Especially when he was scared to death.

Grace could see the white of his knuckles as he gripped the seat beside her. His eyes were tightly shut, and she would bet her same penny that he was praying.

Greylen MacKeage was afraid of flying.

Grace leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She willed her hormones to settle down and pushed her own worries about the air-worthiness of the plane to the back of her mind.

She was going home for the first time in nine years. It was becoming a bad habit, only returning for funerals. She was glad she was staying awhile this time. She needed the rest, the reconnection with the earth and the trees and the granite of the mountains. She’d been looking out at space too long, instead of earthward. She’d forgotten what snow felt like crunching under her feet, what pine pitch smelled like on her hands.

And she had forgotten that men like Greylen MacKeage still existed.

Was that what Mary had found when she’d fallen in love with Michael MacBain? This thrill of being near a perfectly male human being? Of feeling a strength that emanated from him in the form of sweet-smelling heat?

Was Mary’s Michael MacBain a large man like Greylen MacKeage? Had she wanted to feel his arms around her the moment she’d laid eyes on him?

Grace used her feet to pull her carry-on bag closer to her seat. Lord, but she missed her sister. There were so many more chapters in her life she wanted to share with Mary. She had questions she wanted answered—about love, relationships, the contentment her sister had found here in her woods in the shadow of TarStone Mountain.

Grace had left Pine Creek for college at the age of sixteen. She didn’t regret the decisions she’d made for the last fourteen years, but she had thought she would have more time to catch up with her sister.

Mary was supposed to teach her what college couldn’t, how to go out on dates, break men’s hearts, and fall in love.

How had so many years passed without her noticing? She should have come back sooner, taken a break between doctorates, and spent time with Mary.

The pull of exhaustion finally won its fight, and Grace fell asleep with her arms wrapped around Baby and her legs wrapped around the bag between her feet.

Chapter Four

Give me the child.”

Grace woke with a start at the feel of strong hands pulling at her jacket.

“Now, Grace. Give me your baby now.”

Greylen MacKeage was tugging at the pack strapped to her chest, trying to undo the zipper and pull Baby out. Grace grabbed at his wrists to stop him, until she was awake enough to realize that it was urgency she had heard in his voice, not anger. Without stopping to question why, she started helping him instead. As she worked to free Baby, she slowly became aware that the whine of the engine was growing precariously high-pitched, as if it were laboring beyond its ability.

Mark, the pilot, was cursing under his breath as he struggled to control the shuddering plane. Grace could see he had the yoke pulled nearly into his chest.

“Dammit, I can’t climb!” Mark shouted. “We’re going down. Buckle up back there!”

Grey all but ripped Baby away from her. Grace frantically tried to grab him back. “He needs to be strapped in his car seat,” she said, turning to grab it instead. “That’s the safest place for him in a crash.”

“No,” Grey said evenly, sounding unnaturally calm. He pulled her back into her seat. “Put your bag in your lap, and bury your face in it. I’ve got your son.”

Grace watched him unzip his heavy leather jacket and tuck Baby inside, before zipping it back up until it completely covered the infant’s head. He then reached down and picked up her bag. He felt the hardness of it and threw it back on the floor.

“You’ve got to climb,” Grace told Mark, straining to see the altimeter gauge on the dashboard. “We’ve got to reach warmer air and turn around.”

“What in hell do you think I’m trying to do?” he shouted back. “It’s no use. The wings and prop are icing up and losing their lift. The weight is taking us down!”

Grey suddenly pulled Grace against him, wrapping his arm around her back and holding her to him, his other arm covering her head. Baby was not happy with his new situation. She could feel him straining against the confines of Grey’s jacket, his feet and bottom pushing against her face. Muffled, angry cries sounded from beneath the thick leather of the jacket, sending a chill down every bone of Grace’s spine.

My God. She had killed her nephew. He had survived an automobile accident and being surgically pulled from his mother, but now she would kill him by foolishly choosing to fly in questionable weather.

She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arm over Baby and around Greylen MacKeage. The man was a rock. His embrace was fierce as he held the two of them, and Grace was amazed to discover that he wasn’t even shaking. She could actually feel the determination in him to keep them safe.

“Brace yourselves!” Mark shouted. “I see the mountains.”

Grace pulled her head free to look out the window. She, too, could see the dark, rain-shrouded mountains not below them but beside them. The stall buzzer suddenly warned that the plane was no longer able to fly. The whine of the struggling engine, the incessant blare of the buzzer, and Baby’s muffled cries of terror combined to produce a deafening cacophony of impending disaster.

“Cut the fuel!” she shouted at Mark. “Let it stall into the treetops!”

“Aw, shit!” was the only answer she heard.

The tail wheel clipped the top of a tree, making the plane shudder violently. Grey pulled Grace’s head back against his chest, and this time his grip was unbreakable. The right wing hit another tree, jerking the Beaver around with enough force that her head hit the door beside Grey. She would have been knocked unconscious if not for the strong arms protecting her.

Baby’s cry of outrage pierced through the chaos, rising above the screech of metal connecting with bark.

The plane violently pitched, first in one direction and then another. Luggage fell forward from the cargo bay, smashing into her right hip. A window shattered, spewing glass everywhere. Several shards tore into Grace’s cheek, causing her to cry out.

Grey’s arms tightened around her.

The noise was deafening as the forest ripped at the plane with relentless, determined precision. Gasoline fumes filled the air, carried in on sheets of frozen mist. Sparks of blue light suddenly shot through the interior of the plane, casting an ethereal glow over the chaos.

They struck something substantial, and the belt at Grace’s waist nearly cut her in half. The plane slowly tumbled then, tail over nose, before finally slamming into a tree that would not break from the blow. The airplane hesitated the merest of seconds, as if balancing on a razor-thin fulcrum, before it slowly began its descent down the length of the tree.

Even though she was braced for the final assault, Grace was still surprised by the force of the impact. But not as surprised as she was by the fact that Greylen MacKeage still had more strength to offer. The arms holding her so securely up until now tightened to rib-crushing proportions.

And he didn’t let go, even when everything suddenly stopped.

Their flight from hell had finally ended in a semi-upright position. The engine of the DeHaviland now sat in the copilot’s seat, hissing angrily as snow and mist pelted it through the broken windows. The air surrounding them actually hummed, charged with the eerie tint of lingering blue light. Both wings had been torn from the body of the plane. Mark, and his seat, were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until the silence penetrated her brain and the cold frozen mist touched her face that Grace realized she was still alive.

Baby was not. He wasn’t crying, and his struggles had ceased. Grace scrambled to unfasten her seat belt. It released, and she fell onto the wall of the plane. Grey freed himself more carefully and used his arms to stop his fall.