Just Like Gravity is a paranormal romance set in Scotland. Anna has bad dreams–so bad she wakes up screaming two nights out of three. She smells the blood. She feels the knife. The dreams lead her to Scotland where she hopes to find their cause. Hiking the Great Glen Way, she becomes separated from her daughter and meets a drunken Scotsman with troubles of his own. Anna finds him annoying, but when he offers her a wee nip from his flask, she can’t resist.
I’d emptied my own flask some time before and the forgetful haze it produced was fading. The rain was persistent and the air was chilly.
“Dammit.” I yielded to temptation.
He snorted as I wiped the rim. “Ye cannae catch Scottish, ye ken. It isnae a disease.”
Jackass. I tipped the flask a bit too enthusiastically. What entered my mouth and spread throughout my entire pulmonary and digestive systems was in no way similar to the fruity, light Speyside whisky to which I had become accustomed. Smoke, iodine, and pepper exploded in my throat, flushed out my sinuses.
I spluttered and gasped for air.
“What in the name of God is that?” My voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. I was relieved my vocal cords were not entirely cauterized. The liquid found its way to my stomach where it made itself comfortable, producing a warm, spinning glow.
“That, ye ignorant wench, is Laphroaig. Distilled by God Himself on Islay, a jewel of the Western Isles, where He cooks it over peaty fires and strains it through seaweed. And ye’re not meant to snort it.” He put the flask back in his sporran and surveyed me unhappily. “Now, come wi’ me. I’ll take ye down the mountain.”
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