Cabin Girl by Kristin Butcher Read Free Book Online Page B

flinch, even though I know what’s coming. April’s eyes snap open and her body jerks off the bed. She grabs desperately at empty air, but it doesn’t help, and she drops to the floor in a noisy heap, knocking the beer cans every which way.
    â€œOh god!” She belches and claps a hand over her mouth. Then she claws her way to her feet and stumbles to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
    She’s there for quite a while. When she returns, she has a wet facecloth pressed to her forehead. She looks like the walking dead.
    â€œHeadache?” I ask sweetly.
    She glares at me. “Why did you do that?”
    I frown. “Do what?”
    â€œYou know darn well what. The alarm clock.”
    I glance at the offending clock. “Oh, that. I guess I woke up early and forgot to turn it off. Sorry.”
    She lies down on the bed again and lays the cloth over her eyes.
    â€œAre you sure you should do that?” I say.
    â€œWhat?” she replies. Her voice is as lifeless as her body.
    â€œLie down. You might fall asleep again.”
    â€œThat’s the idea.”
    â€œExcept that you might not wake up for a couple of days, and guests arrive in a couple of hours. It’s going to take you at least that long to get ready.”
    April lifts the facecloth long enough to glower at me.
    I sit down on my bed, and with the toe of my runner, I send a beer can rolling back to April’s side of the room. “For starters, you need to get rid of these beer cans and air out the cabin—you know, in case somebody lights a match or in case Gabe comes in.”
    â€œWhy would he?”
    â€œBecause he owns the place?” I clear my throat. “And you might want to think about having a shower and brushing your teeth. No offense, April, but you look like you spent the night in a garbage bin, and you smell like a brewery. Definitely not the image the camp is going for.”
    April props herself on an elbow and scowls. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
    I cock my head curiously. “I’m just looking out for you.” I smile brightly. “That’s what friends do.”
    April starts to roll her eyes, but the effort obviously pains her because she gives it up and flops back down on the bed. “Go away,” she mutters. “You’re making me feel worse than I already do.”
    I stand up. “You know what you need? Food. You’ll feel much better with something in your stomach. Some greasy bacon and fried eggs should do the trick, I think. Nothing like a little bacon grease to jumpstart the day. Before you know it, you’ll feel like your old self. I bet you’ll be up to pulling more tricks on me by lunchtime. Heck, you may even want to do your witch impersonation again.” I stroll over to the door. “But then, that’s not really an impersonation, is it?”
    When April leaps off the bed, I think she’s going to strangle me, but instead she bolts once more for the bathroom.
    â€œSee you at the lodge,” I call after her and let myself out of the cabin.
    As I start down the trail, I’m smiling. It feels good to give April a taste of her own medicine. But the feeling doesn’t last. The two of us have to work and bunk together for another month, and that is not going to be easy. In fact, it could get downright ugly. I may have had a laugh at April’s expense this morning, but if her claws come out all the way, I don’t stand a chance.
    As the trail opens into the clearing, I look around. The morning sun is dancing on the lodge windows and glistening in the dew on the lawn. Cellophane-winged dragonflies skim the surface of the lake in search of a mosquito breakfast. The camp is still asleep, except for me—and Gabe and Ed. They’re standing on the dock, deep in conversation.
    Suddenly I remember that I need to tell Gabe about Dennis Savoy’s telephone call. What he’ll make of