Too Close To The Fire/Too Hot To Handle (Montana Men 3) (3 page)

His
lips felt feather soft, gentle, yet utterly ravaging. Never had she felt
anything as good as his warm mouth possessing hers. Dianna sighed with
contentment and surrendered her heart into his care. This kiss would have to
last her a lifetime and beyond. She dug her fingers in the front of his shirt
and hung on.

BAM!

Dianna
felt the jolt in every muscle and bone. She was brutally wrenched from Taylor’s
arms. He grunted, hurled to his right and then back against his seat.

“Taylor!”

“Here.
I’m right here.”

Metal
crunched and screeched in agony. Everything about the plane snarled in protest,
a wounded beast fighting to its last breath. The only thing they could do was
ride the ride.

Glass
imploded around them. Hundreds of shiny pieces shot through the air. Dianna
flung her arms across her face. The plane jerked hard to the right. Luggage
flipped toward them, tossing and tumbling like paper in the wind.

The
blunt corner of a suitcase slammed into Taylor’s left shoulder. She heard his
moan and prayed it hadn’t broken his collarbone or shoulder. White-hot pain
pierced her left leg above her knee. Something sharp and lethal gouged her
right shoulder.

Dianna
screamed.

Taylor
grabbed her, closed his arms tight around her shoulders, but still she felt
every bone-snapping, teeth-jarring bite of pain.

The
plane whipped into a wild tailspin, tossing them about like flotsam in a stormy
sea. Torn from Taylor’s arms a second time, Dianna tried desperately to get a
hold on the yoke, but her fingers slipped off, too slick with sweat for her to
latch on to it. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

The
aircraft raced on in its destructive path, plowing through the underbelly of
the rainforest. The wings
popped
and
sheared off as the plane punched its way past a blur of huge red rocks. Tree
limbs snapped and broke as easily as matchsticks.

It
burrowed through the tangled underbrush on its jagged, crumpled belly. Gallons
of scarlet dirt splattered on what was left of the windshield and body.
Uprooted bushes, leaves, and vines sailed through the air like sombreros at
fiesta time.

Dianna
looked up in time to see a gigantic tree in their path, shocking in its
majesty, deadly in its bearing. She braced herself for the inevitable impact.
Oh, my God! This is it! The end! God,
forgive me my sins.

The
aircraft slammed head-on into the tree. Something hit her hard on the forehead.
White-hot pain beat through her skull like a hammer crushing rock. The nose of
the plane groaned and crunched and crumpled toward her at warp speed. Everything
stilled, except for the incredible noise of squawking, exotic birds screeching
their protests at the fact their peaceful homes were under attack.

Then
there was nothing but an obscene silence—

Chapter Three

If the “black
box” flight recorder is never damaged during a plane crash, why isn’t the whole
damn airplane made out of the shit?

~George
Carlin

North Western Australia

The Kimberly

February 7, Saturday

“Hey!
Wake up. Move your ass, lady!”

Dianna
swung her hand, batting at the annoying voice buzzing in her ear. “Leave me
alone.”

The
nerve of the man!
Couldn’t he
leave her alone? Let her rest?

“Come
on, Dianna. Move your beautiful ass or we’ll both die! I can’t carry you,
baby.”

“Why not?” God, she sounded so whiny.
Sarcastic
laughter penetrated the smog blanketing her brain.

“Because
I’m a fucking cripple, remember?”

Dianna
opened her eyes and blinked. “Maybe a bastard, but you aren’t a cripple, so
stop saying you are. You kissed me,” she said in a soft, accusatory tone.

“Yeah,
well, don’t take it to heart. I thought we were going to die. I would have
kissed an elephant’s ass at that moment.”

“You’re
such a jerk.”

“I’m
the jerk who’s trying to save your life. So move it!”

Pain
stabbed every known part of her body and parts she hadn’t known even existed.
Her leg hurt. The top of her head throbbed. Her eyes stung as if they’d been burnt
by a torch. Every muscle and sinew felt like it had been stretched as thin as
it’d stretch, then tied in a knot. Even the simple act of breathing hurt.

“Come
on, princess, haul ass!”

“Oooh,
leave me alone. Let me die.”

“No
can do. Come on.”

Dianna
closed her eyes, willing him to go away. “I can’t move. I’m pinned. Besides, my
hair hurts.”

“Your
hair?” Taylor laughed. “Come on, Dianna. You don’t have a hangover. A person‘s
hair only hurts when he’s drank himself crazy.”

“Then
why does my head hurt?”

She opened her
eyes and winced. The yoke, and what was left of the dash, pressed against her
chest. Her backbone was jammed against the seat, and it felt like the backside
of her breastbone was fused to her backbone. “I’m pinned.”

“There’s
room,” he said in his usual disagreeable tone. “If there wasn’t, you’d be
dead.”
Pop!
“Wake up, Dianna! Make an
effort to get free, or else you’re going to roast alive.”

“You
slapped me?” Covering her smarting cheek with her hand, she forced her eyes
open again. “Why did you slap me?”

“To
wake you up.”

The
stench of fuel seared her nostrils and coated the back of her throat. Worse,
the keening moans she heard came from her. All she wanted was to close her eyes
and shut out the world, shut out the pain, and shout at Taylor to go to hell.
“Leave me alone. I wanna sleep.”

“Stay
awake! Look at me!” He slapped her again.

Dianna
slowly opened her eyes and peered at Taylor. “If you slap me again, you’ll be
sorry.”

His
pale face hung over her. Tension lined his mouth. “Yeah? What are you going to
do about it? You’re too weak to even wiggle your ass.”

Dianna
struggled to get out of the seat. “I am not. Just give me a minute.”

Blue
fire blazed in his hot gaze. “That’s better. And we don’t have a minute. Now,
come on! The plane’s burning!” He pulled on her arm, his legs wobbling as he
half-dragged her out of the crumpled cockpit.

“Stop
pulling on me. Your legs aren’t strong enough yet to carry extra weight.” Her
navy blue T-shirt caught on a jagged piece of metal, and she heard the sound of
rending material. Dianna glanced down and saw half her shirt was missing. The
cups of her royal blue lacy bra were fully exposed.
Ooh,
he’d have a field day making fun of her small breasts. “Now
look what you’ve done.” She clutched at him. “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

“You’re
going to be in a lot more pain if you don’t snap out of it.”

He
caught her by the hand and kept right on pulling her along behind him, forcing
her to do the one thing she didn’t want to do, until he had her safely out of
the wreckage. Once her feet were on solid ground, he let go. “You’re on your
own, princess.”

Dianna
took three lurching steps away from the pile of twisted and bent wreckage,
turned and stared at the heap of junk. Half-dazed, she felt like kissing the
ground, grateful she was still alive. “Where’s the other half of the plane?”

Taylor
dropped to his knees beside her. Breathing hard, he gestured with his hand.
“Choose the spot. It’s scattered to hell and back,” he said breathlessly.

She
gaped at the half of the aircraft that was still somewhat jammed together.
“Well, that just looks pitiful. It looks like some kind of fat-bellied bug has
been torn apart and its guts ripped out through its ass. I don’t think my
insurance will cover this much damage.”

“Ya
think?”

She
closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her head. “My head hurts. Leave me alone
so I can crawl off somewhere and die in peace.
Stop
moving me! I’m going to puke all over you if you don’t stop.”

“I’m
not touching you.”

Dianna
groaned and opened her eyes. Taylor was already up and staggering toward the
burning junk pile. “What are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed!”

Something
warm and wet blurred her vision. She rocked unsteadily. Her head throbbed like
a mother, and her stomach flip-flopped in a puddle of sour, green grease. Oh,
God, she was going to make an absolute fool of herself and throw up.

She
touched her forehead and stared at the red liquid on her fingers.
“Whau?”
She was bleeding? Why?

What
happened?

Dianna
decided her wits had taken a journey and were a bit slow making the return
trip. She knew what was happening around her, yet everything was tumbling
toward her in maddening rush. She couldn’t keep all the pieces straight in her
mind.

What
had she been doing to get to this point? She tried to think, but her head
pounded mercilessly when she did so. Dianna dropped to her hands and knees. Big
mistake! The jar to her head was excruciating. Her body shook. Blinding pain
stabbed her skull. The contents in her stomach rose like a greasy pool to the
back of her throat and kept right on coming.

“Dianna?”

“What?”
She opened her eyes and blinked, but Taylor’s face remained out of focus. She
was crying, and she didn’t know why. “I think I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah,
you are a bit. Here, sweetheart.” He squatted beside her, helped her to a
sitting position, and pressed a bottle of water in her hands.

She
stared at it. “What do you want me to do with it?”

He
took it back, twisted off the lid, and held the bottle to her mouth. “Come on,
baby, rinse out your mouth. I know that left a bad taste.”

Taylor
scooted her back from the awful mess on the ground and kicked dirt over it.

“I–I
think—I need to call home. Tell them—what’s happened, but I–I can’t think of
the number.” She looked around. “Where’s my cell phone?”

Gently,
he cupped the back of her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They’ll know soon
enough.”

She
wondered why he was talking kindly to her, handling her so gently all of a sudden.
He always spoke harshly to her and never treated her with kid gloves, except
for the night she’d found Jillian. Slipping and falling in her stepmother’s
blood and discovering Jillian’s mutilated body in the stables—it had not been
the highlight of her life.

“Come
on, baby. I know you probably have a concussion—that’s a hell of a gash on your
forehead. It needs stitches. I hope you have a sewing kit stashed somewhere.
Please, Dianna, you have to try to stay awake. I need your help.”

“Help
you?” She barely managed to croak a response. She took a sip from the bottle he
held to her lips and rinsed her mouth. Leaning to one side, she spat it out and
moaned. Any movement caused the top of her head to feel as if it was on the
verge of explosion. Dull pain throbbed through her skull and settled between
her eyes, but her memory started to clear.

The
plane!

She’d
been piloting her cousin Raider’s twin engine Cessna. It was waiting for them
at Sydney. His plane. Oh, God. Taylor and she were on their way to Damnboola,
Raider’s station, located on the western end of the Kimberly. She was going to
attend her Aunt Marion’s funeral near Broome. Something went wrong. Something
bad. No. No. Birds flew into the propellers, and the engines simply shut down.
Maybe the birds tore up more than the propeller blades. She didn’t know. Dear
God, they’d crashed! She’d crashed Raider’s plane.

Taylor!
Where was Taylor?

She
turned her head and winced. He was busy scooping handfuls of dirt and tossing
it on the fire. The reeking odor of fuel tainted the air.

Dianna
pushed herself up. Sharp pain tore through her upper left thigh. Her leg
buckled, and she fell back to the ground. Gingerly, she tugged her skirt up mid
thigh and stared at her injured leg.

A
chunk of metal as big around as the handle of a hammer stuck out of her leg.
Funny, it didn’t hurt. Her head hurt much worse. Tears streamed down her face.
Dear Lord, she had to get up from here and help Taylor. They’d need whatever
they could salvage from the plane to survive. They had mere minutes to collect
whatever they could.

She
pushed herself up again. This time she remained upright. Dianna hobbled to
Taylor. Her vision blurred in and out. She paused, waiting for her stomach to
stop rolling like a giant tidal wave, and then she lurched closer to Taylor,
determined to help him.

He
slanted a gaze at her.
“Get back!
When it explodes, I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“We
need whatever water and supplies we can gather out of the wreckage.”

“I’ll
get them. You stay back.”

She
grabbed his arm. “You can’t go in there. I’m the pilot. It’s my
responsibility.”

“For
God’s sake, Dianna, you can barely stand. Let go!” He jerked away from her
feeble hold on his arm. “You’re not going back in the damn thing.”

* * * *

Taylor
worked his way inside the crumpled fuselage. God, his legs hurt. They trembled
with weakness. They were nowhere near ready for a trek across Australia. For
Pete’s sake, he was still in physical therapy.

Dodging
a gush of smoke and flames from the front of the aircraft, he tossed luggage
willy-nilly out the broken hull. Heat stabbed his eyes and seared the exposed
flesh on his arms. Churning, black smoke drenched his lungs. He couldn’t see
through the thick haze. His lungs chugged, demanding fresh air.

Taylor
swiveled around, looking for anything they could use. Mere seconds.

Hurry. Hurry
.
Get everything you can gather before what’s left of the aircraft
explodes
.

He
remembered an ice chest. He didn’t know what was in it or even if it had
survived the crash, but whatever he found might mean the difference between
living and dying.

“Get
my bag,” Dianna yelled from the jagged opening at the rear of the plane.

Taylor
dug her white shoulder bag from beneath a broken seat and hooked it over his
arm. “Anything else, princess?” he snapped. “A bottle of wine? Theatre
tickets?”

“My
fur coat…I want it, and get out of there. Now!”

Flames
exploded in an orange-red burst from the cockpit.

He
staggered, grabbed a discarded blanket off what was left of a seat, a rolled-up
sleeping bag, and there was the fur coat she wanted, and the ice chest
underneath it. Flinging the sleeping bag and coat toward Dianna, he tossed the
blanket over his head and shoulders and yanked up the ice chest.

Taylor
pushed into the roiling black smoke and worked his way toward the rear section.
He
toppled
out at Dianna’s feet and sprawled on top
of the fur coat. Groaning, he sucked fresh air into his oxygen-hungry lungs.
“Jesus! We have to get back!”

She
helped him up, grabbed the handle of the ice chest, the fur coat, the sleeping
bag and together, they staggered several feet from the wreckage.

Whoosh!

The
fierce roar of the fire blasted its way toward them, sounding like a ravenous
beast hot on their trail.

“Get
down!”
Taylor shoved Dianna to the
ground and crawled on top of her. He covered their heads with the blanket,
shielding them as best he could.

Boom!

The
second explosion shook the ground like the mighty rumble of an earthquake. Hot
shards of jagged metal erupted into the sky and rained down onto Taylor’s back.
Dianna lay on her belly beneath him, arms and legs spread awkwardly.

He
tucked her tighter against his chest and pressed his face close to the back of
her neck. “Roll with me!”

Dianna
nodded her understanding before he tightened his hold on her waist and rolled twice
to their right. He settled them into a depression in the soil. Taylor hovered
above her protectively and hugged her close.

The
small valley helped shield them from some of the intense heat generated by the
fire. Smaller, erratic explosions continued. Glowing chunks of fused parts
exploded into the sky and peppered them. Taylor grunted as something sharp
impacted his shoulder. “Shit!”

Liquid
warmth spilled down his arm, and still, pieces of hot rubble fell upon them
like fire and brimstone—but the main show was over.

Then
everything quieted, except for the low, hungry rumble of the fire burning
itself out.

Taylor
raised his head and stared into Dianna’s brilliant green eyes. She stared back
at him, half-dazed. A smudge of black stained one cheek, along with streaks of
blood. Her lips trembled. Swear to God, if she cried, that’d be it. He’d lose
what little control he had left—and neither of them was in any shape for what
he wanted. He laughed softly. Hell, might as well laugh as cuss. “Well, so much
for the plane providing us shelter. I hope this isn’t the wet season, princess.”