gushing, she cleared it enough to get through, then climbed up on the seat. After gripping part of the dented frame, she swung herself through and took a leap. The ground came up hard, almost knocking the wind out of her. Nausea swept through her. When she could find the strength to stand, she hurried around to the pilot’s side of the plane.
She reached for the door handle and opened it. Jim was six feet and a dead weight in her arms. She tried to work him out of his seat belt. If he had internal injuries or a broken neck or bones, she had no way of knowing. All that mattered was to get them as far away from the plane as possible before something exploded.
Wymon had been driving along one of the logging roads in the Sapphires for about ten minutes when he saw a single engine plane plunge into the trees directly ahead of him.
His heart almost failed him. He reached for his phone and called 911. After identifying himself, he gave the coordinates of the crash. “I’m headed to the site. Send an ambulance and a Bronco with a tank of water ASAP.”
Another minute and he reached a clearing where he saw a wrecked Cessna and a blonde woman working to pull the pilot from the cockpit. No fire had broken out yet—there was just a trail of ripped-up ground made by the plane when it came down. Amazed that part of it was still intact, he knew a crack pilot had been at the controls.
He jumped out of his truck and ran to help. “I’ll take over, but first I need to get you to safety. My name is Wymon Clayton.” He picked up the woman and carried her to the edge of the clearing.
“Thank you. He still has a pulse,” she yelled after him as he ran toward the plane.
Wymon pulled the pilot free of his harness and dragged him as fast as he could toward the woman. The poor guy was covered in cuts from the broken windshield. Oddly enough, he looked familiar to Wymon. Once he’d reached her, he began CPR.
“Come on, Rob. Wake up,” she cried.
Rob. This was Robert Farnsworth, a state representative who’d been vocal about the drainage cleanup from the mines. Wymon could understand that, but more recently he’d been against the grizzly reintroduction issue which went against what Wymon was fighting for.
He continued giving him CPR. In another minute the pilot came to.
“Oh thank God, you’re awake!” the woman said and smoothed the hair off his forehead.
“Jasmine?” he said faintly.
“Don’t move, Mr. Farnsworth. An ambulance is on its way.” He looked into the woman’s beautiful spring-green eyes. She’d survived an ordeal that should have knocked her out too, or worse. Cuts covered part of her arms, as well. “Make him lie still while I run for a blanket.”
Wymon raced to the truck. He pulled two blankets from the truck bed where he always kept his camping gear for emergencies and reached for a can of soda from the rear seat. When he returned, he put one blanket over the pilot to keep him warm, and then told the woman to sit down. He was surprised she hadn’t gone into shock already. Once she’d done as he asked, he wrapped the other blanket around her. In the process, his face brushed against her sweet-smelling hair.
“Drink this. You need the sugar.”
“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice. “If you hadn’t come when you did...”
“Don’t think about that.”
He moved over to the pilot and hunkered down next to him. “The paramedics will be here any moment. Are you feeling severe pain anywhere besides your head?”
“No. A hawk... It flew into the propeller and shattered the windshield.”
“You deserve a medal for getting both of you out of this crash alive. There aren’t that many open pockets in this area.”
“Rob’s an incredible pilot,” his companion acknowledged. “He told me exactly what to do.” She took a few more sips of the drink.
He glanced at her, noting that she wasn’t wearing a ring. “You were brave to try to pull him away from the plane.” As he spoke, several ambulances from Stevensville and the Bronco he’d called for drove into view.
The driver recognized Wymon and called out to him. Quick as lightning, two of the men with him started draining fuel from the wings of the plane in the hope of preventing a fire. Another one got busy removing the battery.
To Wymon’s relief, the paramedics came running over to take care of the crash victims. “I’m all right,” the woman said. “It’s Rob who needs help.”
“He’s getting it,” Wymon told her. “But you need to be checked out, too. Let the paramedics do their job.”
They worked with both of them while getting names and addresses. Wymon discovered the woman’s name was Jasmine Telford. She lived in Philipsburg. The name Telford rang another bell. He knew why when one of the paramedics murmured to his partner that she was related to Commissioner Telford and did legal work for a friend of his.
Digesting that information, Wymon hurried over to the plane to take pictures inside and out with his cell phone. Soon the patients were placed on stretchers and ready to be transported to the hospital. He recovered his blankets and walked beside Jasmine to the ambulance. “I’ll follow you to the hospital and make sure you and Mr. Farnsworth get your luggage back.”
“Thank you again for everything you’ve done.”
“I’m only glad I happened to be driving up here today.” He’d been on his way to meeting with some rangers, but that was obviously not happening anymore.
The paramedics lifted Jasmine inside the ambulance and shut the door. Wymon walked over to the other ambulance. “I’ll see you at the hospital, Mr. Farnsworth. Anything I can do, just let me know,” he said, not expecting a reply.
Wymon got into his truck and followed the ambulances down the logging road that led back to Stevensville.
A sigh escaped him, and he thought that you never knew what was going to happen when you got up in the morning. He checked his watch. Eleven thirty and he was suddenly headed for the hospital. When he got there, he’d call the ranger station and explain why he’d never made it.
Once in town, he pulled in to the hospital’s public parking area and entered the emergency entrance behind the paramedics. While both patients were transferred to cubicles and attended to, Wymon held on to their luggage.
Two police officers who knew him came inside to ask him questions since he’d been the one to call 911. After they’d talked to the patients, they left, leaving Wymon to wait until the doctor had seen to both Rob and Jasmine. It was Dr. Turner, the husband of a close friend of his brother Eli’s wife. They’d met at Eli and Brianna’s wedding in March.
“Wymon? Good to see you. I understand you were the knight in shining armor. Ms. Telford’s words, not mine.”
He scoffed. “How is she doing?”
“Surprisingly well for surviving a plane crash. We’re cleaning up her cuts and will watch her for
