Vicki Batman's Blog, page 37

A odd kind of story #hospitalvisits #doctorcheckup #somethingfishy

Something odd happened to Handsome and me recently. We were at the doctor for his check up, riding the elevator to the tenth floor, when we overheard a younger man say into his phone, "Papa died. I'm at the hospital. Can you call so and so? I don't know. I don't have enough money for gas. If I have to push my car to get there, I will."

My heart strings were pulled and before exiting the elevator, I handed him some money as did the other woman in the elevator. He thanked us and said, "God bless you." Tears crowded my eyes.

Then a few weeks later, Handsome and I were waiting for the doctor follow-up when right by my shoulder I heard, "Papa died." My eyes widened. I looked and yes, the same man. My gaze went to Handsome and he acknowledged he'd heard to.

We quickly deduced something fishy was going on.

The man finished his spiel and moved on. We thought and thought about what had happened. I spoke with security and he said there are people who move from hospital to hospital, telling their stories. That they are very good actors.

My heart sunk. I felt incredibly naïve. I want to help those in need. What's more disappointing is this person took advantage of people at a hospital. That make me sad. The saying about "there's all kinds in the world" is true.

Handbag and Book with Caris Roane #accessories #fashion #paranormalromance

Handbag and Book withCaris Roane I keep trying out purses, trying to find the right one. I’ve gotten very close with this version. It’s not too big. Not too small. It has an open area in the main part of the purse, as in no dividers. I like that a lot. It has one zipper pocket on the inside, one large one on the outside as well as a smaller zipper pocket. In addition, it has a small, exterior flap pocket that has a magnetic closure. The strap is adjustable.
Initially, I was hunting on Amazon and found the black version of this purse first. But when I saw the pink-and-green floral version, I had to have it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t really go with any of my clothes, lol. So, I ended up using the black purse and pretty much wore it to death. So, I switched to this more colorful version. Though it isn’t wardrobe friendly, guess what? I use it anyway because it makes me smile.

The Graveyard was not the place Mark Braden thought he’d breathe his last. He was sure he’d die in the pine forest of Savage Territory, chasing a drug-runner and getting hit by a spray of bullets.
Instead, he’d been ambushed…
Braden should have died in the Graveyard, but the witch, Maeve, saved him. The call of his wolf is on him and he wants her. She can be his alpha-mate. But she has powers that can destroy him and a disrupted memory that holds the answers to his wife’s murder. Can he ever trust a woman who can kill with the power she streams from her bare hands?
 
The powerful wolf, Braden, has just awakened from a coma...
        He turned to look at Maeve again. Because she sat so close, just on the edge of the bed, he could see her clearly. Her light blue eyes always got to him. They carried an internal light that made him trust her when he knew he shouldn’t.
       She was so beautiful. Her lips were full. Kissable. He recalled some of his more inventive fantasies about her and his body warmed to the thought. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d toyed with the idea of asking her on a date.
       As he looked at her, a sudden lightning-like sensation began in his head and traveled the length of his body. Without warning, everything he was as an alpha male wolf came alive. He could feel a light layer of fur rise on the backs of his hands and the back of his neck and on his cheeks. Desire for her sharpened.
       Something had changed with her and his alpha wolf loved it.
       Much to his shock, realization struck: Maeve had alpha-female capacity. If he’d needed confirmation, her next move confirmed the truth. She parted her lips, lifted her chin and when she flared her nostrils, he knew she was scenting him, though not like a witch at all. In this moment, she looked wolf.
       She seemed startled. “What am I smelling, Braden? What is that? It has a sharp edge, but it’s like a kind of vanilla I use called Madagascar. Why are you releasing a vanilla scent?”
       The fogginess in his head dissipated completely. “You’re smelling my wolf, Maeve.” When had this happened? How had he not seen it, sensed it, or smelled her potential before now?
Find Touch of Flame at: Amazon
Find Caris Roane at: Website  I love the pink and green floral, Caris!
 
 

When I was locked up in French Guiana #author Beverley Oakley #traveltales #historical romance

Travel and Book with
Beverley Oakley  As the ‘trailing’ spouse of a pilot husband (a handsome Norwegian I met in Botswana’s Okavango Delta 25 years ago) I have lots of fun holiday stories, but my French Guiana travel experience was a bit traumatic (though there is a bit of romance in it, too).
Recently, a Labour MP was in the Australian news for being denied entry to the US while on government business. I know, personally, that it’s not fun being deported, though I imagine Vancouver Immigration was more polite than the French Guianese Immigration Official who ordered my deportation back to Miama some years ago and that he wasn’t ordered to sleep on a wooden bench until the next flight out of Cayenne, 24 hours later.
Like our MP, Mr Eideh, I was on government business and my paperwork in order. I’d just finished a survey contract in Greenland, spent ten days at our apartment in Ottawa and had travelled on my own via Miama to the French Guianese capital, Cayenne, to join the rest of the Geoterrex (now Fugro Airborne Surveys) crew who were waiting for me.
At midnight, the airport had emptied from the last flight that would enter or depart for twenty-four hours. I was the last passenger through and there was a ‘problem’ with my paperwork, the junior official indicated. The head honcho Immigration Inspector was on his way to the airport to give his ruling.
This, it soon turned out, involved a lot of shouting in French as he spoke no English, and a lot of stabbing his finger at my chest and then at a document I refused to sign since it was written in French and I couldn’t understand a word of it.
Apparently, I was unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of political ructions caused by the then-recent French nuclear testing in the Pacific. In protest, the Australian government had introduced tourist visa requirements for the French, and the French had reciprocated. My employer had organized government working visas for the crew and, understandably, had overlooked the need for a tourist visa for me, their only Australian employee.
So, now, here I was in a French colony nestled between Suriname and Brazil, with no tourist visa, being confronted by a very agitated French Immigration official smelling strongly of sweat and garlic.
Our project manager, a French Canadian, arrived at the airport to plead my case and when that failed, to try and persuade the Immigration Inspector to simply confiscate my passport and let me sleep the night at the hotel in town before presenting myself for the next day's flight out of the country.
The inspector was adamant. With more shouting and finger pointing he ordered me to sleep in a room in the deserted airport, ‘overseen’ by a 6’4” French Guianese soldier shouldering an AK-47.
But I had a champion in my husband’s best friend, my fellow crew member, Jorn.
Concerned for my virtue at the hands of this lone French Guyanese guard, Jorn chivalrously offered to subject himself to the discomfort of also spending the night on a wooden bench in a deserted airport until my imminent deportation the next day.
Fortunately, the Inspector gave his permission and Jorn and I spent the night listening to the scratching and rustles of clawed nocturnal creatures while telling stories. (I must have done a great job talking up my sister Penny’s charms, too, since Jorn and Penny were married several years later. ;) )
Anyway, I wasn’t deported. Through good fortune, the manager of the hotel where the Fugro crew was stationed happened to be a friend of the Minister for Immigration who’d been drinking at the bar with the crew a few nights before. Fortuitously, he’d dropped his card on the counter, hardly expecting to get a phone call to ask for his help in a delicate diplomatic/deportation issue, I’m sure.
But that’s what he got and the next morning I was met by my now smiling nemesis, the Immigration head honcho from my previous night’s encounter who said the matter had been sorted out (no apology, mind you) and I was free to go. (Later, I got a personal apology from the French Guianese Minister for Immigration.)
Thus began the most gruelling two-and-a-half months' contract in all my four years of survey work, operating the computer in the back of a Cessna 404 over the jungle for 8 hours every day. We couldn’t use the air conditioning which interfered with the data acquisition equipment, and the 40 degree heat and high humidity caused perpetual turbulence so that I had to time my throwing-up very carefully for the few seconds between closing off and setting up new survey lines for the pilot to fly.
When darling husband joined me seven weeks later, having finished the Greenland contract, he called me a walking skeleton for I’d lost 10kg. (Actually, he didn’t use those words because Eivind never says uncomplimentary things; but he was shocked at how much weight I had lost.)
 Anyway, it was one of those incidents in life that you never forget but you’re always glad you’ve had as you become subsumed under life’s normalness because it’s nice to start a story with: “When I was locked up in French Guiana…”

 A rigged horse race - and a marriage offer riding on the outcome. When Miss Eliza Montrose unexpectedly becomes legal owner of the horse tipped to win the East Anglia Cup, her future is finally in her hands – but at what cost?
George Bramley, nephew to the Earl of Quamby, will wager anything. Even his future bride. Miss Eliza Montrose will accept any wager to be reunited with the child she was forced to relinquish after an indiscretion — even if it means marrying a man she does not love. But when the handsome and charming Rufus Patmore buys a horse from her betrothed, George Bramley, whose household her son visits from the foundling home, her heart is captured and the outcome of the wager is suddenly fraught with peril.Eliza had forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a man’s attention. He’d started to dry her in a vigorous attempt to warm her but then his touch gentled and he simply stared down at her.The wonder in his eye as he murmured words of praise was a rare sensation. Embarrassed, she turned away. Yes, turned away because she could not afford to be so obviously disquieted by another man when she was affianced to George Bramley who stood a few feet away from her. He was also staring but there was no softness in his countenance.Hoping to avoid any more gestures of admiration or kindness from Mr Patmore, Eliza politely extricated herself and put out her hand to arrest the progress of the Foundling Home lad whom Nanny Brown was pursuing with a piece of dry linen.         His impish grin reminded her of young Miss Katherine’s, Lady Fenton’s daughter. Clearly the two had had a great adventure unlike Young George who was lying on his stomach upon the grass, shaking with sobs.“Did you drink a lot of water, Young George?” Eliza asked, looking down at the crying boy but he ignored her. “I said we shouldn’t go out! I said!” He pounded his fists. “No one ever listens to what I say!”         Eliza shared a wry smile with the rather lovely Mr Patmore whom she found still staring at her but, as he looked about to approach her again, she turned her back on him and instead brought the Foundling Home boy to stand in front of her now that she’d succeeded in catching him. Eliza would not have Mr Bramley – or anyone else – accuse her of encouraging the attentions of a man not her betrothed.         “Jack – that’s your name, isn’t it? Well, you’ll have something to tell them back at the Foundling Home.” She’d seen him only from a distance and now, mud bespattered and with his hair matted over his forehead it was difficult to make out his features though she knew from various anecdotes that young Jack distinguished himself for keeping Miss Katherine’s wilfulness in check and peace between Katherine and her cousin, Young George.Jack stood obediently before her as he started to wring out his threadbare shirt. “Nah, I’m fine, m’lady,” he said, glancing up to reveal a pair of small white teeth in a freckled face. “But thanks for savin’ me, an’ all.” Find Devil’s Run at: Amazon
Find Beverley Oakley at: Website

Oh Beverley, what a crazy tale!
 
 
 

Highlights of #RWA2017 #booksigning #travelingtoOrlando

I had the best time thanks to my fabulous roomie, Sylvia McDaniel. We chatted 'til the wee hours and were up with the sunrise, our feet taking quite a beating.

I participated in the indie book signing and the Literacy book signing, a first at RWA for me.
I was able to visit with many friends: Sharon Buchbinder who had me laughing; Susan Dunn who showed off her handbag; Beverley Bateman, Silver James, Debbie Ward who wanted to know which handbag I brought (I also owe Beverley!); being with the Sisterhood of Suspense girls-Sarah, Sharon, Stephanie, and Veronica; Liese for arranging the best dinner ever with fireworks, Tina Dick for being the nicest person and bringing me German chocolate. To all the friends I’ve made over the years who stopped by the signing and bought my book, took pictures, and gave me hugs. You made my day very special.

Usually, I come away with one thing to work on. I attended lots of different workshops: Mark Dawson, a couple on emotion, and Story Genius. All looked at the h/h’s wound, what caused it, what misbelief they carried as a result, and how they will change by the end of the book. By Sunday morning, Sylvia and I were on the way to the airport where we quickly went through security. (I heartily recommend precheck!) It’s hard to believe all the fun was over two weeks ago!

#newrelease Tina Donahue and Wicked Takeover #tattoo #inheritance #hotdude

Today, I break from the usual on Thursdays to welcome a writer friend,  Tina Donahue She’s just inherited a tattoo parlor…and the hunk who comes with it. Lauren’s in a helluva mess. Not only has she lost her corporate HR job, she’s just inherited Wicked Brand, a struggling West Palm Beach tattoo parlor…along with the virile dude who runs it. Lauren’s full-figured, sorta pretty, and wanting him badly. Dream on. She’s here to sell the place as quickly as possible for some much-needed cash and score a new position in the corporate world. Dante’s sinfully hot with a killer smile and beautifully inked biceps. He sees the heat in Lauren’s eyes despite her conservative appearance, recognizing the dynamite woman she could be if she’d just loosen up and have some wicked fun. Dominance and submission. Making love in a public place. Having her lush body always accessible to and ready for his. Unwilling and unable to keep their hands to themselves, Lauren and Dante turn to carnal games and seduction. Until lust turns to surprising need and friendship to something deeper that might just change their futures.       A door shut inside the parlor, and she spun around, surprised to see a guy striding down the hall, his attention on the clipboard he held. Okay, so someone else was here. She guessed him to be in his early thirties, a mountain of a man, possibly six-three, no fat on his hard body, only smooth, bronze skin and slabs of muscle. Her mouth watered. He wore faded jeans and a gray sleeveless tee. His bulging biceps sported tats. The one on his right arm was a band of thorns. The design on his left arm had a tribal look about it, possibly Celtic—a series of thick black swirls that intertwined. Lauren pressed her toes into her shoes to keep from swaying or edging closer. His hair was shoulder length, like a pirate’s, and a dark brown color. Those thick, silky locks encouraged her to ease the strands from his gorgeous face. Masculine. Decidedly Latino. Virile to the extreme. Even though it was barely two o’clock, he already had a five o’clock shadow and more testosterone pumping through him than the law should have allowed. She bet he was uninhibited. Alpha to the core. And not for her. Guys like him wanted goddesses. Lauren backed up. Her shoes tapped in time to the Spanish music flowing from the sound system. He halted and lifted his face, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. Her bones went soft. He smiled easily and confidently. “Hey.” Lauren’s belly fluttered at his deep, rich baritone. Noting her office wear, he put the clipboard on the front counter and approached, his stride smooth and assured. His fragrance surrounded her. Something clean and citrusy, reminiscent of summer days, an ocean breeze, and sun baking naked skin. She locked her knees to keep her balance and tried not to stare at his impressive Adam’s apple, luscious mouth, and full, kissable lips. He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Did you lose your way?” With him, any woman would. Not only was he beautiful but intelligence burned in his eyes and reflected in his surprisingly educated speech. “I’m sorry, what?” Find Wicked Takeover at: Amazon Find Tina at: Website   Congratulations, Tina!    

#Handbag and #Book with Louisa Baccio #KateSpade #fashion #designeraccessories #anthology

Handbag and Book withLouisa Bacio


It wasn’t stable or sturdy, and definitely not practical. In fact, the sides crinkled and cracked with use. But it was my first – my first Kate Spade purse. Made of wicker with pink leather adornments, my love affair with Ms. Spade’s style started with a summer sizzle.
I’m not one of those purse collectors who change out the handbag with each outfit. My mother likes to buy me a special purse as gifts for my birthday and Christmas, and then I use it until it dies.
You have to start somewhere, right? For me, it was the lovely wicker number. Over time, it broke a bit too much and was retired. But I’ll always remember my first. 

"Avoid the burn, but savor the heat of the season! Kick back in the shade with your copy of Nine Hot Authors – Nine Sexy Tales of Summer Sizzle!
“Sugar’s Salvation” by Candi Fox
 “Dry Heat” by Louisa Bacio
 “A Summer Tryst” by Bobbi Romans
Windows and Doors By Monica Corwin
 “Primal Heat” by Audra Hart
 “GFE Interrupted” by Shakir Rashaan
 “Summer Fever in a Tent” by A.M. Halford
 “Mikhail's American Adventure” by Sheri Velarde
 “Kassie’s Seduction” by Izzy Szyn
 
Featuring an exotic array of genres to tempt even the pickiest of palates!  Come, join the erotic adventure of “A Summer of Seduction"
 “What about you? If I remember correctly, you didn’t like the heat much. Here with friends?” She was suddenly close and played with the hem of his shirt, her index finger slipping beneath the material and sliding across his bare, flat stomach. He sucked it in, but didn’t move away. Instead, he took a step even closer.
“No friends. No girlfriend. I’m here all by myself. It’s a work conference.”
“Shame.” She met his eyes, lingering on the visual connection. “Well, if you get lonely here’s my card with my number,” she paused. “I may be able to help you out.”
She pushed the card into his front pocket, brushing her fingertips against his bulge, and this time he jumped backward. The combination of her words and actions made him think “booty call,” but she couldn’t mean that, could she? She’d dumped him for keeping it superficial.
With a slight smile, Sofia sashayed away. Tongue-tied, he didn’t say anything. The clerk cleared his throat, and slid the room key across the counter. “If you don’t tap that, man, can I have her number?”
James couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he thought he might have growled at the guy.
Find your Summer of Seduction at: Amazon
Find Louisa Baccio at:  Website

Recipe and Book with Nancy Raven Smith #dipsandchips #mystery #traveltoSumatra #RLFBlog

 
Recipe and Book with Nancy Raven Smith Cooking is not Lexi’s thing, especially as she hates knives. Her definition of a home cooked meal is reheating take out in her micro. Yet, like most of us, she does enjoy eating and she would like to share her favorite dip that her mother makes especially for her whenever she visits.

BLUE CHEESE DIPIngredients:
-1 Pkg Philadelphia Original Cream Cheese - 8 oz (reduced fat and non-fat cream cheese   don’t work.)
-1 Pkg Blue cheese crumbles (use 3/4 of the pkg – you can use the remainder of the blue  cheese to top a fresh green salad)
-5 Tablespoons of milk (all kinds of milk work – from non-fat to cream)
-1 Tablespoon grated onion (can be added or left out) Lexi prefers it in.
-1/2 Teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce

To Prepare:
-Breakup the cream cheese block for easier mixing.
-Add the rest of the ingredients and mix at high speed until ingredients thicken to a desired consistency. It should be thicker than most dips. Serve with vegetables, thick chips, or crackers.
-Let refrigerate for at least 2 hours before serving. Can be made the day before desired use and stored in the refrigerator.

 Makes 2 plus cups/16 oz. Lexi Winslow is a fraud investigator at a private Beverly Hills bank. As a favor to her boss, she's sent to fetch home the daughter of the bank's biggest client. So Lexi's off to Sumatra where the wayward daughter and her latest boyfriend were last seen. She has the added complication of having to take the boss' inexperienced son along for training.

Once she arrives at an isolated resort carved out of the remote Sumatran jungle, Lexi discovers there are more deadly dangers inside the hotel than the crocodiles and head hunters outside. It is a hotel where women check in, but most don't check out.

And of all the places in the world, she runs into her ex-lover, who not only conned his way into her heart, but is always conning someone somewhere. Lexi is determined to find out what is going on and to get everyone out alive.
We emerge from the airport in Sumatra onto the sidewalk and are assailed with a one-two punch. First our bodies hit a wall of heat and unbearable humidity. Second, our ears ring from an overwhelming cacophony of noise. Suddenly we’re surrounded by porters in yellow jumpsuits. All vying for our business. I wave them away.
The sidewalk is packed with people, and the dense street traffic is a sea of vehicles. Minibuses, cabs, bicycles, cars, and becaks, the Indonesian version of tricycle pedicabs. There’s even a horse cart or two, but nothing we can identify as our hotel transportation.
“Check that way. Someone should be here from the hotel,” I tell Steve.
I go to the right and am immediately swallowed by the surging crowd. After a minute, I turn back to see if Steve’s having better luck in his direction.
I manage to catch glimpses of him in the distance. He’s put his bright red bags down to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Bad move. His eyes and hands aren’t on his luggage.
I spot the pretty, young woman who’s somehow connected to the beggar I saw inside the airport. She steps out of the crowd behind Steve and deliberately bumps into him, spilling her coffee down his shirt. Alarmed, I race in his direction.
“Oh, Monsieur. Pardonez moi. I am so sorry,” the woman says to Steve.
He’s fascinated as her flitting fingers move around his jacket, trying to mop up the mess with her lacy handkerchief.
“Please. It’s nothing.”
“You are so kind. Allow me. I am so clumsy.”
“Really, it’s—”
“It was so bad of me. Your poor coat is ruined. It was all my fault. Please, tell me that you forgive me.”
“I can have it cleaned.” Steve catches sight of the beggar’s back as he races away with his red luggage.
“Hey, you. Stop. Stop thief!”
The beggar only runs faster, weaving in and out of the crowds on the sidewalk.
Steve sprints after him, but the beggar has too big a lead. He pulls away, heading straight toward me.
When the beggar comes close I stick my foot out. He trips end-over-end and drops Steve’s bags. I’m reaching for his collar when someone collides with me from behind. We both go down on the pavement, and I lose my grip.
I turn to confront my attacker.
It’s Steve.
I turn back to the beggar. Too late. The beggar scrambles to his feet, grabs the closest of Steve’s bags, and disappears into the crowd.
Steve apologizes, “I couldn’t stop in time,”
“I hope your mother packed your clean underwear in the other bag.”
Steve ignores me. “I was talking to this French woman—”
I point to the spot on his coat. “Yes, I saw. The one who spilled the drink on you.”
“It was an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t.” You were tag-teamed. She distracted you, he grabbed your bags.”
Find LAND SHARKS - A SWINDLE IN SUMATRA at: AmazonFind Nancy Raven Smith at: Website

Vicki, Thank you so much for hosting me on your blog. It was a pleasure to visit and share a bit about my book. My pleasure, Nancy. Answer me this: where did you get the title for your book?

Sisterhood of Suspense FB party #breakoutthechampagne #giveaway #suspenseandthriller

It is time to party with the  
Sisterhood of Suspense today!

This is an opportunity to grow this group into something that has over a thousand fans who like stopping by and hearing about our latest success, read excerpts, and have some fun.

Several of us will be chatting and in the end, giving away some fabulous gifts. (I'm thinking of adding to mine!!!)

So far, we have these:

e-book of Untrue Colors, Veronica Forand
e-book of Dance With Me, Kathryn Jane
e-book of Temporarily Employed, Vicki Batman ---->
e-book of Hold 'Em, Jacquie Biggar
e-book of Too Many Women in the Room, Joanne Guidoccio 
e-book of Second Act, Marsha R. West  


All the fun is at:
 
Party Here!

Come squee with me! #RWA #Literacysigning #romanticcomedy #mysteries

It's my turn. Finally! Come squee with me!

I will be signing copies of Temporarily Insane at the Romance Writer's of America Literacy Signing. It's my first time to sign (I know! I know! But all those shorts don't count!!) So if some of you are in the vicinity, I hope you can stop by and say hi, pick up a book, and possibly make some new author friends. All the fun is at:

Handbag and Book with #author Linda Tillis #accessories #fashion #RLFBlog

 Handbag and Book
with Linda Tillis
I am not a handbag person, but I can see the need. I’ve known women (my mother for one) who can produce, in a moment’s notice, anything you could possibly need; and all from the depths of an average sized purse.But what about Victorian or Regency ladies? What would they need to carry in their reticules when they left home?  Let’s see…a handkerchief, pair of gloves, folding fan, a small derringer, coins (if shopping), and the list goes on.
I spent so much time pondering reticules, that I decided to make one to give away to one of my awesome readers. Just leave me a comment telling me Edith Hampton’s profession. She played an important part in both A Heart Made For Love and A Man With A Pure Heart.  I will draw the winning name from the comments at 9pm EST today. Please leave me your e-mail address as well, so I can mail the winner this decorative bag. When the one you love is in danger, there is a fine line between right and wrong.“Are you really a lawman?”   “Yes’m, I am a sworn deputy with the Leon County Sheriff’s Office. My name is Samuel Hinton, and I’m thinkin’ you have a story you’d like to tell me. Is that right?” Samuel took the cup of coffee Granny handed him and settled back to listen.A half hour later, Iris ran out of steam. Samuel had listened carefully, but quietly, while she related how she came to be here with Granny Pearl. Samuel stretched his long legs out, set the now empty coffee cup on the table, and reached into his pocket for the folded paper and the pouch of Perique. “Ma’am, I’m gonna ask you a few questions now. You just answer the best you can. Is the man about my size?” Iris nodded yes. “But bigger, you know, broader.” Samuel nodded. “All right. Does he have a scar on his right upper arm?”
Iris’s eyes opened wide as she nodded, “Yes. I always believed it looked like a bullet wound.”
“Well, ma’am, you thought right. Now, did he smoke a pipe, and did it smell sorta like this?” Samuel stretched out an arm with the pouch of Perique.
The woman recoiled when the pouch got close enough for her to catch the scent.
Samuel could see the same fear on her face he had seen on Emma’s.
He slowly unfolded the wrinkled flyer, and turned it around for Iris to see.
The blood quickly drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking.
That was all the answer he needed.

Find A Man With A Pure Heart at:  Amazon
Follow Linda Tillis at:  Website