Alex fought for self-control. The droning sound was louder now, like a throbbing inside her head. “Papa, we’ve been through all this before,” she said icily. “I’m not ready to get married. There are other things I want to do.”
Buck’s face was dark red. Alex could see the subtle twitch of a vein in his left temple, the herald of an explosion. She was dimly aware that the droning sound had stopped. The sudden silence was oddly frightening.
“Please, Papa, not here!” she whispered.
“Listen, girl,” he muttered through his teeth. “Your selfishness is ruining—”
He was interrupted by a shriek from one of the female guests. “That aeroplane! It’s going to crash!”
The party was forgotten as everyone turned and stared upward. There was the aeroplane, less than a hundred feet above the beach, as fragile as a mosquito against the sky.
Alex had seen aeroplanes before, though not many. This was a biplane, with a wide double wing, and it was clearly in trouble. She could see the frantic motions of the pilot as he tried to restart the engine. She heard the motor cough once, then die again into terrifying silence as the plane started a downward spiral.
“He’s got one chance,” a man behind Alex said. “If he can level it out, he might be able to glide in. Otherwise—”
“Good God!” exclaimed Buck. “He’s trying to pull out of it! What a fighter! Come on, man!”
A cry lodged in Alex’s throat. Time slowed to a nightmarish crawl as she watched the spiraling plane and the pilot struggling with the controls. For an instant it appeared that he’d be able to right the plane for a landing. But for that he needed power, and his engine was dead.
He was still pulling on the stick when the fragile craft angled in toward the beach and vanished behind the dunes.
The watchers stood stunned, unable to believe what they’d seen. But Alex couldn’t stand still. She felt herself breaking into a run. Her shoes flew off as she raced down the long stretch of lawn toward the dunes. The wind tore away her tulle hat and plucked at the pins in her hair. Her skirt caught on a low bramble, ripping the ruffles as she heedlessly ran on.
Others were running, too, now, but Alex was ahead of them all. She was the first to reach the sand, the first to scramble up the landward slope of the dune and the first to sight the wrecked aeroplane.
The aeroplane had crashed nose-down near the water’s edge. Its double wings were twisted, its tail askew. The front end was partly buried in the sand. Waves eddied around it as the tide moved onto the beach.
Where was the pilot? Alex spotted him as she tore down the side of the dune. He was hanging out of the plane, his legs caught in the wreckage, his head dangling in the water.
Fearing he would drown if the crash hadn’t killed him, Alex plunged into the surf. The waves were swirling around her waist by the time she reached the aeroplane. A ripple washed over the pilot’s goggled face. Then Alex had her arms around him. She lifted him, feeling the heaviness of his upper body. He was a big man, rock solid. She cradled his head against her breasts while she waited for help.
“Is he alive?” Buck was beside her in the water now, his strong arms supporting the pilot’s shoulders.
“I don’t know.” Alex ran a finger along the man’s neck, searching for a pulse. He was bleeding from a gash on his temple. The blood made wet red streaks down the front of her gown. “I can’t feel anything,” she said, fumbling with the leather chinstrap.
By now, other men had reached the aeroplane and were trying to free the pilot’s legs. Alex held his head steady with one hand while the other hand tugged at the stubborn buckle.
Finally the strap came free. Alex pulled away the helmet. The goggles came with it. Underneath was a square-jawed face—a face that was young, yet somehow not young at all. The hair, plastered damply against the head, was dark reddish-brown. The nose was crooked, as if it had once been broken. The eyes were closed.
She pressed his neck where the strap had covered it and caught the faint throb of a pulse. “He’s alive!” she exclaimed, weak with relief. “Hurry! Get him out!”
At the sound of her voice the pilot’s closed eyelids twitched. The wet lashes fluttered upward. Alex found herself staring into a pair of riveting, green-flecked eyes.
He blinked, trying to focus on her face. “Don’t worry,” she said, feeling the warm pressure of his cheek against her breast. “You’re safe. They’re just trying to get your legs loose.”
As she spoke, the rescuers suddenly pulled the man’s legs free of the wreck. With a sharp moan of pain, he lapsed back into unconsciousness. Alex glanced over her shoulder and saw that one of his high-topped leather boots was grotesquely twisted. His leg, she realized, was badly broken.
“Let’s get him to the house!” she shouted. “Careful—support that leg!”
“We’ll take him,” Buck said. “Alex, you run on ahead. Get somebody to call a doctor.”
“No, I’ve got him.” She cradled the unconscious head, refusing to let go. She had found him. She had reached him first and saved him. It was as if, somehow, the young pilot had become hers.
Most of the party guests had lined up along the top of the dune to watch. Alex felt their eyes on her as she backed out of the water, her skirt dripping and encrusted with sand. Hands reached out to support the weight of the pilot’s torso. He stirred against her breast, his lips forming words she couldn’t hear.
Alex’s mother struggled down the slope toward her, walking sideways to keep from sliding in the loose sand. “What a sight you are, Alexandra!” she gasped. “I almost fainted when I saw you out there in the water.”
“The pilot’s hurt!” Alex said. “Have someone run to the house and telephone Dr. Fleury!” She cradled the man’s head, ignoring her mother’s outstretched arms. “Please, Mama, I’m fine!”
Her mother stared down at her, still hesitant. “But your gown—you’re covered with blood!”
Alex glanced down at the ugly lavender dress. The bodice and skirt were blotched with crimson. A little shiver went through her as she felt the pressure of the pilot’s firm jaw through the thin fabric. Her head went up. “Yes,” she said. “But it’s not my blood. It’s his.”
Chapter Two
Rafe awoke with a body-wrenching jerk. He had felt himself falling, spinning downward in a ripping descent that seemed slow only because it had no bottom. Now he felt the starch-crisped softness of a pillowcase against his cheek and realized he’d been dreaming. The dream had merged with reality until he was no longer sure where one left off and the other began.
Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he tried to piece together the fragmented memory of the crash—the plummeting plane, pulling on the stick until his hands bled, the water rushing upward to meet him. Then blackness, broken only by a flash of lucid pain.
Even then he’d been hallucinating, Rafe reckoned. Those violet eyes looking down at him could not have been
