Read an Excerpt
Triple Treat
By Jan Coffey Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Copyright © 2003 Harlequin Enterprises Ltd. All right reserved. ISBN: 1-55166-703-7
Chapter One
Fort Ticonderoga, New York
Friday, June 18A field trip in the last week of the extended school year had sounded good when they'd planned
it back in April, but after a full day of loud shrieks, complaints and tireless bursts of energy, the
adults accompanying the second-graders were now questioning the sanity of the decision.
Chris Weaver separated himself from the line of other noisy eight-year-olds and started toward
the back of the waiting area, where his teacher was talking with one of the museum guides.
"Stay in line," one of the chaperones said wearily, reaching for him. The boy skipped wide of
her and rushed to Miss Leoni's side.
"And when are they taking the flag?"
"Tomorrow morning, as I understand it. In fact, we're closing the museum early this afternoon
for security reasons. You were lucky to get your class -"
"Miss Leoni?"
"Just a minute, Chris."
The guide glared at Chris when he reached up and tugged on the teacher's sleeve.
"Wait." She placed a firm hand on his shoulder and returned her attention to the museum
worker. "You were saying?"
"You and your class may just be the last group to see the Schuyler flag here. The way things
look, we're not even a pit stop on President Kent's Spirit of America celebration tour."
"Havethey already told you as much?"
Chris watched the fat guide push his thick glasses up on his nose and glance quickly at the
reception desk.
"The truth is, we can't get an answer. All we know is that the tour starts next month, and at
present we're not on the itinerary."
"But how about when this whole thing is over?"
"You mean after the election?" The man's bushy brows went up meaningfully. "If you ask me ..."
Chris crossed his legs and tugged harder on his teacher's sleeve. "Miss Leoni?"
"What is it?" She glared down at him.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
The young teacher bent down until she was at eye level with him. Her voice was reprimanding
and low. "Christopher, you were given a chance to go not even fifteen minutes ago. Now we're
ready to get on the bus. There is no time. You can wait until we get back to school."
"But I can't wait," he whined.
"Yes, you can. Now, get back to your place in the line," she ordered, straightening up and
turning to the museum guide. "Sorry."
"There's one like this in every group."
"Not like this one ..."
As he backed away, Chris saw his teacher say something behind her hand to the guy. He didn't
have to hang around to know what she was saying. Foster kid. Mother's a drunk. Father's in
jail. Living in a car for a month before they found him the last time. He'd heard it all before. The
teachers talked about it. The kids and their parents pointed at him like he was a zit ready to
pop. But he didn't care what they said. Summer vacation was coming. He could take care of
himself.
Right now, though, he had to go to the bathroom.
The waiting area by the glass doors was packed. Kids from one of the other schools were filing
onto a bus outside. Glancing toward the doors, Chris figured that their bus would be a while. He
looked behind him at the two hallways that came into the waiting area. He tried to remember
which one of them led to the small lunchroom. The bathrooms they'd used before were right
next to it.
The problem was they'd been in and out of too many darn rooms. After the scavenger hunt in
the fort, they'd looked at old newspapers and books and paintings in the museum until he was
ready to puke. There'd been some cool swords and guns in one of the rooms, but they wouldn't
let him touch anything. And in another one, there was this flag framed inside a glass case.
Named after some General Schuyler who used it in the war. Possibly the oldest American flag
still around, Chris remembered the fat guide telling them. One of the first ones made by Betsy
Ross. Chris had heard about her.
He squirmed and crossed his legs and looked again at the glass doors, hoping it was their turn
to go outside. The other school was sending another of their classes ahead of them. He wanted
to yell and complain.
But none of the chaperones or Miss Leoni seemed to care.
He didn't want to think about how embarrassing it would be if he wet his pants here. No kid
ever dared to make fun of him face-to-face just because nobody wanted to keep him. But
peeing in his pants would be something else.
Chris was getting a wicked sharp pain in his side. He knew he wouldn't make it. He decided
that the hallway on the left was where they'd seen the room with the flag. Chris thought he'd
seen a bathroom near the flag room, and it had to be closer than the lunch area.
He slipped to the back of the waiting area. Miss Leoni was still yapping with the guide. Seeing
his chance, Chris turned and ran down the hall. No one called after him, and the voices faded
behind him like the end of a TV show.
Halfway down the hall, another corridor joined in on the right. Everything looked the same.
Gray flooring, white walls, all kinds of framed pictures and display cases, rooms opening up on
either side. Suddenly, he wasn't sure which way it was to where the flag was.
Panic gripped him as he started to go in his pants a little. Chris grabbed himself and ran down
another hall. By an emergency exit door at the far end, there was another smaller sign that he
couldn't see. The school nurse had given him a note to take home about needing glasses, but
Chris had lost it. It might be a bathroom, he thought, running toward it.
Just then, a woman hurried out of a room on the left, and Chris had to let go of his crotch. She
looked quickly up and down the hallway before focusing on him. Chris slowed down and
glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway. She wasn't wearing one of those badges that
people who worked here wore. As she came toward him, though, Chris told himself he hadn't
done anything wrong.
She was young and kind of pretty with short dark hair, but had that uptight look about her that
Miss Leoni had a couple minutes ago when she'd been scolding him. Just then, the bag she was
carrying over one shoulder started to ring, and she reached in and pulled out her phone.
Chris stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and moved quickly toward the sign, hoping it was a
bathroom.
As he approached her, he could hear the woman talking fast.
"Yes ... no ... three o'clock ... can't talk. Bye."
They were right next to each other, and he hugged the wall as he hurried past her.
"Are you lost?"
She was talking to him, but he pretended she wasn't and quickened his steps. His underwear
was starting to stick in certain places. If he stopped, he was a goner.
"Where are you going?"
He started to run when she reached out for him. But the stupid stick figure picture on the door
to his right came too late. By the time Chris threw himself against it and rushed in, the pee was
running down his leg. His face burned with embarrassment, and he rushed into a stall. He didn't
want someone coming in seeing him like this at a urinal.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Triple Treat by Jan Coffey
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
