.

the heart rate and the metabolic process. Perhaps it will slow down Tom’s bleeding.’

      ‘Good, because his pulse is getting weaker.’ Her voice wobbled with alarm.

      Will examined Tom’s abdomen and chest. Air was going in and his respirations were easier with the tracheostomy. But his abdomen was guarded, a sure sign of internal bleeding. He’d bet his bottom dollar Tom’s heart was pumping the lifesaving Hartmann’s solution straight into his peritoneum. It was no use to him there.

      Worse still, there was nothing Will could do to stop it. Tom needed to be evacuated to a trauma centre urgently, only that wasn’t going to happen.

      ‘Are you sure there is only Hartmann’s?’ Will scrounged through the pack, praying for more IV fluids.

      ‘I’m O-negative.’ Meg gave him a knowing look. ‘We could do a direct blood transfusion.’

      Again, the protective surge moved in him, strong and hard. ‘No way. It’s far too dangerous for you.’

      ‘Tom’s like a father to me.’ Her voice rose. ‘We have to do all we can.’

      He respected her courage, her desire to do all at whatever cost. ‘We are doing all we can. But without surgery to stem his internal bleeding, your blood will just end up pooling in his abdomen. More importantly, you could get a blood-borne illness. You know direct blood transfusions stopped years ago.’

      ‘I’m fit. I can handle it.’ Her jaw jutted in defiance of the conditions, the situation. With her free hand she reached for an IV line.

      But he saw a sliver of fear streak across her face.

      ‘Being fit is irrelevant against hepatitis C.’ He touched her arm, hoping to show her he understood her feeling of impotence at the situation. Her fear. ‘Let’s see if the Hartmann’s brings up his blood pressure.’

      But he was certain it was too late for that.

      Will took over the bagging, letting Meg dress Tom’s gaping wounds. She needed to do something, needed to claw back some control in a situation that had none.

      He surveyed the towering trees. Now the wind had dropped, the snow fell straight down. The pink of sunset reflected through the snowflakes. Under other circumstances, being out in the bush with a beautiful woman, with snow falling quietly around them, would be magical.

      But now was far from magical. How would the rescuers find them in such dense bush?

      ‘Tom.’ Meg spoke quietly. ‘I’ve sent up the flares, they know we’re here. They’ll find us.’ She placed packing gauze against his crushed nose.

      She glanced up at the Hartmann’s bag, now almost empty. ‘How’s his BP?’

      ‘Dropping.’ He hated this. Hated watching a man’s life drain away in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, we can’t do any more. We tried.’ His voiced trailed off, the words sounding inadequate.

      Her wide-eyed distress sliced into him.

      She gripped Tom’s hand and dropped her head down next to his ear. ‘When Dad died, you were there. You’ve been such source of strength to me and Mum. Thank you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I love you.’

      Tom’s pulse faded to nothing under Will’s fingertips. ‘He’s gone, Meg.’

      For a brief moment her shoulders shuddered. Then she leaned forward and kissed Tom’s forehead. She pulled the space blanket aside, putting it behind her. Taking the corners of the tarp, she folded them over him, wrapping Tom’s body completely, carefully protecting his body from the continuous snowfall. Then she reached over and grabbed a large stick. Pushing it into the snow, she marked Tom’s position.

      Each action spoke of love and the desolation on her face pierced Will. He moved toward her almost unthinkingly, pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She fell against him, her chest shuddering with suppressed tears, her arms gripping his. He wanted to comfort her, hold her tight against him and ease her grief. Tell her he was so very sorry they couldn’t do any more.

      But there was no time for that.

      He moved back slightly so he could see her face. He needed to make eye contact. Needed to see those sky-blue eyes, now cloudy with grief, clear.

      He was strong, but he knew the odds. They were stranded, miles from help, in harsh conditions. Damn it, he needed the ‘take charge’ Meg back or they wouldn’t get through this alive.

      Tom was dead.

      The pitch black of the alpine night cloaked her along with the heavily falling snow. For one brief moment she’d given in to her grief and found solace cuddled against Will’s broad chest, feeling his heart beating against her own.

      But then he’d moved away.

      ‘Meg, we need to take shelter before we freeze.’

      He’d spoken to her. The words, distant at first, suddenly sounded louder. Will’s voice penetrated her fudge-like brain and Meg looked up into his face.

      By the light of his headlamp she could see congealed blood on his dark eyebrow from a deep gash. Scratches hid in the stubble of his dark beard, the only hint of their presence tiny clots of blood. She wanted to reach out and touch them. Offer comfort.

      ‘You need steri-strips on your eyebrow.’ Her voice was husky.

      He gave a wry smile. ‘You can be the first-aid queen as soon as we get some shelter.’ His gloved hands gripped her forearms firmly, his energy seeming to flood her, giving her back the strength she’d just lost.

      Shelter.

      He was right—they’d freeze without shelter. The wind chill had sent the temperature way below zero. ‘Will the plane be safe?’

      ‘No, it’s too risky with all that aviation fuel. We didn’t get this far to be blown up. By morning it will be OK but for now we need to construct some sort of lean-to.’

      She shook her head. ‘Snow cave.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘We need to make a snow cave to protect us from this icy wind.’ She glanced around, taking in the area. It was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. Where the hell was the moon when you needed it? ‘Can you move your head around so I can see the area?’

      He moved in close to her and bent his knees so his head was level with hers. Putting his arm around her, he slowly propelled her 360 degrees, the small beam of light exposing the area.

      She wanted his arm, his warmth, to stay with her. But that was impossible. ‘Over there.’ She pointed to a large snowdrift. ‘We can dig a compartment big enough for the two of us and use bracken to cover ourselves. I chucked some gear well clear of the plane so we could go back for that. There might be something we can use.’

      ‘Right now it’s too cold and windy and I don’t trust that aviation fuel. I don’t suppose that medical pack of yours runs to a shovel, does it, Mary Poppins?’ A weary grin creased his stubbled cheeks.

      Heat coursed through her, stunning her. Despite her throbbing ankle, her bruised body, her heartache and her fear, his smile managed to fire up feelings she’d pushed away long ago. Feelings she’d locked down after Graeme had left.

      ‘No shovel, but I could use the face masks to dig with.’

      ‘You plan to dig this cave yourself, do you?’ His voice held a slight edge.

      Every movement cost him pain—even in the shadowy dark she could see that. He deserved a break after all he’d done, trying to save Tom. ‘My ribs aren’t bruised or broken. I’ve seen you grimace with every lift and sudden movement.’

      He grunted. ‘I’m not alone there. You can hardly walk. Let’s just dig the damn cave so we can both rest.’ He fell to his knees and started digging.

      She sighed. She’d upset him,