The Saving Angels Series continues…
A new cast is introduced, while journeys already taken start to merge with the present, leading you down the old Red Dirt Road.
Death has always seemed just one step behind Layla Hill, taking almost everyone she’s ever loved. After she loses the love of her life, Layla vows to never love again—how could she, when she’s a death magnet?
Trying to outrun fate traveling with her uncle Willie and his band, Layla meets Michael Roberts, a beautiful Irish boxer as gentle on the piano as he is brutal in the ring. He proves as relentless in life, fighting for a place in her world even as she pushes him away, trying to protect him from her killer tendencies.
But neither foresees the sinister presence waiting for Layla at the end of the Red Dirt Road.
We both knew what he was thinking—Yuma. In Michael’s mind, there was no other way around the situation. “Are you ever afraid?” I said, thinking how frightened I was of them coming together.
“Once,” he said, laughing a bit. He reclaimed his spot next to me.
“Do tell.” I curled back against him.
“The night we met at the bar in Fort Worth. When you walked on stage I was afraid of you.”
“You were afraid of me?”
“Why?” Why would anyone be afraid of me? If he wasn’t so serious, I would have sworn he was joking.
“When I saw you walk on-stage, in the instant that your hair fell around your face, I knew without a doubt that you were the one person I would risk my soul for. I would’ve done anything for you. I knew I would lie, cheat, or die just so one hair on your head wouldn’t be harmed. I would’ve committed an abundance of sins just to make you mine. But lucky for me, you’ve brought balance into my life, so there was no need for me to commit any sin. You were just the opposite; you were salvation.” He breathed deeply, like with the revelation there was release.
“Michael, when you were playing the piano, the music faltered when I said ‘husband.’ How did you—”
“That’s why I rushed off the stage. I begged Andrew to ask Willie if you were married. I didn’t know if you had just said that for the crowd—all those men asking for your hand in marriage—or what your story was, but I was eager to find out. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you were. I know for sure I would’ve still followed you. I don’t think it was a choice at that point.”
“Why did you seem so angry, then?”
He laughed, a beautiful melody of a laugh. “I was afraid of you! Afraid of what you could do to me. It’s humbling and frightening to have every bit of your power in the hands of someone you don’t even know.” He brought my hand to his lips, and they were so warm and soft.
For lagniappe (a little extra), a virtual cup of café au lait and beignets, please visit Annie’s website. She can also be found on Facebook & Twitter.
Born and raised in New Orleans, Annie has a habit of shortening her words and telling long stories. She speaks with a southern flair and cooks with it too. At the tender age of twenty- one, she hitched up her wagons (took her first plane ride) and moved out west to the big shake (California). Her writing career began one sleepless night when she imagined a gorgeous woman and a man with maniacal hair floating above her like lightening bugs falling from the sky. Curious about them, their story, and why they were floating around in her head, she sat down and penned (typed) her first novel, Marigny Street. A dream come true for her, she hasn’t stopped writing since. She loves a damn good love story, always has, no matter what the genre. She is particularly moved by imperfect love that in its own unique way is perfect, the notion of love at first sight, soul mates, and things that are generally out of the norm.
When she’s not writing she enjoys dabbling in photography and finding new, inspirational music to add to her collection. She currently (still) resides in the big shake (although her southern roots are calling her home) with her husband, daughter, and their two peculiar dogs, Boudreaux and Tabasco (who, call her crazy, bark with an accent).
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