Read Online Her Last Line of Defense by Marie Donovan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marie Donovan
Tags: Category, Uniformly Hot
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chicken.” And no chance for dessert tonight—granola bars or Luc. Both were off the menu.
T HE SNAKE ACTUALLY HAD tasted like chicken, and Luc had showed her some wild plants that were so obviously onions that even she couldn’t goof that part up and poison them both. The sun was setting beyond the trees and Claire slapped at several mosquitoes that had come out for blood.
Luc looked up from where he was poking at the fire. “Time to get ready for bed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth with the treated water.”
Claire nodded. She was beat after only getting a few hours of sleep last night in Luc’s truck and working hard in the woods all day. She trudged off to her “pee tree” and gave herself a quick evening toilette. Not quite the spa tub and six-nozzled shower stall that she was used to. Heck, not even the toilet she was used to. Oh, well. There would be none of that at the settlement at Río San Lucas anyway. Pretty soon she would get used to it.
She walked back into the camp and stared at what was going to be her bed. Luc had checked the supports and leafy branches crossing them, and had pronounced the sleeping platform sturdy enough. He had rigged her mosquito netting to a branch above so it dangled over her bed like a princess canopy. To be on the safe side, she squirted on more insect repellent.
“Ready?” He straightened from the log and came to check on her.
“Ready.” She hopped awkwardly onto the sleeping platform, trying not to wince as the branches she’d used for bedding poked her in several tender places.
He showed her how to tuck the netting around herself. “Make sure you always, always do this. Mosquitoes can carry four different kinds of malaria, dengue fever and even yellow fever. Malaria medicine and vaccinations are never one hundred percent effective for everybody.”
Claire sighed. She was so tired that if a six-foot-long mosquito had swooped down on her like an eagle on a Chihuahua, she wouldn’t have batted an eye. “You sure do tell sweet bedtime stories, Luc.” She yawned. “Now unless you’re going to kiss me good night, you probably should get some rest, too.”
He backed away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. “Good night, Claire. We’re getting up at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow.”
“Great.” Claire snuggled into the branches, not even caring that one poked her in the butt. Tonight was no time to be the lead character in “The Princess and the Pea.” The branches shifted ominously under her. Or more likely, she’d be the kid in the cradle after the bough broke.
5
L UC HAD HAD THE SAME crappy night’s sleep as Claire since he’d woken up every time she shifted position, obviously uncomfortable in her bed of boughs. She had finally drifted off to sleep around 4:00 a.m. as far as he could tell, just when his internal clock was telling him to get up.
He rolled out of his shelter and took care of a few early morning hygiene tasks. After starting the fire again for some coffee, he strolled to Claire’s bed and stared down at her. Sleeping Beauty she was not, with several mosquito welts on her neck where her net had gaped and a red scratch on her cheek where a branch had caught her. Her mouth hung open and she was snoring slightly, as if the woods had activated some hay fever.
So why did he have the urge to pull the netting aside and kiss every single injury on her warm ivory skin until they both felt a lot better?
He knew it was a bad idea—Claire Cook was a pretty society girl who got a bee in her bonnet to go out in the big, bad world to do some good. He shook his head. And she couldn’t find anything to do back home in Virginia?
Maybe she needed to get away from her father to do anything besides shop and have her cute peach toenails painted. He understood that well enough—he’d left home at eighteen to attend Tulane University, desperate to see something besides the backwoods of Louisiana. He’d messed around with odd jobs
T HE SNAKE ACTUALLY HAD tasted like chicken, and Luc had showed her some wild plants that were so obviously onions that even she couldn’t goof that part up and poison them both. The sun was setting beyond the trees and Claire slapped at several mosquitoes that had come out for blood.
Luc looked up from where he was poking at the fire. “Time to get ready for bed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth with the treated water.”
Claire nodded. She was beat after only getting a few hours of sleep last night in Luc’s truck and working hard in the woods all day. She trudged off to her “pee tree” and gave herself a quick evening toilette. Not quite the spa tub and six-nozzled shower stall that she was used to. Heck, not even the toilet she was used to. Oh, well. There would be none of that at the settlement at Río San Lucas anyway. Pretty soon she would get used to it.
She walked back into the camp and stared at what was going to be her bed. Luc had checked the supports and leafy branches crossing them, and had pronounced the sleeping platform sturdy enough. He had rigged her mosquito netting to a branch above so it dangled over her bed like a princess canopy. To be on the safe side, she squirted on more insect repellent.
“Ready?” He straightened from the log and came to check on her.
“Ready.” She hopped awkwardly onto the sleeping platform, trying not to wince as the branches she’d used for bedding poked her in several tender places.
He showed her how to tuck the netting around herself. “Make sure you always, always do this. Mosquitoes can carry four different kinds of malaria, dengue fever and even yellow fever. Malaria medicine and vaccinations are never one hundred percent effective for everybody.”
Claire sighed. She was so tired that if a six-foot-long mosquito had swooped down on her like an eagle on a Chihuahua, she wouldn’t have batted an eye. “You sure do tell sweet bedtime stories, Luc.” She yawned. “Now unless you’re going to kiss me good night, you probably should get some rest, too.”
He backed away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. “Good night, Claire. We’re getting up at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow.”
“Great.” Claire snuggled into the branches, not even caring that one poked her in the butt. Tonight was no time to be the lead character in “The Princess and the Pea.” The branches shifted ominously under her. Or more likely, she’d be the kid in the cradle after the bough broke.
5
L UC HAD HAD THE SAME crappy night’s sleep as Claire since he’d woken up every time she shifted position, obviously uncomfortable in her bed of boughs. She had finally drifted off to sleep around 4:00 a.m. as far as he could tell, just when his internal clock was telling him to get up.
He rolled out of his shelter and took care of a few early morning hygiene tasks. After starting the fire again for some coffee, he strolled to Claire’s bed and stared down at her. Sleeping Beauty she was not, with several mosquito welts on her neck where her net had gaped and a red scratch on her cheek where a branch had caught her. Her mouth hung open and she was snoring slightly, as if the woods had activated some hay fever.
So why did he have the urge to pull the netting aside and kiss every single injury on her warm ivory skin until they both felt a lot better?
He knew it was a bad idea—Claire Cook was a pretty society girl who got a bee in her bonnet to go out in the big, bad world to do some good. He shook his head. And she couldn’t find anything to do back home in Virginia?
Maybe she needed to get away from her father to do anything besides shop and have her cute peach toenails painted. He understood that well enough—he’d left home at eighteen to attend Tulane University, desperate to see something besides the backwoods of Louisiana. He’d messed around with odd jobs
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