When she snapped her purse closed the handle upset the glass spilling the root beer onto Alvin Mitchell’s Des Moines Register, soaking it through. F...rtunately, the newspaper prevented the soda from running off the counter and onto Alvin Mitchell’s lap.Mary Ann apologized over and over with the words tumbling out in a jumbled rush. Her embarrassment turned her complexion a bright pink, highlighting her pale blue eyes. Alvin kept trying to interrupt her to assure her it was no problem. He said. “No, that’s should be mine, Dad!” she hissed, her hands shooting at my head.A tingle raced through my mind the moment I settled the circlet on it. I shuddered as this prickling heat rippled through my mind. My daughter’s fingers seized my hair, sliding through it. Her breasts jiggled in her low-cut top as she hissed in frustration.“Stop being a bitch right now!” I growled.Needle-like pain stabbed into my eyes. My daughter gasped, her brown eyes—the same hue as her mother’s—widened. Her hands. More

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