than once. And as a heads-up, I’ll probably continue doing it.)
So here is my heartfelt thank-you for taking these journeys with me anyway.
Until later, you keep reading, and I’ll keep sharing the magic.
Janet
P.S. Please don’t be jealous the Canadians got Atlantis . I felt they deserve a little excitement, since I hear they measure snow in meters up there.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
From Kiss to Queen
Available now!
The sharp, roaring shrill of a powerful engine shattered the slumberous quiet of the deep Maine woods. Birds scattered, chipmunks scurried for cover, and Jane Abbot instinctively ducked when a fast-moving aircraft shot overhead just above the treetops. Deciding someone was doing a bit of illegal scouting for next week’s moose hunt, Jane frowned when she noticed the wing flaps on the floatplane were set for landing. Except that didn’t make sense, since the closest lake big enough to land a plane that size on was at least twenty miles away.
Surely the pilot wasn’t eyeing the pond she’d just passed.
Jane actually screamed when another plane roared overhead, this one smooth-bellied instead of rigged with floats. Her shotgun hanging forgotten at her side, she stood in the center of the old tote road and watched the sleek, twin-engine Cessna sharply bank after the first plane like a metallic hawk trying to drive its prey to ground.
What in holy heaven was going on?
The floatplane roared past again, this time low enough for Jane to see the male pilot was attempting to line up with the pond. A sudden burst of gunfire drew her attention to the second plane, where she saw a man kneeling in the open rear door holding a machine gun, his entire body jerking as spent shell casings rained down on the forest below. A small explosion pulled her attention back to the floatplane in time to see smoke coming from the nose of the aircraft as its floats brushed the tops of several towering pines. The plane was landing whether it was possible or not. No more chances for the desperate pilot to circle around and get it right. He was going down—now.
Jane finally came out of her stupor and started running at the sound of breaking branches and the sputter of a dying engine. A tree snapped with enough force to vibrate the air just seconds before the unmistakable thud of the plane hitting water echoed through the forest over the retreating drone of the deadly, victorious plane.
And then complete silence; no sounds from the pond, no birds chirping . . . nothing. Jane realized she’d stopped running and was holding her breath—listening. Waiting. Hoping.
Aw, heck. Give her a sound. Something! A whirl of water. A splash. Something to tell her the pilot of the downed plane was making his way free of the wreckage.
But still no sound, except for the sudden intake of her own breath as she awkwardly started running again. He couldn’t be dead. She didn’t want to witness a man’s valiant attempt to save himself and lose. Jane dropped her shotgun and backpack when she reached the pond and quickly shed her jacket. Not bothering to take off her boots, she frantically splashed into the water while keeping her eyes trained on the mangled remains of the upside-down floats a hundred yards from shore. She dove into the cold Maine water fueled by a combination of adrenaline, determination, and a lifetime of braving more than one cold swim in similar waters.
She arrived at the plane, gathered her breath, and used the float strut to pull herself down under the water—the rising bubbles making the journey difficult and her vision foggy. Finding the door handle of the upside-down plane and giving several unsuccessful tugs, Jane sank lower and looked in the window to see the pilot struggling with his seat belt, his movements jerky and clumsy. She grabbed the door handle again, braced her feet on the fuselage, and pulled with all her might—only to shoot away when it suddenly opened. She quickly righted herself and reached inside and touched the pilot.
He jerked, his head snapping toward her as he grabbed her wrist and hauled her through the opening. Jane thought about panicking, but realized almost at once that his grip was loosening. She moved closer, bringing her other hand up and touching his lips. He flinched, then stilled. She freed her wrist from his grip and brought a second hand to his face, clasping his head as she touched her lips to his and sealed them.