Robby was willing to string the process along, not for the comp’d drinks, though those wouldn’t hurt. Neither did the sight of the house that filled up his windshield.
Built like a Spanish fortress with turrets and a tiled hacienda-style roof. Lit in the darkness like a fabulous castle. Shaded by tall live oaks, the driveway lined with palmettos, the lawn dotted with magnolias. A sweet fragrance drifted through his open window. The magnolias had long since lost their blooms by summer, unless somehow Carrington was indeed capable of summoning and controlling nature.
(Continue Chapter Eight of the serial Blacksmith's Girl.)
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