Page 14 of Christmas at Watson Memorial

“Small victories,” I sigh. “Think this euphoria I'm feeling is from oxygen deprivation or the adrenaline rush from flying so high?”

“If you get dizzy or your head starts pounding, let me know,” is all she says, and I just hope she's not experiencing the same euphoria that might lead to reckless decisions.

“That indicator's still red,” I warn ten minutes later.

“Did you hit the anti-ice switch?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it! We need to descend,” she says, and the helicopter tips forward like we're on a roller coaster.

Through the windshield, the world vanishes behind a white curtain, fierce winds buffet us from all directions, and treetops whip by way too close for comfort.

“Burlington, this is Life Flight Seven,” Selene's voice crackles over the radio, steady despite the chaos. “We need to make an emergency landing. Can the heart wait?”

My nails dig into my palm at her words.

“Life Flight Seven, donor remains stable on life support. We can delay procurement up to four hours maximum. After that, we'll have to reallocate the heart.”

“Copy that,” Selene interrupts. “Dr. Winters, I need your medical assessment.”

“If they maintain life support, we should be fine, but tell them not to procurement until we arrive,” I request, running survival statistics and tissue degradation rates through my head.

“See that clearing? We're landing, like it or not. Can't keep flying in these conditions — we've got ice in the carburetor and on the rotor blades,” she announces, pointing to a break in the mountainside.

Before I can protest, the helicopter plunges downward, and I catch myself quietly reciting surgical procedures to block out the rapidly approaching ground.

“Hold on!” she shouts, and soon we're skidding across ice with a terrifying screech until we finally stop.

“Holy shit!” I exhale.

“Still alive. You can release that poor pen now,” she quips, unbuckling her four-point harness before stepping onto solid ground.

“I spotted a cabin through those trees when I managed to keep my eyes open during descent,” I say, climbing down and pulling my collar higher.

An old ranger station emerges like a dark shadow against the snow as we approach. The door creaks open to reveal air heavy with dust and abandonment.

“There's a fireplace and some dry wood,” she announces, pointing. “Get that wet coat off before you freeze!”

“The donor...”

“Will still be there in three hours,” Selene cuts in, starting a fire. “But we won't do Holly any good if we die of hypothermia or crash into the mountain.”

The flames catch quickly, sending a wave of blessed heat through my body. Selene sits directly across, having stripped off her coat and pants, rubbing her hands for warmth.

“Come here,” she whispers, wrapping an old blanket around our shoulders as I settle beside her. “Body heat works better than fire. That's pure science, Dr. Winters,” she adds with a wink when my bare leg brushes against hers.

And oddly enough, curled up next to her, both of us pantless under an ancient blanket in an even more ancient cabin, I feel strangely at peace.

“You're staring,” she teases.

“I'm observing. It's what doctors do,” I defend.

“And what do your observations tell you, doctor?” Now she meets my gaze, and the intensity in those blue eyes steals my breath.

“That you're reckless. And possibly insane.”

“Says the woman who just flew into a snowstorm with me, no clearance or anything. You know what I observe? Maybe the Ice Queen isn't as cold as everyone thinks.”