Angel Kisses

By Ann Stratton

Abuela's guardian angel and That Woman's guardian angel have decided they are in love and they are sending gifts to each other. Unfortunately they send each other really inappropriate gifts and Mark is the one that has to deal with this. How can he keep these two old ladies from punching each other out, resolve an angelic love affair, and keep his sanity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Stratton
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224147519

Ann Stratton

Ann Stratton started writing at age thirteen with the usual results. After a long stint in fan fiction, honing her skills, she hopes she has gotten better since then. She lives in Southeastern Arizona, trying to juggle all her varied interests. 

Book preview

Angel Kisses

Ann Stratton

A Blind Woman Production publication

Copyright © 2024 Ann Stratton

To give the reader more of a sample, the front matter appears at the end.

* * *

Mark Cook opened up the oversized mailbox and reached in. His fingers encountered something sort of hard, cold, sticky, and stringy all at once and he jerked his hand back out of the mailbox with a yelp.

He leaned down and peered in. The dead glazed eyes of a severed head stared back at him.

He fell back, clutching his heart, and fell off the curb. He glared up at the mailbox from his seat on the ground, willing his heart to slow down. The mailbox stood serenely on its post beside the street and waited for him.

A car drove past behind him, and he got up, dusting off the seat of his pants. A gaggle of boys on bicycles swarmed down the street, stopping when they saw him.

What’s the matter, Mister? the biggest one called. Got a snake in there?

I wanna see! one of the smaller ones shouted, jumped off his bike and ran over to the mailbox. He looked in and turned away, annoyed and disappointed. Nothin’ but a box. No snakes. He went back to his bike and picked it up. Next time, make it snakes! he yelled and the pack spun away down the street. Mark glowered after them. Fallen leaves swirled in their wake, stirred up by another car passing by.

It was a nice residential neighborhood, from where he stood by the offending mailbox, an older one, with two story red brick houses built in the first half or so of the previous century. Towering trees lined the street, starting to turn bright colors and drop their leaves. The breeze sweeping along the street was chilly, promising a cold night. Mark shivered and pulled his jacket closer.

Then he gritted his teeth, reached into the mailbox, and pulled out the severed head. Abuela! he yelled, closing up the mailbox and starting for the front door. They’re at it again!

Abuela Reyes opened the door, tiny, well weathered, a cigarette dangling from her lips and one eye squinting past the smoke, wrapped all up in a colorful blanket against the cold. Who’s at it again? Those boys?

No. Mark walked past her, headed for the kitchen. No way was he going to put the disgusting thing on the