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The power lines reappeared on the other side, and my pulse leaped. Was I clear? And why were the guys on the ground still running and yelling?
When Nash yelled again, I froze. Where was he?
I released the burner cord long enough to lean over the side.
“Nash!” I gasped.
He was hanging from the leather handles on the lower edge of the basket — a basket that was at least a hundred feet off the ground.
“Are you crazy?” I yelled, reaching for him.
But he was too far, and the wicker basket didn’t offer any handholds for him to climb up on.
“You’re the one who’s crazy. Why didn’t you get out while you could?” he hollered.
“Because I had a chance of saving the balloon!”
Then I stopped. Oops. Not the time to argue.
“Just land this thing already,” Nash grumbled.
Oh. My. God. He really was crazy if he planned to hang from the balloon long enough for me to land.
Worse still, the wind blew with new ferocity, and rain started pelting down.
I glanced over the terrain, overwhelmed by so many objectives. Saving Nash. Landing the balloon. Saving it, if possible — not to mention myself.
I took a couple of deep breaths, then settled on my first priority — Nash. Leaving the controls, I knotted several big loops into a spare line and lowered it over the side.
“Just give me a second to secure it,” I said, ducking back into the basket.
When the basket lurched, I screamed, thinking Nash had fallen. I looked again, terrified that I would see him plunging to his death.
But, whew. Nash was still there, hanging on by one hand. The other gripped a leather handle that had just torn free.
“Uh…hurry,” he mumbled.
My heart hammered as I secured the rope to the frame of the basket. Then I leaned out and swung it closer to Nash.
The leather of the remaining handle creaked ominously. His legs flailed for an eternity. Finally, he got a foot into one of the loops and grabbed for another with his free hand. I reached down, grabbing the back of his shirt.
“Not helping,” he grunted as he scraped along the wicker basket.
I stopped pulling, but I didn’t loosen my grip. One slip now, and he would plummet to the ground.
The moment his face cleared the top edge of the basket seared into my memory forever. Then he worked his foot intoanother loop, and I heaved, bringing him crashing onto me inside the basket. We sprawled there for a few heart-stopping moments, clutching each other.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Perfect.”
I didn’t know whether to smack him or kiss him.
“Perfect, my ass…” I grumbled, climbing to my feet and grabbing the controls. When Nash came to his feet beside me, I lost it.
“Are you crazy? Why didn’t you let go of the basket when it started climbing?”
“Because you were in it.”
