The Yuletide Rescue. Margaret Daley

You need to watch your weight. Your metabolism is slowing down as you get older.”

      “Quit being a doctor,” Jeremiah grumbled and rubbed his arm. “Sixty isn’t that old.”

      “Maybe we should land before Anchorage.”

      “No way. I’m tough, and a little heartburn isn’t going to get me down.”

      She released a long breath. “Uncle Jeremiah—”

      “Girl, don’t you call me that. It won’t work. You’re as bad as your mom when she wanted her way.” He looked at her, his mouth set in a frown.

      Bree sent Jeremiah a grin. “At least I come by it honestly.” The thought of her recently deceased mother not being with her this Christmas dimmed her smile. She turned to stare out the windshield as Jeremiah flew low over the treetops.

      “I have to drop off some Christmas presents at a friend’s cabin, and that’s the only stop we’ll make before reaching Anchorage.”

      “Is your friend’s place here?” She pointed to the ground.

      “No, just wanted you to see that moose down below. Beautiful animal.”

      As Bree admired the moose, Jeremiah pulled the plane up higher. He would often go up and down to show her something interesting. “You know I need to learn to fly. Will you teach me?”

      “Sure, when summer comes. Don’t have to deal with snow and ice then.”

      “Not to mention subzero temps.”

      A half hour later, Jeremiah landed the ski plane on a section of flat snowy ground near a frozen stream not far from a cabin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He shifted in the seat and grabbed a bag.

      Bree glimpsed the brightly wrapped packages before he closed the sack and climbed from the plane. She watched as Jeremiah trudged uphill through the deep snow toward the cabin nestled among the black spruce trees. He disappeared around the side of the cabin and came back into view ten minutes later.

      Jeremiah knew people all over Alaska and often helped them out. Although this wasn’t a place she’d seen before, she was acquainted with a lot of his friends. Some of them lived in the outlying villages he took her to for her month’s rotation as the doctor. She scanned the area. Beautiful but isolated. She hadn’t seen much on the approach but wilderness.

      Jeremiah opened the door and pulled himself into the plane, his face red from the cold, his breathing hard. Settling behind the controls, he donned his headset and let out a whoosh of breath. Walking in deep snow could exhaust a person quickly, and Jeremiah looked as if he had gained an extra twenty pounds in the past six months.

      “Okay?” she asked as the sound of the engine filled the quiet.

      He scowled. “I’m fine.” Then, without another word, he took off, using the flat land next to the stream as his runway.

      “What plans do you have for the holidays?” Bree asked after ten minutes of silence had passed between them. The silence was so unlike Jeremiah, who usually talked through the whole flight.

      When he didn’t answer, she looked at him. Sweat beaded Jeremiah’s face, and his complexion was now a pasty white. Bree’s concern returned tenfold. “Jeremiah, you should see your doc—”

      He jerked, but his hands still gripped the controls. The plane dropped altitude quickly.

      Was he having a heart attack? Her medical training kicked in immediately, but along with it came panic. She knew nothing about flying a plane. “Jeremiah, what can I do?” she asked as she removed one of her thick gloves and felt for his pulse at the side of his neck. It raced beneath her fingertips.

      Pain scored his face. He fumbled with a switch, then said, “Mayday. Mayday.”

      As the ground rushed up at them, Bree was unable to do anything but pray. She swiveled her attention between an approaching open space that looked to be a small frozen lake and Jeremiah. From what she could tell, he must be having a heart attack but was hanging on as long as he could to land the plane. If not...

      Bree shook that thought from her mind. Lord, help. Please.

      Clutching the seat, Bree prepared the best she could for a rough emergency landing. The skis touched down on the frozen terrain, but the plane bounced up, then down again. Finally, the single-engine aircraft slipped and slid over the frozen lake as it plunged toward the huge trees lining part of the shore. Jeremiah wrestled with the steering, trying to control the plane.

      Then, pain contorting his face, he stopped struggling and slumped forward.

      Bree’s grip on the seat tightened as the plane plowed into the trees and rocks along the lake’s edge. All she saw was green hurtling toward her, then everything went black...

      Seconds, possibly minutes later, pain and a biting cold sliced through the darkness shrouding Bree’s mind. She wanted to burrow back down into unconsciousness, but the sounds of the wind howled through the cockpit. Pellets of ice and snow found her uncovered face, further prodding her to wake up. She inched one eyelid up and glimpsed the jagged edges of the windshield. A branch, several inches thick, lanced through the glass like a spear.

      Then realization pierced through the haze of soreness. Jeremiah. She tried to sit up, but a limb off the bigger branch, filled with clusters of short needles, pinned her against her seat.

      She brought up one arm next to the door and tugged on the annoying foliage, hoping to break it off. Finally she managed to bend it until it snapped; then she tossed it into the back of the aircraft.

      Bree undid her seat belt and turned to find Jeremiah. Her medical bag was in her larger piece of luggage in the belly of the plane, which was now lying on the frozen lake, the skis having been ripped off on impact. But she knew Jeremiah had a first aid kit in the cockpit. First, though, she wanted to check on him. Squatting on her cushion, she leaned over the intruding branch, parting the limbs. Jeremiah wasn’t moving. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and head. She pulled off her glove and felt for a pulse through the greenery.

      Nothing.

      Fighting panic, she gathered her strength, gripped the branch and shoved it out the hole it had created in the windshield. The effort caused her head to swim. Plopping back against her seat, she closed her eyes for a few seconds. Something wet trickled down her face, and she wiped at it with her gloveless hand.

      Blood covered two of her fingers. Then she glanced at her chest and noticed the red that spattered her tan coat. She probed her forehead and found a cut about an inch long. After wiping her hand against the front of her parka, she slowly sat up and searched for her cell phone in her front pocket. When she turned it on, the screen gave off some much-needed light. She needed to get to her bag and retrieve her flashlight. No bars, but then she hadn’t expected any service in the middle of nowhere.

      She drew in a deep breath of frigid air to calm her racing pulse. She knew fear and panic inspired frantic actions that zapped a person’s strength fast. Conserving her energy for the necessary tasks was important.

      Using the light from her cell phone, she leaned toward Jeremiah, praying he was alive and she just hadn’t been able to find his pulse a couple of minutes ago.

      “Please, God, let him be alive. Please,” she whispered.

      When she had determined he was gone, she sank back in her seat. Before she could even react, she was swamped by pain that no doubt had been masked by the rush of adrenaline from the emergency landing. The throbbing in her head increased, making it difficult to think. She was alone, somewhere between Daring and Anchorage. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to where Jeremiah was flying? She usually was alert while traveling to a new village, but on the ride home, weariness would sometimes overtake her and occasionally she’d fall asleep.

      Light from the snow surrounding them shadowed Jeremiah’s body as it lay slumped over the steering wheel. To conserve the battery, Bree switched off her phone. She could still make out the