flash his toothy white smile that produced dimples on
both sides of his mouth and he immediately had more than his share
of feminine partners.