wrist.
Rickson gave a yelp and jerked his hand back against his body, rubbing it gingerly.
Storm’s panic increased. As Rickson growled a curse, she lunged for the hatch between the cockpit and cabin. But the hunter’s bulky body blocked all but a small portion of it, and Storm uttered a curse as she jammed herself into him, falling through the door to the now-empty cabin. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly fell again as her wobbly knees threatened to collapse beneath her.
“You ain’t gettin’ away with this!” Rickson yelled, making a grab for her.
Storm spun around at the growl in his voice and took a step back to avoid his oncoming hand. Simultaneously, her heel slipped out the opening and she slammed her head against the bulkhead. She tried to regain her lost balance, but a croak jammed in her constricted throat as blackness began to close in on her. She felt herself falling and tried to protect herself from the rising concrete.
Strong, steadying hands caught her in midair and in that brief second, she knew they were Jim Talbot’s. A cry of relief broke from her lips as she sagged into his embrace.
“Stay right where you are,” Jim thundered up at Rickson. The hunter poked his head out the hatch door, his eyes round with fright.
“I didn’t do a thing! That slut made a pass at me, and I was just following up on it. Ask the other guys if you don’t believe me,” he added, lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips and drinking deeply.
Jim cursed softly and set Storm gently down on the apron. “Storm? Are you all right?” he demanded, pushing her hair back from her pale face. “Answer me,” he urged.
Storm gulped hard, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. She nodded once and buried her face in her hands, trembling.
“What happened?” Oscelot demanded, coming up behind them out of the crowd of men that had gathered.
Jim handed Storm over to him. “Take care of her for a minute,” he ordered tersely, and then stood up, heading toward Rickson.
“Hey!” the hunter yelped, backing off into the cabin. “I didn’t do a thing, dammit! Get your hands off me!”
Storm sat morosely in Jim Talbot’s office, a cup of coffee generously laced with whiskey in her hand. Oscelot had escorted her there and then closed the door so that she could be alone. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling utterly miserable. It was just this sort of incident that Jim would cite as proof that she wasn’t fit for the type of flight service Bradford operated.
She drew her legs up, placing her feet on the chair seat and resting her forehead against the cup on her knees. It was finished; she knew it. How many people had witnessed the whole wretched scene? She remembered Oscelot, Ray Leeper and that grinning idiot Danziger. All she needed now was to have Dan Bradford hear of it. Storm released a shuddering sigh. Well, it really didn’t matter. Bradford would be horrified and just as embarrassed as she was about the incident. Maybe it proved Jim’s point, after all. Maybe she couldn’t control the situation when hunters were involved. Maybe she wasn’t fit for the job.
She opened her eyes. If only…oh, God, the if-onlys…If only she hadn’t overreacted so badly. She should have maintained control and calmly talked her way out of the situation. The bitter taste of bile coated her mouth and throat.
Well, how many times had she tried to talk to Jack in one of his fits of temper? And what had it ever accomplished? Nothing.
Storm choked back a sob. She’d allowed Jack to physically and mentally abuse her. His brand of brutality consisted of taking her by force every two or three months. Working twelve-to-fourteen hours a day and then trying to keep the home and their personal life together had been impossible. Jack had angrily accused her of being frigid and then set about disproving his allegations. She shuddered, hating the thought of a man’s hands on her body. All except for Jim Talbot’s warming touch. Not once had
Rickson gave a yelp and jerked his hand back against his body, rubbing it gingerly.
Storm’s panic increased. As Rickson growled a curse, she lunged for the hatch between the cockpit and cabin. But the hunter’s bulky body blocked all but a small portion of it, and Storm uttered a curse as she jammed herself into him, falling through the door to the now-empty cabin. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly fell again as her wobbly knees threatened to collapse beneath her.
“You ain’t gettin’ away with this!” Rickson yelled, making a grab for her.
Storm spun around at the growl in his voice and took a step back to avoid his oncoming hand. Simultaneously, her heel slipped out the opening and she slammed her head against the bulkhead. She tried to regain her lost balance, but a croak jammed in her constricted throat as blackness began to close in on her. She felt herself falling and tried to protect herself from the rising concrete.
Strong, steadying hands caught her in midair and in that brief second, she knew they were Jim Talbot’s. A cry of relief broke from her lips as she sagged into his embrace.
“Stay right where you are,” Jim thundered up at Rickson. The hunter poked his head out the hatch door, his eyes round with fright.
“I didn’t do a thing! That slut made a pass at me, and I was just following up on it. Ask the other guys if you don’t believe me,” he added, lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips and drinking deeply.
Jim cursed softly and set Storm gently down on the apron. “Storm? Are you all right?” he demanded, pushing her hair back from her pale face. “Answer me,” he urged.
Storm gulped hard, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. She nodded once and buried her face in her hands, trembling.
“What happened?” Oscelot demanded, coming up behind them out of the crowd of men that had gathered.
Jim handed Storm over to him. “Take care of her for a minute,” he ordered tersely, and then stood up, heading toward Rickson.
“Hey!” the hunter yelped, backing off into the cabin. “I didn’t do a thing, dammit! Get your hands off me!”
Storm sat morosely in Jim Talbot’s office, a cup of coffee generously laced with whiskey in her hand. Oscelot had escorted her there and then closed the door so that she could be alone. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling utterly miserable. It was just this sort of incident that Jim would cite as proof that she wasn’t fit for the type of flight service Bradford operated.
She drew her legs up, placing her feet on the chair seat and resting her forehead against the cup on her knees. It was finished; she knew it. How many people had witnessed the whole wretched scene? She remembered Oscelot, Ray Leeper and that grinning idiot Danziger. All she needed now was to have Dan Bradford hear of it. Storm released a shuddering sigh. Well, it really didn’t matter. Bradford would be horrified and just as embarrassed as she was about the incident. Maybe it proved Jim’s point, after all. Maybe she couldn’t control the situation when hunters were involved. Maybe she wasn’t fit for the job.
She opened her eyes. If only…oh, God, the if-onlys…If only she hadn’t overreacted so badly. She should have maintained control and calmly talked her way out of the situation. The bitter taste of bile coated her mouth and throat.
Well, how many times had she tried to talk to Jack in one of his fits of temper? And what had it ever accomplished? Nothing.
Storm choked back a sob. She’d allowed Jack to physically and mentally abuse her. His brand of brutality consisted of taking her by force every two or three months. Working twelve-to-fourteen hours a day and then trying to keep the home and their personal life together had been impossible. Jack had angrily accused her of being frigid and then set about disproving his allegations. She shuddered, hating the thought of a man’s hands on her body. All except for Jim Talbot’s warming touch. Not once had
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