Cordinas Crown Jewel by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

nothing out of them, either.
    I’ve decided to attribute his lack of social skills to the fact that his line of work puts him more in company with the long dead than the living. And to season this with some sympathy over his injuries. But I suspect he’s every bit as brusque and unpardonably rude when in full, robust health.
    In any case, he’s interesting
—
and spending time with people who will treat me as they treat anyone is part of this experiment.
    As a lovely side benefit of his, apparently, hermit lifestyle, there is no television in the cabin. Imagine that, an American home without a single television set. I saw no current newspapers or magazines, either. Though some may very well be buried in the refuse heap he lives in.
    The chances of such a man recognizing me, even under these oddly intimate conditions, are slim to none. It’s very reassuring.
    Despite his odd choice of living arrangements when not actively working on a dig, he’s obviously intelligent. When he spoke of his work
—
however briefly—there was a spark there. A sense of curiosity, of seeking answers, that appeals to me very much. Perhaps because I’m seeking something myself. Within myself.
    Though I know it was not entirely appropriate behavior, I read through more of his papers when Iwas certain he was in his room upstairs. It’s the most fascinating work! As I understand from the scribbles, he’s part of a team which has discovered a site in south-central Florida. Deep in the black peat that was being dug for a pond in a development, the bones from an ancient people
—
tests show seven thousand years ancient
—
were unearthed.
    His notes and papers are so disordered, I’m unable to follow the exact procedure, but The Bardville Research Project began from this discovery, and Delaney has worked on it for three years.
    Their discoveries are amazing to me. A toddler buried with her toys, artifacts of bone, antler and wood, some of them inscribed with patterns. A strong sense of ritual and appreciation of beauty. There are sketches—I wonder if he did them himself. Quite intricate and well-done sketches.
    There are so many notes and papers and pieces. Honestly, they’re spread willy-nilly over the cabin. I would love to organize them all and read about the entire project from its inception through to the present. But it’s impossible given the state of things, not to mention my departure in the morning.
    For myself, I’m progressing. I’m sleeping better, night by night. My appetite’s returned, and I’ve indulged it perhaps a little more than I should. Today, after a long drive, and a minor accident, I spent a considerable amount of time on elemental domestic chores. Fairly physical. Less than two weeks ago the most mundane task seemed to sap all my energy
—
physically, emotionally, mentally. Yet after this day, I feel strong, almost energized.
    This time, this freedom to simply be, was exactly the remedy I needed.
    I’m taking more, a few weeks more, before Camilla MacGee blends back into Camilla de Cordina again.
    *  *  *
    In the morning, the bright, bold sunlight slanted directly across Del’s eyes. He shifted, seeking the dark and the rather amazing dream involving a lanky redhead with a sexy voice and gilded eyes. And rolled on his bad side.
    He woke cursing.
    When his mind cleared, he remembered the lanky redhead was real. The fact that she was real, and sleeping under the same roof, made him a little uneasy about the dream. He also remembered the reason the classy dish was in the spare bed was that her car was in a ditch, and the power and phones were out.
    That meant, rather than a hot shower, he was going to take a dip in a cold pond. He gathered what he needed, and started downstairs. He stopped when he heard her singing.
    The pretty voice with its faintly exotic accent seemed out of place in his cabin. But he couldn’t fault the aroma of fresh coffee.
    The coffee was heating on the fire, and she was in the