Her Miracle Baby. Fiona Lowe
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She shrugged, carefully knelt beside him and handed him a mask. Silently, they dug side by side, developing an unspoken rhythm, alternating the scooping out and dumping of the snow, slowly hollowing out space where they could both sit.
An hour later, warm from the physical work, Meg crawled into the snow cave. She’d dumped the contents of the medical kit at the back of the cave and flattened the backpack to sit on.
Will crawled in next to her, the small space contracting even more. Her heart seemed to flip in her chest. Just like on the plane, his presence unnerved her, but this time she couldn’t ignore him. This time his presence would help her survive.
He piled the bracken and tree-fern fronds up at the front and then turned and sat next to her. ‘I think this cave might get an architectural award.’ His lightning-quick grin streaked across his face as he settled next to her, and then he turned off the headlamp.
‘Creative use of minimal space?’ She tucked the space blanket around them both as his thigh came to rest against hers.
‘Natural heating.’ He put his arm around her waist and pulled her gently toward him, closing the tiny space between them.
A blaze of heat flared inside her, which she tried to squash. He was only cuddling her to prevent hypothermia.
‘Modern furnishings.’ She patted the backpack, trying to ignore the slight pressure of his hand on her waist.
‘Look, we’ve even got natural light.’ He pointed to the moon low on the horizon, rising slowly.
‘So we have.’ The words came out on a sigh as she looked at the moonlight that had come too late, and thought of Tom.
He squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll find him in the morning.’ His low voice vibrated with understanding. ‘You marked where he was.’
How had he known she was thinking of Tom? She blinked back the tears that hovered ready to spill, the events of the evening threatening to overtake her. ‘The morning…’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Meg, the morning will come and the rescuers will come. You know that. The flares went up and Tom gave the co-ordinates over the radio before we went down. They will find us.’
‘But not tonight.’
‘No, not tonight. They’ve got no hope of finding us in this storm, and they’d be risking their lives at the same time.’
Damn it, he was right. ‘These drifts will be twice the height in the morning if this snow keeps up. They’ll have to come in on horseback first.’
‘True, but those mountain men know what they’re doing. Even Banjo Patterson knew that. They will come.’
She smiled at his reference to The Man From Snowy River, and in the dark of the cave she let his voice infuse her with some of his strength.
She so wanted to relax into him, rest her head on his chest, feel and hear his heart beating. Affirming life. Proof that they had survived the crash, that together they would survive the night.
But that would be weak and she couldn’t be weak, so she sat ramrod stiff. She’d learned the hard way that the only person she could depend on was herself. Snowstorm or not, nothing would change that. She knew that once the rescuers arrived she and Will would go their separate ways, strangers again.
She just had to get through the night.
‘TELL me where you learned about snow caves.’ Will jostled Meg with his shoulder, hoping to keep her awake.
The cave mostly protected them from the wind but it was bitterly cold. Hypothermia and sleep didn’t look very different from the outside. They’d got this far, and he was determined they would make it through the night alive.
She yawned. ‘You’re trying to keep me awake, aren’t you?’ A smile played in her voice.
An image of her high cheekbones framing her plump upturned lips flittered across his mind. The same smile that had captivated him six hours ago. It seemed a lifetime ago.
‘You’ve found me out. We don’t have to talk about snow caves, we can pick any topic at all.’ A blast of wind brought in snow and he started to cough, his ribs sending out shards of red-hot pain.
She stiffened against him. ‘Will?’ Her concern radiated through the confined space. She reached out, fumbled with the zipper on his coat and then determinedly searched under his polar fleece until her hand rested on his skin. On his ribs.
Her touch should have been cold. But her fingers sparked off a series of mini-explosions that travelled straight to his groin. Hell! It was below zero, he’d just survived a plane crash, he was in a snow cave with bruised ribs and he could still get aroused. This definitely wasn’t the right time or place.
A moan escaped his lips.
He heard her breath catch before her words rushed out. ‘You’re in pain. Can you breathe without pain?’
‘Yes, I can. It just hurts to cough.’
‘Are you sure? Please, don’t put on a macho act for me. I don’t need you developing a punctured lung.’ The stern tone in her voice couldn’t hide her fear.
He wanted to reassure her, lessen her fear, that he wasn’t going to die. That she wouldn’t be alone in the snow. ‘Think, Meg. If it was worse than bruised ribs, I wouldn’t have been able to lift Tom and dig a cave. I’ve seen your nursing skills in action, you know your stuff. Don’t let panic override your knowledge base.’
Her hand dropped away from his skin and the icy air swooped in, absorbing the heat in a moment. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’re in this together and I appreciate your concern. How’s your ankle feeling?’
‘It’s throbbing.’
‘Any pins and needles?’ He was worried swelling might be impeding blood flow.
‘No, I can still feel my toes, so that’s a good sign.’
She relaxed slightly, her body resting fractionally more against his. Despite the fact their sides were touching for the much-needed heat exchange, he could feel her holding herself aloof from him.
‘So back to snowcaves…’ he prompted.
‘At high school I did outdoor education. As we’re in an alpine region we did both snow and bushfire safety to cover each end of the spectrum. I never expected to use it.’
She wriggled against him in an unconscious action as she tried to get comfortable.
He closed his eyes against the surge of heat that rocketed through him. She had no idea what she did to him and she couldn’t know. Tonight they had to keep warm and that meant body contact. He wished he’d taken more notice when his secretary had talked about meditation and achieving a ‘Zen-like’ state.
She finally stilled, having pulled her legs up to her chin, and he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. ‘So who’s worrying about you right now?’
‘My mother.’ A different tension radiated from her. ‘She doesn’t need this sort of stress. Mum’s got MS. Something like this could spark off a further progression of the disease.’
Regret for her family pulled at him. He knew the emotional toll of a chronically ill parent.
Her hands tugged agitatedly at the space blanket. ‘I was worried about her spending this week on her own. I wasn’t expecting her to think I’d died as well.’ Her voice rose on the last words, her anxiety palpable.
Professionally he knew she needed to talk, to help keep the panic at bay, and