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.
I walked to the back of the stage and moved the curtains. MoJoe was there waiting for me and handed me the sheet music. And entering the stage from the dim light of the bar was the mate who had come to accompany me on the piano. I stood, dazed for a moment, staring at him.
He wore a black fedora hat with his deep-brown, almost black hair sticking out from its edges. His scruffy facial hair thinly framed his face with deep-red whiskers. He wore a loose-fitting, black-and-white flannel shirt with worn-down jeans. I could tell from the outline of his shirt that his muscles were well filled out. He wasn’t large, but he wasn’t lanky, either. And the closer he moved toward me, the better I could make out the features of his face.
His eyes, bright blue, the color of the ocean, were large and expressive, and they seemed a little worn down, like maybe he had seen a million battles and was keeping them locked somewhere deep inside. His nose was straight but wide. His face was perfectly designed, cut to pure perfection, like I imagined the rest of him to be, his strong cheekbones shadowing and increasing the intense curve of his jawline.
And there was something else—I strained to see, even though he was moving closer—a long, thin scar stretched across his face. But even so, he was beautiful. There was no other way of putting it. And that might even have been putting it lightly. He had the face of an angel with a renegade’s body.
Something inside of me started to burn.
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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).
For lagniappe (a little extra), a virtual cup of café au lait and beignets, please visit Annie's website: www.annierosewelch.com
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