A fuzzy voice filled her ears. Despite static that nearly made it unclear to understand a word, she heard the pilot say, “The mom… is… pain and water… post… ASAP. Sending… for you."
Sending for you?
Sending… help. Yeah. She would be fine.
It was then that she realized her arm was stuck to the cactus, legs dangling, body sore, blood draining down to her fingers and pain shooting throughout her mind.
Maybe she wasn't going to be fine.
She was going to die on a giant Saguaro like an ornament on her mom's blue spruce Christmas tree.
Prue shut her eyes and thanked God for the life she'd led so far.
So far. That really wasn't very much.
How sad.
Chapter Four
Pain radiated down her arm.
Heat from something burned into her skin.
And her eyes refused to open.
That, she figured was some kind of self-defense mechanism as she had the sick feeling in her stomach that all wasn't right in her world.
With a groan, Prue opened her eyes-and then it hit her.
She'd been yanked out of the helicopter last night. Or at least she hoped it was last night and not days earlier. Then again, she might be dead by now if too much time had passed. And, she told herself in her mother's ‘strict’ voice, she had to get herself down onto the ground and… and… one thing at a time.
Gusts of dusty wind smacked at her face as if being stuck up here wasn't bad enough. Dust devils danced dangerously around, causing her to curse at the dirty winds.
They'd picked up since last night.
A scary thought, but she tried to convince herself that the pilot had told her they'd be back for her. Despite the sun and heat, the weather still sucked for flying.
Hey, maybe they'd drive up. Some military vehicles would come bounding over the ridges and sand dunes to snatch her up-or down as it were. Then again, she looked around-it all looked the same. Surely the helicopter had some kind of system to mark where she was.
Surely.
With a force she never knew she had, Prue reached into her pocket to fiddle around and see what she could find to grab onto the dratted cactus, because she had to get down from here, yet there was nothing to grab onto. Kleenex tissues, natch. Lipstick, natch, since she couldn't stand dry lips and her cell phone.
Her cell phone!
Somehow she'd managed to push her feet against one of the ‘arms’ of the Saguaro below to balance herself no matter how precariously and no matter the pain. Vomit worked its way up her throat, so she spit to the side several times, but wouldn't allow herself to even think about it. With a deep breath, she turned her head to look down.
Gulp.
Had to be about fifteen feet below.
Oh… my… God.
Speaking of Him, she said a few silent prayers, then looked up to the sky. “If you get me out of this, I'll… well, you know I'm a good person. But I'll give it all I've got to be better."
Now, Prue, let's think about the Saguaro itself. Shallow root system. Spikes that now held her captive. Wait a minute. How could this guy have yanked her out of the chopper?
Shielding her arm against the dust and sun, she saw the real cause. Forty to fifty feet cacti surrounded the area amid all other sizes. The chopper might have bumped into one of the taller ones and she got caught by that varmint, but then had to have fallen down to the lower ones.
Thank you very much. No wonder she hurt!
Prue pushed her feet to stand, hoping she could un-attach herself and fall to the ground. Or, better yet, jump and land on her feet.
Wishful thinking. Wasn't she the eternal optimist?
So, she started to push with her feet, kick as much as she could and, relying on the shallow root systems and the aged look of this captor, she continued until she caused a rocking motion.
As the cacti started to give way or at least give her freedom, she heard it.
A helo.
A helo in the distance! She had to get down and send some kind of signal. But with what and how?
Before the noise got any closer, her vision blurred into the brownish dirt of the Dust Devil himself. And she couldn't even see her hands in front of her eyes as she shielded her face and kept up the rocking, not giving a darn where she landed as long as it wasn't on another cactus.
"Prue! Captain Hamlin!” The disembodied voice filled her ears amid the horrendous sound of a helicopter, the winds and her heart pounding.
Great. She was hallucinating a hot, sexy, and familiar sounding voice. Yum crossed her mind despite the insanity. But it sure sounded as if the noisy machine was close. Then she looked up-and remembered it was Christmas day and her savior dangled from a rope several feet above her.
Whoa boy. So this is what dying was like?
Chapter Five
Prue felt strong arms around her. She couldn't open her eyes because pain had paralyzed her, along with fear.
No white light. Only the wind and dust and someone yelling at her from a distance. Was it really the distance?
Sounded closer.
The arms pulled a bit and suddenly she felt freed from her captor, although no lessening of the pain. Then, a thud.
"Oh,” she heard herself mumble along with several groans.
"First the shelf of mistletoe takes a nosedive cause of you and now you've taken out one of the hundred-or-so-year-old Saguaro, Captain Hamlin. I can see I'm gonna have to watch my step with you."
She opened her eyes to see a foggy, dusty, dirty Slick above her. Slick? Slick? Wow. What a hallucination this was.
Then it dawned on her. She wasn't having her usual lusty reaction to him. Actually, she felt odd. Weird. That was when she realized silence filled the air.
"Where's the helicopter? Or did you just fall out of the sky?” She looked down and he'd torn her uniform sleeve and was doing all sorts of things to her arm, including pouring something cold and stinging onto it, and then stuck a needle into her thigh.
"Ouch!"
"Bad news is the chopper couldn't land, and with these blasted winds I barely made it down without following you onto one of the Saguaros. Whole base is out looking for you, but by land would have taken too long.” He wrapped something tight around her shoulder and arm. “Good news is, I've just given you something for the pain, and the even better news, Captain, is that I'm here now."
She opened her eyes and glared at him.
"What? Aren't you glad to have a PJ fall out of the sky to rescue a damsel in distress?” He'd fiddled around in his bag and held something to her lips. “Drink."
"What it is? I don't want anything. I'm…” Oops. Her words had sounded a bit “too many glasses of wine” slurred.
"Look, Captain, I'm a trained medic. I've risked my life to come rescue you-"
"It's your… your job… duty.” In her head it sounded as if she said “dwuty."
He leaned near.
She could see his face. His Newman eyes. A slight smile.
"I volunteered."
Prue watched Slick remove his helmet, although her vision now matched the blurriness of her speech. “You… vowuntweered?"
"Get some sleep. That morphine is kicking in now by the sound of your speaking and the size of your pupils.” He pushed her hair from her face.
Gulp.
Could morphine cause a rush inside her like this?
Or, admittedly, it was his touch on her skin. Warm fingers, male fingers, strong male fingers doing something as simple as pushing damp, dusty hair from her eyes. Great. Even knocking on the door of death, she had sensual feelings for this cocky, gorgeous, out of her league, PJ.
Sometimes life sucked.