So…the HARD-working servers at the IRS blew a sprocket or something so the government gave all those who file late an extension until today. And since we are all about work hard, play hard around here, today’s #1lineWed theme is a fitting one: **WORK**. This snippet is from the current RDR#9 WIP, which is Cooper’s story. As a setup, there’s a gala fund raiser for the OU Meteorology Department, where our intrepid heroine, Britt Owens, is a storm chaser. She met our hero, Cooper Tate, down in south Texas after a hurricane and they…connected. 😉 So, now its a couple of months later and they’re about to bump into each other. *bwahahaha*
Mrs. Tate’s lips twitched but her rather stern expression didn’t change. “So you chase tornadoes for a living. Must be thrilling.”
“It can be. Thrilling. Yes. Mostly just boring though.” Britt reeled off the statistical probabilities of a tornado forming in any given thunderstorm. Mrs. Tate nodded and looked moderately interested until Britt stopped babbling. “I mostly do it for research. I’m working on my Ph.D, you see.”
“Fascinating,” Mrs. Tate said as she looked Britt over from the top of her head to the freshly pedicured and red-painted toes peeking out from beneath her royal blue gown.
Britt swallowed hard, again, unsure just what it was the woman found fascinating—Britt’s work or her as a person. Most people thought storm chasing was glamorous and exciting so surely that’s what Mrs. Tate was referring to. Why did this woman terrify her far more than all the massive tornadoes she’d encountered?
Pushing to her feet, Britt locked her wobbly knees. “So nice to see you again, Mrs. Tate. I should be getting back to my party.”
“Of course, dear. I hope to see you again soon.”
What did Mrs. Tate mean by that? There was something funny in her tone when she said that. Britt pulled open the door and glanced back over her shoulder, trying to figure out what Mrs. Tate was implying. She continued walking, all the while leaning to watch through the slowly closing door. Britt turned around just in time to plow into a hard body. Her forehead bounced off the muscled chest as her nose was buried in a tux shirt. Her instinctive inhale filled her lungs with the aromas of cardamon, bergomot and… She sniffed again. Was that lavender? What an intriguing mix of scents.
Strong hands gripped her biceps to keep her upright and she remembered she’d just plowed into someone. Someone of the male persuasion. She raised her head, tilting it to look up. Straight into the amused face of the last man on earth she ever wanted to see.
Coop turned his head to face the man who’d yelled his name and didn’t have time to duck the fist swinging at his face.
“You got my baby sister pregnant.”
Writers, what’s working in your WIP? Readers, where do you think this story is going? 😉