Page 90 of One Last Chance

Nothing.

He repeated the call.

She stalked away, her hands on her stomach.

Moose had radioed in trouble with the chopper, something about air gusts, and then one Mayday had issued through the line.

Then it had gone dead.

Barry put the mic down. Folded his hands, leaned his forehead down to them.

“What are you doing?’

“The only thing I can.” He’d closed his eyes.

“Wait, are youpraying?”

Now she might really be ill. She held on to the door frame. “Is it that bad?

“It doesn’t need to be bad to pray, but it might be, so . . . yeah.” He had lifted his head, and he now resumed the position as she stepped back into the hallway, bent and grabbed her knees.

Okay, so praying might help, but really, someone needed todosomething.

“Flynn, are you okay?”

Echo stood in the hallway, her hands on the small of her back. She had abdicated the radio control for a recliner in the great room of this beautiful home about an hour ago, after Moose reached the base camp.

“They went down.” Oh, she probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but why mince words?

“What?” Echo braced her hand on the wall.

“The chopper. We lost contact. I think—” S—” he glanced back into the office. Barry sat, still praying. “They went down.”

Echo stood there, swallowed, nodded. “Okay, then.” She turned and headed back to the great room.

What was with this family?

Flynn followed her out to where Echo sat in the recliner, her head down, her hands on her lap, breathing. “Are you praying too?”

Echo looked up. Blew out a breath. “Not really. But sort of.”

“Then . . . wait. Are you inlabor?”

Echo leaned back, her eyes closing. “I think so. I don’t know. Could be Braxton-Hicks.”

“How close are the contractions?” Not that the answer would mean anything to Flynn—she knew nothing about labor and delivery. Still, maybe some knowledge of the situation would help her should she need to call 911.

“I don’t . . . Oh…” Echo pressed her hands to her belly, then looked up, her eyes wide. “Can you get a towel?”

“What?”

Liquid saturated the chair as Echo leaned forward, pushed herself up. Her leggings dripped. “My water broke.”

“I see that—” Flynn fled to the main-floor guest bathroom. Grabbed the towels on the rack. But then stopped and looked in the mirror. “Everything’s fine. You can figure this out. Just breathe.”

Her reflection nodded, as if in agreement, and then she headed back out and handed Echo a towel, put the other on a chair. “I’ll get Barry.”

“No.” Echo reached out. “I’ll call my mother. She’s an ob-gyn.”

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