Читать книгу Lone Star Knight - Cindy Gerard, Dianna Love, Шеррилин Кеньон - Страница 8

It wasn’t true. Not completely. Your entire life didn’t flash before you when you were about to die. Only bits and pieces, odd, unrelated little snippets scrolled by like a vivid Technicolor collage—along with an extreme and acute awareness of those who were about to die with you.

While the flight crew and eleven other men and women in the charter jet bound from Royal, Texas, to the European country of Asterland prepared for the crash with stalwart optimism, whispered prayers, or soft weeping, Lady Helena Reichard thought silently of Asterland, the home she might never see again. She thought of her parents, the Earl and Countess of Orion, and the pain her death would cause them. Of the calico kitten she’d loved as a child, the projects she might not be around to finish and of those who might suffer because of that.

Oddly, she also thought of the tall, handsome Texan with smiling green eyes and dark curling hair who had waltzed her around the dance floor at the Texas Cattleman’s Club reception just two nights past.

She’d met commanding men before. Sophisticated. Worldly. Titled and moneyed. She hadn’t, however, met anyone like Matthew Walker. With his quick, slashing smile and devastating wit, he’d been at once charming yet subtly and purposefully aloof. He was obviously a man of wealth, yet the hand that had held hers in its strong grip had worn the calluses of physical labor without apology. His polished and gallant formality had been a fascinating foil for an understated man-of-the-earth essence that had both intrigued and captivated—and left her wishing she hadn’t had to leave Royal, Texas, so soon.

How sad, she thought, that she’d been denied the chance to know him better. How sad that her last glimpse of Texas would be from five hundred feet and falling. And then she thought of nothing but the moment as the jet, its left engine shooting fire, lurched, shuddered and dropped the last one hundred feet to the ground. She lowered her head, wrapped her arms around her ankles and prepared for the impact.

Behind her someone screamed. A serrated, grating screech ripped through the pressurized cabin as tons of steel and flammable fuel slammed to earth then skidded across the desert floor without benefit of landing gear. The noise was shattering. The jolt, bone-rattling. And the fear—the fear was paralyzing as the flames that had been confined to the left jet suddenly engulfed the cabin and a blinding, screaming pain consumed her.