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Is this not over?
I jump next to Isabelle, who is now secure in the back seat, patting her all over. “Are you bleeding?”
“What?” Her eyes immediately drop to her pelvis. “No.”
I keep patting her, looking for any sign of a wound as she continues scanning herself.
“It’s just my leg, Clayton.”
I place my lips on her forehead, exhaling deeply. I’ve promised her everything will be okay—I can’t break it now.
If Isabelle isn’t bleeding, and I’m not either, then there’s only one person that blood could belong to.
I turn to Blake. Goddammit, it’s his hands!
“Man… what the hell?”
“I’m fine.”
I inspect the cable that hauled us up.
“The brake on that winch was dicey,” he comments as if it was nothing.
Jesus! All this time, he was controlling our extraction with his bare hands?
“Clay, I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that.” He dismisses my concern, helping me get out of my harness.
“You’re gonna have that checked out!” I give him a stern look. He’ll probably opt for self-medication, but those are serious cuts!
Wyatt makes a swift turn to Anchorage.
Blake kneels in the narrow space between the back and the co-pilot seats, facing us. He then looks at Isabelle. “Told you.”
That earns a smile from her.
“What did you tell her?” I ask him.
Blake shrugs.
I let it slide, tapping his shoulder. “I owe you, man.”
“You, finding your queen, makes it up for it. And I can tell you, it wasn’t a Trojan war. It was just how you were meant to fight for her.” Blake winks at me, then dives into the co-pilot seat.
“Baby Belle…” I call her among the noise, leaning into her ear. My hand lands on her belly again. “Are you all right?”
She puts her hand on top of mine. “Sore, but I think I’ll be okay.”
I comb her wet fringe back using my hand, nuzzling her forehead to take in her scent. It’s sweat and dirt, but she still smells sweet.
I’m a man of science. Perhaps it was biologically or physiologically impossible for her to bear another child. But this woman was born to defy the odds. After the ordeal that rocked us and almost broke us, she beat all the odds in ways that I’d never anticipated. She fought on that cliff. Fletcher threw her, but she hung on! And I ought to thank her for that, because I don’t know what I’d do had I lost her.
Now we can look to the future. She’s carrying our child, and beyond her agony right now, she’s beaming. Look at her face—it’s glowing!
We land at the Alaska Regional Hospital heliport after Wyatt takes the chopper on a flash flight, almost getting into trouble with the Alaskan aviation authorities for the speed we traveled in.
“We’ll take care of her, Mr. Hartley,” the doctor says.
“Clayton,” Isabelle pleads, refusing to let me go.
