Emma's Evolution

He gritted and crunched the cigar between his teeth. "Ain't no call for tap dancin' in my joint," was his reply.

Chris meant it, too. There was no tapping here, not for twenty years. Not since his young daughter danced her way out of his heart and into the arms of a renegade Darwinist on a hellbent mission to eradicate Intelligent Design-based thriller novels.