A/N: Here's the 411. A few weeks ago, I offered a one-shot fic up to 2K words if someone would Beta the last chapter of "Atlantis Awaits" and ShaViva was kind enough to do it for me. However, when I started brainstorming with ladygris on the plot of the fic it sort of snowballed. It all started with lg saying, "Sha would love a fic about Lorne in Australia." And this is the result.

Enjoy and don't forget to review.

~Sandy

Turning the Page

Chapter 1

Silent Conversation

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Adelaide, this is echo-tango-four-zero-niner-hotel-lima. Jabiru Juliet-one-six-zero. Electrical power has failed. Weather cloudy. Setting down ASAP. At 1325, last known position two-zero-zero kilometers east of your location. Current position, altitude and fuel unknown. One person on board. Gonna need a lift. Over." A burst of static made Evan Lorne wince, then silence. Just in case, he repeated the information. As he finished his second recitation, the engine sputtered one last time and the ground came up to meet him.

~~O~~

Whir-click.

Whir-click, whir-click.

The woman wielding the camera was so far from everything that the sounds of the camera, the crunch of her hiking boots on the dry ground and the soft nickering of her Australian Stock Horse didn't even echo. Reptiles, rabbits and other creatures of the desert scurried out of her path, some staring boldly before running off as a small brown snake slithered past. They all ignored each other.

Shannon didn't know what had possessed her to bring her camera-she eschewed digital-or her horse on this particular outing so she just snapped photos at random. Crouching, she'd just focused in on a shot of the brown snake about to pounce on a mouse when all were disturbed by the sputtering of an airplane engine. Standing, she turned the camera, adjusting the focus until it came into sight, her finger automatically snapping several photos.

The pilot had the mic in one hand while the other held fast to the control wheel, smoke beginning to fill the cabin. He tossed the mic aside, using both hands to pull on the wheel just as the engine cut out completely, managing to get the nose up just as it went behind a distant hill. The sound of the crash startled the snake and mouse, both going their separate ways.

A quick glance at the sky told her the sun would soon be down. It was late fall and temperatures dropped significantly after dark. Injured or not, the pilot might not survive the night on his own. She mounted up, the camera hanging around her neck. Taking the reins in her right hand, she gave the signal and Botany obediently took off at a gallop.

Twenty minutes later, Shannon pulled back on the reins, dismounted and was already running to the still smoking plane resting half in and half out of what was left of the small lake before Botany came to a complete halt. She wasn't a pilot herself, but even she could tell it was a total loss. She took photos of the crash from several different angles then turned her full attention to the man face down on the ground, clicking off a few shots of him before tucking the camera into her saddlebag.

The pilot had managed to get himself out of the cockpit collapsing not far enough away to keep from being severely injured or even killed should the plane explode. She dropped to one knee beside him, two fingers checking and finding a steady pulse. After a quick check for broken bones she rolled him onto his back. It was the same face she'd seen through her viewfinder only now that she could see the entirety of it, she found him to be quite attractive. His features were relaxed though she could see gentle creases at the sides of his mouth and eyes. She guessed his age at late thirties, forty maybe.

Using medical knowledge she'd learned from her father, a small town medical doctor, she lifted each eyelid, noting that his eyes were a bright blue, and that they reacted normally to the fading light. With a sigh of relief, she examined the wound on his head, the bleeding already slowing. Taking the bandana from around her neck, she folded it corner to corner then rolled it until it was narrow enough to tie around his head, positioning the thickest part to put pressure on the wound.

She found a second injury on his left forearm that was fairly deep. Removing her dark green flannel shirt, she tore it into strips and bandaged that area as well. There was also a contusion on his left leg, the torn edges of his jeans matted with blood and sticking to it. Using another long strip from the now ruined shirt, she bandaged that as well. The smaller injuries could wait until she'd gotten him back to the house. She had no way to call anyone so with her is where he'd stay until the authorities came looking for him.

Though her work as an artist made her physically strong, he was still too heavy for her to lift. Botany came to her side when she whistled. Another command and the horse bent his front legs and got down onto the ground. At that height she was able to wrestle the man onto his stomach over the big animal's back. In this position she could see a bloody splotch indicating a wound on his back.

This time using a hand signal, she told Botany to stand. She didn't have rope with her so she just prayed the man would stay put. Taking the reins again, she led the way back home.

~~O~~

It was full dark when Shannon and her charge arrived. Leading Botany around to the side window, she threw the reins down in a ground hitch, and then hurried inside. Using her shirt for bandages had left her with only a long-john top covering the upper half of her body and, just as she'd known it would, the cold had come around.

Shivering, she went into the spare room, opened the window, moved the double bed as close as she could and whistled for Botany. Stepping carefully, he came near enough that she could lift the man's legs inside the window, the toes of his sneakers below the window sill. Grabbing his belt, she tugged to get him moving then quickly wrapped her arms around his torso so they were front to front. She'd managed to maneuver him around until they were sideways to the bed before her strength gave out and they fell onto the mattress with him on top of her.

Though she should have been annoyed, another emotion had taken its place, reminding her how good it felt to be close to someone. And despite the cold, warmth suffused her where their bodies touched reminding her of things she'd almost forgotten.

Her situation was not helped by the fact that Botany stuck his head in the window and whinnied, making it seem as if he were laughing at her. She scowled, clicking her tongue and the animal withdrew.

Grunting and pushing, Shannon was finally able to roll him off of her and onto his back. More grunting, shoving and pulling got him into the mattress on his back, legs and arms somewhat straight. After closing the window and moving the bed back into place, she stood with hands on hips panting as she contemplated her next move.

He'd have to be undressed and all of his injuries seen to. From what she'd seen of the head wound, he probably had a concussion. Since he hadn't regained consciousness, she would proceed on that assumption and treat him accordingly.

Going to the kitchen, she set water to heating then went to the bathroom for gauze, tape, antibiotic cream, towels and antiseptic. Just in case, she also brought a suture set and a bottle of liquid bandage. Living alone so far from medical care she had to be prepared to treat herself until help arrived.

Filling a large bowl with hot water, she carried it into the bedroom and set it on the dresser to the right of the bed. She took off his sneakers, an American brand popular here in her homeland. After struggling to remove his shirt, she chose to use a pair of scissors to cut his jeans off-they were ruined anyway-leaving him in just his socks and boxers.

First she attended to his forehead then ran her hands over the rest of his scalp finding a lump on the back. There was no blood so she took an ice pack from the freezer and applied it while she worked on the rest of him.

Carefully rolling him onto his stomach, she examined the cut. It wasn't deep and would heal in a fortnight. She cleaned it with the antiseptic, spread antibiotic cream over the area then bandaged it.

On his back again, she cleaned the cut on his forearm, her forehead crinkling in puzzlement when a tiny piece of metal the size of a grain of rice appeared on the cloth. She took a pair of tweezers from the bathroom and held it under the lamp light. It was covered in blood so no details could be seen. Taking an old medicine bottle from the counter she dropped it inside and capped it. Probably something he picked up in the crash.

Returning to the bedroom, she sealed the cut with liquid bandage. She'd have to keep an eye on it because it was deep enough that infection could be an issue. If he awakened…when he awakened she'd find out if he was allergic to any antibiotics. If not, she'd give him some from the supply she kept on hand.

She used the warm water to clean the dirt, soot and blood from his face, a shiver of awareness dancing down her spine when her thumb accidentally grazed his lips. They parted almost as if he were inviting her to kiss him or was about to smile. She took in his strong features and wondered what he'd look like when he smiled. She imagined that his blue eyes would sparkle and his laugh would be spontaneous, beginning deep inside before bursting out of his incredibly soft lips.

Shaking her head at the silliness of her thoughts, she continued with her task. Wiping the cloth down his cheeks, the backs of her fingers brushed over the dark bristles. It had been so long since she'd been close enough to a man to feel his evening beard that it was disconcerting, not to mention arousing.

After rinsing the hand towel in the hot water, she began on his chest and arms, feeling the muscles expand and contract involuntarily. Movement caught her attention, her eyes rolling when certain parts of his body responded to her touch though he was still unconscious. Deciding that discretion was the best course of action, she pulled the sheet up to his waist.

Uncovering first one leg then the other, she finished cleaning the lower half of his body. Well, as much as she was willing to do. Lifting his left arm, she checked that the clear liquid bandage had dried then washed around it, up to his shoulder where she found a tattoo. Two words in Latin and a date.

Circling the bed, she sat beside him with her hip touching his, and lifted his right arm. As she wiped the cloth over his hand, she took note of how the palm and fingers were calloused, the hands of a man used to physical labor. She also couldn't help but notice the difference in the sizes of their hands, hers looking small and delicate next to his. Giving in to temptation, she weaved their fingers together, noting that they seemed to be a perfect fit. He had another tattoo on this bicep as well, the logo of a branch of the US military, recognition bringing with it a brief moment of emotional pain.

She laid his arm across his stomach, but before she could move away that same hand moved quickly to her waist as if to pull her close, his fingers flexing slightly. Startled, she jumped up and backed away, watching him warily. His movements had seemed to indicate that he was waking up though his eyes stayed closed, the steady rhythm of his breathing remaining unchanged.

Going to the living room, she swept up her shotgun and carried it with her into the bedroom. He hadn't changed position.

Relaxing just a little, Shannon went to settle Botany in his stall for the night. The bay had never borne any weight on his back aside from hers and the man had to outweigh her considerably so she gave him an extra treat for being so patient and gentle.

She returned to the house, going into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. Nothing fancy, just lettuce, tomato and pickles eating it standing up at the sink. Living alone, she had neither the need nor the desire to create meals from scratch. Mostly she ate sandwiches, canned soups or pre-made frozen dinners. It didn't matter. Very little had mattered to her for some time aside from her art. It was the only thing that kept her from swaying over the edge into insanity though there were many who thought that insanity was a pre-requisite to making your living as an artist. Most of the time, like now, she thought they were right. She had to have been crazy to bring a total and complete stranger into her home.

A thorough search of what was left of his clothing gave her nothing with which to identify him. No phone. No wallet. Nothing except for the tattoos. SemperFi, the motto of the United States Marine Corp. It marked him as American. And if he was a member of that particular military organization, he was even more dangerous than she originally thought.

And the date. October 23, 1983. It rang a bell, but she was too tired to bring the memory to the surface.

The second tattoo confused her. The upswept wings and star were the logo for the US Air Force.

So was he in the Marines or the Air Force? Her mind leaned toward the Air Force because he was a pilot. She thought, too, that he must be an exceptional one to have been able to walk away from that particular landing with relatively minor injuries. And if he was still a member of the military, where were his dog tags?

Dragging the rocking chair from the front room into the bedroom doorway, she laid the shotgun across her lap prepared to spend the entire night there. Even with her bedroom door locked, he was a stranger and she didn't trust him. But then she didn't trust easily. The only reason he was here now was because she refused to let him die on the cold hard ground near the wreckage of his plane.

Using her feet, she rocked the chair back and forth making it creak on the wooden floor listening to his quiet breathing.

~~O~~

Awakening suddenly, Shannon's eyes immediately went to the bed. Sometime during the night he'd pulled the covers up to his neck and rolled onto his left side, his left arm tucked under the pillow. Her eyes dropped to her lap where the shotgun still lay. She got to her feet, and making as little noise as possible, went into the adjoining bathroom carrying the weapon with her. Just as she was drying her hands she heard the bed creak. Unlocking the door, she cautiously peeked through the crack. All he'd done was roll over again so that he now faced her.

He'd only been here a few hours and she was getting jumpy. She'd never been that way in the past. Ever. So why now? The answer came in a flicker of embarrassment she was glad he couldn't see. She was attracted to this man, very much so. And that presented a problem because it was likely he'd be here for several weeks.

Her home was accessible only by air and horseback. She didn't even have a radio, just her CD and DVD collections for entertainment. Communication with the outside world occurred when her supplies were delivered and when the Senior Constable came around for his monthly check-in. Taking a few moments, she wondered how the stranger would react to being stuck here with her so far from civilization.

His left arm now rested on the outside of the covers. She approached close enough to examine the cut noting that it looked like it was already beginning to heal. Leaning down, she checked his head wound with the same results. Reaching out, she ran her hand over the lump finding it a little smaller than the night before. She was examining the cut over his shoulder blade when he rolled onto his back, a soft grunt coming from his throat. It appeared that her guest was waking up.

Scooping up her shotgun, she retreated to the door. An idea occurred to her and she ran to the other room, the one where she kept odds and ends. She dragged a box from the top shelf, took something from it and returned to the second bedroom.

Approaching him from an angle she hoped would allow her to get away if he was just pretending she quickly hooked one ring of a pair of handcuffs over his left wrist then snapped the other around the bedpost. Brushing her hands down the back of her jeans, she returned to the shotgun, lifting it to her eye and sighting on her guest. She would have preferred to immobilize his dominant hand, but he was lying on it and she didn't want to wait for him to move or wake up.

He didn't move again aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Slowly lowering the weapon, she took an involuntary step forward, her heartbeat increasing. She knew his body to be firmly muscled, but seeing the evidence in the daylight made her mouth go dry. She'd forgotten how incredibly…pleasing it was to see a man without a shirt.

Now that he was shackled she felt safe enough to shower and eat, hoping he'd be awake by then and she could at least find out his name. She opened the window to let in some of the cool morning air that would warm up by noon, dragged the rocker back to the front room and softly closed the door.

TBC