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The wheels touched down, and the plane bounced hard.
Trees closed in on the narrowing road. Chance braced himself. The wingtips caught the trees. The sound of metal twisting and ripping vibrated through him as the tin can protecting him shook and rattled. The impact shattered the window and catapulted what was left of his plane, and Chance’s body was flung like a rag doll despite the shoulder harness. Ole Blue slammed against a tree on the passenger side, crumpling the only door. Chance’s head hit the yoke handle. Thunder ignited in his temples as pain throbbed across his chest.
But the plane had stopped. Finally...
Seconds ticked by. He drew in a few shuddering, painful breaths. Allowed his heart rate to slow.
Chance assessed his injuries. He could move his legs and arms. Maybe he had a few broken ribs. He touched his head and felt the warm, sticky fluid. Blood covered his fingertips. He stared at the tree branch protruding through the shattered window, caught a whiff of pine from the needles, and tried to grasp the near miss. He could have been skewered. That was only one of many possible fatal injuries that could occur in a plane crash. How ... how had he survived?
He wouldn’t waste time questioning Providence. For the moment, he was alive. But for how much longer?
And trusty Ole Blue was gone for good. Myriad emotions—anger, fear, grief—seized him all at once. His pulse raced again as dizziness swept over him.
He fought the darkness edging his vision.
Why had he harbored an ounce of hope that he would be able to walk away from this unscathed? He wished he hadn’t broken his one rule and looked at the contents of that package.
If he wasn’t able to deliver it, he was as good as dead anyway.
