Taste Of Dixie

The majesty of the state, purple mountains rising around them, and rugged slopes lined with larch and fir and pine, stole her breath. She was a speck amidst so much grandeur. But the man, dusty blue jeans, worn boots, his cheeks brushed with a few days' growth of beard, he was a fixture among it, as meant to exist in that environment as the boulders jutting out from the path. Fear and humiliation ...