Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Shakes the Family Tree (cozy mystery) excerpt

It feels like forever since I released a Gladwynn book but here I am about to release the third book in the series – Gladwynn Grant Shakes the Family Tree.

The book will be released in early 2025 and today I thought I’d share an excerpt to wet your appetite for the next installment.

If you have not read either of the first two books, no worries, this excerpt won’t provide any spoilers for you.

If you would like to read the other two books in the series you can find them here (they are on sale this weekend for Black Friday and Cyber Monday!):

Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing:

Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage

If you would like to be an ARC reader for this third book, you can sign up here: https://forms.gle/utLujLm6QamozPKJ8

And now your sneak peek of the next book!


“Who caters this event is a decision to be made by the board, Richard, not you.”

Gladwynn Grant tried her best to focus on the task at hand – setting up food for a taste testing for the Harksdale Chamber of Commerce’s fundraiser – but the sharpness of the woman’s tone startled her, causing her to turn around quickly.

Gladwynn had offered to help her friend Abbie Mendoza for the afternoon, with them both hoping that Brewed Awakening, Gladwynn’s favorite coffee shop and Abbie’s place of employment, would be able to land the catering job for the upcoming event.

Neither of them had expected a verbal argument to break out between two of the board members before the tasting had even begun. Gladwynn cast Abbie a questioning look and received a brief wince and shrug in return.

An awkward hush fell over the small gathering in the sunroom at the Harksdale Country Club. Gladwynn turned away again, deciding to keep her back to the drama and instead focus on the job of setting out homemade eclairs on silver trays.

A man’s voice, deep and clearly irritated, responded to the woman’s comment. “That’s all well and good but the board isn’t making the decisions it needs to and this event is right around the corner.”

“We’re here to make a decision today, aren’t we?”

“Yes, with a business I didn’t even recommend.”

Another deep voice: “Richard, don’t be rude to our guests. We are hosting tastings with the businesses you recommended as well.”

“And those businesses can offer us much more than this mom-and-pop coffee shop ever could,” Richard spat.

“It’s actually just a mom coffee shop now.” Abbie offered. A quick glance from Gladwynn showed that Abbie, with her red-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, was timidly smiling. “Marylou’s husband passed away four years ago.”

Gladwynn turned in time to see the man, who must be Richard, whipping his head around to look at Abbie, staring her down with wide, dark brown eyes as if he wasn’t sure who she was or why she had been speaking to him.

Gladwynn coughed gently. “I don’t want to interrupt, but we do have some samples set up here for you all so if nothing else comes of this meeting today, at least you can enjoy some refreshments.”

The woman who had introduced herself earlier as Beatrice Baxter, the director of the chamber, lifted her chin and turned away from Richard. Her previously tense expression relaxed, and a forced smile replaced it. “Yes, of course. Thank you so much. We can continue our conversation later,” she shot Richard a quick look that Gladwynn could only describe as a warning, “In private.”

A small huff came from Richard as he pulled his shoulders back sharply and straightened them into a tense posture. Beatrice walked quickly past him to the front of the room.

Serving food samples to potential clients wasn’t Gladwynn’s regular job or forte. Her regular job was as a newspaper reporter for the Brookstone Beacon – the newspaper of the small town she now lived in. She was here on this day as a favor to Abbie after Abbie’s co-worker had come down with a cold.

The owner of Brewed Awakening, Marylou Landry, had stayed behind to watch the shop. She’d been nervous about even applying to cater for the event since Harksdale’s residents were usually accustomed to more fine dining than what Brewed Awakening – a laid back, down to earth café and coffee shop – offered.

Harksdale was a small village made up mainly of expensive cabins, inns, and resorts. Located near state game lands, it was nestled in the middle of trees and hills in the proverbial middle of nowhere. Many of its wealthy residents traveled from more urban areas and cities and then lived in Harksdale only on weekends or during the summer.

For more than 100 years Harksdale had been known by locals as a haven to the more “well-to-do folks”.

Gladwynn offered her broadest smile to each person as they approached the table. Glancing to her right she saw Abbie doing the same, though a little more tentatively. Richard’s outburst and biting comment about Brewed Awakening had clearly shaken her.

Gladwynn knew that landing the catering job would be a huge boon to Marylou.  She also knew that Abbie wanted to do the best she could for her beloved employer. Gladwynn couldn’t blame her. Brewed Awakening had become one of her favorite places to visit since she’d moved to Brookstone to live with her grandmother almost a year and a half ago. A cozy, down-to-earth coffee shop with a  bookstore attached to it? Yes, please, and thank you.

There were seven board members, and five volunteers present at the event, but Beatrice has explained it would be the board who would make the final decision on who would cater the event. The volunteers were simply there for input.

Conversations blended together among the people in the room, creating a soft hum.

Gladwynn noticed Richard and Beatrice sat as far away from each other as possible. Richard was scowling more and more with each bite he took.

Richard had arrived late, after the introductions of the other board members had been made, his face flushed. By then, Abbie had been detailing what food the group would be sampling and offering each of the attendants’ sheets to not only show the menu but to allow them to mark down any potential substitutes they might want later.

It was during the final set up that Richard had begun the aggressive conversation with Beatrice.  Gladwynn hadn’t heard his question or comment, only Beatrice’s response.

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage Chapter 2

Welcome to the second chapter of Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage, which is the second book in the Gladwynn Grant Mystery series. This is a cozy mystery series.

For the last few years I have blogged my books as I write them, sharing a chapter a week for my blog readers. I didn’t do this for the first book in this series, but thought I’d try it with book two. If you want to read book one, you can find ebook and paperback copies here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP

If you are new here, I just want to let you know that this is a story that is somewhat a first draft, though I actually read over the chapters a few times before moving forward and before posting them here. There will be typos, errors, wrong names, and plot holes. Just keep that in mind. If you see a typo and you want to tell me about it, please do. I have my books edited and proofread before they publish and still many things are missed. It also doesn’t help when I upload the wrong file for the final book. Sigh.
Anyhow, enjoy book two of the series and if you want to check out my other books you can find links to them HERE.

You can find the first chapter that I shared last week HERE.

If you don’t want to read the book as a serial, you can pre-order it HERE. It releases November 21.

Chapter 2

Gladwynn pulled her gaze from the man standing above her and returned her focus on the task at hand. “No, Vince. I can handle it myself.”

“Or I will do it for her,” Abbie interjected.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gladwynn noticed Abbie’s pursed lips and one raised eyebrow, almost as if she had gone all Mama Bear in an effort to protect Gladwynn from being hit on by some man at the beach.

Vince Giordano wasn’t exactly “some man,” though. Gladwynn had had plenty of interactions with him, one of the last ones being on the back of his ATV when he drove her to see a digging operation on the property of a man who turned out to be very guilty of several crimes.

He’d lifted her onto the back of the ATV in an embarrassing moment and then the embarrassment had continued when she’d fallen in the mud and he’s tried to help wipe the mud off of her. After that he’d definitely been flirting with her so she’d been avoiding him as much as possible since.

Today, Vince was standing above her in a pair of blue shorts, shirtless, with muscular arms folded across a broad and well-toned chest. His dark beard was neatly trimmed and his dark green eyes flashed with amusement.

He shrugged his shoulder. “No problem. Just thought I’d ask.” He tipped his sunglasses down. “Nice to see you again, Gladwynn.” He moved his eyes to Abbie. “Mrs. Mendoza. Good to see you too. You ladies have a nice picnic.”

Abbie wriggled her fingers at him in a wave. “You too, Vince. Buh-bye.” She rolled her eyes as soon as he turned to walk across the beach. “The nerve of him asking you if you wanted him to rub sunblock on your back. I mean there is flirting and then there is outright making a pass at a woman.”

Gladwynn laughed and leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows and stretching her legs out in front of her. “Vince is just – well, Vince. He’s a flirt, sure, but he’s also a good guy. Grandma says he came back home to take care of his mom when she was ill.”

Abbie rubbed lotion on her arms. “He did and he’s a prison guard and the bouncer at the Birchwood Township meetings, but he’s still a man who needs to learn some manners.”

Gladwynn laughed again at her friend’s protectiveness.

She looked out over the beach, noticing that Vince had laid on his stomach on a towel, laying his head on his arms and clearly sunbathing. He propped his chin on his hand and looked at her, grinning.

Her attention was pulled from Vince by a slender woman with honey blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun talking aggressively on a cellphone further down the beach. A white stripe stretched diagonally across her black bathing suit, which fit snuggly across her curvy form.

The woman shook her head, said something, placed a hand on her hip, and scowled as she listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

Abbie waved a hand in front of Gladwynn’s face. “Hello. Earth to Gladwynn. What’s got your attention?”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s that woman down there. She’s clearly having an intense conversation with someone and her expressions caught my attention.”

Abbie took a sip from her water bottle. “It’s the storyteller in you. I’m sure you’re imagining all kinds of scenarios about what that phone call is all about.” Her expression changed quickly to recognition. “Oh. That’s Samantha from Willowbrook. She’s the recreational director.”

Gladwynn turned her head to watch the woman again. “Grandma and Doris were just talking about how wonderful she is.”

“She is wonderful,” Abbie said, sliding her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “She doesn’t look like she is having a wonderful conversation, though.”

Samantha gestured into the air and then slapped her hand against her thigh, her face twisted in an angry scowl.

Gladwynn winced. “No. She doesn’t. Hopefully it is just a minor lover’s spat.”

Something about Samantha’s expression, though, told Gladwynn that the conversation was definitely not minor.

After swimming with the kids for an hour, eating lunch for a half hour, and stretching out for a half hour on the blanket under the umbrella, it was time to pack up. Abbie needed to get the children home for dinner, baths, and bedtime and Gladwynn had an appointment at the theater. She’d need a shower to wash off all the sand and a change before then.

Logan had definitely had enough and had to be carried on Isabella’s back to the parking lot. Gladwynn and Abbie followed carrying their bags and several bags full of sand toys, towels, and wet clothes. Gladwynn also carried the cooler and had the swan’s neck hooked over one shoulder.  

“Do ya’ ladies need a bit of help there?”

The thick Northern Irish accent was a clear indication of who was offering assistance. Gladwynn glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “We’re doing okay, but thank you for your offer, Pastor Callahan.”

Luke sighed heavily. “I’ve told you before that we are past the formalities. Call me Luke, Miss Grant.”

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he fell in step beside her. She noticed he was as clean shaven – and as handsome — as ever. It was apparent he didn’t allow hair to grow along his jawline even when camping. His blond hair was cut short, as usual, and combed to one side. Once again, he reminded her of a classic 1940’s movie star. It was both of their love for classic movies and jazz music that had led them to an in depth conversation more than once before over the last few months. The first conversation had been in the sunroom at her grandmother’s where Gladwynn had caught Lucinda looking on with a mischievous smirk. That smirk had been brought on by the fact she’d invited Luke home for dinner, obviously hoping the two would hit it off.

“Now, seriously, my dears. Let me have a bag.”

Abbie paused and slid two canvas bags off her shoulders. “I will gladly accept your assistance, pastor. Thank you so much.”

“Yes. Thank you for your help,” Gladwynn added. “How was your camping trip?”

He lifted the bags onto his shoulders and smiled. “Refreshing. Exactly what I needed.”

Gladwynn took in his dark maroon T-shirt and dark blue jeans and realized it was the most casual she’d ever seen him. She was used to seeing him in a button-up dress shirt and khakis, even when he wasn’t behind the pulpit.

He set the bags down when they reached Abbie’s minivan then opened the back hatch and set them inside. He held his hands out for the bags Gladwynn was carrying, setting them down as well.

He did the same for the remaining backs Abbie was carrying, then ruffled Logan’s sand encrusted hair. “Did you have fun, young man?”

Logan nodded sleepily from his position on his sister’s back.

Luke laughed. “You’re going to sleep hard on the way home.”

“God willing,” Abbie said with a small laugh and a gesture toward the sky. “Put in a good word for me, pastor.”

Luke winked. “You know what I always say – I’m no better than you in the sight of God just because of my vocation, but I’m willing to say an extra prayer for the wee one to get a nap.” His gaze drifted across the parking lot. “I should be going, ladies, but I hope you have a good rest of the day.” He leveled a gaze at Gladwynn. “See you in church tomorrow?”

She was again struck by how nearly translucent his blue eyes were. “I’m sure Grandma and I will be there, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”

He smiled, tipped his head down briefly, and kept his gaze locked on hers as he stepped away. “Until then.” He broke eye contact as he turned.

Gladwynn watched him cross the parking lot and pause next to a small blue car. It wasn’t the car that caught her attention as much as the woman standing next to it. Samantha Mors had one hand on the car door as Luke about a foot in front of her and propped his hand on the roof of the car.

They began talking and Gladwynn found herself trying to interpret their body language. Was their conversation professional or personal?

She pulled her attention from the scene in front of her and started looking for her keys in her bag. What they were talking about was none of her business. Just because her grandmother wanted her to have a stake in Luke’s life didn’t mean she wanted the same. The man was a pastor. He could be talking to Samantha about her spiritual wellness.

As she raised her gaze and began to turn back to her car, she saw Samantha hug Luke and him return the hug. She chewed on her bottom lip. Hugs weren’t usually part of pastoral counseling, were they?

“I thought you weren’t interested in Pastor Luke.”

Abbie’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. “What? I’m not.”

A small smirk pulled at Abbie’s mouth. “Yeah. Okay. If you say so. You just seem a bit invested into whatever is happening over there.”

Gladwynn unlocked her car door, opened the driver’s side door, and set her bag inside. “Not in the least. Looks like you have a way of imagining scenarios yourself, Mendoza. Get those kids home and washed off and we’ll talk later.”

Abbie gave her a quick hug, still sporting an amused smile. “Okay, hon. Thanks for coming and good luck at the theater event. They can be a rowdy bunch, so prepare yourself.”

Gladwynn laughed out loud as she started her car.

Rowdy bunch? They were senior citizens. How rowdy could they be?

***

The disgruntled voice of a man hit Gladwynn as soon she opened the door to the main part of the community center theater.

“Good grief, Marge. I didn’t say I wouldn’t play the part. I just said I didn’t want to.”

A woman, presumably Marge, responded sharply. “Well, if you don’t want to then I don’t know why you would say you’ll do it.”

“I’m playing it because there aren’t many other men in this community who can play it so I’m fine with playing it.”

Gladwynn paused at the top of the aisle and sought out the source of the argument, looking up on the stage, which was fully lit by the house lights.

A woman with tightly curled gray hair, slightly plump, stood facing a tall man with white hair. The woman was holding a script in one hand, a pair of small, wire-rimmed glasses in the other. The man had his hands shoved deep in his khaki pockets, leaning back slightly as if trying to lean away from the woman. The expression on his face didn’t match his stance, instead he looked incredibly bored by it all.  

The woman remained in the same position, looking at the man, swinging her glasses by the earpiece. “Don’t feel obligated. It’s not the end of the world if you can’t do it. We’ll find someone else.”

The man kept his hands in his pockets slightly leaning forward. “Marge! I already said I’ll do it. Now, can I get a copy of the script so I can see how many lines I have?”

“You don’t need a script if you don’t want to do it.”

 Another woman’s voice broke in off stage. “Greg said he’d do it, Marge. Let him do it and let it go.”

Marge let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Here is a script then. Don’t be late to rehearsals.”

Brookstone post office employee Floyd Simmons walked onto the stage wearing a floppy woman’s hat. “How do I look ladies? Am I the perfect Matthew?”

Several people in the front of the theater laughed and at least one person told him to take the hat off. Gladwynn wondered how Floyd would play Matthew, since she knew the man was hard of hearing and somedays practically had to be shouted out before he could hear the other person. She experienced this firsthand any time she visited the post office where Floyd still worked after 50 years.

Lucinda, standing by a large chest overflowing with fabric and costumes, waved at Gladwynn from the back of the stage. “Over here, sweetie!”  she called, her voice echoing through the empty theater.

The small group of people on the stage all turned toward her to see who Lucinda was beckoning to. Gladwynn tipped her head slightly in a greeting as she made her way down the aisle toward the front of the theater. Several smiles met her as she walked.

A woman who Gladwynn guessed to be somewhere in her mid-60s stepped in front of her as she reached the top of the steps on the side of the stage. Her dark hair with light gray streaks fell in a straight bob to her shoulders, like something from a 1920s film. A dress made of thin, flowing material covered in purple flowers fell to her ankles and wrists.

Her lipstick, a shade of deep lavender, matched the flowers on the dress.

She firmly grasped Gladwynn by the arms and leaned back to look at her.  “Oh, Lucinda, is this the Gladwynn we’ve heard so much about?”

The woman turned to look over her shoulder briefly at Lucinda, who laughed.

“Yes, this is her.”

The woman turned back to Gladwynn. “Oh my. She’s gorgeous.” She slapped her hands to her chest. “You’re gorgeous, love. Just gorgeous!” Her smile stretched the skin along her mouth and bony cheek bones, slightly cracking a thick layer of pale foundation “You definitely have Grant genes in you. You remind me so much of your father.” Her eyes, outlined with thick, black eyeliner, widened. “What a looker he was. My younger sister was just head over heels for him.”

Gladwynn wasn’t sure what to do with the information about the sister’s crush on her father or with the compliments about her looks. She felt warmth spread across her cheeks and chest as she laughed softly. “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Emerald.” The woman waved a hand out to one side with a dramatic twirl of her wrist. “My name is Emerald Cappucci. I’m the assistant director of the production.”

She slid a hand to Gladwynn’s upper back and gently pulled her forward. “Come. Let me introduce you to everyone. We’re so very glad you could come. Our director will be here soon. She’s back at her place trying to get rid of a headache she developed after a day in the sun.”

Gladwynn exchanged a perplexed look with her grandmother as Emerald propelled her toward a small group of people gathered on the edge of the stage.

Emerald raised her arms and clapped her hands together twice.  “Everyone! This is Gladwynn Grant. Lucinda’s beautiful granddaughter and the reporter from the Brookstone Beacon. She’s here to write a story about our upcoming production. Everyone welcome her please.”

The small group was made up of a mixture of ages ranging anywhere from Gladwynn’s age to Lucinda’s and maybe older. There were smiles, nods of heads, and ‘hellos’ offered. Gladwynn recognized Floyd, Beatrice Gilbert, Jane Henderson, Louise Barton, Mikey Tyler and Fanny Tanner – all whom her grandmother played Pitch with once a week at the retirement community. She didn’t recognize the other three. Emerald introduced each person, gesturing to them with a dramatic twist of her wrist each time and saying each name with an equally dramatic roll of the r in the names that had them.

Emerald’s eyelids — the edges darkened with clearly fake eyelashes — fluttered as she gestured to the younger woman with long blond hair that fell in large, fluffy curls down to the middle of her back. “Summer Bloomfield is our Anne, of course.” She clasped her hands in front of her and continued to look at Summer as if the woman had fallen from the sky with angels wings attached.

Ah, Summer. The Summer. The Summer who worked at the library and who her grandmother had once told her was dating Luke Callahan. Gladwynn wasn’t sure of their relationship status at this point, especially after seeing Luke with Samantha earlier that day, but it was nice to finally put a face to the name.

The name perfectly fit the woman’s sunny personality too. Her face practically glowed. Her smile revealed two rows of perfectly white, perfectly shaped teeth, and her bright green eyes sparkled under the stage lights as if she were born to be a star.

“So lovely to meet you, Gladwynn!” Summer gushed, stepping forward and clasping both of her hands around Gladwynn’s. “We have heard so much about you and all of it has been wonderful.” She winked. “And not all of it has come from your wonderful grandmother. You have made quite an impression on people in Marson County since arriving.”

A good impression? Or a bad one? And on whom? Who had been talking to Summer about her? Was this a veiled reference to Luke? She wasn’t sure how to take Summer’s statement but since the woman was smiling, she’d take it as a compliment. Unless the woman was subtly suggesting that Gladwynn had made an impression on Luke and she didn’t like it. Her mental analyzing was cut short as a door behind the group slammed open, hitting the wall behind it.

Doris walked briskly through the doorway and to the group. Her cheeks were flushed. “You’re not going to believe who just called me.” She paused to smile at Gladwynn. “Hello, Gladwynn, hon. Glad you made it.”

Emerald laid a hand lightly at the base of her throat. “Tell me it wasn’t Ashley.”

Doris’ brow dipped into a scowl. “It was and she’s flaked out on us just like you said she would. She says she can’t possibly play Diana now because she’s sprained her ankle playing pickleball.”

Emerald tipped her head back and groaned softly, pressing the heel of her hand against her the center of her forehead. “Pickleball. Please! That girl! She’s so dramatic.”

Gladwynn stifled a laugh behind her hand at the irony of the statement coupled with Emerald’s dramatic swooning gesture.

Doris placed her hands on her hips. “Who are we going to find to play Diana on such short notice?”

A murmur rippled through the group.

Marge shrugged, looking sour. “There are only so many young people from the area interested in community theater these days. The pickings are definitely slim.”

“We could place an ad in the newspaper and on the radio,” Franny offered.

Emerald shook her head, wrapping her hand around her chin. “That could take some time and we need to get someone in as soon as possible. We only have two months until opening night.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Who do we even know who is young, with dark hair, and loves Anne of Green Gables?”

A quiet settled over the group. A couple of them looked at the floor. Others looked at each other and shrugged, then shook their heads.

Then slowly, one by one, starting first with Lucinda, the cast began to look toward Gladwynn, who sensed rather than saw the situation happening. She looked up from the script she’d picked up from the top of a crate to flip through.

She looked at Lucinda who had an amused smirk pulling at one side of her mouth, then back at the group. “Why are you all looking at me?”

Emerald clapped her hands together once. “Oh daaahling!! – you’d be perfect!

Confusion clouded Gladwynn’s expression. “Perfect? For what?”

Emerald held her arms out to her sides. “You could totally play Diana. You’re young. You have dark hair. You’re beautiful. Plus, Lucinda was just telling us the other day how much you love the book.”

Gladwynn narrowed her eyes and looked at Lucinda. “She did, did she?” She shook her head once and held up a finger. “No. No. No. And no. I liked reading Anne of Green Gables. I don’t want to act in a play of it. Never. Ever. No. Not going to happen.”

Lucinda stepped across the stage and placed a hand on each of Gladwynn’s shoulders. She gave her granddaughter her best puppy-eyed dog look. “But don’t you want to make a bunch of old people who are on death’s door happy?”

Gladwynn gasped. “Grandma, really? Emotional manipulation does not become you.”

Louise scoffed from the right side of the stage. “Speak for yourself, Lucinda. I’ve got another decade in me at least.”

Emerald waved her hands in a dramatic rhythm above her head. “Just think about it, dahling, and get back to us, okay? For now, let’s get this interview going. Samantha should breeze in — .” She looked down at the watch on her wrist. “Any minute now.”

Gladwynn shook off the shock of being asked to be in the play and took her notebook and pen out of her bag. She asked Emerald and the actors questions about the production, who would be playing what part, and the show dates and times. Half an hour later she had all she needed for the article. For a photograph she took a few candid photographs of the cast rehearsing their lines and Lucinda and Doris looking through the costumes.

Emerald stood from the chair she’d sat at the front of the stage for the interview and huffed out a breath. “I just can’t understand where Samantha’s got to. She’s never been this late.”

Louise fanned herself with a script. “Has anyone tried to call her?”

Doris raised her cellphone. “I have her number. I’ll give her a call and see what is going on.”

Gladwynn grabbed Lucinda by the arm as Doris stepped outside through the backdoor behind the stage and steered the woman toward stage left. “What was with them asking me to be in the play? And who was the lady yelling at that man when I first came in?”

Lucinda smiled. “You just happened to be here at the wrong time, my dear. They probably would have jumped on any warm body who came in the door to play that part, but Emerald is right. You are perfect for the role. As for Marge Dickinson, that’s just how she is. Pushy and demanding. She means well though and she gets things done. She’s in charge of our casting, I suppose you would say. She’s in charge of whatever she wants to be in charge of. She and Emerald butt heads all the time. Both women like to have control.”

Gladwynn sighed. “Grandma, to be perfect for an acting role you have to have done some acting. I never have and don’t have any interest. I read books and write for a small town newspaper. Neither of those things qualify me to participate in one of the most extroverted activities there is.”

Lucinda handed her a script. “Just take this home. Look over it, and see what you think. Diana isn’t in the play as much as she is in the book. Plus, we’re weeding out a few scenes for time. Our actors can only stand so long before the bunions start chaffing or the varicose veins start popping.”

The back door opened, and Doris walked back inside. “It’s going straight to voicemail. I think I’ll head back to Willowbrook and see how she’s doing. I know she’s been taking sleeping pills for her insomnia, but I wouldn’t think she would taken them for a nap.” She picked up her purse from a small table at the back of the stage, then paused and snapped her fingers. “Oh wait! I can’t drive over. I left my car at the shop. Bill dropped me off.”

Gladwynn lifted her keys from her bag. “I can give you a lift. I was planning to head back to the house anyhow.”

“That will work,” Doris said as she slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Then Sam can give me a lift back here.”

A warm breeze ruffled Gladwynn’s hair as she stepped onto the sidewalk and slid her sunglasses on. Doris sighed next to her. “My goodness it’s gorgeous out today. I’m so glad that humid weather we’ve been having finally let up.”

Gladwynn couldn’t help but agree. She was not a fan of weather that made her feel like she was walking in a sauna. Her hair wasn’t either. Today would be a perfect day to put down the roof of the convertible that she’d bought when she thought her research librarian job at the college was going to be more permanent than it turned out to be. Doris probably wouldn’t enjoy that full force wind in her face or hair, so she opted to keep the roof up, though.

She pulled the car out onto Main Street. “Doris, am I right in assuming that Samantha has her own place in the retirement community?”

“Yes. She has her own condo. It’s part of her salary package. She gets a place to stay and they get a full-time recreational director and all around go-to person. People go to her with their concerns and worries more than they do the community manager.”

“And who is the manager?”

“Eileen Bristol. She’s been here about four years. No one is really sure how she got the job. She’s not very nice and looks like she ate a jar of sour pickles. There are some who have questioned who she slept with to get her job, but no one can imagine who’d want to do such a thing considering how miserable she is.” Doris slapped the tips of her fingers over her mouth. “Excuse me. That was gossip. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Gladwynn patted her knee. “It’s okay, Doris. We all slip up from time to time. I know you didn’t mean to be malicious.”

The retirement community was only about half a mile from the theater. Doris pointed out Samantha’s condo and Gladwynn pulled her car into a parking space next to the car she’d seen at the lake earlier.

“You go on and head to work,” Doris said as she stepped out of the car. “Samantha can give me a ride back to the theater.”

“Okay, then. Have a good day, Doris.”

“You too. Don’t work too hard.”

Gladwynn’s cellphone rang as Doris closed the passenger side door. A small smile pulled at Gladwynn’s mouth as she answered it.

“Hey, sis.”

Gladwynn dropped her voice into a lower octave. “Hey, bro.”

“You at work?”

“Nope. It will probably change soon since a reporter left, but for now I have weekends off.”

Caelen laughed on the other end of the phone. “Enjoy it while you can, right?”

“Right. What’s up with you?”

“Thought I should call in and get the real story about how you’re doing. You know how Mom and Dad are. They tend to be a bit –”

“Dramatic, I know.”

She knew Caelen had decided not to spend  his summer break from college at home this year. Instead, he’d gotten a job at a construction company in Michigan. She also knew their dad wasn’t too happy about his decision. He’d planned on Caelen working at the law office during the summer. William Grant was definitely planning on his son joining the firm after college. After a few revealing conversations with Caelen, she had feeling that was not going to be happening.

“Heard Dad’s going to drop in on you in a few days.”

Gladwynn winced. “Yeah. Not sure how I got that honor.”

“You didn’t move far enough away like the rest of us. So, how are you doing?”

“Pretty good.”

“You’re liking your job?”

“It’s growing on me.”

“How’s Grandma?”

“Crazy as ever.”

“And her new boyfriend?”

“She says he isn’t her boyfriend, but he’s doing well.”

Caelen laughed. “Is it weird to see her with someone other than Grandpa?”

Gladwynn flipped the visor down and looked at her hair in the mirror. She moved a couple of stray strands off her forehead. “It was at first but Jacob’s a great guy. Super sweet. He’s got the sweetest dog he brings with him sometimes. He has lunch or dinner with us a few times a week.”

She heard the sound of cars behind him as he spoke. “You think they’ll get married?”

Gladwynn made a face at her reflection. “I don’t know about that, yet. Maybe? I’m not sure I’m ready for that, to be honest, and I don’t think she is either. She’s enjoying his companionship, though.” There was a pause in the conversation and she wondered if he had another reason for calling other than checking up on her. “So, what’s up with you, anyhow? How’s the new job?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

There was another pause. She cleared her throat. “You still don’t want to be a lawyer, do you?”

Caelen let out a breath. “No. Not at all.”

“And you haven’t told Dad, have you?”

Another breath. “No.”

Gladwynn let out a brief breath herself. “Well, I hope you’re not calling me to ask me to tell him because I’m not going to. He already isn’t very happy with me. At this point, his youngest offspring are a great disappointment to him.”

Caelen snorted in disgust. “Which makes no sense. We’re allowed to have our own lives. He and Mom both need to accept that. I mean, it wasn’t your fault you got laid off and you took a chance and reinvented yourself. I think that’s cool.”

Gladwynn closed the mirror on the visor at the same moment Doris rushed out of the condo door looking over her shoulder, a terrified expression on her face. The woman stopped, turned back toward the door, and clasped her hands over her mouth, shaking her head slowly, her eyes closed.

Gladwynn reached for the door handle and opened it quickly. “Uh, Caelen. I need to go.”

“I thought you said you had the day off.”

 “I do, but something is going on.”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I’m very worried that someone else isn’t. I’ll call you back later.”


Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 4

I’m sharing another chapter of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing today, with the disclaimer that I have not fully proofed it yet and it may need some rewrites as well.

The full book will release July 18 on Amazon.

To catch up on the other chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3





Chapter 4

Gladwynn wasn’t thrilled that Liam had assigned her to shadow Laurel Benton, the reporter she’d overheard talking about her with the copy editor the night before. Unfortunately, she was the only one free to show Gladwynn the ropes, so to speak, when it came to covering municipal meetings.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Gladwynn examined her dark brown curls and reapplied her signature bright red lipstick that she’d started wearing her senior year of college. She pulled the hem of the canary yellow sweater she’d had since college down to the top edge of her black slacks and took a deep breath before giving herself a pep talk.

“Come on, Grant. Suck it up. You can do this.”

Laurel was waiting for her in the hallway, arms crossed across her chest. She had tucked her hair under a blue, knitted cap, but one strand – dark brown with light-gray streaks – had fallen loose. She’d already zipped her black winter coat up to under her chin. Small lines crinkled the skin along the corners of her eyes as she offered a tense smile.

“Ready to go? We need to leave now if we want to get a good seat.”

Gladwynn reached for her coat, a hot pink tumbler filled with hot coffee, and a reporter’s notebook that she’d sat on a chair outside the bathroom door. She zipped her coat up to her chin and flipped up the gray-faux fur-lined hood. It was less stylish, but warmer than the one she’d been wearing the day before. She’d decided she needed to be ready for the conditions since she’d be outside more in this job than in her last job, even if the coat clearly clashed with her style.

She gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

As she walked, she wrapped the bright red scarf her grandmother had handed her earlier that day around her neck and pulled it up across her mouth and nose.

Snow crunched under her winter boots, reminding her how glad she was that she’d stopped by the local shoe store on her way to work to pick out a pair of cute, yet still practical, brown winter boots.

Laurel’s steps weren’t as long as Liam’s, thankfully, and it was much easier to keep up with her. Her blue Honda was parked in a church parking lot across the street from the newspaper office. The car was definitely a lot older than Liam’s BMW. Dents along the passenger side of the car hinted at some sort of collision at some point – possibly with a guide rail or tree limb.

The door groaned as it opened, and the ripped seat definitely wasn’t heated.

Laurel slammed the driver’s side door shut. “Sorry about the car. It’s pretty beat up but gets me where I need to go.” She smirked. “Working for a small-town newspaper isn’t exactly a lucrative gig if you haven’t realized that already.”

A smile tugged at Gladwynn’s mouth. “I’ve started to figure that out, yes.” Her breath turned the air in front of her white and she hoped the car at least had heat.

The engine rolled over with a reluctant growl. Shifting it into reverse resulted in a loud grinding noise. Laurel grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “Stupid car.” She shook her head briefly. “Anyhow, Birchwood is about 20 minutes away and in the middle of nowhere so you can help me watch for deer.”

Laurel slowly edged the car out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. The sun hadn’t yet set, and the drive gave Gladwynn a moment to take in the town, as little as there was to take in. Brookstone had probably been a bustling center of activity at some point, but these days many of the buildings were shuttered up or housing businesses that probably wouldn’t survive the year. There were more “used” signs than she’d ever seen in one place. Used clothes, used books, and used video games just to name a few.

The one standout gem of Main Street was the old Cornerstone Theatre, which her grandmother had told her had once been an opera house, built in 1875. She remembered many trips there as a child and teen when she’d spent summers with her grandparents.

Gladwynn watched two churches slide by. One church was a Catholic Church with a light brown stone exterior and a tall bell tower. This must be the bell that rang four times a day, including 6 a.m., waking her up this morning way before she’d wanted to.

“How you settling in?”

Laurel’s question pulled her gaze from the impressive brick façade of the Covenant Heart Church her grandfather had used to pastor and that her grandmother still attended. “Okay, I guess. I mean, do you mean at the office or at my grandmother’s, which is where I’m staying for now?”

Laurel shrugged and smiled briefly. “Both I guess.”

“I would say I’m settling in with Grandma better than I am at the office, honestly.” The business district of town began to fade into a series of lovely homes, many of them Victorian like her grandmothers. That was one thing about Brookstone. Part of it demonstrated that the area had fallen into disrepair and poverty, while the other half showcased the wealth that had once ruled the town and, in some cases, still did.

Gladwynn glanced at Laurel. “By the way, the word is coif not quaff.”

Laurel looked over at her with one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“The word you were looking for yesterday was coif. Coif is a hairdo. I was wearing a 40s coif in your opinion. Quaff means to drink heavily, which I don’t do.”

Red crept into Laurel’s cheeks. She frowned briefly. “Sorry about that.”

The town disappeared into a less sparsely populated area with only a few houses, a gas station and a mechanic shop passing by.

Gladwynn sighed. “Maybe it is a silly hairdo.”

“No. Really. It isn’t.” Laurel glanced at her. “We were just being petty. It happens in a small office. Especially among women. Not to run our sex down but we do tend to get caddy when we are in small groups. Maybe it’s because our hormones sync and we’re all having PMS at the same time.”

Glawyn laughed softly. “Yeah, that actually happened at my last job too.” And her house when she was growing up, but she didn’t think she needed to mention that at the moment.

The gears in the car groaned again as Laurel shifted. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you worked in papers before?”

Gladwynn kept her gaze on the road in front of them, groves of trees, interspersed with small farmhouses and farms. “Only at my college newspaper almost six years ago now. I do write. I don’t know if I would call myself a writer, though. I write short stories sometimes.” She slid her gloves off as the heat in the car started to kick in. “I was laid off at my last job. It was at the college library in a town near where I grew up. I loved the job, but enrollment has been down at the college for a couple of years now and they finally started making cuts. I was one of those cuts.”

Laurel winced. “Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m actually surprised Liam hired me. Grateful but surprised.”

Laurel snorted a laugh. “Of course, he hired you. Liam is a sucker for cute brunettes. His last three girlfriends were brunettes. He also needed a warm body to fill the seat and get Lee off his back.”

“Lee?”

“The publisher. You’ll meet him eventually. He and his wife spend most of the winter in Florida with his kids and grandkids.”

Gladwynn glanced at her reflection in the passenger side window. Cute? She’d always thought of herself as plain. She’d never really described herself as skinny even when others did. She simply saw herself as boney and awkward, often wishing she could be tall and lanky instead.

She’d definitely taken after most of the women on Grandma Lucinda’s side of the family in the height department. Her short stature had always been an irritant to her, though she was glad she at least had grown past the 5 foot 3 inches of Lucinda. Only by an inch, but it was an inch she’d prayed hard for over the years.

She took a sip from her tumbler, closing her eyes briefly at the sweet taste of coffee and cream her grandmother had mixed for. “So, what about you? Are you from here originally?”

Laurel gave a quick nod. “Yep. Born and raised.”

“Have you been at the paper long?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Too long. Twelve years next month.”

“Is this what you thought you’d always do? Like, did you go to school for journalism?”

“I did, but always imagined I’d be at a much bigger paper. I came back here after college to help my parents on the farm. They retired and sold it last year and moved down South to live with my grandmother, but here I am, still stuck in good ole’ Marson County.”

Gladwynn thought she heard a twinge of resentment in Laurel’s voice. “Is the job the only thing keeping you here?”

Laurel pressed her mouth into a thin line for a few seconds before answering. “It is now.”

She didn’t elaborate and Gladwynn didn’t ask her to.

“The job’s not that bad of a gig really,” Laurel said after a few seconds of silence. “The hours stink, and I feel like I’m always on, ready to cover something even when I’m supposed to have a day off, but I like the people, the writing, and most of the time I like my co-workers. Except that little upstart who thinks he’s God’s gift to journalism. I’d like to give him a swift kick in the butt.” She snorted a quick laugh. “Maybe when I decide to quit and get out of this county once and for all, that will be my last act.” She turned her car onto a road to her right and the conversation faded for the rest of the drive.

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 3

Guys! Gals! I am excited! I have finished my revisions of the full novel of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing and I’m sending it out to beta readers and then will have ARC copies ready to go by June. Do you want to get in on reading the full book early? You can sign up to read an advanced copy (and hopefully review it if you like it) here:

To celebrate finishing my revisions (but not my corrections because it has to go to the editors still), I thought I’d share chapter 3 of the book.

You can find the previous chapters here and here.

As usual, there could be typos in this chapter since I still have to send it to my editors.

Let me know what you think in the comments if you want to!

Chapter 3

Glawynn woke with a start the next morning, heart pounding.

A horrible grinding noise had jolted her from a dream. It stopped almost as quickly as it started and now she wondered if it had been part of the dream, which she could remember very little of. There’d been a court jester and a young Frank Sinatra. The rest had faded into oblivion.

 The room she was looking at reminded her of something someone might see on the set of a Regency film. She let out a breath, blowing hair out of her face, and struggled to remember where she was.

A solemn woman with her hair high on her head in a tight bun scowled at her from a gold-framed picture on the wall above a full-length mirror opposite her. To the woman’s right, there was a full-bearded man wearing a Quaker-style hat staring at her from out of another framed picture. Both photographs were black and white.

It was all coming back to her now.

Grandma’s house in Brookstone. Her home for the foreseeable future.

She winced as she moved her legs, stinging pain shuddering through the bottom of her feet, reminding her of her stupid decision to wear high-heeled boots to work.

Downstairs the noise that had woken her up had started up again. Some kind of grinding and squealing, like maybe a cat caught in a woodchipper.

What was her grandmother doing?

Or maybe it wasn’t her grandmother. She hadn’t actually seen her grandmother when she’d come home last night. Lucinda’s bedroom door had been closed.  Gladwynn had tiptoed past it and crawled into bed without even changing into her pajamas.

Now fully awake, she tossed the thick quilt off her and reached for the flashlight next to the bed, weighing it in her hand.

Yeah, that would work if there was a chainsaw-wielding maniac downstairs instead of her spunky grandmother.

She inched her way into the hallway then slowly to the top of the stairs, ancestors watching her with stoic stares from ornate and vintage frames along the flower-wallpapered walls.

Making her way down the wooden staircase that dated sometime in the early 1900s, one hand on a banister, she winced as the grinding noise grew louder. It was clear now that the sound was coming from the kitchen.

Amidst the grinding, she could hear Dean Martin crooning away and just as loud, Lucinda’s voice joining in.

Gladwynn set the flashlight on a small table sitting against the wall next to the staircase under a framed image of the Grant coat of arms that a great-uncle twice removed, or something had brought back from a trip to Scotland.

She paused to look through the kitchen doorway, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of Lucinda wearing a silky, bright pink bathrobe, her back to the doorway. Her light gray hair was swept back in a messy bun and her plump hips swayed from side to side as she sang while pouring something bright green from a blender into tall glasses.

Gladwynn stepped up into the doorway. Lucinda looked over her shoulder, smiled, and belted out the end of the song, before flicking off the CD player.

“Hey there, girl! There you are! You were passed right out when I got home. That must have been some crazy second day.”

When she got home? Where had her grandmother been last night at 8 p.m. if not curled up in bed asleep?

Gladwynn flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Yeah. It was a little crazy.”

“Different than library work, huh?”

 “That’s an understatement. It’s like walking from Brigadoon into Saigon.”

Lucinda set a glass of the green concoction in front of Gladwynn and winked. “Glad to hear you referencing a classic movie we used to watch together.”

Gladwynn smirked. “Brigadoon or Platoon?”

“Very funny, kid.” Lucinda winked. “You know we never watched Brigadoon together.” She sat at the table across from her granddaughter, taking a sip from the glass. She smacked her lips. “Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

She sighed and folded her arms on top of the table. “It’s been nice having you here, you know. I’d honestly been considering moving to Willowbrook before you called. This place is too big for one person.”

Gladwynn studied the green substance with suspicion. “You? In a retirement community?”

Lucinda shrugged. “I’m there enough as it is and almost all my friends are there now so it probably wouldn’t be a huge adjustment. Plus, it’s not easy for this old lady to take care of this big house anymore.”

“What were you going to do with the house?”

“Sell it, probably.”

She couldn’t be serious. This house had been in the family for over a hundred years. “Why? Wouldn’t dad or mom or Aunt Margaret or Uncle Doug and Aunt Harriet have wanted it?”

Lucinda shrugged again and took a swig from her glass.

“None of them are interested in keeping up this old place. They’ve all got their own lives and responsibilities. Your siblings and cousins are too wrapped up in their own worlds to care about it either.” She smirked. “Except for Trudy. I overheard her at Christmas last year tell her friend, or whatever he is, that she would love to turn this house into a bed and breakfast one day.”

Yeah, that sounded like Gladwynn’s cousin Trudy. She scoffed. “She would have abandoned that idea as soon as she realized it would require her to actually do work.”

Lucinda revealed a faint smile over the rim of her glass.

Gladwynn twirled the glass slowly in her hands and made a face. “What is this stuff anyhow?”

“It’s a green smoothie. All the rage and very good for you.”

Gladwynn sniffed the glass and set it down again. “Green things aren’t really something I eat. Or drink. Ever. But especially in the morning.”

Lucinda lifted an eyebrow. “Being healthy doesn’t interest you? Well, then, by all means go ahead and pour yourself some cereal that resembles cardboard or throw some heart attack-causing butter on a piece of inflammation-inducing toast and toss a piece of cholesterol-raising pig in the frying pan.”

Gladwynn stood. “Don’t mind if I do. Bacon sounds amazing right now. Also, I think it is the butter that raises cholesterol and the pork that can lead to the heart attack. Not sure about that, though, since I really don’t care.”

She felt her grandmother’s eyes on her as she walked to the fridge, but the woman luckily changed the subject. “So, how did your first couple of days go?”

Gladwynn shrugged. “They were okay. The job is just different than I expected.” She slapped a pack of bacon on the counter. “I caught a couple of the staff gossiping about me yesterday. I don’t think they like me very much.”

Lucinda turned fully in the chair to look at her. “Gladwynn, are you listening to yourself? You’re not in high school. ‘They don’t like me.’ ‘They were talking about me.’ Who cares! You don’t have to be best friends with these people. It’s a job. Work the job and come home. You young people today are too stuck on thinking you have to like your job or the people you work with. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about making money to pay your bills and put food on the table.”

The bacon sizzled in the pan. “I know, Grandma, but it would be nice if my co-workers at least liked me.”

“Did your co-workers at your last job like you?”

“Well, yeah, but we were all similar. A bunch of weirdos spending half of our lives with our noses in a book.”

Lucinda chuckled. “You’re so much like your dad. That boy always had a book in his hands.”

Gladwynn tensed at the comparison. She was nothing like William Alexander Grant or her mother, Penelope Fitzwalter-Grant, which was probably why she was always butting heads with them.

Lucinda picked up Gladwynn’s glass and poured half of the mixture into her own glass. “I’m going to the community center tonight to play Pitch. You want to come along?”

“No, my shift starts at three today. I have to go to a meeting with one of the other reporters.”

“Oh, yeah, which meeting?”

“Some little township about half an hour away. Beachwood or something.”

Lucinda finished the smoothie in her glass. “Oh, Birchwood. Good luck with that. Those people are always arguing.”

“About what?”

“About anything and everything. Sometimes it’s about zoning, and sometimes about the shape of the roads. Sometimes someone looked at someone else funny. Who even knows. Lately, the paper had been writing about some beef going on with the volunteer fire department and the township board or a resident of something. I don’t know. I really don’t have time to read the paper these days.” She put her glass in the sink. “I certainly don’t envy you, young lady. Now, before you go, I’ll need you to help me pick out my outfit for tonight. It’s so wonderful having someone here that can help me choose.”

“What about Doris?”

“I love Doris, honey, but you know she has no taste. No taste in music. No taste in men and definitely no taste in clothes.”

Gladwynn shook her head, placing a couple slices of cooked bacon onto a plate. “Now, Grandma, is that any way to speak about your best friend? And her husband for that matter? Bill is a good guy.”

“Doris isn’t my best friend. She’s just a friend. My best friend was your grandfather and he’s not here anymore.”

Gladwynn flipped a piece of bacon. “So, Doris will have to do.”

Lucinda sighed. “Yes, I guess so. She is a very good friend so she can be my almost best friend. As for Bill – well, that’s another conversation for another day.” She snatched a piece of bacon off the plate. “Now you finish that bit of smoothie I left for you. It’s good for you. I’ve got to get to the post office and then I’m heading up to the Y for a swim. I’m going to swing by Judy’s Market on the way home. Can I get you anything?”

“Grandma, don’t you ever slow down? I want to know how your date went last night. More importantly, I want to know who it was with.”

Lucinda bumped her hip into Gladwynn’s and winked. “There will be plenty of time for that conversation, little lady.” She took another bite of the piece of bacon. “You just get yourself some food and relax until you have to go to work.”

Heading toward the doorway, Lucinda started to hum another Dean Martin tune.

Gladwynn placed a hand to her hip and scowled at Lucinda’s retreating form. “I thought you said bacon wasn’t healthy.”

Lucinda glanced over her shoulder waving the bacon above her head. “It isn’t but it sure does taste good.”

After she finished her breakfast and her grandmother had left to run her errands, Gladwynn made her way to her grandfather’s office, which was also a library with floor-to-ceiling cherrywood bookcases built into the walls.

Little had been changed in the room since Sidney William Grant had passed away six years ago. The top of his mahogany desk had been cleared of papers, but family photos still remained.  Rows of books from a variety of eras filled the bookshelves and oil paintings of scenes from the area along with various photographs from his 50 years as a minister lined the walls.

Gladwynn paused and breathed in deeply. She was amazed the room still smelled so much like her grandfather’s aftershave. It was as if the day he died her grandmother had closed up the room to lock in all the smells and memories of him. It was clear, though, that Lucinda, or someone else, had been in the room since then by the lack of dust on the desk and shelves.

She sat in her grandfather’s chair and rubbed her hands along the black leather of the armrests. An old-style radio she’d been told was her grandfather’s when he was young sat across the room on a small table. It was probably built in the early 1950s, maybe earlier. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap as a child in this office, listening to the oldies radio station.

The songs from the 1940s and 1950s had always been her favorite. She still listened to them when driving in her car or while reading.

Though there was a time that sitting in this office had made her feel sad and acutely aware of her loss, she felt an odd sense of joy and peace sitting here today, grateful for the memories of him.

She stood and looked at the books on the shelves, choosing one her grandfather had read to her when she’d used to visit in the summer.

The Hobbit.

She sat back at the desk with it and opened it, the crack of the spine sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She’d always loved the hand-drawn illustrations inside.

An hour later she looked up at the clock and yawned. She didn’t want to leave the refuge of the room, but she should probably get a shower and start putting her clothes away in the wardrobe in her room, something she hadn’t yet done since moving in last week. She laughed softly, thinking of the first time she’d stayed in that room as a young child and how she’d felt all the way to the back of that wardrobe to see if it felt cold as if it might really be a portal to Narnia, which she had been reading about at the time.

Walking back toward the staircase, she marveled, once again, at the size of the house. To get to the main staircase to go upstairs she walked past two parlors, a living room, a sunroom that included a mini library filled with her grandmother’s classic book collection, a dining room that was bigger than her first apartment, and a full-size bathroom. Inside the living room was a stone fireplace her grandfather had built.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms, a room that used to be a nursery but was now a den, two porch balconies outside two of the rooms, a full bathroom that Lucinda had installed a hot tub in three years ago, and an attic on the third floor.

Outside, massive granite stairs with grapevine mortar sidewalls lead up to a wrap-around porch and porte-cochere that led to a three-car garage at the side of the house, at the end of the drive, that had once been a carriage house.

The home, built in 1894, had originally belonged to her grandfather’s grandfather, a prestigious county lawyer and then judge. The woodwork inside was original and Gladwynn ran her hand along it as she walked to her room at the end of the long hallway, which was lit by lanterns that resembled those from the early 1900s but had actually been installed in the 1960s.

This home had always fit her personality more than the modern two-story house she’d grown up in with her parents, two older sisters, and older brother in upstate New York.  

Unlike her older sisters she’d somehow never felt like a modern girl. Instead, deep down she felt as if she’d been meant for a different decade. She had even set aside modern clothing for more vintage outfits since high school.

“You’re a girl with an old name and an even older soul,” Lucinda had once told her as they sat on the metal bench in the middle of her grandmother’s overflowing flower garden.

Gladwynn heard her cell phone ringing as she reached the end of the hall. She took her time getting to it, knowing who it would be.

She glanced at his name on the lock screen, pushed the call to voicemail, and once again questioned why she hadn’t yet blocked his number, knowing deep down it was because she hated leaving anything unresolved. Someday she’d have to resolve that situation, but for now, she was going to enjoy a long bath before work.



Fiction Friday: Guest post with author Chelsea Michelle – a free chapter of Hours We Regret

This week I don’t have anything to share for Fiction Friday so I invited some authors to help me out and A.M. Heath is one of them!

This week Anita is sharing a chapter of Hours We Regret by Chelsea Michelle, her pen name with fellow author Amanda Tero. This novella, which you can get for free (see the link after the excerpt) is a Watson Twins Mystery and is listed in Christian Fiction as a cozy mystery.

And just a heads up for those of you who know about my next book, Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing – I’ve pushed back the release date by a month so I will have time to send the book out to beta readers and editors and give them more time to help me polish up the book before I release it all to you.

You can pre-order it here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP

Now, without further ado, a description of Hours We Regret.

Hours We Regret Description: 

A serial killer. A dangerous road. And a cell phone going straight to voicemail…

A string of murders happening just across the state line makes residents of idyllic Maple Springs nervous. While Michelle Watson is obsessed with finding the killer’s pattern, her twin Chelsea disagrees with her involvement.

Reading the victims’ stories makes Michelle face the decisions she’s been trying to ignore. Determined to live her life to the fullest, she makes an innocent choice that takes a life-threatening turn.

When Michelle stops answering her phone, Chelsea can’t ignore the feeling that something is wrong. Very wrong. With friends and family, Chelsea sets out to find her sister, all while questioning if her faith is strong enough to weather the trial. 

Time is running out and the last thing Chelsea wants to do is file a missing person’s report for her twin.

An excerpt

Chapter 1

Michelle: 

“He’s getting closer,” I muttered, staring down at the new dot on the map. 

“Who is?” my sister asked, walking into the kitchen from behind me. 

I froze. 

Chelsea poured a glass of chocolate milk. “Michelle?” 

With a deep breath, I shoved the newspaper into her line of vision. 

“Not another one.” 

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yep.” Lord be with her family. My heart yearned to say so much, but it too was clogged. 

Over my shoulder, Chelsea groaned. 

I closed my eyes and waited for her rebuke. 

“A map? You made a map of this man’s killings?” 

“I wanted to see if there was a pattern.” I turned to face her, staring back into a face identical to my own. 

She was getting ready for work, so she wore the cute striped blouse I ached to get my hands on and an understated knee-length pencil skirt. 

“What kind of pattern were you expecting to find?” 

I shrugged, staring back at the map. “I don’t know. It was just a hunch I wanted to trace out. There was an episode of Diagnosis Murder where the bomber was spelling his name across the town.” 

“That’s sick.” She took a long drink. 

“So far they have that much in common.” My eyes bounced from dot to dot, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for where the serial killer struck. 

His victims were all women he had run off the road, but I couldn’t dwell on the other known factors of what they had in common. 

“We need to put trackers on our phones,” I muttered under my breath. 

“What?”

I angled away, reaching for a bagel to toast. “Yeah, and buy some mace.” I snapped my fingers, spinning around to Chelsea. “And code words. We need code words.” 

She stared at me blankly. “Michelle, we are not getting code words.” 

“Why not?” I split my bagel and dropped it into the toaster before leaning against the counter and crossing my arms. “They could come in handy someday. You never know.” 

She rolled her eyes. “One: Because I refuse to live in fear. Two: I refuse to entertain you as you live in fear. And three: I would know if something was off. Few people are as in sync as we are.” 

She had to bring up the innate twin connection as her argument. I chewed the inside of my lip as the toaster popped. “We can at least start with the trackers and the mace, and discuss the code words later.” 

Chelsea stared at me. I knew what was coming even as she opened her mouth and said, “Psalm 37 says, ‘Do not fret because of evildoers.’”

I wracked my mind for the rest of the passage. “It also says, ‘Trust in the Lord and do good.’” I made sure to emphasize the last part. 

Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “It also says ‘Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him; Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way… who brings wicked schemes to pass.’”

My mind scrambled. I was not going to let Chelsea win this argument. It wasn’t right to just turn a blind eye to wickedness. I grinned and paraphrased James 4:17, “To know to do good and not do it is sin.”

Chelsea opened, then closed her mouth.

I grinned in triumph.

“Look,” Chelsea said with a sigh. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t help to work against evil. I just don’t think we need to insert ourselves when it isn’t in our path—when in reality the only thing we’re doing is worrying, not actively helping.”

I waved toward the counter. “I have a map. I am actively helping.”

Chelsea picked up her purse and keys and gave me an incredulous look. “Do you even realize how that sounds?”

“Ummm … Like I’m brilliantly inserting myself.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“And before you tell me that it’s not my job, let me remind you that it’s the job of every citizen to help find him. They said, and I quote, ’If you know anything or see anything suspicious please call.’” I pointed again to the counter. “I’m looking for suspicious patterns … and trying to keep us from being victims in the process.”

She let out a sigh. “You know that’s not how it works. I’m gonna be late for work. Bye.” She started for the door. 

“You can’t be serious, Sea. You’re really going to leave without giving me a goodbye hug? This could be the last time you see me, you know.” 

That earned me another famous glare, the I’m-older-than-you, please-be-sensible type of glare that I was always getting from her. “I refuse to live in fear with you, Michelle.” She opened the door.

I yelled back, “I refuse to live in denial with you, Chelsea!” 

“Ha.” She shut the door. 

I scurried across the room and flung the door open, yelling for all the neighborhood to hear, “I love you!”

She turned around, her face a pretty shade of red and silent laughter bubbling out. 

I waved over my head at Ms. Rhonda, our neighbor, who paused her weeding to wave a dirty garden-gloved hand back at us both. “Morning girls.” 

“Morning, Ms. Rhonda,” we said together. 

“Your roses are still looking great,” I said. 

Chelsea walked closer to her car. 

I kept an eye on her as I smiled back at Ms. Rhonda. 

“Did you not hear me, Chelsea?” 

“I heard you,” she said. “I’m going to be late for work.” 

“Not until you say it back.” 

She pinched her lips together. 

I angled my chin in equal stubbornness. 

But time was on my side because Chelsea hated to be late. After only a moment’s stare off she caved. “I love you too.” 

“What? I can’t hear you.” 

“I love you too,” she said a little louder. 

“See? Was that so hard?” 

“Some days it is.” 

I stuck my tongue out at her. 

She laughed and got in her car. 

I went back inside, the trail of the serial killer mocking me from the kitchen counter. 

After spreading cream cheese on my bagel, I scooped up the paper and brought it with me to the table. 

The new victim was twenty-four, which remained in the twenty to thirty-five range he seemed to favor. 

A chill ran down my spine. We were twenty-six and well within that range. 

The article spelled out how beloved she had been to her community. She was saving up for a trip to France but never got the chance to take it. 

Tears burned behind my eyes. So much life was left for her to live, but he selfishly stole it from her. 

Too sick to finish my breakfast, I threw it away and took a shower. 



Author Bio and a Link to the novella:

Christian authors, Amanda Tero and A.M. Heath bring you faith-based, cozy mysteries under Chelsea Michelle. 

Amanda Tero grew up attending a one-room school with her eleven siblings—and loved it! She also fell in love with reading to the point her mom withheld her books to get her to do her chores. That love of reading turned into a love of writing YA fiction. Amanda is a music teacher by day and a literary guide by night, creating stories that whisk readers off to new eras and introduce them to heroic but flawed characters that live out their faith in astonishing ways.

Visit Amanda Tero at amandatero.com 

A.M. Heath is the author of the 2022 Selah Finalist, Painted Memories. She enjoys writing stories that entertain while feeding the soul in contemporary and historical settings. 

When away from her desk, she’s a faithful member of her local church where she teaches a ladies’ Sunday School class. She is happily married and raising four kids while embracing the small-town lifestyle and tightly woven family bonds. 

Visit A.M. Heath at christianauthoramheath.net

Read Hours We Regret for FREE!
https://subscribepage.io/hours-we-regret

Follow Chelsea Michelle on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/@chelseamichelle

Or chat mysteries with them in their Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/chelseamichelle




Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Excerpt

Okay, guy, seriously, I actually thought I was going to only show paid subscribers to my newsletter chapters of my new book — like I was famous or something.

Please, have a good laugh with me.

What was I thinking?

I’m just a mom writing books mainly for fun and tossing them up on Kindle and Amazon. I am not someone people are going to pay a monthly subscription to read and that is totally okay. I am not there yet and may never be. All good.

It doesn’t bother me. All that being said, though, if you want regular updates on my writing (like twice a month updates), you can sign up for my Substack newsletter and you might want to do it now to enter a giveaway I am running. The giveaway is for a book called Meant to Bee by Storm Shultz.

You don’t have to be a paid subscriber to enter the giveaway. Honestly? I don’t think I’m going to offer paid subscriptions right now. What do I have to offer that someone would pay regularly for? Nothing — yet anyhow. *wink*

You can sign up for my Substack account and find out about the newsletter here:

https://lisarhoweler.substack.com/p/april-newsletter-a-giveaway-book

And now, if you’d like a sneak peek of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing, you can find it here today in this post. Without further ado – the first chapter of my next book. Will I share more? I don’t know yet. We shall see. *wink*



Chapter 1

“Hey new girl. Grab a notebook and let’s go. We’ve got a one vehicle MVA on Darby Hill.”

Gladwynn Grant heard the voice but when she looked over her shoulder her new boss had already disappeared back into the hallway.

MVA?

Wait. What did MVA stand for again?

Gladwynn Grant racked her brain, trying to remember the meaning of the acronym.

The M wasn’t murder, was it?

Mayhem?

She fumbled through her top desk drawer for a reporter’s notebook and pen, wincing when the edge of a paper sliced into the skin of her index finger.

“New girl, come on.”

She looked, but, once again, he disappeared.

“Be right there.”

Messy? No. That wasn’t it.

She stood, slammed her knee off the metal drawer of the desk and bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Outside the window to her right, snow flurries swirled against a dark gray sky.

It came to her as she reached for her winter coat on the back of her chair.

M was for motor.

MVA. Motor Vehicle Accident. That was it.

“Chop. Chop. This will be good training for you.”

Right. Good training for the job she hadn’t even wanted but needed since she’d been laid off from her last job.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” her mother always said, a line she hated hearing growing up and hated even more as an adult.

Training for her new job in the middle of a snowstorm on a rural highway at dusk wasn’t exactly what she’d expected when she’d accepted the job as a reporter at the Brookville Beacon. She thought she’d be shown the ropes slowly, overtime – maybe handed a few lightweight stories to write first. Instead, it was clear she was to be thrown into the fire right off the bat.

She quickly yanked on her coat, a red vintage-style one she’d found at a thrift shop a couple of years ago, flipped up the hood, and shoved the pen and notebook in the large inside pocket. Snatching a pair of red leather gloves off the top of the bare desk, she rushed to follow editor Liam Finley down the dimly lit hallway toward the back door. A gust of frigid wind smacked her in the face as it opened.

She hoped rushing outside in raging snowstorms wouldn’t be something she’d have to do often.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she stepped out into the cold.

She took two steps at a time to keep up with the long strides of the man in front of her.

He looked over his shoulder as snow whipped around them. “We’ll take my car. Did you grab a camera?”

“Oh. No. I’ll —”

“Go back and grab one. I’ll meet you up front.”

Darting back through the snow she pulled the hood tight in front of her face, icy flakes still managing to bite at her skin. She was out of breath when she rushed back into the office, weaving through the cubicles to retrieve the camera she’d been given the day before. She didn’t make eye contact with her co-workers as she rushed back out the back door.

“Good luck, newbie,” a man’s voice called after her.

She was even more out of breath by the time she reached the parking lot, the camera clutched against her chest. Snow fell in sheets around her. Opening the passenger door of the tan BMW she flopped into the front seat, breathing hard as melting snow dripped from her hair into her eyes. The windshield was a blur of white.

Liam shifted the car into gear and yanked it out onto the empty street. “I hope it’s a fatal. We need a centerpiece.”

Wiping snow from her face she looked at her new boss with wide eyes. His unshaven appearance made him look older than he probably was. Dark hair hung long across his forehead, just above dark brown eyes framed by dark, and remarkably long, eyelashes. Small lines creased the skin next to his eyes.

He glanced at her and lifted a shoulder. “What? We don’t have any art for page one.”

“Art?”

He shifted the car into a lower gear as snow piled up on the road. “A photo or graphic for the centerpiece.”

“Centerpiece?”

He sighed. “The main story on the front page. What are they teaching in colleges these days? I thought you’d have learned this stuff at the college newspaper.”

He seemed to have forgotten she hadn’t worked at a college newspaper for almost seven years at this point.

Liam was driving at what she felt was an unsafe speed considering the conditions and the fact they were on their way to an accident caused by those same conditions. He reached over and tapped a couple buttons on the dashboard. Warmth rushed up under her and she let out a small gasp, then realized the seats were heated. She hadn’t picked that feature when she’d purchased her car two years ago.

“You okay over there?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Yep. Totally fine.”

Liam flicked the high beams on. Even though the sun hadn’t set yet, the snow was making it seem darker out. “When we get there, you take the photos and I’ll do the talking. Watch what I do so you’ll know what to do next time.”

She nodded.

Next time.

On her own.

That should be interesting.

She didn’t know what she’d been thinking taking this job. It was nothing like she’d expected.

She’d applied for it after the college had laid her off from her job at the library. She’d needed the money to pay off her college loans.

Well, that and the cute red Miata she’d bought when she thought the library job was going to be long term. Good thing she hadn’t opted for the heated seats.

The ad on the job site had caught her eye, not really because of the job itself, but because of where it was located.

Brookville, Pennsylvania – where her grandmother lived alone in a massive Victorian house. Two hundred miles away from where she’d grown up with her parents and, more importantly, 200 miles away from Bennett Steele.

“You’re a quiet one, Grant.” Liam’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What’d you do before you came here again?”

Clearly, he had not read her resume at all. She had a feeling all he’d wanted was a warm body to fill the vacancy.

She rubbed her gloved hands together and blew into them. “Library assistant for Brock College. They laid me off a couple months ago.”

“From librarian to a reporter. This must be cultural shock to you.”

She glanced at him then back at the steadily whiter road in front of them. “Yeah, a little. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

She doubted her own words.

In the last week every idea she’d had of what a reporter actually did had been shattered beyond recognition. Sure, she knew she’d be expected to attend municipal meetings and community gatherings and write a story about them, but now she knew she was also expected to take the photographs, proof her co-workers stories, and sometimes answer the phones at the front desk if the receptionist needed to leave for lunch or to pick up her kids from school. Smalltown newspapers were nothing like the larger ones portrayed in movies and books.

She hadn’t interacted much with Liam yet, other than her brief interview and a brief staff meeting the day before, but she’d already pegged him as someone who lived mainly for his job and wasn’t afraid to push the envelope when it came to succeeding at it.

Flashing red and blue lights cut through the fog and snow up ahead. Emergency vehicles were parked in the middle of the road and off to the side near the guardrails.

Liam smoothly pulled his car behind a black truck with a blue flashing light on top. Through a space between a fire truck and an ambulance she could see a bright red car on its roof and behind it a blue SUV dented in the front and part way off the road.

A state trooper turned as they approached the scene, hands at his waist. “You need to stay back.”

His voice was deep and made Gladwynn, who had never considered herself timid, want to say “yes, sir” and dash back to Liam’s car.

Liam, however, didn’t seem bothered. He tipped his head in a curt nod. “Of course. My reporter here just needs some photos. She can stand back here to get them. Can you provide a few details on the accident? I heard entrapment on the scanner. Can you confirm that?”

The trooper merely held up his hand. “You’ll need to step back there, sir. Only emergency responders past this point.”

Liam ignored the trooper and raised his hand to greet one of the firemen walking toward them. “Justin! Hey! How you doing? Bad night out here, huh?”

The firefighter nodded solemnly, and Gladwynn noticed the word chief emblazoned on the yellow helmet on his head. “It is. I can’t talk now but call me later and I can give you some details. One injury so far.”

“And I’m sure I can call the barracks later for a report?” Liam smiled at the trooper as he walked around him toward the ambulance.

The trooper’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, but he didn’t move to stop Liam. “Sure.”

Liam raised an imaginary camera to his eye. Glawynn nodded and began taking photographs, glad she’d kept up her photography hobby over the years. When her foot slipped after a few shots, she thought she was going down but a hand under her elbow steadied her. She looked up at a firefighter with bright blue eyes and a broad, friendly smile.

He let go of her elbow and looked at her feet. “Not the best shoes for this weather.”

His accent was thick. Clearly Irish. What was an Irishmen doing in Brookville?

She glanced at her high-heeled boots. Her grandmother had said the same thing. “Yeah, I need to start carrying winter boots with me.”

The firefighter winked as he turned to walk away. “It’d be a good idea.”

Liam stood next to the ambulance talking to another firefighter. Radio chatter and the purr of engines served as background noise to the voices of the responders and eventually a call for a backboard. Gladwynn stepped back, lifting the Cannon to snap a few shots as the firemen kneeled next to the car.

A dark green glove blocked her view. “No photos of victims.”

A different, less friendly, and less attractive, firefighter stood before her with a scowl.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.”

He turned his back toward her, standing more squarely in front of her as if to get his point across. Lowering the camera, she stepped to her right and looked over his shoulder in time to see Liam walking toward her, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

He nodded his head toward his car and walked past her. She assumed that meant he wanted her to follow her. At this point she’d rather be at home curled up under a blanket with a book and a cup of blueberry tea sweetened with a healthy helping of honey.

“No fatality but still good art with that car on its hood,” he said as she fell in step with him. “Did you get some good shots?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Bart tried to stop you, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I —”

“Big buffoon thinks he can tell us how to do our jobs. Those state police don’t help matters either. They cover all the little towns and townships without a police force, which is most of the county these days, and act like they are the gatekeepers of all information at an emergency scene.”

He slid into the driver side and slammed the door closed.

She pulled the passenger side door closed gently and blew into her hands again. The gloves were stylish, but definitely not warm. “Does Brookville still have a police department?”

He nodded. “A small one, yes. A chief and two officers. They handle mainly small crimes like break ins or jaywalking right in town. The staties get called in for everything else.” He leaned over and ran his fingers over the heater buttons again. This time Gladwynn was ready. “First, lesson, Grant. We work for our readers. It’s our job to get the story, even if you have to push a little to do it. If we have to go through a couple arrogant volunteer fire fighters or cops to do our jobs, then so be it.” He looked at her. “Got it?”

She nodded slowly, wishing she felt the confidence he obviously had.

He took the camera from her and flipped through the photos on the screen. “Not bad. We’ve got at least four good shots.”

Handing the camera back, he backed the car up until he could turn it around and head back toward the office. He held his phone to his ear as he drove, but didn’t slow down, despite the fact even more snow had fallen since they’d arrived on scene.

“Ed, hey. We’ve got a centerpiece shot for the front. Horizontal, four columns.”

He slid his finger over the end button and tossed the phone into the center console. “We should be able to craft a story together when we get back. I’ll have you contact the state police in about half an hour and see if they have some information for us. You can send me what you find out and I’ll add it to the story.”

He moved the car into the opposite lane, shifted the car into a higher gear and passed a car moving slowly along the snow-covered highway. Gladwynn gripped the door handle and pressed herself back into the seat.  In that moment, wondering if she’d be the next person being pulled from an upside down vehicle, she desperately missed her previous job where she’d spent most days inside a building, searching the online catalogue for books for college students.

Her legs threatened to give out from under her when she stepped out of the BMW and made her way to the office.

Pulling her gloves off she flopped into the black padded office chair sitting in front of a computer on a gray counter acting as a desk within the restricting confines of a cubicle with light-red walls.

Hushed voices hummed on the other side of cubicle, an occasional laugh filtering through.

“Do you think she wears her hair like that all the time?”

“You mean the 1940s quaff? What year does she think it is anyhow?”

“Quaff? Where did you even get that word?”

“I have no idea. I probably read it in a book somewhere.”

“You read books?”

“Stuff it, Dibble.”

“What? I thought all you had time for was walking the old ball and chain’s dogs.”

“Rick isn’t my ball and chain. He’s –”

“Just a friend. I know. That’s what you say anyhow.”

The ring of a phone interrupted the banter. Gladwynn touched a hand to her hair.

Quaff? First off, that word didn’t mean what that woman thought it meant. The word the woman had been looking for was coif. Second, Gladwynn had been wearing her hair this way for years. She thought it was unique, something that harkened back to the 40s or 50s, two decades she could imagine herself living in. It was a style that was actually coming back in in the college town she’d been living in.

A ding notified her she had a text message and a look at the lock screen made her forget about how she’d been being talked about behind her back.

“Glad, love: Won’t be home for din. Have a date. There’s a casserole in the fridge. Love, Gram.”

A date?

Gladwynn couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

She really shouldn’t be surprised that Lucinda Florence Grant had a date at the age of 70. The woman had always been full of spunk.

While Gladwynn ’s grandfather had been the love of Lucinda’s life, the chance for Lucinda to find new love, of a different kind, was one even he would have welcomed.

Gladwynn looked at the small clock on the wall above her cubicle. Two more hours and her shift would be over. She couldn’t wait. A small pain had started pulsating behind her right eye on the drive back and hadn’t let up yet. Her feet were also begging for a break from her impractical boots.

“Hey, new girl. Where’s the card for your camera? I need that photo.”

A man with dark-rimmed glasses, dark hair and eyes and a round face appeared around the edge her cubicle.

Liam had introduced him the day before as Tom Fitzgerald, the photography expert, layout person and all around tech guy. She jumped slightly at the unexpected sound of his voice.

“Sheesh. You’re a little jumpy aren’t you?”

She opened the compartment for the camera card with shaky hands and handed it to him. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry about that.”

He grinned as he took the card. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the craziness around here pretty quick.”

He disappeared again and she was left in silence, other than the click of fingers on keyboards drifting from the other cubicles in the office.

Above her, a fluorescent light blared white-blue light onto her and made her wish she had a pair of sunglasses. In front of her, a phone that looked like it belonged in a museum made her question if she’d walked into a time warp by moving to this town.

She dialed the number Liam had given her for the state police barracks, summoning up the confidence she’d possessed in her job at the library.

“State Police Brookville, Corporal Baxter speaking.”

The woman’s voice was stern and void of any friendliness.

“Yes, hello. I’m looking for a –” Gladwynn shuffled hurriedly through her notes for the name of the officer at the scene of the accident. “Officer Kinney to ask about an accident on Route 88 tonight.”

“Trooper.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is the state police. Their titles are troopers not officer.” Corporal Baxter put strong emphasis on the words “not” and “officer”.

Gladwynn took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Excuse me. Is Trooper Kinney in?”

“He is not.”

“Will he be in later so I can ask him a few questions about the – “

“His shift ended ten minutes ago. He’ll be back tomorrow around 2.”

“Oh. Okay, well, is there anyone else I could ask about the accident?”

“We’ll send a brief out when the investigation is complete.”

“Oh. Well, th—”

The click was loud in Gladwynn ’s ear and she held the phone back from her head with a wince.

“New girl. What’s the verdict? You have some info from the staties for me?”

Was it normal for everyone in this office to simply appear out of nowhere around the wall of her cubicle? And did any of them know her real name?

She turned in her chair to face Liam. “No. They said the trooper had left for the day and would be back tomorrow.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Typical.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I figured that would happen so here’s the fire chief’s number. His name is Justin. Give him a call and see what details he can give you, then come in my office and will hammer this out together.”

He disappeared again.

The fire chief wasn’t home, according to a woman who Gladwynn guessed to be his wife. Gladwynn gave the woman the number taped to the ancient telephone and turned her attention to the police briefs Liam had assigned her to work on earlier in the day. Most of them seemed routine – a couple drinking and driving arrests, a few minor car accidents, but then there was one that made her snort a quick laugh.

Subject arrested driving a John Deere lawn mower along Drew Avenue. When pulled over, the officer noticed a strong odor of alcohol emanating from the subject. Subject was asked to step off the lawn mower and subsequently failed a sobriety test. Subject stated his license had been suspended for DUI two months earlier. Subject relayed he was on his way to the Iron Horse for what he called a nightcap.

Time of arrest: 10 a.m.

She’d visited her grandparents in Brookville many times over the years, even spending a couple summers with them. She’d met characters during those visits who very well could have been the individual involved in this particular incident.

Nestled in mountains which were actually hills by the official definition, Brookville was tiny, with a population of maybe 6,000. Scattered around it were small villages of populations of anywhere from 50 to 100 people, spreading out until farmland ran into a bigger town 30 miles away with a population of 10,000. The Brookville Beacon was named after the town, but its coverage area encompassed the entire county.

The town she’d grown up in in New York had been four times the size of Brookville, but still had some small town elements as well. Nothing like Brookville, though, where it wasn’t uncommon to see a farmer driving a tractor down Main Street on his way to a fellow relative’s farm.

Half an hour later the phone rang and the man on the other end introduced himself as Justin Dreward, the Brookville Fire Chief.

“So, you’re the new girl?”

At this point she should just legally change her name to New Girl.

“Gladwynn Grant, yes.”

“Gwendolyn? What a nice name. You related to Granny Grant?”

Gladwynn laughed. “If you mean Lucinda Grant, then, yes, I am. She’s my grandmother. But my name is actually Gladwynn.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. Your grandmother was my sixth grade teacher. Everyone thought she was mean, but she was the best teacher I ever had. Helped me with my reading when no one else did. I never held it against her that she put me in the corner that one day. I deserved it.”

“I deserved it when she did it to me too.”

It was Justin’s turn to laugh. “Okay, so details on the accident, right?”

“Yep, if there are any you can give me.”

“I can give you a few, but the main report will come from the state police. They are the main investigators on scene. I can tell you that it happened around 5:30. It was one vehicle going at a high rate of speed in slushy conditions. It went off the road, hit an embankment and flipped onto its roof. One occupant, the driver. She had to be cut out of the car. I don’t have any details on her condition, and I’m not allowed to give out names.”

“That’s fine. That will give me a little to go on at least. More than the state police.”

Justin snorted. “Yeah. That’s true most of the time. They’re pretty hard to get any information from. A lot of good guys but they do live up to that nickname of Gray Gods sometimes.”

“Okay, well thank you Mr. – “

Justin laughed. “Don’t call me mister anything. I’m just Justin. About the accident, though — I don’t know if it was just the weather. Ellory said something as they were loading her into the ambulance about her brakes not working.”

“Ellory?”

“Ellory Banks. She’s the manager of Citizens Bank downtown and on every board and in every organization you can imagine. Hey, wait. Don’t put her name in there unless you get it from the staties.  Identification of victims can’t come from emergency responders. State and federal laws and all that. You know what? You’d better keep that whole brake thing off the record too. She hit her head pretty hard and her brother is a local mechanic. He might take offense to that since he probably does all the work on her car.”

Gladwynn wrote Ellory’s name down, circled it and wrote “off the record” next to it.

She thanked Justin again, hung up, and took her notepad with her to Liam’s office for a crash course on how to write a news story.

A Christmas in Spencer Valley: Beyond the Season Chapter 12

Here we are on the final chapter of our Christmas story! That means we are almost to Christmas! So exciting. Let me know in the comments what you thought of the story.

The story was shared with minimal editing, just for fun, but it will be fully edited once it is complete.

You can catch up on chapters HERE.

If you would like to read more about the characters in this story, you can find full-length novels on Amazon for purchase or on Kindle Unlimited HERE,

The first three chapters of the first book, The Farmer’s Daughter, can be found HERE.

Once all the chapters have been shared here, I’ll be providing a free Book Funnel link to blog readers and placing the story on Amazon for 99 cents.

Chapter 12

The house smelled of frying bacon, brewing coffee, pancakes, and if he wasn’t mistaken, grits, something his family ate only on special occasions. It was a dish passed down my his mother’s Southern relatives.

Robert had talked Molly and Ellie into keeping Annie in the kitchen while he and Jason worked on installing the swing.

Hannah had brought Franny over and Walt and Marcia were on their way. Leon and Eleanor were driving from town.

A surge of energy rushed through Robert as they put the final touches on the swing. He stepped back when they were done and took a deep breath. Morning sunlight glistened off the silver of the new chain and the white surface of the swing seat.

Jason hung an arm loosely on his shoulder. “She’s going to love it, Dad. You did a beautiful job. Shall we go get some breakfast before we bring her out?”

Robert nodded. “Definitely. We need to get your grandmas here first. They’ll see it on the way in, so grab them if you can and tell them it’s a secret.”

“Will do.” Jason opened the front door. “But let’s see if we can help the women get the food done faster so we can eat.”

Neither of them was much help as they both picked at pieces of bacon but finally the table was set and everyone had arrived to gather for breakfast around the dining room table, which Robert had extended to fit them all.

Robert asked them all to take each other’s hands and they bowed their heads and thanked God for their time together, for his son, and Robert especially thanked God that he was still alive to be with his family.

“Amen,” Franny echoed as he finished the prayer. “That goes for me too.”

Everyone laughed and began to eat.

Nervous energy buzzed through Robert as breakfast began to wind down.

He took a deep breath. “Everyone, can I have your attention? I need to ask Annie to come outside with me for a few moments before we begin opening gifts.”

Walt chuckled. “Rob, can’t you wait to make out with your wife until later?”

Robert shook his head, a faint smile playing across his lips as he stood from the table and held his hand out to Annie. “No, sorry. I can’t.”

Annie gasped and playfully slapped his hand. “Robert Tanner! You stop. Now what’s going on?”

Robert gestured for the rest of the family to go out ahead of him and once they were on the porch and in the yard, he walked Annie onto the porch, hoping she wouldn’t peak through the front window. The gasp that slipped from her when she stepped through the door and saw the swing sent relief flooding through him.

“Oh my goodness! Is that our swing?” She placed a hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. Everyone in the family cheered and held up their phones to record the moment, something Robert still wasn’t used to. When she was able to speak again, her voice cracked with emotion. “This is beautiful. Did you do all of this?”

Robert gestured into the yard. “I refurbished it, but Brad helped get the parts, Jason helped with the painting and hanging it up and the rest of the family helped keep the secret when they saw it on their way in.”

Annie wiped tears away as she wrapped her arms around Robert’s neck and kissed him.

“Should Jase and I grab your gift, Annie?” Alex asked from where he was standing next to Molly on the porch.

Robert pulled back from the embrace, confusion etched on his face. “What’s all this?”

Annie smiled. “You weren’t the only one keeping a secret.”

Jason and Alex lifted a dark stained bench down from the back of Jason’s truck a few minutes later and carried it to the porch, placing it on the side opposite the swing.

Robert’s chest tightened as Annie’s hand slid down to his. She laughed. “Looks like we both had ideas for somewhere we can sit on the porch. When we get tired of swinging, we can sit on the bench.”

Robert walked to the bench, fingering the back of it. His throat thickened with emotion. “Is that –” His voice caught. “One of the pews that Dad made?”

Annie nodded. “Yes. Walt helped me refurbish it.”

A tear slipped down Robert’s cheek. “Thank you, honey.” He looked at his brother, while pulling Annie against him. “Thank you, Walt. This is beautiful.”

He sat down on the bench and took a deep breath, looking out at his family bundled up in winter coats, smiling back at him. Gratitude consumed him.

 After a few moments of watching them laugh and joke with each other he stood again. “If everyone wants to wait out here just a few more moments, I think Alex has a special gift he’d like to show Molly.”

The family all turned to Alex expectedly and Robert tried not to chuckle as pink flushed across the young man’s cheeks. It was clear what the family expected the gift to be, and Robert had a feeling they might be disappointed, but also delighted at what it really was.

“Take it away, Alex,” he said. “It’s your turn.”

***

“Close your eyes!”

Alex listened to Jason’s playful admonishment as he walked to Ned’s truck, parked behind the barn.   When he pulled the truck up in front of the house Jason had both of his hands over Molly’s eyes while they both laughed.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Jason taunted through a laugh.

“Okay, you can uncover them,” Alex said as he exited the truck and slammed the door behind him.

“Now?” Jason grinned while Molly tried to pull his hands away. “Are you sure?”

Molly clawed at Jason’s hands for a moment, then licked her palm and reached up to drag it across his cheek.

Jason removed his hands, jumping back, and rubbed at his cheek. “Ah man! You’re gross! What’s wrong with you?”

Molly’s laughter faded as her gaze fell on the truck. Her eyes moved slowly, taking it all in and then she drew in a ragged breath. Alex’s chest tightened when her expression crumpled, and the tears began to flow. He’d known she’d be emotional but had no idea the emotion would sweep over her so completely.

A collective “aw” went up from the women in the family. Alex hesitated then stepped closer cautiously. “Are you – is it, okay?”

She clutched at his shoulders and leaned into him, sobbing against his shirt. “Oh Alex, it’s beautiful. I can’t believe you did this.”

He slid his arms around her, choked up himself now. “Bert and I did. Jason helped too. And Brad drove three hours to get us the last part we needed.”

Looking on the porch and in the yard, he saw tears in the eyes of most of Molly’s family members, especially Franny and Robert. Bert gave him a thumbs up sign and Jason pointed a finger gun at him and pretended to fire.

“Do we seriously have to go back in the house and try to follow these show offs?” Walt asked loudly, bringing a round of laughter from the group. “I don’t think anything will top these gifts.”

As if on cue, the sound of sleighbells filled the air, and everyone turned toward the road. Alex shook his head and laughed as he watched Matt leading a horse-drawn sleigh across the freshly fallen snow, Liz sitting next to him in the seat.

The tension that had built up in Alex’s muscles released as he kept an arm around Molly while they watched the sleigh stop in front of the house. Sunlight glistened off the red paint and the silver of the runners on the bottom.

Matt pulled the reigns back quickly as the sleigh slowed. “Whoa!”

He grinned as he looked out at the crowd gathered in front of the house. “Hello, Tanners. I didn’t know we’d have a welcoming committee.” He winked at Alex. “Looks like you weren’t the only one with a big Christmas surprise.”

He stepped out of the sleigh and held a hand out to help Liz step down. Her dark hair had spread across her shoulders, flowing from a blue knitted cap.

Alex looked at the sleigh in awe. He ran his hand over the smooth curve of wood along the back of it. “This is the one your dad started, right?”

Matt looked at the sleigh proudly. “Yep. This is it. I finally decided to finish it, like Dad would have wanted.” He slid an arm around Liz’s shoulder. “Liz was very surprised when I told her we were going for a ride in something special.”

Alex watched as Matt quickly stepped away from Liz, turned toward her, and dropped to one knee, pulling a small box from his coat pocket. “I think this might surprise her even more, though.”

Liz and Molly gasped at the same time.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Liz crying and saying, ‘yes’, hugging Matt, them kissing, Molly hugging Liz, Annie hugging Liz, Robert shaking Matt’s hand, Alex shaking Matt’s hand, Jason shaking Matt’s hand  . . .Around they went.

After a few moments of congratulations, Matt said he should get the horses out of the cold and Robert offered the barn and invited him and Liz inside. The rest of the family turned to go back in the house, Liz talking to Ellie, showing her the ring.

Alex realized he had almost been holding his breath in all the excitement.

Molly leaned close to him as Matt began to unhook the horses. “I have to tell you, I was afraid you were going to do something like that today. I would have been so embarrassed.” She laughed softly, whispering. “Plus, proposals on Christmas day are so cliché, right? I’m thrilled for Liz, though.”

He hooked an arm around her waist. “Then I’m glad I didn’t have that in my bag of surprises today.” He kissed the top of her head. “Hey, I’m going to help Matt with the horses. I need to find out where he got them.”

She smiled. “See you inside then. I want to go get a look at that ring.”

Alex reached in his coat pocket for the gloves he’d been trying to wear more regularly now, knowing he’d need them to help Matt. When he yanked one out of his right pocket, a box tumbled out with it, clanking against the ice on the ground.

Panic surged through him, and he stooped quickly in case Molly turned around to see what the noise had been. While stooping, though, pain ripped through his lower back and left him down on one knee, cold seeping through his jeans. His foot slipped forward, kicking the box and sending it skittering across the ice, into Molly’s path.

It seemed like an eternity before she paused and looked at it, then bent and picked it up. She turned slowly. “Oh, Matt, I think you dropped your –”

Alex watched her gaze fall to him kneeling in front of her, color draining from her face. She took a step back, her lips parting slightly. “What are you – are you –?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Robert, Matt, and Jason stop what they were doing and turn to look at him. His heart raced and he couldn’t feel his hands.

“Oh, Alex. I – I – I didn’t mean – I shouldn’t have said what I said about –”

He held up his hands. “Wait. Let me explain. It’s my back. It’s locked up. That box just fell out of my pocket, and I tried to get it but accidentally kicked it with my foot and now I’m stuck down here and . . .”

He couldn’t read Molly’s expression for a moment, but he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment before a smile replaced her shock. She laughed and reached out her hands. “Oh. I see. Let me help you up.” He stood slowly with a grimace, and she handed him the box. “I jumped the gun there. I’m so embarrassed. Here’s your box.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “Whatever it is. Anyhow, I’m so embarrassed. Really.”

As she turned to walk back into the house, a brilliant blaze of memories flicked across his mind at warp speed, all the moments between them rushing at him in a visual cacophony.

He stopped her, grabbing her wrist. “Molly, wait.”

Looking in her beautiful green eyes, he suddenly wanted to see the ring on her finger. The ring Franny had given him earlier that day.

The ring Ned had placed on Franny’s finger all those years ago. The ring Franny had told Alex two weeks ago she’d held on to for him, in case he decided he wanted to propose to Molly someday.

It wasn’t that he felt pressured to propose. Suddenly he wanted to propose. More than anything he’d wanted before. He wanted this ring on her finger and to soon have her arm looped through his as they walked down the aisle into a future they would experience together.

The memory of a dream he’d had years ago came flooding into his mind – a dream where he and Molly were outside Franny’s farmhouse, with children playing in the front yard on a swing set, and a baby on Molly’s hip.

He tried to speak but no sound came.

“Alex?” Molly reached up and touched his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he blurted. “I don’t know if you’re ready, but I know I love you and that I can’t see spending the rest of my life with anyone else. Honestly, this scares me out of my mind.” He shook his head and laughed, tears pricking his eyes as he opened the box with shaky hands. “This isn’t a very good proposal, I know, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Molly laughed through the tears, holding out her hand and letting him slip on the ring. “I’ll take what you’ve got, Alex Stone. Any day and any season.”

***

The creek of the swing and the tap of his foot on the porch floor broke the silence of the night. Robert and Annie’s breath sparkled in front of them, intermingled and dissipated again. In front of them, in the yard, snowflakes dotted the air, falling on snow that had already fallen in the days before.

He took a sip from the mug of cocoa in his hand and pulled his wife against him.

“The day worked out okay, didn’t it?”

She nodded and yawned. “It did.”

“Alex is going to be an official member of the family soon, it looks like.”

“It does.”

“Life is good Annie Tanner.”

“Life is good Robert Tanner.”

He clinked his mug against the one in her mitten-covered hands. “Here is to a new season of life. May it bring us much joy as this one has.”

A Christmas in Spencer: Beyond the Season Chapter 11

We are almost to the final day of this story! Isn’t that crazy?! That means we are almost to Christmas too! So exciting. What do you think will happen in the last chapter? Let me know in the comments!

Welcome to the eleventh chapter of a twelve-chapter story I am sharing on the blog. This is being shared with minimal editing, just for fun, but it will be fully edited once it is complete.

You can catch up on chapters HERE.

If you would like to read more about the characters in this story, you can find full-length novels on Amazon for purchase or on Kindle Unlimited HERE,

The first three chapters of the first book, The Farmer’s Daughter, can be found HERE.

Once all the chapters have been shared here, I’ll be providing a free Book Funnel link to blog readers and placing the story on Amazon for 99 cents.



Chapter 11

Chaos reigned in the Tanner household the day before Christmas and Robert couldn’t wait to escape it. Six women were laughing, mixing, baking, bumping into each other and when he’d come into the house for lunch, they’d asked him to taste test three different kinds of cookies, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t needed to get back to the shed to finish the swing.

“Which one, Dad? The gingerbread or the molasses?”

“Um.” He spoke with a mouthful of cookie. “They’re both really good. I think we should have both.”

Liz laughed. “We’re going to cook both. Molly and I just want to know which one you liked better.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked between the two young women. “Is this some kind of competition? Because I don’t want to be the judge of some kind of competition between you two.”

Liz looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Robert, of course, this isn’t some kind of compe—”

“It’s totally a competition,” Molly said quickly. “And I’m your daughter so you’d better pick my cookie.”

The other women, which included his mother, his wife, Annie’s mother, Ellie, and his sister all laughed and gathered behind Molly and Liz, pausing in their work.

Robert’s gaze slid to the women, then back to Molly who had leveled a steady gaze on him, a small smile pulling at her mouth. He swallowed the bite of cookie. “I like them both. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

He quickly excused himself to the sound of laughter before any of the women could stop him, snatched his coat off the hanger by the back door, and headed out the door.

Alex was on his way to the house from the barn. Robert grabbed his arm gently. “You don’t want to go in there. It’s a madhouse.”

Alex’s brow dipped in concern as he looked from Robert to the backdoor. “What do  you mean?”

“There are a lot of women in there and they’ll try to make you taste test their food and then make you choose sides by saying which recipe is better.”

Alex grinned and gently removed Robert’s hand from his arm. “That sounds like heaven. See you in an hour.”

Robert shook his head and turned back to the barn. That young man would change his mind when two women watched him intently and waited for an answer. No man wanted to tell a woman that their recipe wasn’t as good as someone else’s.  Not if they knew what was good for them.

Brad had pulled through much to his and Alex’s relief, despite a two-day snowstorm that had delayed his trip until two days before Christmas.

Robert had put the bolts on the swing early that morning and Bert was finishing up the engine. Alex had finished the paint job and planned to pick up the truck the next morning.

 After Robert hooked on the chains, he and Jason would load the swing onto the back of the truck and drive it down to the house covered with a tarp so he could install the swing early Christmas morning. He’d enlisted Molly to keep Annie busy in the kitchen while he installed it.

After chores were completed in the barn and dinner was eaten in a kitchen now emptied of the fairer sex, Robert and Annie showered and dressed and drove to town for the Christmas Eve service. Alex, Molly, Jason, Ellie, Liz, Isabella, and Matt met them there, along with Matt’s mother, brother and sister, and Liz’s parents. Liz’s sister and family also attended, which marked the first time since they’d moved back to Spencer that they’d been able to attend a service as a family.

Robert slid his hand over Annie’s as the music began. The church was lit with candles lining the aisles and spread across the stage and altar up front. Wreathes of pine decorated the wall along the stage and behind the choir and the pastor.

Rush had been the word of the day for the last few weeks and now the entire family seemed to be taking a collective breath and letting the peace of the season seep into their souls, soothe aching muscles physically and worried hearts spiritually.

When the music started to signal that the cantata would begin soon, Robert’s shoulders relaxed, he sat back in the pew, and he closed his eyes. He let the music wash over him and push away any thoughts about what needed to be done tomorrow — for Christmas day’s celebration and on the farm. Farmers never had holidays which meant the cows would still need to be milked and fed and stalls cleaned. Most of the day would be set aside for family time, though. Any repair projects could wait.

Muffled laughter caused him to open his eyes and look around for the source of amusement. Soon the laughing spread and he turned slightly in his pew just in time to see a black and white cat stroll nonchalantly down the center aisle toward the stage. He watched it, eyes narrowing.

Without looking away from the cat he reached over and tapped Annie’s arm.

“Hey, is that —“

“Yes, it is. Whose truck did she climb in the back of this time?”

Scout, one of their barn cats, had climbed in the back of a pickup at least twice before at the farm, once hitching a ride to Walt’s farm and another time to the farm store. This was the first time she’d made it to town, though.

The cat walked up the steps, stretched her long body out, and lay down on the top step as the congregation watched with smiles.

“I’d better go get her,” Robert whispered as the pastor stepped out on the stage.

Annie pulled her lower lip between her teeth briefly, then released it. “Yeah. Maybe you’d better.”

z“Well, I see even the domesticated pets are here tonight to worship the birth of our savior,” Pastor Joe said with a smile. “In Psalm 148 it says, ‘Wild animals and all cattle, small creatures, and flying birds, kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth, young men and maidens, old men and children. Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.”

Scout had curled up into a ball now, ready for a nap. “I think we’ll just let this visitor stay for now. There must be something comforting to him or her about our church and that, to me, is a very high compliment indeed.”

Robert sat back in the pew again, shaking his head and laughing. For the next hour and a half, the cat napped, waking up only when Robert scooped her up after the cantata was over. He placed her in the cab of the truck with him and Annie, both of them unable to stop laughing over her sudden appearance.

They’d been taught that God had a sense of humor, Robert thought as he drove home, the cat in Annie’s lap. Hopefully, he’d found the humor in Scout’s attendance at a service to honor him

***

The sun had just started to rise over the horizon when Alex left the barn after the morning chores to head for town.

“Hey! Where are you off to?” Molly called after him. “We’re going to have a full family breakfast soon.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. I have something I need to grab in town.”

He left her standing outside the barn with confusion etched on her face. It couldn’t be helped, though. He’d agreed to meet Bert at the shop and pick up the truck and then they’d both drive back for breakfast and lunch at the Tanner’s for the day.

When he reached the shop Bert had already pulled the truck outside. The men stood and admired the new paint job on the truck, the shine on the bumpers, and even the new tires.

“It looks good, Alex it really does.” Bert smiled, eyes glistening. “My father-in-law would have been really proud to see it in such good shape.”

Alex stepped around to the front of the truck, hands at his waist as he admired the final product. “You had a lot to do with it, more than me even.”

“You did the paint job, shined it up. Reminds me of when I first saw Ned with it. Hannah was in the passenger seat next to him. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. I never thought she’d give me the time of day that day let alone let me marry her a decade later when we were both old enough to get married.” He winked. “We were only 15 when we first met.” He laughed, touching the back of a finger across the bottom of his eye, and turned away. He pulled a handkerchief from his coverall pocket. “Sorry, I got so emotional there. Didn’t expect that.”

Alex patted his shoulder. “Hey, no problem. Memories are powerful, especially when they are good ones.”

Bert blew his nose and wadded the handkerchief up, shoving it back in his pocket. “My marriage has been a good one, kid. I guess that’s why I keep pushing you to propose to Molly. I want you two to experience the happiness we have. Being married, making that commitment to be there for each other no matter what, in front of all your friends and family – I don’t know. There’s something fulfilling about it.”

Alex pulled his cowboy hat down low on his head and nodded. “I know, Bert, I appreciate it.”

Bert sniffed and tossed a set of keys to him. “Anyhow, here are the keys. I’ll follow you in your truck and meet you at the house.”

Alex slid behind the steering wheel of the 1976 Chevy, cranked the window down, and closed the door. “I have to take a detour, so I’ll meet you there.”

Bert grinned. “Another gift to pick up?”

Alex touched a finger to his hat. “I’m keeping that under my hat, but I’ll see you at Robert and Annie’s for breakfast. Don’t eat all the bacon on me.”

Alex started the truck and listened to it rumble for a few minutes, then slid his hand across the surface of the new red upholstery on the truck seat. He hadn’t thought they’d be able to replace that too, but in the end, Jason had helped and they’d pulled it off.

He took a deep breath and shifted the truck into gear, nodding to Bert again as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot. Turning the radio on, a favorite song came on and he hummed along, turning the truck toward the road that would lead him to Molly, but first her grandmother.

A Christmas in Spencer: Beyond the Season Chapter 10

Welcome to the ninth chapter of a twelve-chapter story I am sharing on the blog. This is being shared with minimal editing, just for fun, but it will be fully edited once it is complete.

You can catch up on chapters HERE.

If you would like to read more about the characters in this story, you can find full-length novels on Amazon for purchase or on Kindle Unlimited HERE,

The first three chapters of the first book, The Farmer’s Daughter, can be found HERE.

Once all the chapters have been shared here, I’ll be providing a free Book Funnel link to blog readers and placing the story on Amazon for 99 cents.



Chapter 10

Molly unhooked the ponytail she’d had her hair pulled up in and let her curls fall down across her back and shoulders. “Alex, I’m perfectly capable of making the drive to Burdett and back on my own.” She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. “Wait a minute. It’s not me you’re worried about, is it? It’s your truck.”

Alex laughed. “No! I am not worried about my truck. You’re a perfectly capable driver. There are snow squalls expected though and I –”

“You thought what? Think you can stop the snow squalls from happening?” She let out a small laugh. “Alex, I’ve been driving these roads in the winter a lot longer than you have. I’ll be fine. Promise. You really need to rest your back.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth briefly and let it go again. “But if you really want to go then I wouldn’t mind the company. I’ll drive though so you can push the seat back and relax.”

Now that the freezers at the store were fixed, more inventory could be added to them and there was a delivery of fresh goat milk and cheese a half an hour away. Molly had volunteered to go, but Alex had overheard and didn’t like the idea of her out on her own in possibly bad weather.

Worrying about her was foolish, and he knew it. Like he’d told many people over the years, including Molly herself, she could handle any situation that rural life threw her. She didn’t need him to protect her. Truthfully, though, he did want to try to protect her. He also wanted her company after a busy few weeks of barely seeing her due to work on the farm, recovering from his injury, and painting the truck.

Once inside his truck, she flicked on the radio, pushing buttons until she found a station playing Christmas music. She pulled her hair back up into the ponytail again and he found his gaze focusing on the skin exposed at the back of her neck. He resisted the urge to trail his fingertips along it.

She made a face as she clicked the seatbelt in, then wiggled back and forth a little in the seat.

He quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter with you? You have an itch on your rear or something?”

She laughed, a small dimple dotting the skin next to her mouth. “No. It’s just your truck feels so — I don’t know – clunky.”

He scowled. “Clunky?”

“Yeah, like too big or something.”

“It’s a four-wheel drive. Heated memory seats. Maximum horsepower. Back-up camera. GPS integrated into the dashboard. State of the art paint job. What’s not to love?”

She sighed, shifting the truck into gear. “It’s lovely. It’s just not my truck.”

Oh. Right. That.

He reached over and laid his hand over hers. “Hey, I know. It will be back soon. Have you got ahold of Bert?” Hopefully not. “What did he say?”

“I did actually.”

Uh-oh.

“He said the engine was in pretty bad shape so he’s working on it. He had some other jobs to finish up first.” Not a lie. Good job, Bert. She lifted her shoulders briefly then dropped them again. “I don’t mind, really. I’m just glad to hear it might be able to be saved.”

If Brad was able to pick up that part tomorrow then the verdict should be that it would definitely be able to be repaired, not maybe.

Houses decorated with Christmas lights, a few with Christmas-themed inflatables in the front yard, slid by as they drove toward Spencer. They drove around the town via the by-pass when they reached town limits and headed on to Burkett, another 25-minute drive beyond.

Alex closed his eyes and enjoyed Molly’s singing as she crooned out carol after carol, mixed in with a few country hits and a couple of worship songs.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Grandpa picked me up in this truck from elementary school?”

Her question came out of the blue, halting her singing.

He’d started to doze and jerked awake to listen to her. “No, actually. I don’t believe you have.”

“He pulled up in front of the school and honked the horn. We were letting out early because of weather and he’d volunteered to get me so I’d get home faster than I would have on the bus. About a mile from home, we hit that bridge over Shaver’s Creek and the snow started falling faster. Right after the bridge there was a left turn and Grandpa hit the accelerator and did a donut right at the end of the road. The truck turned all the way around, 360, and ended up facing back the way we were supposed to be going.”

Alex chuckled. “That totally sounds like something Ned would do. Or did he do it on purpose?”

She looked at him, meeting his smile with hers. “Of course he did it on purpose. He thought it was the funniest thing ever to see my eyes almost bug out of my head, he said. Later he said it might not have been the smartest move because we could have flown over the embankment into the creek by the road, but in the moment it sure was fun. For him anyhow. For me, I almost wet myself. I thought we were going to die.”

The story reminded Alex of his own grandfather. “My grandfather did something similar when he took me flying one time. He had a private pilots license. He took the plane into a nosedive and just when I thought we were going to crash into a mountainside he ripped it back up again. I was ten and I’m not going to lie, I did pee myself just a little bit.”

They laughed together as Molly turned into Brookings Family Goat Farm’s driveway. Josiah Brookings met them outside the barn and within fifteen minutes they had the inventory loaded in Alex’s truck.

“You two be safe out there,” Josiah said as he shook Alex’s hand. “The weather says we’re supposed to get snow squalls.”

“We should be fine. Molly’s driving and she’s a lot safer than I am. Take care and see you next month.”

Josiah waved as he walked back up the long drive to the house, leaving Alex and Molly standing in an orange ring of light under the light pole.

Alex paused, reaching down and scooping up a handful of snow, smirking as he packed it. Molly was already starting to climb into the truck when he tossed the ball, striking her in the shoulder.

She turned quickly, mouth dropping open. “Alexander Stone, what do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned, reaching down for more snow. “Just some minor physical therapy for my back. It’s good to do some light stretches for it.”

She pointed at him. “You drop that snowball.” She took a step back, now waggling the finger at him. “Don’t you dare start something that I’m going to finish.”

He tossed the snowball at her, snow shattering down the front of her winter coat as the ball hit her chest. “Molly Tanner, you know I’m the snowball fight champion five years running. Don’t let your mouth write a check your bottom can’t cash.”

Molly snickered as she stooped to gather snow in her hands. He grunted a few seconds later when a snowball hit him in the thigh. After that the snowballs flew fast and furious. He kept his distance and then decided the one way to win was to get close and get as much snow down the back of her winter coat as possible. She anticipated his move though and put her hands up to block him, which resulted in a brief wrestling match, during which she slipped and started to fall. He caught her under her arms and helped her regain her balance, laughing hard. She stepped back away from him in a fit of laughter and leaned her against the truck, breathing hard. Placing one hand on either side of her he leaned close, catching his breath.

“Looks like I win.”

She smiled, a sparkle in her eyes. “You didn’t win, you cheated. You clearly pushed me onto that patch of ice.”

“I clearly did not push you. You were just overcome by my snowball throwing power.” He moved his head closer to hers. “Besides, anytime I get to be this close to you, I win.”

Her voice was a whisper, her mouth a mere inch from his. “I remember another time we were pushed up against your truck like this.”

“I remember it too. Fondly.”  His lips grazed her cheek, then her mouth.  “Very fondly.”

She smiled as he lowered his head toward hers. They stood there for several moments, her arms around his waist as they kissed, snowflakes falling around them, before she pulled her mouth away slowly.

“We’d probably better get on the road in case it starts getting slick out.”

He reluctantly agreed and they climbed back into the truck cab, him wincing as a light pain shot through his back.

While Christmas songs weren’t what he’d normally listen to alone in the truck, he pushed the seek button until he found one, simply so he could hear Molly sing. He seemed to be catching her love for the season.

Ten minutes into their drive the road in front of them disappeared in a blur of white. He noticed Molly’s knuckles turning white. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Nervous?”

“A little bit.”

“You want to pull over?”

“Yep.”

He laughed as she maneuvered the truck gently off the road. “I thought you could handle driving in this weather.”

“I can and one way of handling it is knowing when to pull over and when not to.”

She shifted the truck into park. “The squall should pass soon. This will give us time to chat because I realized today that I have never asked you if you have any favorite Christmas movies.” She held up her hand as he started to answer. “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. I’m not debating that again.”

He smiled as he propped his hands behind his head. “It is a Christmas movie, but I’ll let you believe what you want. As for other Christmas movies, I haven’t really watched a ton, but I guess It’s A Wonderful Life is good. Miracle on 34th Street. White Christmas.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Jason made you watch those with him, didn’t he?”

“Of course, but I liked them. What’s the one we watched together last year?”

“Christmas in Connecticut.”

“Yeah, that one wasn’t too bad.” He grinned and lowered his arms, leaning toward her. “Of course, anything is good as long as I’m with you.”

She placed a finger on his lips and tipped her head toward the windshield. “Looks like the snow squall has let up. We’d better keep going if we want to get back to Spencer.”

He smiled against her finger. “If you say, so, but there’s nothing wrong with stealing some kisses while we’re here.”

She kissed him briefly. “I’d like that, but I need to get back to pick Liz up from the library. The heat is broken in her car. Mom and Dad said I can borrow their car tonight.” She turned back to the steering wheel and placed her hand on the shift lever but didn’t move it. Her gaze drifted out in front of them, at the road now visible. “You know, this is the first Christmas since we lost grandpa that I really feel happy about Christmas again. This time of year used to give me such a warm feeling but so much about it seemed dull and lifeless since losing Grandpa. This year feels different. I don’t know why.” She sighed, eyes glistening. “There is something wildly beautiful about the spirit of Christmas, the way it reminds us all to take time to pause and tell those we love how much they mean to us.” She pulled her hand briefly from his and wiped at her damp cheek. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so sappy tonight.”

He leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek. “I don’t mind sappy if it’s coming from you.”

She squeezed his hand then looked out the windshield. “Looks like that snow squall has cleared up. Let’s see how much closer we can get to home.” He gazed out the window at the now clear sky that moments before had been swirling with white. Stars sparkled against a dark blue sky. She was right. There was something wildly beautiful about Christmas, especially when he saw it through her eyes.