From Kiss to Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

fashioning a pot, filled it with water from the canteen, and set it beside the fire.
    Jane spread both his and her clothes over the rope behind them, then began repacking her pack. “What nationality is your accent?” she asked, her attention on her task.
    â€œShelkovan.”
    She looked up. “Excuse me?”
    â€œShelkova is a small country just across the Bering Sea from Alaska.”
    â€œI thought Russia was across from Alaska.”
    â€œNearly the size of the whole of your New England states, Shelkova only reemerged when the former USSR broke up. Our climate is cold, but the forests are beautiful and productive. We export lumber mostly, although we are also fishermen and farmers—and thankful to be under our own rule again.” Mark grinned at her frown. “You would love my country, Jane. The forests are similar to Maine’s, only with older growth. And our ocean is beautiful and stormy, our coast rugged.”
    â€œHeavens, you sound like a travel bureau. And yes, I think I would like your country. I like wildness and nature and storms.”
    â€œI was going home when I . . . fell on you.”
    â€œYou were?” she asked, sounding startled. “But that’shalfway around the world. You were going to fly a floatplane to Shelkova?”
    â€œNo. My destination was Bangor International Airport. I was going to fly in a slightly larger, faster aircraft for the rest of the journey.”
    â€œOh. Yes. That makes sense,” she agreed with a cough. “Why were you going home?”
    â€œWord came to me this morning that my father is ill. I must return as quickly as I can.”
    â€œI’m sorry. We’ll start out at first light tomorrow and should reach a phone by noon.”
    â€œNoon? You said twenty miles.”
    â€œMost of it by water. With both of us paddling, we’ll make good time.”
    â€œThen we should eat and rest. We’ve both had a rather trying day.” Mark grinned when her eyebrow suddenly arched at his orders.
    Lord, he could almost see her clearly now. She had an expressive face and an impertinent little nose she was fond of raising, her light brown hair curled in tangles around her cheeks and down her back, and her eyes appeared to be a stormy gray in the waning daylight as the small fire reflected their luster. Her face, when it wasn’t scowling or frowning, was oval, set over a long, delicate neck that beckoned a man to feel her life-pulse when he kissed her.
    Which he intended to do . . . eventually. Certainly before noon tomorrow. And maybe more than once. Oh, yes. Jane Abbot was most kissable. Either the men of Maine were idiots or the woman wouldn’t recognize male interest if it hit her on the head.
    Mark was beginning to suspect it was the latter. Except for staring at his chest, Jane treated him no differently than she would a child or a man of ninety, almost as though she thought
herself
sexless.
    So was she naive? Or just shy?
    She’d hung her clothes over the rope, but he’d noticed her wrapping something in her jacket as she’d limped around the blanket. When she’d gone to answer a call of nature later, her limp noticeably more pronounced, Mark had peeked. What he’d found was a leg brace that appeared to fit over her right foot, inside her boot, that would come up to just below her knee. It was light and inflexible, with an innovative hinge at the ankle that would stop all lateral movement but still allow her to walk almost unimpeded.
    A permanent limp, she’d stated simply. But she’d blushed, which was telling. Jane Abbot was self-conscious about her limp, thought she was un-kissable—even when she was cleaned up—and treated him like a brother.
    Actually, she treated him like a gelding.
    So instead of shy, maybe she was merely . . . inexperienced.
    No, that couldn’t be it. She appeared to be close to thirty years old, so even if