To Save This Child. Darlene Graham
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But it was seeing him use those hands in surgery that had finally won Kendal’s undying admiration. Jason Bridges made real miracles happen every day. She had witnessed those miracles in the worst of conditions down here in Chiapas.
Her eyes trailed from the control yoke down to his legs, also tanned and oh-so-muscular, bulging against wrinkled khaki shorts. It seemed his whole body functioned like one long, taut muscle. A six-foot-tall granite statue—that’s what Jason was.
Her gaze flitted up to his cropped hair, dark as midnight, with strands of silver at the temples that created a delicious contrast to his clean profile, his chiseled lips, his square jaw. His skin, deeply tanned from the Mexican sun, glowed in the slanting sunshine that streamed through the plane’s compact windshield. She sighed again, utterly content to just admire him.
He glanced over and smiled when he caught her doing so.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“How much I love you.”
He smiled. “I love you, too. Is Miguel okay now?”
She nodded and raised her finger in the same silencing gesture Ruth had used. Jason glanced back at his sleeping passengers. Then he reached across the narrow space and wrapped a possessive palm around Kendal’s inner thigh. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. His pulse felt steady, strong.
“God, I’m glad we’re finally out of there,” he murmured.
“Me, too.” But Kendal found that she could still summon up the fear. The danger is over, she reminded herself as she suppressed tears, and gripped Jason’s wrist harder.
“Ah, now.” Jason flipped his hand up, capturing her fingers. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” He leaned toward her, glancing back and indicating that he wanted to speak near her ear. Their heads touched halfway over the center console. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I know.” Kendal closed her eyes, flooded with relief as she pressed her head into his broad shoulder.
“Just remember how much I love you,” he murmured. “And that I can’t wait to be alone with you,” his voice lowered further still, “so I can show you exactly how much.”
She opened her eyes, tilting her head up to flash him another brave smile. The sun bounced off the Cessna’s white engine cowling up onto Jason’s aviator shades. Behind the sunglasses, Kendal knew, her lover’s eyes were as blue as the Pacific Ocean that stretched beyond the endless horizon at their backs. And she knew what those eyes looked like when they were brimming with tenderness, burning with desire.
“I can’t wait,” she said as she leaned in closer to him and caught a heady whiff of his scent. But in that same instant her vision was snagged by a peripheral glimpse of the fuel gauges.
“Jason!” She jerked her head up, pointing.
“What?” His voice echoed the sudden alarm in hers.
“Shhh!” Ruth shushed them from behind.
But Kendal ignored her. “The fuel!” The dial for pounds of fuel remaining read unbelievably low and the dial for fuel outflow read unbelievably high.
Jason stared at the gauges and Kendal blinked hard, hoping her eyes, her brain, had made some kind of horrible mistake. But when Jason pulled on the red knob to stem the flow and frantically flipped the switch for the backup tank, she knew he was seeing the same thing she was seeing.
“What’s wrong?” Ruth, sensing trouble, clutched the still-sleeping child’s head to her breast while she twisted to see, stretching her seat harness.
Right then the warning lights flashed, and the low fuel alarm started to blare.
“We’re almost out of fuel,” Kendal spoke above the insistent warning chimes and the even louder drone of the engine, which to Kendal seemed to be already making an ominous straining noise.
“How can that be? We just left!”
“I will,” Jason ground out through clenched teeth, “kill Vajaras with my bare hands.”
“How could he do this!” Kendal cried, horrified to realize the man was so evil that he would arrange the death of his own grandchild.
“How could he do what?” Ruth demanded, clearly panicking.
“Vajaras must have arranged for one of his goons to puncture our fuel lines before takeoff,” Jason explained as he eased the plane to a lower altitude. “He knew we’d be over the continental divide by the time it leaked out.” He was executing a careful fuel-conserving turn in a narrow mountain valley. “Stay calm,” he said. But his own lips were stretched white with fear. “Our best bet is to circle back to the airport.”
Jason gripped the control yoke while the low fuel signal continued to chime like a death knell.
In the back seat Miguel whimpered, awakened by the loud alarm. Kendal looked back to see his thickly lashed little eyes growing wide with fear.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said in a Chiapas dialect, “Mamá está aquí.”
But the toddler started to cry, struggling against Ruth’s seat belt and stretching his thin arms toward Kendal. All Kendal could do was reach a hand back, awkwardly trying to reassure the child. She rubbed her palm gently on his little shoulder while Ruth murmured reassurances in his ear.
In only minutes, the mountains gave way to a broad valley, then the patchwork of fields and forest revealed clusters of thatched huts and finally the large metropolis of buildings that was Tuxtla Gutiérrez appeared in the distance. When the airport runway came into sight the three adults held a collective breath.
Maybe they could make it down.
Jason’s strong fingers gripped the landing gear control handle as they closed in over the crude airport, but suddenly he lurched forward in his seat.
He cursed and, without further warning, jerked back hard on the yoke. The nose of the plane peeled up in a gravity-defying climb that pitched the three passengers sideways. In the same instant Kendal heard the unmistakable pop-pop-pop pop-pop-pop of gunfire from below. A bullet ripped through the fuselage as she twisted her face to the window, looking down to see several men running out of a hangar, strafing the sky with submachine guns.
In seconds Jason had pushed the little plane up to an air speed that made Kendal’s hair stand on end.
“What are you doing?” she screamed as he continued to climb.
“Keeping us alive!” he screamed back.
“The fuel!” she argued, knowing his maneuver was gobbling up what little remained. But Jason only pulled the plane up higher, out of range of the gunfire.
The Cessna’s engines were tough, but they weren’t designed for dogfight maneuvers, and the plane stalled as the fuel was sucked away to mere fumes. They plummeted back to earth in a screeching nosedive.
While the alarms rang and the warning light panel on the Cessna lit up like a Christmas tree, Jason managed to pull the plane out of the dive.
Dizzily, Kendal looked back to see the machine-gunners running across the landing strip toward an aircraft that she hadn’t noticed before. In the next few minutes those men would take off, and their plane looked bigger, faster than Jason’s.
“We can’t outrun them,” Jason yelled. He leveled the plane just as the engines coughed once more, sputtered, and died. “Put on the life jackets,” he commanded. “And strap Miguel in his own seat. We’ll have to go for a controlled landing out on the river.”
The Rio Grijalva came into view. It was wide in places where it had been dammed, but it was carved deep into the Canon del Sumidero. From their altitude it looked like a broad navy blue ribbon curving at the bottom of three-thousand-foot-high cliffs. But it was the only place where the jungle canopy and the rugged mountains parted enough to put a