Thanksgiving
Chapter One
Megan Murphy scuffed through a thick layer of autumn leaves in
her round-toed, black leather, gold-buckled shoes. Regulation
colonial clodhoppers, she thought happily, bending over to
pick leaves out of her buckles. Especially stylish with her
blue-flowered thermal underwear and thick gray woolen socks.
Yup, she was a real eighteenth-century sex goddess. But hey,
it was cold out. Besides, what did the average slovenly
trollop wear back then? Silk teddies and designer panty hose?
She did a little tap dance in her big black shoes and kicked
at the leaves. When she was a child the leaves in her yard had
been immediately whisked away. They were packed in leaf bags,
sucked into leaf suckers, or pulverized by the mulch maker,
but they were never scuffed through or jumped into or simply
enjoyed. That was one of the things that had drawn Megan to
Colonial Williamsburg. In its effort to recreate the
eighteenth century, Williamsburg had slowed to a walking pace.
There was time to enjoy leaves. Even Megan Murphy, who had a
strong tendency to hurtle through life at warp speed, found
tranquility in the back alleys o ... read full excerpt from: Thanksgiving ebook
