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The general public lovedThe Historical Roots of Conspiracy Theories: America’s Counter History.It was the first time many of the theories had been seriously examined by a professional historian. The academic community, however, was divided in their opinions. Some commended the topic and the quality of research. Others saw it as a black smudge on the field.
“I’m a full-time romance author now, but I think you already know that.” She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. And that was it. She vowed she wasn’t going to speak a word about her novels or about the subject of her nonfiction book.
But Kenn evidently had other plans and plowed on with the topic.
“Why would women even bother reading fluffy novels like that?” The tone of the question seemed sincere, but it must have struck a chord with Rob, who was pouring gravy on his meal. He dropped the gravy boat, splashing hot gravy over himself and his wife.
He hurriedly tried to clean himself up as he and Nan left from the room. JJ and Kenn, however, were only getting started on their literary discussion and didn’t even notice it.
“Why would anyone want to shut their brain down like that?”
She slung the biscuit she had in her hand on her plate. It bounced into the middle of the table.
“Because in a romance novel not one person worries about how they’re going to pay the cable bill this month. Not one person winces when the price of milk creeps up another couple of cents.”
As she talked, she saw how Kenn looked at her. His gaze appeared more than just cursory. His eyes were riveted on hers—not on any other part of her or anywhere else in the room. It was as if he listened with his eyes.
As she explained the attraction of romance novels, she knew she had his full attention. She wanted him to feel the full force of her anger, but she discovered his gaze calmed her.
“I’m glad we men don’t have to read stuff like that to feel better about our lives.”
That was all it took. She suddenly forgot about Kenn’s incredibly kind eyes, the sensual attraction that she felt when near him, the scent of his cologne. Once again, he implied that men were somehow superior based on his independently derived idea that romance as a story was trash.
“Oh, and you don’t think you guys have your own version of feel-good books and movies out there. You men have a category of movie that’s the equivalent of our romance novel—it’s called the action movie.” She waved a hand as if she were demonstrating the wealth of the genre.
“Pick your favorite action hero or your favorite cowboy. The movies these heroes star in are nothing more than flights of fantasy for the testosterone set.”
Chapter 17
“I can just imagine the wonderful, romantic time JJ is having at this very moment.” Alex sighed. Curled up in the crook of Blake’s shoulder as she stared off into space for a moment. With their first evening without JJ, the two were on the couch watching a movie.
“You do realize two other people are present at this romantic dinner,” Blake said, as he kissed her on the top of her head. “I’m not sure how romantic that is.”
“When two people are in love, no one else is in the room. They see only each other.” Alex looked into her love’s eyes. “Besides, the sooner they discover each other, the sooner we can go home.”
But it didn’t appear that he was listening. “Wait, I want to see what happens next,” he said, as he pointed at the television screen. “The good witch is telling Dorothy how to get home.”
They watched in silence.
“Yeah, so?” She didn’t see any significance in the scene.
“If she can use that mode of transportation to get to another world, so can we,” he said. “Maybe it’s a Universal law we’ve overlooked.
“Oh. My. Heavens. Of course, we’ve had the power all along to go home, too.”
She jumped up and pulled Blake with her. “Let’s do it right now.”
“Not yet. I think to replicate this event properly, we should recreate every facet of it as closely as possible.”
She knitted her brow, then a smile flashed across her face. “Let’s dig through JJ’s closet.” And she dragged him into JJ’s bedroom.
****
Alex heard the shower running. Then it stopped. “We’re off to see the…” Blake’s singing grated through the air, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
She was already dressed, and in place. And impatient. Finally, he emerged from the bathroom with only a towel around him. His head bobbed as he skipped down the hall, his wet hair splashing drops of water like a dog shaking his whole body when it’s wet.
“What is taking so long?” she asked.
