Cordinas Crown Jewel Read Free Page B

most intimate of friends. Relaxing.
    Each night, for her own pleasure, she recounted the day’s events and her observations in a journal.
    Very tired now, but pleasantly so
, she’d written last.
Tomorrow I’ll cross into Vermont. From there I must decide whether to continue east to the coast, or turn. America is so big. None of the books, the lessons, none of the trips I’ve taken with family or on official business had really shown me the size, the diversity, the extraordinary beauty of the country itself or the people in it.
    I’m half American, have always found pride in that part of my heritage. Oddly, the longer I’m on my own here, the more foreign I feel. I have, I see, neglected this part of my blood. But no more.
    I’m in a small motel off the interstate, in the Adirondack Mountains. They are spectacular. I can’t apply the same description to my room. It’s clean, but very cramped. Amenities run to a cake of soapthe size of a U.S. quarter and two towels rough as sandpaper. But there’s a soft drink machine just outside my door should I want one.
    I’d love a good glass of wine, but my budget doesn’t run to such luxuries just now.
    I called home this evening. Mama and Daddy are in Virginia at the farm, as are Kristian and Dorian. I miss them, the comfort and reliability they represent. But I’m so happy I’m finding out who I am and that I can be alone.
    I believe I’m fairly self-sufficient, and more daring than I’d imagined. I have a good eye for detail, an excellent sense of direction and am easier in my own company than I thought I might be.
    I have no idea what any of this means in the grand scheme, but it’s all very nice to know.
    Perhaps, if the bottom drops out of the princess market, I could get work as a trail guide.
    *  *  *
    She adored Vermont. She loved the high green mountains, the many lakes, the winding rivers. Rather than cut through toward Maine, or turn west, back into New York State, she took a rambling route through the state, leaving the interstate for roads through tidy New England towns, through forest and farmland.
    She forgot about trying to sell her watch and put off scouting out a motel. She had the windows open to the warm summer air, the radio up, and munched on the fast-food fries in the bag tucked in her lap.
    It didn’t concern her when the sky clouded over. It added such an interesting light to the tall trees lining the road, and gave the air blowing in her windows a faint electric edge.
    She didn’t particularly mind when rain began to splatter the windshield, though it meant winding up the windows or getting soaked. And when lightning slashed over the sky, she enjoyed the show.
    But when the rain began to pound, the wind to howl and those lights in the sky became blinding, she decided it was time to make her way back to the interstate and find shelter.
    Ten minutes later, she was cursing herself and struggling to see the road through the curtain of rain thewindshield wipers washed rapidly from side to side.
    Her own fault, she thought grimly. She was now driving into the teeth of the storm rather than away from it. And she was afraid in the dark, in the driving rain, she’d missed—or would miss her turn.
    She could see nothing but the dark gleam of asphalt, pierced by her own headlights, the thick wall of trees on either side. Thunder blasted, and the wind rocked the car under her.
    She considered pulling over waiting it out. But the stubborn streak—the one her brothers loved to tease her about—pushed her on. Just a couple more miles, she told herself. She’d be back on the main road. Then she’d find a motel and be inside, safe and dry, and be able to enjoy the storm.
    Something streaked out of the trees and leaped in front of the car. She had an instant to see the deer’s eyes gleam in her headlights, another to jerk the wheel.
    The car fishtailed, spun in a complete circle on the slick road, and ended up—with a jolt and an ominous squeal of