Higher Than Eagles (Donovans of the Delta) (17 page)

He put his arm around Rick’s shoulder. “It’s okay, pal. I’d have done the same thing. Now, let’s check this wellhead.”

They inspected the site together. Their dramatic and dangerous plan had worked. The oxygen that had been supplying the fire had been used up by the explosives, and no more sparks were around to ignite the gas that still spewed from the well.

Jacob called his team and the drilling crew in to seal the wellhead. Rick pulled him aside.

“I can handle it from here, Jacob. Go to her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. And Jacob . . . don’t be too hard on her. She really does love you.”

Jacob didn’t trust himself to reply to that statement. Right now, he didn’t even trust himself to think about love. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to get Rachel out of Maracaibo. He didn’t want her this close to danger; he didn’t want ever to be as scared for her as he had been today.

She ran to him when he opened the door of the office.

“Oh, lord, Jacob. You could have been killed.” Her fingers were gentle as she caressed his face. “I just want to see for myself that you’re in one piece.”

He steeled himself against the tender feelings her touch always evoked in him. “I’m taking you out of here, Rachel. This is no place for a woman.”

“I’m not just any woman, Jacob. I’m a woman in love. And I’m determined to fight for you.”

He covered her hands with his and looked into her eyes. “It’s over between us, Rachel. The only thing we have in common now is Benjy.”

“You say that because you’re hurting. You’ll change your mind. I’ll
make
you change your mind.”

His smile was bittersweet. “Do you know how gorgeous you are when you’re fighting?” The urge to kiss her was strong in him. To keep from following through, he turned toward the door, keeping a hold on her hand. “Let’s get out of here. We both need a shower.”

They got into Jacob’s Jeep and drove in silence to the small shack. Jacob sat at the table while Rachel showered away the black grime that was a part of every fire-fighter’s life. She came out clean and shining, her wet hair slicked down.

She was so beautiful, she made him ache. He wanted to bury himself in her sweet flesh, to use her as a healing balm, to let her wipe away the harshness of his job. Instead he showered. The tepid water cleaned his body and helped clear his mind.

Dressed in clean jeans and shirt, he faced Rachel. “I told you to leave this morning.”

She smiled at him. “Have you forgotten so much about me, Jacob? I rarely do what I’m told.”

“I forgot this morning, and look what happened. You were almost killed. I won’t make that mistake again.” He left the table and got her gown off the bed, then he snapped open her bag and shoved it in.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Packing your bag. Did you bring a toothbrush?”

“I’ll do my own packing when I’m ready to leave— and I’m not ready to leave.”

“Yes, you are. And to make damned sure that you do, I’m taking you to the airport and personally putting you on the plane.”

“You are the most stubborn, high-handed, illogical, maddening. . . .”

“Why, Rachel. All this time you’ve been telling me how wonderful I am. Change your mind?”

His light, teasing tone was reminiscent of the old Jacob. Almost, but not quite. There were deep hurts that had to heal, and she was wise enough to know that time was her ally.

“All right, Jacob. I’ll go. But I promise you—it’s not over between us.”

CHAPTER TEN

The first hour of the drive back to Maracaibo was the longest Rachel had ever endured. Jacob drove the Jeep without speaking, and she watched the scenery along the side of the road. The silence between them was uneasy. Never had it been like that with the two of them.

As they passed through a small village, she saw two barefoot boys alongside the road, tugging on a hemp rope. A reluctant goat was at the other end of the rope. The battle raged hot and heavy, and it looked as if the goat was winning.

“Look, Jacob. Let’s stop and help them.”

“Us or me?”

“Would I offer help if I didn’t mean it?”

“You’re on, Rachel.” He pulled the Jeep off the side of the road. “But don’t think this changes a thing. I’m still taking you to the airport, even if it takes all night.”

Jacob’s Spanish was excellent. He found out that the goat had escaped, and the boys were trying to get him back into his pen. They pointed out the pen just down the hill. When Jacob offered to help, they rolled their eyes and giggled.

“All right, Rachel. You said you wanted to help. I’ll pull and you push.”

“No. I’ll pull and you push. I don’t want to be at that end of the goat.”

Jacob chuckled. The young boys asked for a translation, and when Jacob told them what she had said, they fell into the dirt, kicking their heels into the air and laughing.

Rachel tugged at the goat’s rope, and Jacob shoved him from behind. But the stubborn old billy dug his heels in and refused to budge.

“This is not working, Jacob.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Why don’t we try talking to him?”

“Do you speak goat?”

“No, but I’ve never known a male animal who could resist my charm.”

She caught the twinkle in Jacob’s eye when she leaned and started cajoling the goat. Good, she thought. Her old Jacob was shining through.

“It’s not working, Rachel.”

“I’m not finished yet.” Throwing back her head, she started to yodel. The billy goat’s ears quivered, then he lowered his head and took a step toward her. Rachel started down the hill toward the goat pen. The goat tramped along behind her. Suddenly he got into the spirit of the song. Lowering his head, he nudged Rachel with his horns.

She started running, still yodeling, the goat hot on her trail.

“I’m coming, Rachel. Hang in there, kid.” Jacob sprinted down the hill after them, laughing so hard, he could hardly see.

For a while it was nip and tuck as to who was being herded into the pen. By the time Jacob got to the bottom of the hill, the billy was safely behind bars, and Rachel was leaning against the fence, laughing.

“What took you so long, Jacob?”

“I was enjoying the show. I didn’t know you yodeled.”

“I can do anything I set my mind to—including getting you back.”

“After seeing the way you handled that stubborn goat, I should be trembling in my boots.”

“Are you?”

“Nothing scares me.”

After they got back into the Jeep, there was a sort of camaraderie between them. Rachel took advantage of the changed atmosphere to talk.

“You know, today is the first time I’ve seen you fighting an oil field fire.”

“Were you afraid?”

“Yes, but it was different from the way I used to imagine it.”

“How is that?”

“When I discovered I was pregnant and you were in Saudi Arabia, all I could think of was you at the mercy of the fire. I couldn’t face that, Jacob. The thought of my child having no father terrified me.”

She saw his jaw tighten, but he said nothing.

“Today I saw that it’s not like that.
You
were the master, not the fire. Of course the danger is there, but you were the one in control.”

“Funny how our timing always seems to be off, isn’t it, Rachel? If you had said that six years ago . . .” His shrug was eloquent.

She reached over and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry, Jacob.”

“So am I.”

“Forgive me.”

He turned toward her, and his smile was sad. “You ask more than I can give.”

 o0o

Jacob saw Rachel safely onto the homebound plane, then he returned to his work. Within three days, he and his team had completed the job they’d set out to do. The plane was loaded with all their heavy firefighting equipment.

He and his men celebrated at a small nightclub in Maracaibo. The singer was dark skinned, dark eyed, and sultry instead of blond and elegant, but she still reminded him of Rachel. All her songs were fast-paced Spanish numbers rather than slow blues songs, but still she reminded him of Rachel. Everything reminded him of Rachel—the full moon, the hot sleepless nights, the sound of a woman’s laughter, the elusive scent of flowers that hung over the city.

“Jacob.”

“What?” Cradling his bottle of beer, he turned toward Rick.

“Where were you, pal? We’ve asked you twice if you’re staying down here a few days with the rest of us.”

“No. I have an old friend in Panama. I think I’ll make a short hop there, then I’ll take the equipment on home. You can keep the Mustang down here.”

Rick reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Luck, Jacob.”

“Thanks, Rick.”

 o0o

Jacob left Maracaibo in the early morning light. Lifting the plane upward toward the dawn, he waited for the soaring feeling of freedom that always accompanied his flights. For the first time in his memory, nothing happened. He was merely a tired man flying home to the States.

As he winged his way through the clouds, he thought of Rachel—that certain tilt of her head when she laughed, the throaty way she sang. Funny that his first thoughts were of her and not of his son, he thought. Strange that his heart still behaved as if he were in love.

He forced his mind away from thoughts of Rachel. The clouds were heavy today, the sky dark and troublesome. They matched his mood. His mind registered his checkpoint, and he glanced briefly at his watch.

As Jacob approached the Andes, he heard Rachel’s voice.
I’m here for you, Jacob. I’ll always be here for you.
How paltry the words seemed when weighed against action. She’d denied him Benjy. And yet, she’d come to Maracaibo; she’d even risked her life.

Suddenly an awful silence descended on the plane. His radio was dead, and somewhere through those clouds lay the Andes Mountains. Under ordinary circumstances, Jacob would have climbed higher so that he could clear the peaks, but he was flying with a heavy load, all the fire-fighting equipment. There was no way the overloaded jet could clear the tops of the Andes. And he didn’t have enough fuel to turn around and go back. He’d planned to make his first stop to refuel in Panama.

Adrenaline flowed through him, giving him that extra burst of energy he needed to face the danger. He knew that he had to make a ninety degree turn in order to go around the peaks, but he’d counted on radio contact to guide him. He strained forward, trying to see through the thick clouds. There was nothing in front of him except murky grayness—and possible death.

He’d flirted with death many times, but he’d never come face to face with it. Death in the mountains would be quick and relatively painless—one moment of bright, searing pain and then nothing. Oblivion. The agony of the last few days would be over. But so would life.

Suddenly Jacob realized just how much he wanted to live. Everything he held precious existed in the real world—his son, his parents, his brothers and sisters and their families. And Rachel. In that clear moment, with death looming ahead, he knew that he still loved Rachel.

Sweat popped out on his brow, and he looked at his watch. He’d been in the air for over an hour, and he knew the mountains were close.

Jacob pitted all his skills against the dark mountains ahead. If he could remember the precise time he’d passed the last checkpoint, he could calculate the exact time he should make his turn. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to relax. With great concentration, he cleared his mind of everything except flying. He couldn’t afford any guessing games. He had only one move to make, and that had to be the right one.

Bit by bit he traced backward. He’d looked at his watch when he’d passed the checkpoint, but he hadn’t been thinking of the time: he’d been thinking of how long it would be until he got home. He closed his eyes again, visualizing the dial, trying to create a precise image of the hands. Seven fifteen. The numbers sprang out at him. It had been 7:15 A.M. when he’d passed his checkpoint.

Jubilation filled him. He looked at his watch again. In exactly six minutes he had to make his turn.

Jacob had been six minutes from death.

He made his turn at the appointed time and came out on the other side of the Andes. On this side of the mountains, the clouds had lifted. Bright sunlight poured through the cockpit as if God were shining his benediction down on Jacob.

The magnificent power of freedom soared through him. He threw back his head and laughed aloud. He knew exactly what he was going to do: He wouldn’t stop to see his friend after refueling in Panama— he’d fly straight home to Rachel.

 o0o

Four days after she’d left Maracaibo, Rachel was humming around her house in Biloxi.

Vashti put down her dust cloth, propped her hands on her hips, and scowled.

“I don’t see what you have to be so cheerful about. After Jacob put you on that plane and sent you home, it seems to me you’d be trying to think of ways to get him back instead of flitting around here humming.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Vashti. I’m scheming to win him back.”

“Well, you sure could’ve fooled me. You’ve been doing nothing for the last few days except preening and primping, getting your nails done and having your facials and letting that fruitcake mess with your hair.”

Rachel laughed. “He didn’t mess with my hair; he trimmed it.”

“Ha. I liked it better the old way.”

“Half an inch, Vashti. Who in the world misses half an inch?”

“Jacob would—if he were here, and it looks to me like that’s been ruined. It seems to me we’ll be mighty lucky to ever see hide or hair of him again.”

“He’ll be here, and when he comes, I’ll be ready for him.” She hummed another snatch of song.

“You better be eating some humble pie instead of going around here humming. What is that infernal song, anyhow?”

“
Waltzing Matilda
.” Rachel took Vashti’s arm and led her toward the kitchen. “It’s time for a tea break, and while we’re drinking, I’m going to tell you something that will wipe that scowl off your face.”

“I’m not scowling. I never scowl.”