When Dusty Williams goes into a strange bar to contemplate the ruination of his career, the last thing he expects to find is a compelling woman. He’s not even in the mood to get laid. He just wants to escape from all humanity.
Dee Stevens can’t believe she’s in a bar at all. She’s just lost two patients due to drunk driving. Whatever could have drawn her into a strange bar tonight of all times?
When the two meet, and they feel that odd vibration that seems to pull them together, they have no idea what’s ahead, or behind, them and what it can mean for mankind.
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Book 2 – A Different Time is scheduled for June 20!
“You’re in Braddock Crossing.”
The name meant nothing to Dusty. From her expression, the same held true for Dee.
Dee opened her mouth to ask another question when a scream came from the rear of the store. The storeowner raced to the back with Dusty and Dee only a half-step behind.
A young woman held her hand out, staring in horror at the blood dripping from a deep cut.
“Daphne!” The older man raced to the young woman but Dee moved faster, seeing a patient in need of her help. She had already rounded the counter, snatching up a clean, folded cloth. She pressed it rmly against the cut.
“Get my bag.” She tossed the words at Dusty, not bothering to look up. “You’re going to be okay,” she assured the young woman. “Let me examine your hand.”
“W-who are you?” The girl tried to shrink away but Dee had hold of her wrist.
“Let go of my girl!” The owner tried to grab Dee’s arm, but Dusty stopped him.
“She’s a doctor. Let her check the girl out.”
“A doctor? She’s a woman, and a strange one at that.” Dusty held the man’s shoulder and inspected him closely.
The man stared at Dee’s jeans and his daughter’s bloody hand with the same fascinated horror. Dusty eyed Daphne warily; the girl cowered behind the counter, weeping as Dee examined her wound.
She wore a long dark skirt and a high collared, long- sleeved white blouse. Pretty, until the blood ruined the fabric. The shop owner’s shirt appeared to be linen and sported a high, banded collar. His large apron covered his trousers. Had they found an Amish village? No, there wasn’t one this close to D.C. that Dusty could recall. The clothing worn by the other men on the street also looked like something out of an old photograph.
He stepped between the women and this strange man.
“My name is Dustin. This is Doctor Stevens. She’s not going to hurt Daphne. What’s your name?”
At the authoritative tone of voice Dusty used, the man quit struggling to reach Daphne. “I’m Caleb Douglas. This is my store and Daphne’s my daughter.”