Chapter Two
Amanda
My pulse pounds in my ears. Tyler. I need to get home to my son.
My leg is no longer trapped, and pain radiates from the top of my shin to my ankle.
Spencer lies on the floor next to me, unconscious after freeing my leg.
I slowly rotate my ankle, and a scream escapes me.
I push myself to sitting and fight back the vomit that travels up my throat.
My head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.
I rise, but the searing pain that shoots up my shin forces me to collapse back down.
Spencer stirs as a low groan escapes him, and he rolls to his side and faces me.
His dark hair is matted just above his hairline with dried and new blood.
There are small knicks on his face and a bruise starting to form beside his cheekbone just under his temple.
His eyes flutter as he flattens his palm to the floor and pushes himself up before turning to me.
His fingers spread over his forehead as he grimaces and closes his eyes as his broad chest rises and falls.
A heartbeat later, his lids pop open, focused, and all attention on me.
“Your foot is out. That’s good. Let me take a look at it,” he says with his eyes slightly rolling, and I’m afraid he’s going to go down again.
“Please take your time. Maybe you should rest. You look…”
“Like I’ve been in a plane crash?” He smiles through a grunt as he sits up in front of me. His dark eyes meet mine and somehow still carry confidence and composure. “May I look at your leg?”
“Yes.”
He begins to delicately roll my leggings up to my mid-calf, examining my boot that hits just above my ankle. “I’m going to remove this. Let me know if anything I’m doing is too painful.”
“Okay.”
He unzips the side, unties the laces in the front, and loosens them.
He expands the top of the boot and pulls back the tongue, giving my foot ample room to ease out.
He gently slides the boot down. I wince, and he pauses.
“I don’t want to have to cut this off unless it’s necessary.
I’m going to widen this a little further and see if I can remove it.
If the pain is excruciating and you can’t take it, I want you to tell me.
If you can handle it, I’d like to keep the boot intact. ”
“You are very considerate. These are my favorite boots.” I am joking because if I don’t, the alternative is me falling apart.
“If you can put weight on your leg, you’re going to want a functioning shoe.”
“I thought you were just respecting my fashion choices.”
“Sure, that too.” He rests his hand on the side of my calf and looks up at me with a confidence that tells me he is a master of his craft and a competent professional.
“Okay, let me know if this is too much.” He opens the material further and slowly tugs it down again as burning heats my ankle and the bridge of my foot, and I gasp. He pauses and looks up at me.
“There’s pain, but you can keep going.” He nods and continues until my boot is completely off.
One of his large yet graceful hands curls around my ankle, while the other smooths his fingers over the top of my white sock, then he gently lifts it to look at the underside.
“I’m going to remove your sock,” he says as he skillfully peels it down while supporting my heel.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“I’m a neurosurgeon.”
“A brain surgeon!” I blurt out. “Wow. I’ve never met one of those in the wild. Do you know what you are doing with feet?”
“I know enough to treat any body part. Perhaps not enough to perform a complex surgery outside of the brain or spine, but enough to help you. Tell me what hurts the most,” he says as he presses those skillful fingers in different areas of my foot and ankle.
“Right there.” I wince.
He gently lowers my heel. “I want to see how much weight you can put on it.” He offers his hands, and I take them as I start to stand, then pause.
He curls his right arm into his side as he leans subtly in that direction.
That is when I notice the tear in his shirt and the dark blood and pink flesh showing through the shards of black fabric.
“Your side.” I gasp.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll look at it when we are finished here.
” He rises with me but stoops under the low ceiling.
I knew he was tall, but I didn’t realize how tall and broad his chest and shoulders were until he was close enough for me to wrap my arms around him.
Despite being in a perilous situation, I’m also aware of his good looks.
He slides his hands under my elbows as a balance aid, and we rise together.
“Lean on me as much as you need to,” he says as I grip his rock-hard forearms under his cotton shirt.
The plume of his breath juts out before me.
I gingerly lean onto my injured leg. As I transfer my weight, a shooting pain ricochets from my foot up through my calf. “I’m standing, but it hurts.” I dig my fingers into his arms.
“The fact that you can stand, even with pain, is a good sign. I’m going to move to your side.
” He circles me while still supporting my body in his arms in our crouched positions.
“Shift all your weight to your good leg.” I do as he says.
“Now, slowly step with your injured one. I’ve got you.
” I lift my knee and ease forward as he suspends my weight over it.
“That’s it, put a little pressure on it and tell me how it feels.
” The ball of my foot presses into the debris-covered floor as a hot twinge radiates through, and I lift it on instinct.
“Ow, I can’t.” I flinch as I lean into his chest.
“That’s okay. The fact that you can stand is a miracle. I know we have several bruises and scratches, and I want to monitor signs for internal bleeding.”
“What do we look for?” I say as he guides us back down to the seat.
“Swelling and discoloration in the torso. Blood in the urine. Those are the main signs.” He grimaces as he shifts in his seat. “We both have concussions, so we will also have to monitor those symptoms.”
He does a few other assessments and fashions me a splint for my ankle using materials from his bag. He lengthens it up to my mid-calf and secures it with the straps from seat belts. Then I watch him clean his wound and stitch it himself. “Can I help you with that?” I offer.
“No, thank you, though.”
I’m sure his response has nothing to do with me having to turn away and dry heave a few times.
Spencer steps over and pushes his way through the wreckage until he’s in the cockpit.
Bill has passed away. Despite not being in the shape to do so, Spencer drags Bill out of the plane.
He drops down next to him and rests as he curls forward and winces.
His physical pain is so apparent that I can almost feel it radiating through me.
After several moments, he remains on the ground and digs a hole in the snow with his hands, rolls Bill’s body in, and covers it.
He stays on his knees as he closes his eyes and folds his hands into his chest and dips his chin.
He’s saying a silent prayer for the man we didn’t know for more than a few hours.
But we did learn that he left a wife behind, grandkids, and a dog, and that he was loved.
He opens his eyes and stares at the small snow mound. “God be with you.”
The tenderness in his voice sends a wave of peace through me, even if for a moment. I don’t know this man at all, but from what I’ve seen, he’s a good one, and if I’m going to be fighting for my life on this mountain top, I’m lucky to be partnered with him.
Spencer helps me out of the plane, and I shift my weight on him like a crutch.
The snow doesn’t crunch under my feet like I expect.
It is powdery and silent as I sink through, and it wraps itself around my legs like a cold, silky alabaster blanket.
The ice reflects the sunlight and blinds me as my eyes adjust to the brightness.
“I’m going to walk maybe fifty yards so I can get a better look at our surroundings. Do you want to come with me? Or do you want to stay here?”
“I’ll come.”
“Okay, if it hurts too much, just let me know,” he says as he wraps an arm underneath me, and I lean against him again. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.”
We move forward as the powder-light snow dusts away from our steps.
We are fortunate to have on winter jackets, hats, and gloves.
When we stop to take in our surroundings, my heart drops to my stomach, and Spencer slides his hand away from my waist. This man is a stranger, yet I don’t want him to let go.
The chill in the air doesn’t just sting my cheeks; it also coats my insides.
The mountains that surround us are unblemished.
The top layer of snow is as pristine as the first day it fell.
It is apparent that not one soul has set foot here.
If the situation were different, I’d marvel at this barren, picturesque landscape.
Instead, heaviness fills my body with the bleakness of the situation.
It’s the most stunning and disheartening sight I have ever seen.
The plane lies like a fallen soldier, broken in battle. The jagged rocks of the mountain ripped off half the wing that faces us. The torn metal glints as bright as the snow. The tail and a portion of the back roof are missing.
“How are we still alive?” I whisper.
“After we hit the mountain, we must have slid down the slope of it, lessening the impact.” He points. “Much of the backend of the plane is lost, and that is where the tracking device is. I’ll see if I can find it. If it’s not here, it can’t be more than a mile or two away.”
My breath escapes me. “I didn’t tell Phil how I was getting home. I just told him I’d find a way back.”
“Is Phil your husband?”