Duncan's Rose Read Free Page A

The plane’s left wing bumped into a boulder, which sent them spinning around. “Heavens!” Miranda held her head with her free hand, praying the plane would stop spinning and wouldn’t blow up. Maybe the wet sand would hold them from further sliding, she thought.
    “Damn it, stop,” Adair roared at his plane.
    The plane suddenly tipped onto its side. The hard, sudden jerk flipped Adair to the seat beside him as the window near his head shattered. A string of vile Scottish curses erupted from him as he pulled his hands up to protect his face from flying glass. A bolt of agony pierced her as a sudden jolt of the plane threw her forward. The motion finally shredded her seatbelt. Her body slammed into the pilot’s crumpled form and new torture hit her. She moaned as sharp pain enveloped her whole body.
    Finally, with a loud swoosh, they came to a stop on the wet sand. The smell of gasoline filled the air. Knifelike pain stung Miranda’s forehead, and a warm liquid slid down her cheek. She coughed and took a deep breath; dark foggy smoke stung her eyes, chest and nostrils.
    “Miss, get off me…oh, my ribs…Jesus.”
    They were upside down, her body squeezed into the tight space. His muscles shifted and he wheezed. He growled in pain, and she flinched.
    “Hold on, please. I am trying to get off you,” Miranda said through her clenched teeth. Their impending argument came to a halt as they became aware of the sound of a crowd gathering, car engines roaring, and people hollering.
    People…we’re saved!
    “ Pull yourself up and open the door before the whole thing blows up,” the pilot yelled.
    She gathered her strength and adjusted her body to the tight space. She was careful not to step on the pilot, but her whole body was squashing him underneath her. “Ow, watch it,” he growled, as her hand pushed on him.
    “Oops, sorry.” She lifted her hand off his…crotch!
    The door was snatched open and a hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her out. She clung to the strong hand for dear life.
    “Miss, are you okay?” a man asked her. She turned her gaze up and looked into the face of a bald man with an egg-shaped head and a Kaiser mustache boasting curled-up ends. He pulled her into his bulky chest, carried her out, and set her down on the muddy ground. She had never felt better. The solid ground under her feet was more comforting than her mother’s apple pie.
    The bald man returned to the pilot and helped him out. The wind blew the smoke all around them, and although the rain streamed down, she feared the plane would burst into flames. Miranda wanted to take off running, but she couldn’t move. Her shaky legs seemed about to collapse. Another man held her before she lost her balance, and he helped her walk away from the plane. Smoke arose around her; Miranda coughed until she shed tears. People had gathered around a black limousine and two black-suited men appeared, then stood like hawks waiting to attack. The crowd of onlookers was made up mostly of men and women in their forties and fifties. They stood in the rain and wind, gazing at the new arrivals with curiosity.
    “Look what you’ve done to my plane.” Adair came rushing toward her and pointing at his plane, which was in flames.
    One of the men stepped in, blocking the pilot from reaching Miranda with his outstretched hand. Adair almost lost his balance. “What? Wasn’t gonna hurt her,” Adair declared.
    Was it a dream she was still alive--the fall, the rescue, the crowd, the men in the black suits? Everything wobbled in front of her. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Everything happened fast. The rain and wind eased, she could see more clearly now. Miranda cleared her burning throat. “My fault? If you didn’t waste half an hour arguing about taking me, we would have escaped the storm We needed just few minutes to escape it.”
    “Oh, Miss-Know-It-All, aye?”
    “Watch how you speak to Mr. Wardlaw’s guest,” warned a well-built man with