Icebound

Icebound
Carina Press
November 14, 2011
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Dr. Emilie Saunderson is driven to finish her late husband’s research. Her quest brings her to Antarctica, where she hopes to find a measure of peace in the isolated and icy wilderness. It’s the last place on earth she expects to be given a second chance at love.

Tom Wolinski loves his work at the bottom of the world. Damaged by his dark past, he has vowed never to get close to anyone—a promise that’s easy to keep in a place with no permanent residents. That is, until Emilie arrives, and he’s irresistibly drawn to her warmth and inner strength.

Emilie has no desire to get involved with another adventurer, and Tom has made it clear he’s not interested in putting down roots. But as they work together to survive in the harshest of climates, they turn to one another for comfort. Is the heat between them enough to melt the ice around their hearts, and bind them together forever?

Chapter One

“I must be crazy.” Dr. Emilie Saunderson stared out the porthole window of the cramped Twin Otter airplane at the frozen landscape of Antarctica. Snow. Nothing but snow in every direction. Cold, stark, barren.

Crazy was the only explanation for coming to a place that was nothing more than a constant reminder of her life and what she’d lost.

Grief and guilt closed their frozen fingers around her heart.

She shivered.

Could she ever forgive herself? It had been more than a year, yet it often seemed like only yesterday.

“Dr. Saunderson, we’re getting set to land,” the pilot called out to her. “It’s going to be bumpy.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” she replied, raising her voice loud enough to be heard over the droning engines and thrusting the uncomfortable feelings aside. “I’ll hang on tight.”

To what exactly? Surrounded by boxes stacked to the ceiling, she didn’t have much of a handhold anywhere.

She tucked the folder of medical information on Antarctica she’d been reading into her backpack. The place had odd physical effects on people. The lack of humidity, cold and elevation caused some to experience high-altitude pulmonary edema—water on the lungs—or even cerebral edema—brain swelling—that could disorient a person, or in severe cases, even kill.

The plane shuddered and jerked, throwing her against her harness. The boxes shifted, and for a moment she entertained thoughts of getting squished flat. A hard bounce and bump had her grabbing at the nearest box, but nothing toppled over and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The plane slid to a stop and Emilie opened the clasp on her harness and stood, stretching cramped muscles. It had been a long six-hour flight from McMurdo, the base on the Antarctic coast that supplied the South Pole Station. She was glad she didn’t have to turn around and go right back like the pilots did.

She grabbed her backpack, squeezed past some boxes and crates and found her gear.

“You’ll need all your Extreme Cold Weather clothing on, Doctor,” the copilot said, coming back to open the side door of the plane. He stuck his head outside for a second before closing it again. “It’s blizzarding.”

“How long will it last?”

He shrugged. “This is normal weather down here. Could be a couple of hours or a couple of days.”

Emilie glanced out the nearest window at the storm. “This is normal?”

“Welcome to the glacial side of hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Got your stuff?”

She nodded.

“Okay, it’ll be a few minutes before someone from the station gets here with snowmobiles to off-load the plane.”

“How far away are we?”

“About two hundred yards.” He turned to return to the cockpit and pick up his radio.

Her head pounded out a rough tempo between her temples as a blood-freezing chill seeped through her multiple layers of clothing. It hurt to breathe, and for the first time in her life she could actually smell the temperature. Cold—a sharp, metallic sting poking at the sensitive inside of her nose, making her want to cough and sneeze.

No way would she wait here slowly freezing into an icicle when warmth was only a short walk away.

Emilie shrugged on her backpack, grabbed her gear—a duffel bag stuffed full—then rolled her balaclava down over her face leaving only her eyes uncovered. She opened the door and jumped the couple of feet down to the packed ice surface. Ahead, the outline of buildings wavered as the snow flew around her, and she stumbled down a short embankment toward them. In her haste, the duffel bag got caught between her feet and she tumbled, boots over hood. It took a moment to get untangled and upright, the harsh wind like sandpaper on her face, despite the Mount Everest-worthy fabric protecting her skin.

She tried to keep her mouth shut and only breathe through her nose so her nasal passages had an opportunity to warm the air, but her lungs demanded more oxygen. She sucked in great gulps of frigid air that only served to make her sputter more.

Finally, she was able to search for the buildings she’d seen from the plane.

Nothing.

Only more snow blowing in every direction. Not even the plane, painted a vibrant fire-engine red, was visible.

Frowning, Emilie fought her body’s desire to inhale even more cold air. Calm logic was what was needed now.

She opened her mouth and yelled until her throat hurt.

No one came.

Emilie glanced down at her feet and gathered her frostbitten wits. She had to do something. Standing there turning into a pillar of ice wasn’t a winning survival technique. She looked around. The station should be right in front of her, so she’d walk in a straight line and hope to see buildings soon.

The first step forward surprised her; she didn’t sink into the snow, the white stuff was as firm as concrete. Walking slowly, she took another step and another. Still nothing in sight. She walked steadily for five minutes, but as each second passed, her heart pounded faster, harder.

Where were the buildings?

The cold stabbed barbs of ice through her clothing and into her skin, muscle and bone, making her headache dull and fuzzy. She controlled her breathing with great effort, stopped walking and crouched down, trying to hide from the wind behind her duffel bag for a moment. After her breathing calmed, she stood and stared into the wall of flying snow.

No use. Time to go back.

Turning, she retreated, hunting for her footprints in the snow, but as soon as she lifted her feet, the vicious storm wiped them away. She couldn’t see the airplane or hear its engines over the roaring wind. She stopped, an icy ball of dismay filling her gut.

She was lost.

And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She was helpless to the elements. Helpless and dying, just like David all those months ago. Her mind jumped back to that day when she’d breathed for him and pumped his chest so hard she thought her arms would fall off. All those endless minutes of compressions to no avail. She couldn’t save him.

Then she lost the baby.

Don’t blame yourself, stress and heartbreak caused the miscarriage, they said.

But who else could she blame?

“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered as tears froze on her lashes. “So sorry.”

A low rumble, well below the scream of the wind, jolted her out of the past. The plane? Had the pilots discovered her missing and come to find her?

Emilie turned in a full circle. The snow and wind hadn’t lessened, but what was that in the distance? A dark shape of some sort.

She sucked in a deep breath, waved her arms and yelled, “Help!”

A tall, broad figure stepped out of the storm and grabbed her hand. Emilie looked up at her rescuer. Not even his eyes were visible behind layers of cloth and snow goggles, and she had to tilt her head back to see the top of his head. None of that mattered though, because even without a clear view of him, he embodied hope. Something she hadn’t felt in over a year.

He tugged and Emilie followed, trailing her duffel bag behind her. She stumbled, her legs numb, then stumbled once more before regaining her balance. The man tugged again, causing her to pitch forward as he grabbed her by the waist, bent at the knees and picked her up in a fireman-carry.

Another dark figure appeared from nowhere and took her duffel, then vanished into the whiteout, leaving her alone with her rescuer, who seemed in a hurry to take her somewhere.

Her gut hurt. It was hard to breathe, her diaphragm bouncing up and down on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she yelled, swinging her arm to catch his attention. “I can’t breathe. Can you hear me? I can’t…” She didn’t finish her words as the world of white went dark around her.

Copyright C 2011 by Julie Rowe
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

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