The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs

from her heart.
    She had loved the tender, whimsical side of him. But she had never understood the dark side, the danger-loving side, the part of him that hungered for tests of his strength, his endurance, his mortality.
    She saw the point looming ahead. Little had changed. A line of evergreens grew along a ridge. The valley was a deep cleft formed by the two mountains, with a rushing stream in between, and by gazing across the velvety green gorge, she could see the course the race would follow. It was more like the bed of a waterfall than a path, steep and curving and littered with rocks. And of course, there was the cliff, brooding and sheer, too stark to grow anything but the most tenacious of plants.
    She stood and watched. Gary set the bird on the ground. The day was bright and sharply clear. The sound of the wind filled the air. And then she heard it.
    The animal rumble of motorcycle engines. The riders were approaching the last and most dangerous leg of the race.
    A curious thing happened. The eagle grew restless, bowing out her wings and rushing into the wind; then the bird flung herself off the end of the point. Isabel gasped and Gary laughed in wonder and lifted his camera to his eye. At first, the bird appeared to be falling, helpless, a horrifying sight. Then an eddy of wind caught her beneath her wings. With a high-pitched cry, she was soaring, soaring across the valley that was already alive with the thunder of the race.
     
    Dan felt a little silly wearing the windbreaker bearing the label of a Yakima Valley winery. It was white, and he never wore white, and besides, the zipper was faulty. But in return for their sponsorship, he got a few perks, including deep discounts on his supply of wine for the lodge.
    Other riders were similarly garbed, their numbered windbreakers shouting ads for everything from motor oil to masa harina flour.
    He knew he would win the race today. Number one, he needed the winnings. Number two, he was riding like the wind. There were simply days when this was true.
    Smaller and more nimble than his Harley, the off-road motorcycle seemed an extension of his body, slanting and skating with elastic responsiveness beneath him. He could almost forget the look on Isabel’s face when he had tried to say goodbye, hoping she would wish him luck.
    She hadn’t.
    The flavor of danger filled his mouth with a sweetness that turned bitter when he remembered Isabel.
    She seemed to think plunging into danger was his way of recoiling from intimacy, that after last night it was no coincidence that he was here today, putting his life on the line. She believed it was his way of avoiding emotional commitment.
    He wanted to say she was wrong. But was she?
    He set his jaw and prepared for the last and most treacherous part of the race. The windbreaker flew loose, the flimsy zipper breaking as he bolted down a rock-strewed ravine.
    A movement caught his eye. He chanced a lightning glance upward and was amazed. A soaring eagle was circling the valley.
    He wondered if it could be the eagle they’d rescued. If it was, that meant Isabel was here. Watching.
    The loose jacket flapped madly. Dan swore under his breath and gritted his teeth, clearing his mind. He had to jump a gully and make a turn before he was in the clear.
    He braced himself to soar across the gully. But then the unthinkable happened. The windbreaker caught a gust of wind and flew upward, obscuring his face, blinding him.
    He never found a footing on the other side. He just kept going like a stone flung from a sling.

Ten
    T here was no hospital in Thelma, so Dan was taken to the tribal clinic across the road from the fire hall. There was no regular doctor, either, but an emergency-room physician from Olympia was on hand for the race.
    Isabel did not even recall the frantic drive to town. The clinic personnel had barred her from seeing Dan; she had only glimpsed him as he was whisked past on a gurney. His eyes had been closed, his face pale.
    They