Jack Crowne thought his head was going to burst, it hurt so bad. As for his leg, it nagged and throbbed, but he could deal with it. If he could have one more spot of luck, maybe that piece of plane hadn’t sliced him all that deep. “The Marauder—she’s a good plane,” he said, then cursed under his breath. “Was.”
His brain focused. “Didn’t you say something about my friend? You found another man? Older, on the small side? Wearing a silly pink-and-blue bow tie?”
She lightly touched her hand to his shoulder. “Yes, he’s over there. He’s unconscious, but alive. There’s blood all over his chest and on his head. I didn’t check for broken bones. I’m sorry, but I’m alone. Once I get you to my car, I’ll help him.”
“No, no, I’m pulling myself together. We must get to him now. My cell, let me get my cell, I’ll call for help.”
“Sorry, that’s not an option. Cells don’t work out here what with all the mountains and no towers. We’ll take care of him, don’t worry. All right now, don’t close your eyes. I really can’t lift you by myself. We’ll go over to help your friend.”
Jack gritted his teeth and thought about Timothy, who could be dying right now, right here, in this empty valley in the middle of nowhere. With her help he managed to ease up onto his elbows. He looked around. “I’m still in Kentucky?”
“Yes, close to the Virginia border. You managed to land your plane in the Cudlow Valley, the only break in the mountains for miles and miles. If you hadn’t made it here, well . . . it doesn’t matter, you did. Best not to dwell on that right now. Luck and skill, you had both. Now, your friend—”
“Help me to him and I’ll carry him to your car.”
Rachael couldn’t imagine his helping anybody, but she clasped him around his chest and pulled. He came up to his knees, plastered against her. She paused for a moment, his head dipped to rest on her shoulder. “You okay?”
“The world’s spinning and I want to vomit, but yeah, I’m okay. Give me another minute.” Jack breathed slow and shallow. Thankfully, the nausea passed. His head pounded, sharp and heavy, but he could deal with that since it was no longer blinding him. “Okay, let’s go. I’ve got to see to Timothy.”
It took the better part of five minutes but he was finally standing, walking, Rachael taking as much of his weight as she could without dropping herself. “There’s Timothy. He hasn’t moved.”
With Rachael’s help, Jack knelt beside Dr. Timothy MacLean. He checked his pulse, checked his head, then ran his hands over his arms and legs. He handed Rachael her leather jacket. “The blood on his chest—he’s got a good-sized gash, well below his heart, thank God. Doesn’t look deep and the bleeding’s stopped. I’d say he’s also got a couple of broken ribs. As for his head, I know he was unconscious when I got him out of the plane.”
“I saw him hit his head on some rocks.”
He cursed. “It’s my fault, I stumbled and he went flying.”
“Yeah, right, blaming yourself sure makes sense.”
He narrowed his eyes at her even as he took more deep breaths. She saw the fierce concentration on his face, watched him suck in a deep breath and lean down. He managed to pull the man up and over his shoulder. He staggered, but kept his feet. “I’m glad he’s on the small side,” he said, panting. “All right, Rachael, if you could ease yourself under my left arm, let’s give it a go.”
He wasn’t all that steady on his feet, but together they managed one step, then another and another. “My car’s on the side of the road, over there. She up and died on me and I don’t know a thing about cars.”
“I do,” he said, gritting his teeth, wanting to puke again. Timothy didn’t weigh much, but still it was nearly 140 pounds of dead weight. Jack stopped, waited until the nausea passed, which it thankfully did again. “Okay, what is it? Twenty more feet. I can do that.”
He did. She opened the back door and he eased his friend onto the backseat. He shrugged off his leather jacket and handed it to her. She was able to nearly cover Timothy completely with the two jackets. Jack leaned against the car, his eyes closed, the blood now caked on the left side of his face. “What time is it?”
“Going on eight o’clock.”
He said, still not opening his eyes, “Loosen the tie around my leg.”
She did. “Good, the bleeding’s stopped.”
His head listed to the side, then he straightened. “All right, let me take a look at your car. Maybe it’s something easy I can fix.”
Probably not, Rachael thought. Nothing was easy in her life.
FIVE
As Jack straightened, he grazed his head on the raised hood and thought he’d pass out. He grabbed the dirty fender, closed his eyes tight, and let the world spin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being laid flat again; it might save his head from exploding. He felt her arms come around his chest to prop him up. She said, “Hold still for a moment. That’s right, I’ve got you.”
When he finally got himself together and pulled away, she said, “Are you okay?”
“Better days,” he said, “like yesterday. Thanks.”
She grinned up at him, and wanted to say, Me too. “Can you tell what’s wrong with my car? Can you fix it?”
“Any chance you’re out of gas?”
“Nope. I filled up in Hamilton.”
“Okay, the hoses look okay. Crank the car.”
She turned the ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again, still nothing.
“Okay, there’s no fuel coming out of the fuel line. Your fuel pump’s busted. It’s got to be replaced. I wish I could jury-rig it, but I can’t. That sign says we’re in a town called Parlow. Is it big enough to have a decent mechanic?”
She nodded. “Yeah, population’s maybe three thousand. It’s only a mile up the road. Is a fuel pump major?”
“Nah, and it’s not too expensive.”
“I was starting to walk to Parlow when I heard your plane coughing and sputtering. You said it was a bomb. I don’t understand.”
Now didn’t he have a big mouth? “I was probably wrong. It’s over, don’t worry about it.” He tried his cell again, knowing there wasn’t magically going to be a signal when there hadn’t been one the last dozen times he’d tried.