Sunday Snippet: The Don’t Faint, But It’s a Snippet Edition

I know how infrequently my Sunday Snippet actually features a snippet from a book, but that’s because I’m trying not to let each Sunday be all about my books. I muse and whine and talk about other stuff a lot more, and I think that’s okay, don’t you?

It’s been a week… but this whole summer has been, I dunno, weird. I’ve been in a strange mood. I think it has more to do with the state of country instead of the state of Nan. For the first time in a very long time–probably since 2008, I feel hopeful again about the United States. Hope has been at a premium for way too long, and I do blame the politics of hate and division for it. America is great–it always has been until great got pushed aside for a while with the 2016 election, the pandemic, and the January 6 attempted coup in 2021. The current administration has done such a fabulous job getting us back on track, back in the world, back from a dark place, and I pray that we can continue that trend for the next presidential term. I make no secret of my support for Harris/Walz, but this is bigger than two people. This election is about saving the soul of our country. So, although I avoid politics here, I do want to say, please vote…

A quick reminder that Harvest Fest is today–if you’re in the area (You know who you are!), Liz Flaherty, J.C. Kenney, and I, along with several other local authors and a bunch of artisans and musicians will be at Fishers Heritage Park from noon to five. Love to See you there!

Otherwise, I’m working, writing, reviewing proofs for my Weaver Sisters series to be available to bookstores–yay!  Beth and Del’s story is simmering, sometimes bubbling over, but mostly simmering in the back of my mind. I’m making notes and have started the first chapter. Liz and I have a retreat coming up, so lots of words will get written during that time. In the meantime, release day for Made for Mistletoe, book 3 in the Walkers of Rivers Edge series is just about seven weeks away from release and promo is starting…today, actually. ARCs are going out and I’m composing blogs and creating graphics on Canva. So, ready? Here we go… a real snippet from Made for Mistletoe:

Cameron Walker stood outside the Seams Pieceful quilt shop, peering in the big window, which Mary and Dot Higgins had dressed up for Christmas with a small rocking chair, a side table, a sewing basket with holiday fabric spilling out of it, a slim evergreen hung with old-fashioned ornaments, and of course, quilts. A stack of them was piled in deliberate disarray on a chest at the edge of the display. Every single one was some combination of red and green. He grinned as he looked up and saw a little chandelier strung up over the tableau and, hanging from it, a sprig of mistletoe.

All the shopkeepers along Main Street had twinkle lights and greenery, holly berries and pinecones decorating their windows and doorways. Christmas had hit his hometown of River’s Edge, Indiana, with its usual energy, and he’d almost missed it.

An army reservist, he’d only just returned from a tour of duty in south Florida, helping put up housing for hurricane victims. A relief group of guardsmen had arrived a couple of days ago, so Cam and his unit had been sent home. He landed at the base this morning and rushed to town, hoping to find a certain artist. His reflection in the window gave him a moment of pause, and he wondered if maybe he should’ve stopped by home and changed into his civvies. Too late now, and time was of the essence if he was going to get Mom’s gift done by Christmas Day.

He pushed open the door of the quilt shop, happy to see Dot Higgins winding fabric back on to a bolt at the big square cutting table. “Hey, Dot.”

Dot smiled at him and scooched around the table to give him a hug. “You’re back! How was Florida?”

“Hot.” He returned Dot’s embrace. “I’m never going to whine about humid Indiana summers again.” He grinned and shrugged. “But we got some housing put up, so at least those folks who were displaced by the hurricane have shelter for the holidays.”

Dot patted his arm. “You’re a good man, Cameron Walker.”

Heat filled his cheeks. “Just doing my duty.” He cast his eyes around the shop, looking for the sketches that Jazz had texted to him, but they were nowhere to be seen. “Listen, this may sound weird, but Jazz took some pictures of some art in here last week, and I need to talk to the artist who did those drawings.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to his texts to show Dot photos of several colored pencil drawings that his cousin’s wife had sent him. “I built Mom a dower chest for Christmas and it needs decorating. These are exactly what I want for it. Jazz told me that your niece is the artist I’m looking for. Is she still visiting?”

Dot took the phone. “Yeah, those are Harp’s. She’s been designing quilt patterns for us. Mary must’ve been showing them off.” She frowned as she slowly went through the photos. “Huh. These are from her sketchbook, though.”

Cam tried not to let the urgency he was feeling show, but he really needed to speak to … Harp. Did she say the niece’s name was Harp? Like the instrument? Interesting… “I need to talk to her. Is she here?”

“Um, hang on.” Dot went to the bottom of a staircase. “Harper, there’s someone here to see you.”

Oh, Harper … Harp. Nice.

She tossed a look over her shoulder at Cam, crossed her arms, and gazed up the steps. “You up there?”

Cam wandered closer to the staircase eyeing Dot, whose teeth were worrying the red lipstick off her lower lip. Her manner was odd—almost shifty. Something was up. She tilted her head toward the stairs so slightly that if he hadn’t been staring right at her, he might’ve missed the gesture.

He offered a raised brow. Was she telling him … what? He stepped a few feet closer, leaned in, and saw a pair of red high-top sneakers.

Ah, okay, the kid is sitting up there … hiding?

He took a deep breath and hit the stairs, his lace-up boots clumping on the wooden risers. Two steps below her, he stopped. “Hey, hi. I’m Cam Walker.”

She was huddled, there was no other word for it, at the very top wrapped in an oversized sweater, jeans, a black turtleneck, and those crazy red high-tops. But she was no kid. She was a woman of at least twenty-five. Her hair was dark blonde like his and pulled back into a low ponytail with wispy bangs over her forehead. In the dim stairwell, her eyes were huge and appeared to be dark green … like Christmas-tree green. In the few seconds it had taken him to get closer, a crease had developed between her blonde brows and she’d pulled the sweater even tighter. Head held perfectly straight, she gazed, not at him, but over his shoulder at her aunt, and if looks could kill, Dot Higgins would be crumpled on the floor. When Cam glanced back, Dot stood with her palms raised in a what could I do kind of gesture.

Fine, he’d take the hit for storming the stairs. He truly needed to speak to this woman. He stuck out his hand and started talking fast because he had the impression she was about to bolt. “Harper, is it? Nice to meet you. I’m a cabinetmaker and I need someone to paint a dower chest for me. It’s a Christmas gift, so it’s sort of a rush job since Christmas is barely a month off, but I saw your sketches and I think you’ve got what I want.” It all came out in one breath as he dropped his hand because, clearly, she had no intention of shaking.

She still said nothing, but her eyes grew even rounder, and he realized he was towering over her. Dammit. He backed off, down a couple steps so they were face to face. “Here’s the thing—”

She held up one hand. “I’ve never painted on furniture before.”

He chuckled. “Neither have I, but at least you’re an artist. I am so not.” When she didn’t respond with even a hint of a smile, he rushed on. “Your sketches are amazing, exactly the kind of folk-art feel I want for this piece. Won’t you come take a look? Please?”

“Where did you see my sketches?”

“Um…” Heat rose from his camo collar. “A-a friend saw them and told me about them.” He hated dissembling but the last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for Mary Higgins. Hell, he’d already gotten Dot into hot water.

She rose and now she was towering over him, despite the fact that she was small, almost slight. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She turned and disappeared into a room across the hall.

Cam’s heart dropped to his socks. He was so sure, so very sure that this artist could bring his dreams for the dower chest to life. The inner debate about whether to follow her ended, though, when she quietly but firmly shut the door. He released a huge sigh, and went back down the stairs to face Dot, who’d watched the whole encounter. “She doesn’t seem too interested, does she?” he said sadly. Understatement of the year, Walker.

“Don’t give up.” Dot put a hand on his shoulder.

He smiled. “Oh, I’m not about to give up. Need to find a new tack, that’s all.”

“Let Mary and me talk to her.” Dot walked with him to the door. “Go home, unpack. I’ll text you.”

There it is… Harper Gaines and Cameron Walker’s first meeting…

Gratitude for This Week: Cool fall-like days. Mums–I got 4 for the front of the house. Today is Harvest Fest–time to meet readers, sign books, and visit with fellow authors. Mo is here–yay! Husband and I got haircuts–feels good and he looks très handsome!

Stay well, Stay safe, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!