Her Miracle Baby. Fiona Lowe
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of his patients he’d use his childhood connections.
Tom’s voice came through the headset. ‘Estimated flight time is fifty minutes. The weather’s predicted to change but, based on the radar, we should get in well before that happens.’
The small plane charged down the runway, its nose rising quickly under Tom’s experienced hand. Will leaned back and relaxed. He’d done this flight four to five times a year since the age of five and he always got a kick out of the different cargos Tom carried. This time of year it was usually other skiers but today it was fresh fruit and vegetables, caviar and champagne. Someone on the mountain was throwing a party.
Meg popped a mint into her cherry-red mouth, her plump lips closing behind it. Desire flared in Will, leaving stunned surprise in its wake. Since Taylor’s betrayal six years ago he’d doggedly avoided women, although they didn’t avoid him. Just like Taylor, the women he met generally had dollar signs in their eyes. Amazing how money could produce a declaration of love.
Wealth reduced marriage to a business contract. Despite numerous women having other ideas, he had no plans to be part of any relationship.
Instead, in Cameron tradition, he threw himself into work, even though it wasn’t exactly the job of his heart. At least the Cameron wealth was being put to good use, raising money for medical facilities and research.
‘Would you like a mint?’ Meg’s melodic voice came through his headset.
He turned to find her fine tapered fingers holding a container of mints toward him.
The plane hit an air pocket. Her hand moved with the jolt, colliding with his thigh, sending waves of hot sensation down his leg and mints cascading into his lap.
She laughed, a tinkling, infectious laugh. ‘Sorry.’ In a typical ‘I can fix it’ action, she reached for the mints, her fingers lightly caressing his lap as she scooped up the sweets.
Colours exploded in his head and he breathed in deeply, reciting the monotonous eight-times table, something he hadn’t needed to do since he’d been sixteen.
‘It’s fine, really, I’ll fix it.’ He heard an unfamiliar huskiness in his voice.
Her hand paused, hovering above his lap, and then it shot back to her own. Her gasp of realisation sounded in his headset. Her cheeks burned red. ‘Sorry.’ This time embarrassment clung to the word.
She pivoted away and stared resolutely out the window, her discomposure evident. He bagged the remaining offending mints and wished he was out on the slopes, in the cold. His libido, which had been dormant for some time, needed some alpine air to cool it down.
Oh, God! Meg knew eggs could be fried on her cheeks. What had she not been thinking when she’d tried to pick up those mints?
She shook her head and kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window. Not that she could see that much as the brilliant blue sky had become overcast. The gaps between the clouds became shorter and less frequent, and a huge cumulonimbus cloud loomed ahead. Grey black, thunderous and full of snow. Must be the weather Tom had mentioned coming in.
She sat up a bit straighter and nibbled her bottom lip. She didn’t like the look of that cloud at all.
‘We’ll take a bit longer than usual because of the head wind, folks.’ Tom’s voice broke into her thoughts.
A few moments later, rain started to trickle down the windowpane, the droplets looking like fat tadpoles. A flicker of anxiety skated along her veins. She quickly reminded herself that flying in rain was safer than driving a car in it.
She glimpsed the snow line and relaxed. Pretty soon Tom would be circling to bring the plane in to land. And fifteen minutes after that she’d be home, having a hot cup of tea and checking that her mother had not overdone things while she’d been away.
Meanwhile, she gazed out at the tall, straight snow gums, their shiny dark green leaves creating a thick canopy. Thank goodness for national parks. It was hard to imagine that this whole alpine area had once been densely treed just like this, barely a space to glimpse the snow on the ground.
The airstrip abutted the national park and she heard Tom on the radio, talking to the resort’s control tower about the landing and giving their position. She could smell home.
Cold started to seep into her and she pulled on her jacket. Although she loved this little plane, there were times she felt like she was inside a tin can. The outside temperature was often reflected inside.
‘Right, folks, we’ll be there in ten minutes. We could be in for a bit more turbulence but I’ve been given clearance and we should make it in ahead of the storm. Meg, you might want to grab that sick bag.’ Tom turned and gave her a cheeky grin.
Once she’d been sick and, although it had been more to do with bad take-away chicken than a rough flight, Tom loved to tease her about it.
‘You OK?’
A thread of warmth spun inside her at the sound of Will’s smooth, deep voice. She looked up and nodded. ‘Fine. Thanks. And you?’
Argh! What was wrong with her? Now she couldn’t even sound coherent, her words coming out in a staccato beat. She focused on the rain.
Suddenly, the plane lurched violently and her seat belt pulled against her, pinning her to her seat.
Hail pounded the plane, balls of ice battering metal, the noise deafening, like bullets on a target. Fear sliced through Meg, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would bound out of her chest. Without thinking, she reached over and gripped Will’s arm.
Immediately his hand covered hers, steadying her.
‘He’s an experienced pilot.’ His hazel-green eyes, flecked with topaz, held her gaze, but his hand tightened around hers.
The smoothness of the engines suddenly sounded rough. Meg’s heart seemed to stop as dread rushed through her like white water through a gorge. You’re just imagining engine trouble. She forced her mind to think of tranquil rainforests. It will be OK.
Will’s hand tensed on hers.
Across his shoulder she saw ice forming on the window.
Ice!
Surely that was just a build-up of hail? She prayed it was. Ice on the wings wasn’t good. Planes didn’t fly well when ice weighed them down.
Engines didn’t like ice either.
She turned and focused on Tom’s back, feeling impotent. She watched his every action as if that would help them through the storm. Could he keep the carburettor warm, keep the ice at bay? Could he see the horizon? Could he see the ground?
She couldn’t see anything out her window. Nothing but grey fog.
Her heart hammered, sounding loud in her ears. The hail pounded the fuselage. All the noise combined, making her want to put her hands over her ears like a child. Her breath stalled, fear paralysing her lungs.
And then silence.
The hail had stopped. Her breath rushed out in one long swoosh. For the briefest moment she relished the peace.
It’s too quiet, the voice screamed in her head, clawing, pounding against her brain. The usually loud, rhythmic piston engines were silent.
She automatically leaned forward, watching Tom, wanting to do something, willing him to do something.
He throttled the engines back and forth, his shoulders rigid.
Meg prayed for a fuel blockage that would be easily fixed by his action.
The silence lingered like a malignant growth.
‘Bloody hail. No fuel’s getting through the carburettor.’ Tom’s voice trembled. ‘I’m sending out a mayday.’
Fear tore at Meg and she turned to Will. ‘But the hail’s stopped. I don’t understand.’
His