From Kiss to Queen by Janet Chapman Read Free Book Online

a little farther,” she said hoarsely, looking around. “There’s a beaten path from the stream that leads up to Twelve Mile Camp,” she explained. “You can’t miss it.”
    Then she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.
    Mark scowled at her and then at the river. Then he scowled at his watch. It was already afternoon. He was hungry, and they were down to three granola bars. He shoved off and headed downstream again, glad they were at least going with the current. He found the path twenty minutes later, and he banked the canoe and pulled it all the way onto shore. He unloaded the pack, the gun, and Jane, setting her on her feet and not letting go until she quit swaying. Mark held the canteen for her to take a drink, popped the last butterscotch candy in her mouth, hoping it would ease the sore throat he suspected she had, then took her hand and headed for the settlement.
    Which was a generous description of Twelve Mile Camp, Mark decided half an hour later when he spotted the store and five disreputable cabins. There was another beautiful lake backing the cabins, but not a soul in sight.
    â€œJane, we’re here,” he told the quiet woman beside him, giving her a worried look. “You’re sure they have a phone?” he asked, looking for and not seeing any telephone lines.
    â€œCellular,” she explained, her voice raspy. “He’s on the fringe of reception.”
    Mark hated like hell to see the energetic, scrappy woman so listless. He touched her forehead and drew back his hand as if it had been scorched. Jane Abbot had a raging fever.
    â€œCome on, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders and leading her forward. “Maybe they have more aspirin in that . . . store.”
    â€œI just want an ice-cold Pepsi.”
    â€œI’ll get you one,” he promised. “Just hang in there.”
    The screen door was so old the meshing was rusted. The proprietor obviously didn’t need a bell to tell him when a customer arrived, as the creaking hinges served nicely. It was definitely a Maine woods store, Mark decided upon entering. In the middle of the expansive room was a large, rusted potbellied stove that stood taller than he did. He guided his ailing angel over to one of the chairs positioned near the cold stove, then steadied her descent as she collapsed in a boneless heap with a sigh of relief.
    Mark turned and faced the gaunt, aging man walking out of a back room. “I need a cold soda and the use of a phone.”
    â€œSure thing,” the man replied with a grin as he sized up his latest customer, his eyes darting to and dismissing the woman sitting with her back to them. “Soda’s in the cooler and the phone’s right here,” he added as he reached under the counter and pulled out an ancient cellular bag phone. “The call will cost you ten bucks.”
    Mark pulled an American twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and tossed it on the counter. If the call cost ten, he didn’t even want to ask the price of the soda. “Keep the change,” he said as he strode to the antiquated cooler and slid back the cover, which had a limited choice of beverages all standing in cold water. He pulled out an unfamiliar brand, having discerned there was no Pepsi, and twisted open the cap as he returned to Jane.
    â€œHere, honey. Drink this. It will help.”
    He had to hold the bottle at first, but the cold drink seemed to revive her enough that she finally grabbed hold and served herself. Mark then returned to the counter.
    â€œReception’s better if you take it outside,” the man said, grinning again.
    â€œI’ll do that. You have any aspirin?” Mark asked, mentally reminding himself to check the expiration date before he gave any to Jane.
    â€œSure thing. Aspirin’s five bucks,” the man responded, going over to the wall and pulling down a small envelope containing