Finding Floyd by Melinda Peters

nuzzling him at the
base of his neck. "What was that all about?" she whispered.
    "Oh, Ralph decided he doesn't like Florida.
We'll talk about it later. Kiss me," he said, reaching for her
buttons.
    From inside her purse on the coffee table,
came the muffled ring tone of the Italian wedding song, the
'Tarantella'.
    "Oh my god! It's Ma again. This is the third
time she's called me already today. She's driving me freakin' crazy
with this wedding planning stuff. Enough already!"
    "Let it go to voice mail," he said, planting
his lips on hers.
     

Chapter 5
     
    All three were still in
shock, not knowing what to make of the great quake. Throughout the
afternoon, they told one another of the changes they’d seen in the
land, marveling at the enormity of the disaster. For these
believers in an all-powerful God, there was no other possibility,
but that the destruction was visited upon them by their
Creator.
    The three refugees sat
huddled in blankets around the fire, building it into a substantial
blaze. Spitting thick slices of their salvaged bacon on sharpened
sticks, they held the meat over the open flames. Watching the fat
drip and sizzle they burned their fingers sampling bits of the
barely cooked meat.
    When the winter sun was
sinking low, out over the broad Mississippi, and the shadows of
late afternoon grew long, they realized they were no longer alone.
Not twenty yards away an Indian dressed in buckskins stood silently
watching them.'
    From Reelfoot Legacy, by
Melinda Peters
     
    Vicky's fingers flew over her laptop
keyboard. The plot was taking shape rapidly and she felt a little
thrill of excitement. With new ideas fresh in her mind, she worked
on the outline of her new novel. This one wouldn't be in her usual
genre. Unlike her successful series of steaming hot romances, this
would be a work of historical fiction. The main characters would be
contemporary, living in Western Tennessee near the New Madrid fault
line. Her story would connect the threads of time and memory, from
their ancestors who'd lived through the destructive series of
earthquakes two hundred years before, to the present.
    She stretched and leaned back in her chair,
taking in the large room with its king-sized four poster bed,
massive antique maple dresser, two comfortable looking easy chairs,
and the roll-top desk where she sat. Sweet spring air wafted in
through the open window. From the porch below came a soft haunting
tune. Someone was slowly picking out notes on a guitar, while a
fiddler evoked a memory of something sad from long ago. Out in the
yard several men laughed as they stacked wood on a growing pile,
while one man steadily chunk-chunked away rhythmically with an axe.
Vicky was happiest working in a peaceful and serene country
environment like this. The serenity was conducive to her
writing.
    As soon as they'd arrived at the big old
Victorian, Jack had carried their things up to the spacious corner
room. Then after admiring the spectacular views of the mountains,
he'd given her a hug and a kiss that promised more, before rushing
back out to join the men gathered around the wood cutting
project.
    Down on the porch the music stopped. When it
resumed, the tempo had changed. The sad and sweet refrain was
replaced with a faster, more aggressive tune. The guitar and fiddle
were joined by a deep thumping bass and banjo picker. She realized
that she was tapping her foot in time, the music sending a little
thrill through her. Yes, this was just right, the right time and
place to be working on the new book. When she heard footsteps on
the stairs, she sighed and closed the laptop, hiding her work. Her
writing was still her little secret. Vicky smiled to herself. She
liked it that way.
    Knocking gently, Diane called, "Vicky, are
you up here?" She pushed open the door.
    "Come on in." Vicky turned to smile at her
friend. Dressed for something more than a casual Saturday afternoon
listening to music, Diane wore a deep blue dress with a flirty
skirt that