Scent of a Woman

By Vallory Vance

A certain scent wafted under Ewan Hathorn’s nose. He knew what it meant but did she?

Ada Trevors is searching through the canyons surrounding Haziel, Texas for an Ap-Muea—the man by day and the screeching cat by night. Though she doesn’t believe the legendary creature exists, she is certain the myth is based on something she can document.

From the moment Ewan meets Ada he recognizes her as something more unique than his adua, his fated love. She’s a witch, one beautiful enough to entice the ruler of the Ap-Muea Nation. However knowing that she’s too human to understand the future they would share, he resigns himself to another century of being alone. That is until Ada proves to be more powerful than he’d imagined and an Ap-Muea demands her death.

Together, Ewan and Ada must discover if the bonds of adua are strong enough to save them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: May 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781771308427

Vallory Vance

Vallory Vance is a color inside the lines, Human Resources professional living in the Baton Rouge area by day. After her family consisting of a husband of almost twenty years, three kids and two cats have filled her evenings with laughter, she sits down to her laptop to write tales of the first moments of falling in love when nothing else seems to matter. As a fortieth birthday present to herself, she decided to share her stories of romances that range from sweet to spicy.

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www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2014 Vallory Vance

ISBN: 978-1-77130-842-7

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this to Melody Jackson—friend, life coach, accountant, babysitter and my shoulder to cry on. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me! Smooches.

SCENT OF A WOMAN

Vallory Vance

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

Can we have two more drafts on my tab? It’s Ada Trevors, the AMEX. Ada swung her dark brown hair over her shoulders and pushed her chest out against the rigid hold of her purple paisley spandex tank top.

The friendliest of The Hot Toddy’s bartenders responded with a curt, Sure. He then turned around to slosh beer into two clear plastic cups.

So, Jesse, have you lived in Haziel for a while? At least the buff guy had given her his name when she’d asked, not like the bartender manning the smaller beer-only station near the entrance. He’d pretended he hadn’t even heard the question.

Maybe she could get something more out of Jesse than just his name. Ada pulled her shoulders back to give him a view of her fuller bust line, as promised by the Victoria’s Secret bra.

Lived here my whole life. Jesse slid the two cups towards her. Immediately, he began wiping down the section of bar between them.

Well, you must be an expert on this town.

Not really.

Droplets of tepid water sprayed over her hands as he swished the cloth. Ewww. Ada swallowed the bitter taste forming in her mouth at the thought of what was soaked into the dingy rag. She reminded herself that her project could end at any time, if she didn’t obtain sufficient results.

You know, you’d look great on camera. Ada lowered her voice and slid her hand through her hair as she tilted her head to the side. The gimmick was supposed to make him lean in closer, but instead she was the one perching up on the bar, trying to take his attention away from the next splatter of dried mustard. I’m actually filming a documentary about the Ap-Muea. Is there anything you’d like share? I could film you tomorr––

Ma’am, this is what I know. He sneered, pointing up to a TV mounted to the wall behind him. I gotta get this bar clean before that commercial’s over, so I can get back to watching the Rangers game. I also know the special ends at nine and I’ll be closing out your tab in fifteen minutes.

Awesome. She retrieved the sloppily poured beers, stomped back to her partner, and slumped down in the worn booth seat, her primary post for most of the evening.

The townsfolk of Haziel hadn’t been forthcoming with information about the lycanthrope legend, which had made the small Texas community famous ––but they hadn’t been as bad as this. Sure, she and her crew had been dismissed by the likes of librarians, the school board and the nine-man city council, but no one had been rude about it. Not until The Hot Toddy, where the staff was downright surly.

Second bartender and it’s a strike. While she could deduct the fancy dye job and expensive hip hugging, cleavage-baring outfit from her year-end taxes, the snub from the bartender stung. He didn’t think I was cute either.

I saw the hair toss. That was a nice addition to your routine. Russ snickered.

You’re a jerk. You know that? She and Russell Blakely had been in The Hot Toddy for two hours. During that time, they’d become very good at hiding the fact they weren’t actually drinking. They poured beer into their water glasses, dumped the plastic cups in the bathroom trashcans or conveniently left them in various places when they ventured out onto the dance floor. This time, Ada took a long swallow of the diluted brew.

Maybe we should call it a night. It doesn’t look like anyone is interested in talking here. And obviously your attempts at flirting aren’t working. Russell made a point of staring at her chest and flashed a small smile.

Glad you’re having fun at my expense. Ada folded her hands in her lap and sighed.

Last year, when she’d received a grant from an anthropological society to collect modern-day accounts of the West Texas Ap-Muea, she’d been thrilled. For months, she’d studied the society’s collection of stories about the legend of a true shape-shifter – one that was born, and not created by an external bite. In all, there were ninety-eight stories, from the first mention of a sighting by a Spanish explorer in the 1700s to an encounter written by an English settler in 1852.

She’d been so sure she’d not only add new stories for a book and associated film footage for a behind-the-scenes documentary, but would also make the cultural find of the century – a verifiable link between the myth and reality. After being granted an unpaid sabbatical from her position as an assistant anthropology professor at the University of Texas at Arlington, she’d recruited her old college classmate Russell, and hired a four-person film crew.

And now, after three weeks, she was no closer to a cultural find than when she started. The team had only filmed six people in the Amarillo suburb, who had been paid ten bucks each for telling their family stories. Later, the crew discovered the stories were stolen from the tourist literature sold in every store in town.

Hey, Ada. Russ rapped his knuckles on the table. Seriously, this place gives me the creeps, he whispered, his light blue eyes darting around the bar.

Even in the dark lighting, she saw a line of sweat glistening on his tanned forehead. She laughed for the first time all night. Talk about irony. You have the creeps, Russ? If you’d just relax, you’d fit right in.

With his strawberry-blond hair styled to emphasize the fine features of his face, he could disappear into the crowd and she’d have trouble finding him. The Hot Toddy practically had ‘thin blondes get in free’ signs plastered across the walls.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the darkest-skinned person in this place, Ada said, pointing to herself. I’m the one who gets to be weirded out.

I say we have this conversation about which one of us is the minority someplace else. Russ reached out and squeezed her hand. And can you put everything on your card? I’m tapped until I can free up some funds.

Damn it, Russ. Despite the fact that he was a popular veterinarian in a swank Dallas neighborhood, Russ rarely seemed able to pay for anything. If he hadn’t blown his collaborator’s fee from the society on impressing a handsome grad student with a weekend getaway at the Ritz-Carlton, then maybe she wouldn’t be picking up the tab for the second time that day.

Ada mentally kicked herself for the thought. Both she and Russ had been alone for a while. Work had replaced relationships in both their lives for the last three years. At least now, he had someone back home. All she had was this––editing, compiling any material they might find into a story. This place, where no one had given her a second glance, made that clear in her mind. As well as the fact she’d worked for three weeks and learned nothing.

Ada? Okay?

Fine, I’ll leave it on my card. She