fighting. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you crashed the plane.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said dryly.
Her cheeks flushed and she drew a deep breath. “Of course you didn’t. I’m sorry,” she said grudgingly. “I’m upset.”
“It must be contagious, because I’m a little upset myself.” He drew a deep breath and plucked at the torn sleeve of his suit jacket. “This was my favorite suit, and now it’s ruined.”
She stared at him in disbelief, then saw a small curve at the corner of his mouth. “Talbot McCarthy made a joke?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I do have a sense of humor.”
“You could have fooled me,” she replied. “In all the years I was married to Richard, I don’t think I saw you smile once.” In fact, she’d always found him rigid, cold and slightly disapproving—and exceptionally attractive. That dichotomy had made her extremely uncomfortable. “So what do we do now?”
“If I had my cell phone, I’d call for help. Unfortunately it must have slipped from my pocket during the crash or when I scrambled out of the plane. So now the smartest thing to do is stay here close to the plane and hope help is on the way.”
But what if help wasn’t on the way, she wanted to ask. But she was afraid of what the answer might be. She scooted back so she could lean against a tree trunk, unsurprised when he followed her example and joined her.
She cast him a surreptitious glance as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Under different circumstances, she would have taken pleasure in his disheveled state.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him in such a state of disarray. His rich dark hair was tousled beyond style, and a smudge of smoke or oil decorated a cheekbone. His suit jacket was ripped and dirty, and the shirt that had been so pristine when they’d taken off was now wrinkled and blackened.
She frowned, remembering how he’d looked when he’d first appeared on her doorstep earlier that evening. He hadn’t just stood in her doorway, he’d filled it with his presence. At six foot two, Talbot had the body of a natural athlete. Broad-shouldered, slender-hipped, he carried himself with a masculine grace that drew women’s attention.
However, he wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. He had bold features, dark eyes that revealed nothing of the inner man, a thin mouth that rarely smiled and a hawklike nose that gave his face a cool arrogance.
She gasped as her gaze now drifted over his legs. His slacks were torn, exposing his knee. The skin had been slashed open and the deep wound still oozed blood.
“Talbot, your knee is really hurt,” she said. “It’s bleeding.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at his knee. “It’ll be all right. It’s not bleeding that badly.” One eyebrow lifted as he turned his gaze to her. “Of course, if you feel the need to rip off your T-shirt and wrap my wounds, go for it.”
“As if I’d sacrifice a perfectly good T-shirt for you,” she scoffed. “I’ll make you a deal,” she continued. “If you can tear off a bunch of tree limbs and construct us a nice little lean-to to sit in while we wait for help, then I’ll rip up my shirt for your leg.”
He laughed, and the unfamiliar sound of his laughter sent a familiar heat spiraling through her—a heat that was distinctly uncomfortable.
From the moment she’d met Talbot, she’d felt a crazy pull toward him that had been frightening. And for the nine years of her marriage to his brother, she had fought it. She had consciously never spent any time at all alone with Talbot. And now they were stuck alone together in the middle of nowhere. She tried to ignore her disquiet.
“I think we’ve both seen too many movies,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t waste a good lean-to on you.”
Although he was merely returning Elizabeth’s comment in kind, she was grateful for the slight coolness in his voice, a coolness that reminded her she had never been sure she even liked Talbot McCarthy.
A light flashed someplace in the distance. Elizabeth shot to her feet. “Did you see that?” she asked. Excitement and relief ripped through her. “Maybe it was the light from a search helicopter.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, a loud rumble resounded overhead. Not the rumble of a search plane, but rather the result of cold air meeting warm.
“I don’t think it’s a search helicopter,” he said. “I believe we’re in for a storm.”
As the first fat raindrops fell from the sky and splattered on her upturned face, Elizabeth glared at her companion. “I think I hate you, Talbot McCarthy,” she stated emphatically.
“Trust me, Elizabeth, before this is all over with, I believe the feeling just might become mutual.”
Chapter Two
T albot had never felt so out of his element. The rain fell steadily for about an hour, effectively dousing any lingering embers that might have still been burning on the plane and getting them wet enough to be miserable.
Fortunately the storm moved on, leaving behind a profound darkness and a silence broken only by the sounds of their breathing.
“No search party will be coming tonight, will they.” Elizabeth’s soft voice broke the silence.
He considered lying to her to ease her mind, but realized honesty was smarter. “I doubt if anyone will begin a search tonight.” What he didn’t tell her was that he doubted anyone would begin a search tomorrow, either. No, he’d save all the gruesome details for later.
“So we’re stuck out here for the night.” Her voice held a strange tension. It didn’t seem to be anger, but rather something deeper, something darker.
“If a search party doesn’t show up first thing in the morning, we can probably walk someplace for help.” Talbot also didn’t mention the fact that he had no idea if he’d be able to walk by morning. His knee throbbed clear down to the bone, and he knew he’d aggravated the old football injury that had, at one time, given him major problems.
“So, all we can do now is sit here in the dark.” Again that same tone colored her voice.
Talbot wished for just a spark of light, a tiny illumination that would make her features visible. “I know it isn’t going to be the most comfortable night you’ve ever spent, but there don’t seem to be any alternatives.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment, but he felt the pressure of her shoulder against his. “I don’t like the dark,” she murmured.
Fear. That was what he heard in her voice, and it astonished him. The cool, always together, always competent Elizabeth McCarthy was scared of the dark. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said.
He felt her stiffen in protest. “I am not afraid. I just don’t like the dark.” Still, she didn’t inch away from him, but remained with her shoulder firmly touching his.
He didn’t believe her protest. She was afraid of the dark. Amazing. One of the things he’d told himself he disliked
