Hal’s head moved in an almost imperceptible shake. “I think it’s her heart,” he murmured, and his expression was bleak as he gazed down at his wife’s face and gently stroked her hair. Her eyes were closed again, and she looked almost serene now…and alarmingly fragile.

“Her heart?” Sam was shocked; the woman had seemed so robust-so…indomitable. “But why? She’s so…” So not the heart-attack type! “Has she had problems like this before?”

Again the movement of Hal Lundquist’s head was slight, as he continued to gaze down at his wife and caress her forehead. “She wouldn’t have told anyone if she had. But I’m not too surprised by this. She has a family history.”

“Well, we’re going to get her to a hospital,” Sam promised grimly as she pushed herself to her feet. “As soon as we can. Do you think you can carry her, or shall we make a litter?”

For the first time Hal’s pale blue eyes, fogged now with sadness, lifted to hers. He seemed dazed, almost as if he was surprised by the question. “I’ll carry her. No need for a litter-unless…perhaps for your friend? He seemed to be bleeding rather badly.”

Something hitched painfully under Sam’s ribs as she turned with a murmured, “Right…” and made her way through the foliage to where Tony crouched beside a pale and sweaty-looking Cory.

“How’s he doin’?” she asked as she lowered herself to the wet, mossy turf, hoping bright and cheery would hide the fear that was once again robbing her of breath.

“How’s he doing? I’ll tell you how he’s doing-look what he did!” Tony held up his camera, minus its neck strap. “Damn guy made a tourniquet outa my camera strap.” He was trying his best to look and sound outraged, but his grin kept leaking through.

“Is it working?” Sam shifted her eyes to Cory, careful to avoid looking at his blood-soaked pantleg.

His eyes held hers as he replied in a voice that was airless with pain, “Slowed it down some.”

She turned back to Tony. “Got any more of those straps?”

“Right here.” He was already reaching for the equipment bags.

And to Cory again, “I’m gonna need your shirt.”

He nodded, gritted his teeth and began to tug at his shirt with bloody hands. Appalled, she slapped his hands away. “Here, I’ll get it-raise up your arms.” And as she pulled the T-shirt out of his waistband her fingers grazed his belly. His skin felt clammy and cold. Shaken, she was careful not to touch him again. Though the desire…the need to touch him was so overwhelming she trembled with it.

Quickly, she folded the damp T-shirt into a thick pad. When she placed it over the seeping hole in his thigh, he jerked and breath hissed between his teeth. Sam threw him a mocking look. “Don’t be a baby, Pearse. Can’t have you bleeding to death.”

“You sure about that?” His voice was breathy with what might have been laughter. “Kinda had me wondering out there, when I was swingin’ in the wind. Thought maybe you were tryin’ to dump me in the river.”

Furious suddenly, and fighting tears, she shot back between clenched teeth, “I told you, I was trying-”

“Sam.” He touched her arm, leaving it blood-smeared. “That was a joke. I know what you were trying to do.” His eyes seemed bottomless as they clung to hers. A smile flickered briefly, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Thank you.”

She wanted to say “You’re welcome,” say it flippantly, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But even after clearing her throat the words wouldn’t come. And by that time Tony was there with another camera strap-a nice wide one, brightly woven in some sort of Native American pattern-and she made herself busy getting it knotted around Cory’s thigh and the pressure pad in just the right place, and she hoped no one would notice that her hands were shaking.

“Okay,” she said briskly when she was finished, “that’s the best we can do for now. Tony, you want to load up? The quicker we get going, the faster we’ll be able to get help. I’m thinking maybe that clinic’ll have some supplies we can use to get them both stabilized.” She raised her voice and called to Hal, “How far did you say it is to the village? A couple of miles?”

“More like three or four,” came the doleful reply.

“Esther said he’s a pessimist,” Sam muttered under her breath. “Let’s hope she’s right.”

Tony was a short distance away, rearranging his burden of camera and equipment bags, now short two neck straps. Sam was about to stand up, too, ready to help Cory to his feet, when he touched her arm, then beckoned her closer.

“Sam…I want you to know something…in case I don’t…” The weakness in his voice terrified her.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she snapped back at him, shaking with fear and impotent fury. “Don’t you dare. Just…don’t you dare.” She shoved herself to her feet, her vision blurred and shimmering, chest heaving. “Trust me-you’re gonna have a whole lot of time to say whatever it is you have to say to me. Now-if you’re quite finished feeling sorry for yourself, do you think you can get your butt up offa there, so we can get going?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cory muttered contritely. But he was quivering inside with a crazy mixture of amusement and admiration, weakness and fear. He knew he was in a bad way, not just because of the way he felt, which was as lousy as he could ever remember feeling, but because Sam was in a temper. And if Sam was in a temper, it meant she was either upset or scared-in this case, he figured probably both. Scared for him, he thought. And for Esther. Scared she wasn’t going to be able to get them help in time. It was a sobering thought.

But at the same time, as he watched her take charge, shoulder the weight-literally-of the sick and injured, get everyone moving again, he felt a tremendous surge of admiration. And pride. And humility. And in a way, shame. He’d always admired her, of course, both as a woman and as a person, and been proud of her, too. But he wondered now if there’d been something patronizing in his enjoyment of her, as if he’d been somehow responsible for her, or as if she were an extension of himself. God help him, was he only now seeing her as the incredible and amazing person she was, separate and apart from him? It was a horrifying, humiliating thought.

And with it came another: She loves me.

He felt dazed as her shoulders came under his arm and lifted, and her strong bones and supple muscles grew taut in support of his weight…as he felt the heat and energy radiating from her body, smelled the sweat of exertion and fear, heard the fierce, determined sound of her breathing. My God, he thought, she does. And he realized he hadn’t really believed it before, or understood how much. He wondered if he’d ever heard her say it. Wondered if that was why he’d felt abandoned when she’d gone off to pursue her career, and why he’d put her to such a terrible test, forcing her to choose. An impossible choice, he understood now. What he’d asked her to give up had been nothing less than what made her who she was. And so much about her he loved.

The thought made him sick and weak with shame. I don’t deserve her, he thought. She was right to turn me down. And if I do make it through this, and she decides to give me another chance, I’d damn well better figure out a way to make it right.

If we get through this…

“Sam,” he murmured, turning his face toward her and away from Tony, who was holding him up from the other side. He could feel the wet ends of her hair, like kitten kisses on his face. “That thing behind your ear…”

Her arm tightened around his waist. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Can you use it to call for help? Like…is there a code for Mayday?”

He heard the hiss of a breath and saw her eye crinkle and her cheek change shape with her smile. “An extraction? Yeah, and I mean to do that…just as soon as we get to a clearing big enough for a chopper to set down.”

Well, he should have known she’d have thought of it already. That she’d have it covered. Should have known he could leave it to her. This business of trusting her with his life…it seemed it was going to take some getting used to.

He let go, then, let himself slide into a twilight of pain and struggle and jungle growth and dampness that seemed to go on and on…endlessly.

Though he knew when it began to rain again. They didn’t stop to look for shelter, but just kept going, following Hal, whose gaunt, heroic figure seemed like a ghostly outrider in that curtain of rain, plodding tirelessly ahead, carrying his wife in his arms and leading the way.

And he knew when at last they left the jungle for the cultivated fields on the outskirts of the village, but he felt no sense of triumph or relief when he was lowered onto the muddy bank of a rice paddy…only terrible cold and weakness, and an exhaustion that seemed unconquerable even by his most powerful effort of will. But, he remembered, they were in the open, now. Sam would call for extraction, using that sci-fi chip in her scalp. He didn’t have to get up, didn’t have to move again. He could wait right here for the chopper to come and pick him up…

Except, the next thing he knew Sam and Tony were there again, pulling at him, making him get up, forcing him to walk, making him move on.

“It’s the rain,” Sam yelled above the roar of the deluge as they struggled on. “I can’t get a signal through. Right now, I’m hoping we can at least get some first-aid supplies at that little hospital…clinic, or whatever. We’ll ride this out…try for a chopper later. If all else fails, we’ll just have to fly out.”

Fly out, Sam thought. Yeah, that’s if the plane’s still intact. And if the landing strip isn’t knee-deep in mud. If we make it that far…

But she didn’t want to think that far ahead-couldn’t let herself. One step at a time. First, make it to the hospital in the village. There’d be medical supplies there, and food and water and shelter…maybe even dry clothes, if the bags they’d had to leave behind were still there. Imagining what it would feel like to be dry again nearly made her weep, and her stomach growled at the thought of those nonperishable field rations in her backpack.