Sonny "Bud" Bloomer was a big Irish kid with a head full of rust colored, curly hair and a classic peaches n' cream Gaelic complexion. Milky fair skin with freckles and a "baby face" that men took to as a little brother and women instinctively wanted to mother. The look on that innocent, boyish face could only be described as "stunned" at the moment.

The vivid imprint of a delicate feminine hand was appearing across the previously unblemished real estate of his lower cheek like a photograph in a tray of developer. Every detail was emerging. The open palm. Each slender finger. Every joint. Even the ring she wore. It was all there in glorious crimson on his pale skin like fossilized evidence of a woman thoroughly scorned.

Of course he hadn't a clue what had brought this on. He had obviously done something wrong - or hadn't done something wrong. .. and the smile on her scarlet lips was a decidedly mixed message.

"Nancy, I..." SMACK!

77 El Deora
Oblique Americana: a verbis ad verbera