Christmas Secrets Collection. Laura Iding

      He clasped her shoulder, as if he needed the contact, the proof that only touch could give him that she really was standing right there in front of him. He cleared his throat and sought the words—and then shook his head.

      She understood. He was too choked up to speak right then.

      His gaze shifted to just behind her. She sensed that Dax was there and she sent him a joyous smile over her shoulder.

      “Dax,” her dad got out gruffly.

      “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Davis.”

      “Thank you,” her dad said, “for keeping my little girl safe.”

      Dax took her father’s offered hand. “Your little girl can take care of herself. She saved my life.”

      Her dad laughed then. “She’s something special all right. And I’m so glad to see that you’re both in one piece.”

      “We’re all right, Davis. Even better, now you’re here.”

      The helicopter had space for most of their luggage. They packed it in, knowing that anything they had to leave behind was probably lost for good.

      When they climbed on board and the pilot lifted off, Zoe stared down at the clearing below.

      She drank it all in: the battered shell of their brave little plane; the campfire she had built herself while Dax was so sick that she feared he would die; the yellow tent where they had made such beautiful love, held each other so close, told each other truths they never would have revealed under different circumstances.

      She felt a wrenching tug on her heartstrings. A sadness so deep it almost doubled her over as it welled up beneath the pure joy of seeing her dad again, of knowing that they really had been rescued, as Dax had always insisted they would.

      So much had happened down there. Awful things. Wonderful things. And she had lived to tell about it, lived to go home. Strange how now she was leaving, now she was free at last of the nagging fear that they wouldn’t make it out, she missed it already.

      Missed it all—the good and the bad.

      She turned to the man sitting beside her, saw in those beautiful bedroom eyes that he knew. He got exactly what was going on here. They were gaining their lives again. And to do that, they had to leave something precious behind.

      They had to turn their backs on the Zoe and Dax who had created their own private world apart, down there together, in the clearing. The real world was waiting for them.

      Each of them knew who the other really was now. They understood each other.

      They had their agreement in place and the time had come to keep it.

      As it turned out, their Cessna’s forced landing had happened farther south than they’d calculated. The plane had gone down about sixty land miles northeast of the Chiapan state capital of Tuxtla Gutiérrez, where they were supposed to have landed in the first place. The helicopter ride wasn’t long.

      Davis had radioed ahead. Zoe’s mom and an ambulance were waiting for them when they got there.

      Aleta cried unashamed tears of joy as she held out her arms to her youngest child. Zoe went into them gratefully, still in Mexico, yes—but in her heart, where it mattered most, already home.

      There was a ride to the hospital. Zoe was quickly pronounced in good health. They X-rayed Dax’s ankle, checked his head injury and came up with the expected prognosis. His ankle was sprained, healing well. The gash on his forehead would leave a jagged scar unless he opted for a few visits to a plastic surgeon.

      Once the doctor said they were good to go, a couple of official-looking types appeared to interview them about their ordeal. Since they had all the necessary paperwork to show the two men, it was strictly a routine meeting. A plane had gone down in a bad storm and somehow both occupants had survived. There were i’s to dot and t’s to cross.

      Next, they headed for a four-star hotel, where large, airy rooms waited for them. Zoe went straight to hers. She showered off the jungle grime and then sat in a scented bath for over an hour.

      She was just getting dressed again when her mom showed up to take her to the hotel spa. Gratefully, Zoe let the pros go to work on her. By the time they were finished with the mineral body scrub, fresh color for her hair and the spa mani-pedi, she felt ready to face the world again.

      Dax also disappeared for most of that day. Beyond cleaning up, he had a lot of calls to make, to Great Escapes, to Ramón Esquevar, to any number of others. He had business to catch up on and he had to contact the insurance people and also to see about getting a cleanup crew out to the ruined plane. Zoe had offered to help him with all of it, but he had ordered her to take some personal time and he wouldn’t listen when she insisted she didn’t mind giving him a hand.

      That night, Davis, Aleta, Zoe and Dax shared a celebratory meal in the hotel’s best restaurant. Zoe thought how handsome Dax looked, perfectly groomed in a white tropical-weight shirt and sand-colored trousers, carrying a new cane—ebony, with a silver handle. She tried not to stare at him longingly and thought she managed pretty well.

      When it was time to turn in, Zoe went to her room and Dax retired to his.

      Zoe stripped down and soaked in the big tub again—because it was there, because she could. The bed was soft as a cloud, the sheets about a gazillion thread count. She felt light-years away from the tent in the jungle.

      And achingly lonely for Dax’s body pressed close to hers.

      She knew his room number, but she didn’t go to him. She didn’t pick up the phone to call him—or if she did, she set it quietly back in its cradle without dialing.

      This was the toughest part: tonight, the next night.

      Maybe for a week or two. Gradually, it would get easier. She wouldn’t yearn for his arms around her, for the touch of his lips on hers, for the feel of his breath as it stirred her hair.

      She wouldn’t miss him so desperately. These needful feelings would pass. She would be fine.

      If she had learned nothing else from the jungle ordeal, she had learned that she knew how to endure.

      The next day, Wednesday, her dad had one of the BravoCorp jets take them back to San Antonio.

      There were reporters waiting on the tarmac when they landed. The media wanted the scoop on Dax Girard’s latest big adventure, on the thrilling rescue of a daughter of one of San Antonio’s first families. For ten minutes or so, they answered shouted questions, about what it had been like, how they had lived through it and what they had felt when help came at last.

      When the reporters finally let them pass, Dax left her without a soft word or a single touch—which was fine, she told herself. Just what she wanted. They were back to life as they had known it before the crash.

      “Take the rest of the week off,” he commanded. “Catch up on whatever you need to catch up on. I’ll expect you back in the office bright and early Monday morning.”

      As if. “Thanks. I would like a day. So I’ll take tomorrow for myself, if that’s all right with you.”

      He didn’t miss a beat. “Good, then. See you Friday.” He turned to shake her father’s hand and to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Davis, thank you for everything. And Aleta, what can I say?”

      Her mom beamed up at him. “You can say that you’ll come to dinner at our family’s ranch, Bravo Ridge. Sunday afternoon about three? Let my family show their appreciation for what good care you took of Zoe.”

      He smiled his killer smile. “I think it was the other way around, to be honest. She took care of me.”

      Her mom was not letting him charm his way out of her invitation. “Please. Sunday? Zoe will give you directions.”

      Zoe tried to help him say no. “Mom, come