fiction

Fiction Friday: Some writing updates.

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 9 Comments



No, I don’t have a new fiction story to share with you yet but I do have some news about my fiction that is already out there in the world.

First, all of my books are again available on Kindle Unlimited or for purchase on Amazon.

You can find them HERE:

Paperbacks are available on Amazon, but they will also be available through my site for $10 starting this summer and they will also be on Barnes and Noble. The ebook copies will be available through Amazon only for the time being.

Also, Beauty From Ashes is up for pre-order on Amazon for 99 cents until May 1 when the price will go up. The book, the third in The Spencer Valley Chronicles, releases May 10.

Also, Amazon has placed the paperback of A New Beginning on sale for $5 for some reason.

A social media tour for The Farmer’s Daughter is going to be held by JustRead Blog Tours at the end of June. If you are interested in signing up for that tour you can sign up here:

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfp4qHPoDiw3vvbCrmPpoZe56s1sqH0Mq17sScoA7hy1_R3tw/viewform

In closing, I could use a couple of people to read through Beauty From Ashes sometime in mid-April to find typos. This isn’t a paid gig, sadly, because I am a poor lady (I’m just a poor girl, from a poor family….) but you will get to read the book in full before it releases and I may have a couple other perks lined up for anyone who can help.

So that is all for my fiction updates.

I’m working on a new book so maybe I’ll have some chapters from it to share in the next few weeks so that there is actually some fiction on Fiction Friday.

Fiction Friday: Why I’ve been struggling to write fiction lately

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 49 Comments

Several times in the last couple of weeks, I’ve started a blog post about why I have been struggling to write fiction recently.

Each time I’ve started the post, I’ve stopped because no matter how write out my feelings, it comes out accusatory and whiny, with me alternating between defense and offense.

I know it’s not wise to try to explain something while a hurt is still raw, but my blog readers have been with me through many ups and downs, in my writing and in my personal life, so I feel like I need to share a little with all of you about what has been weighing me down lately. If it comes out as over dramatic to you readers, I totally understand.

A few weeks ago, I somehow got tossed into a situation where a last minute topic was needed for a writing group I was in. Long story short, my writing was tossed up in front of a bunch of people and critiqued as a “learning moment” for other writers.

This type of critique was something I had been avoiding for a while now, but especially recently because of the health issues and personal issues I’ve been going through. The author who conducts the critiques is very good at what she does but she’s also pretty hard on writers and I wasn’t in a good place emotionally for that.

I had explained that to one of the leaders of the group (a very sweet woman with stresses of her own) that I could not currently handle one of her critiques. I can only guess this leader was not fully listening when I expressed the desire to not be critiqued since, much to my horror, my work appeared on the screen during the weekly meeting/presentation. This weekly presentation is held with somewhere around fifty other women in attendance. Lines and red marks were scratched through most of the chapter being shared, with several comments off to the side listing of all my writing sins.

I didn’t ask for this critique. What I had actually suggested for the session was for the author to answer advice on how to handle what critiques on our writing. I had recently received what I felt was a critique, but it was sent privately so that made it easier to digest.

I wanted to know how to choose what to keep and what to dismiss from a critique, especially when it comes from someone who is not a professional author. I thought that my situation would be used to teach others how to handle a critique, not that my work would be critiqued again in a much more public setting. Even though the critique was anonymous, I knew many of the women watching knew the work was mine because I had mentioned my difficulty in processing part of the original critique.

I ended up turning off the second critique before it really got underway after it was launched by several minutes of mocking comments about my choice of metaphors. I did not feel these comments were constructive. Instead they seemed to be setting up what I gathered would be several more minutes of unhelpful comments. The unhelpful remarks continued until I felt like I was openly being mocked by the two women, one with 20 years of experience and another with a few.  I knew I was in a poor place emotionally to handle any more mocking.

I turned off the session and tried instead to mentally prepare myself for a doctor’s appointment I had the next day that I hoped would help me with some of my longstanding health issues.

It’s one thing to know that your work is cliché and rather silly but it is entirely different to be told that in front of a group of fellow writers on a live feed while two women cackle and laugh at the absurdity of your writing, while not actually calling it absurd. (Clarification here: it felt like cackling and laughing at me but I’m sure they don’t feel that’s what they were doing. They most likely thought they were being lighthearted and trying to make light of a situation because they were preparing to eviscerate my writing for “educational purposes”.) I had watched this happened the month before to another writer and knew I didn’t want it to happen to me. It was extremely disheartening to see her on a video chat a week later looking completely downtrodden about her writing and like the joy of writing had been completely sucked out of her.

 I was told later that I shouldn’t feel bad about my writing flaws because MANY writers do the same thing I did. I felt like I was being told that not only was I an idiot, but I was an idiot among many other idiots.

“You are cliché and silly but so are many authors,” is how I read a “somewhat apology” sent by one of the women in the group after I canceled my subscription. I say somewhat because the apology was more along the lines of “sorry if the critique of your work displeased you.” Yes, the word displeased was actually used. To be honest, it was not the critique that “displeased” me. I never had the chance to hear the critique. It was the fact I was critiqued when I never asked for the critique and that the so-called critique seemed more mocking than instructional.

I received the replay of it all a few days later, hoping to watch it again and see if I had over reacted. I was sure I had because many people have told me over the years that my feelings are wrong, my reactions are wrong, I’m too sensitive, too easily offended, too…whatever I am too much of that day. And sometimes they are right.

Unfortunately, the replay had been edited to remove the critique, as if it had never happened. I would hope that this was out of kindness, knowing I was upset, but I would instead guess it was for self-protection to make sure this author and her writing business didn’t look bad. I really hope my second theory is wrong because I do believe these women truly believe they are writing and serving in the name of Christ.

I would not disparage these women or the writing group based on this situation. Even if they were careless with their words, the program is a good one, offered at an amazing price and it is filled with wonderful Christian women who truly mean well and support each other. This is why I am not naming the group here. I would recommend the group to other writers with one caveat — make sure you communicate better than I did and if you ask for a critique be prepared to be absolutely shredded. That’s okay. The shredding can help you improve after your wounds heal.

In the end, the proof I needed to show myself that I had been overly sensitive was gone. So, there I sat in a weird kind of limbo of wanting to be wrong (because, hey, maybe I really was way too sensitive this time. I can totally own up to that and even now I feel I probably was.) but really not sure since I had no way to confirm what I had actually heard and what else was said after I logged out of the meeting.

Needless to say, all of this has taken a mental toll on me in relation to my fiction writing and why that may not be positive, what has been a positive is that it has brought me back to the path God originally set me on.

Even though the writing group was wonderful in many ways, part of me wonders if by joining it, I overstepped God’s desire for what role writing would fill in my life.

“I never told you to do this,” is the sentence kept popping up in my head when I first joined the group.

I promptly ignored it every time.

After the forth of fifth time this sentence popped into my head, I decided that maybe God was trying to get a message across to me. If he was, what was his message? He never told me to do what? Try to improve my writing? Try to make what I enjoy also something I could make money from – even if it was only a little?

It isn’t that I think God doesn’t want us to improve and get better at what we enjoy doing. What I do think is that for me, God was, and is, saying he never told me to push this writing journey to the point where I hate it as much as I ended up hating photography years ago.

I’ve said before that when it comes to writing I hold on to the words “just have fun.” It’s what drove my writing when I first started sharing it on the blog. I wanted to have fun sharing and connecting with my blog readers, focusing on something other than my medical issues or my loneliness. It served that purpose but then I began to believe that it needed to be something more if it was going to take up so much of my time. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be better at the activity you enjoy but God didn’t ask me to ruin my love of writing while trying to improve.

A lot of Christian authors would say they feel God has called them to write fiction because has called them to change and grow his kingdom with their writing. This may be true — for them.

However, I don’t  feel that way about my writing, or at least my fiction. For me writing fiction is about having fun and entertaining a little. Do I want to share messages of hope, redemption and forgiveness in my fiction? Yes. Do I feel like maybe God wants me to do that? I think so, but I also have never looked at my fiction as some grand ordination from God that makes me something special and my writing a gift to humanity. My writing is fun, silly, probably cliché and childish and that’s fine with me.

I think a lot of Christian fiction authors feel their stories and books are going to change the world and maybe they will. I have never felt that way about my writing, though. Could my writing change a few hearts and minds here and there? Yes, I hope so, but like I told a friend this week, part of me feels like God didn’t give me the passion for writing so I can change the world. He gave it to me to help change me first and foremost.

I need to change in many ways, I am the first to admit that. I need to change my attitude and my tendency to be offended, and the way I feel hurt so easily. I don’t think that’s all that needs to be changed in me, though. The change I believe God has wanted me to make is in how I think about life.

 He doesn’t want me to see life as something where rules are followed and others are appeased at the sacrifice of my own mental well being.  He doesn’t want me to see it as a place where I don’t fit in and I am never good enough. He wants me to see the world as somewhere where we all have our place, even if it isn’t at the front of the crowd or the same place as others. God wants me, and you, to know that he placed us where he placed us for a reason and sometimes that reason may not be as somber or as serious as we think.

Sometimes God places us where he placed us because he simply wants us to have fun, to have joy, to look beyond the challenges and realize that not everything has to be perfect or polished.

Sometimes life and what we do in it simply needs to be fun.

All this being said, I hate that this post sounds like I don’t welcome critiques of my work, especially when I ask for it. I wholeheartedly appreciate the written critique I was given. I was merely trying to process it and how it should lead to changes in my work when the second, more public critique, slammed into me. I will definitely be asking for critiques of my work again in the future and I am open to them, even if they are harsh. Harsh can help me improve. I simply don’t know if I think public harsh criticisms are all that helpful to writers who aren’t career-driven but are instead fun-driven when it comes to their fiction.

Fiction Friday: Book update and a glimpse at the next book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles series.

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 10 Comments

This week I thought I’d give an update on where the manuscript for Beauty From Ashes is. It’s now in the hands of a couple of editors but one of those editors has been piled under work and the other is sick with Covid. For those reasons and a couple of others, I’ve pushed back the release date of the book from April 26 to May 10. This will hopefully give me time to implement some suggestions from early readers and make any changes my editor wants me to make before the book is released, without my head exploding.

The book will have some extra scenes from what I shared on the blog and it will also be missing a couple of others. There have been several changes from the first draft, which is mainly what was shared on the blog, but none so huge they change the entire plot of the book.

The biggest thing I have had to remind myself during the process this time is my author tagline of “just have fun.” I wasn’t having fun with writing recently, was taking myself a bit too seriously, and trying to be something I am not.  I didn’t start writing these stories to be a traditionally published author so focused on career that they lose site of who they really are. This isn’t to say that traditionally published authors don’t know who they are but I know that I would lose that if I was traditionally published and being told what I have to write, how to write it, and when to write it. It would stress me out to no end but that is because I am stressed out by a lot. There are other writers are not stressed out by every little thing and while I’m working on not being stressed out by things (I swear I’ve come a long way, even though I have a long way to go), right now in my life I need to take the easiest road possible to tell my stories.

So, anyhow, while I wait for more rewrite suggestions for Beauty From Ashes, I am starting to write a couple of other books, including Mercy’s Shore, which will be the next book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles series.

Because I often share everything first with my blog readers, this is the tentative cover of the book.

It could definitely change before the final publication sometime next year (or maybe late this year if I really get some inspiration and push forward fast on this book).

Mercy’s Shore will focus on Molly Tanner’s ex-boyfriend Ben Oliver and possibly on Ellie’s obnoxious, recovering-alcoholic sister, Judi Lambert. I haven’t definitively decided if Judi will be in the story or not. Similar to Beauty From Ashes, the book will not be a strict romance. I won’t give too much away, but it is possible Judi and Ben will not be romantically linked throughout the book.

After all, Ben has some amends to make to his ex-girlfriend Angie and to their daughter, Amelia, who he abandoned while trying to earn his law degree and pass the bar. In Mercy’s Shore, we will learn more about why that happened and what led Ben to be so focused on career over family.

I’m still plotting this one out, but thought I would share with you what I’ve written so far, which is literally a few paragraphs that may or may not end up being in the final book.

When the world stopped spinning, Ben Oliver was upside down, his seatbelt digging into his chest. Underneath him were shards of glass and something warm and slippery dripped into his eyes.

For a moment he thought it was oil from the engine. Even when red splattered the shattered windshield beneath him he couldn’t comprehend it was him that was bleeding. Of course it was him bleeding. He’d been the only one in the car when he’d jerked the wheel to the right to miss the deer and had sent his silver BMW careening over the embankment.

So, this is it, he thought. This is how it all ends. Not with a whimper but a bang after all.

A lot of bangs actually. He was sure that his BMW was totaled but worse than that was the pain searing through his sternum, back, and head, not to mention the blood now pooling in the shards of broken glass. He was beginning to wonder if he was totaled as well.

His hand slipped up to the seatbelt buckle, searching for the button to release it, but then he hesitated. If he released it there was a bed of glass waiting for him. He had to think this through, brace his legs and arms somehow before he released himself from his upside down prison.

In the end it didn’t matter anyhow. The seatbelt buckle wouldn’t release, no matter how many times he hit it and he was left to listen to the metal of the car creaking and groaning as it settled into its new position on its roof in the middle of the woods.

I’m not sure if I will share this one on the blog or not.

I’m also not sure if I will be sharing any of Lily on the blog, which is a different type of book for me and the other book I am working on. Lily will be based on the character Lily from A New Beginning, the book about Blanche Robins and Judson T. Wainwright.

Spoiler alert if you haven’t read the book — If you remember, Lily became pregnant at 15 after she slept with a man who had drugs she wanted. Blanche’s sister, Edith, and brother-in-law, Jimmy, were going to adopt Lily’s baby and in the end, decided to take Lily in as well.

Lily will be written in the first person and though the topic matter will be dark, I’m going to try to not make the entire book dark and depressing. There will be hope, especially as the book progresses and marches to the end. I am in the plotting stages of this book as well. When I write “plotting” I should mention that I have considered myself a “panster” writer in the past. A panster in writing is a person who writes by the seat of their pants and simply sees where the story will go.

For future books, I’ll be considering myself a hybrid pantser-plotter fiction writer. I will be plotting some of the book while also writing away and seeing where it goes. I want to plot more of the stories out from now on but also not plot so much that the book feels stale and cookie-cutter or formulaic. All books are formulaic in a way, I recognize that, but some genres make a book feel even more formulaic and predictable than others and Christian fiction is one of the worse for that. I don’t know if I will continue writing under the strict Christian fiction genre, but I do know my books will remain “clean.”

I’ve shared a little of Lily on here before, but will share a few paragraphs here to give you an idea of why it will be a different book for me.

That lady social worker said it didn’t hurt to push out a baby.

She lied.

It hurt like that place Mama said I was gonna go for getting pregnant in the first place. I never felt so much pain in my life. I thought I was going to die.

They wanted me to hold the baby, but I didn’t want to. She wasn’t mine anyhow. She belonged to those people I’d met at the agency.

That baby was squawking and hollering; all red and squishy and ugly. I told that nurse to take it away and let those people who were going to be her parents deal with it.

I don’t remember much after that. I slept for hours and hours. Everything in my body hurt and I was so weak I could barely stand. When I opened my eyes, it was dark, and I knew I had to get out of there.

Having something growing in you for nine months is weird.

Pushing it out through your private area while you scream is weird.

Giving that baby to people you only met once is weird too.

It’s all as weird as what that man did to me that left that baby in my belly in the first place.

The nurses didn’t hear me leave.

That social worker wasn’t even there.

My clothes were in a drawer by the bed at the hospital and I changed into them quickly. I cried because it hurt so bad all over. The area where that baby came from hurt the worse. Blood ran down my leg and I wiped it away.

I walked a long way to get to Mama. Wind whipped my hair across my face, cold bit at my bare skin. My stomach ached from hunger and my body screamed for sleep. I didn’t think I’d makeit.

I could barely lift my hand to pound on the door to her apartment when I finally got there. She didn’t open it for a long time and when she did, she was angry.

“How did you even find your way back here?”

She spat the words out like chew in a bucket.

“Mama, I’m tired.” I clutched at my stomach. “Hungry.”

“What do you want me to do about it? Didn’t those social workers feed you anything?”

“Mama —“

“Don’t call me Mama. You know I don’t like that.” She scowled in disgust. “You’re bleeding all over the hallway. You have that baby yet?”

I nodded weakly, wincing when she grabbed my upper arm, ripping me forward into the darkness of the apartment, bouncing my side off a wall.

“Get in here and stop bleeding on my rug.”

She shoved me down the hallway toward the living room. I collapsed on the couch, grasping at the musty smelling cushions as the room began to spin.

Maybe it was days. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it was weeks  before there were voices at the door and strong arms lifting me. I don’t really remember. It was all a blur of sweat and pain and Mama’s pinched and angry face, her screams cutting through my nightmares.

That day was the last time I saw Mama.

Now I’m living here in this place with a bunch of trees and open fields and a stream like I saw a picture of once in a book.

I don’t know what life will be like now, but anything has got to be better than where I came from.

So that is my Fiction Friday update. Hopefully in future weeks, I will have some original fiction to share with you, especially if I decide to blog Mercy’s Shore, which I hope to be able to write a little bit faster than other books.

Fiction Friday: I love how the men in my books interact

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

I love the men in my stories and how they interact with each other.

In the Spencer Valley Chronicles, I currently have three men who I write about the most and who are all good friends with each other.

Jason Tanner (Harvesting Hope) and Matt McGee (Beauty From Ashes) went to high school together and Jason met Alex Stone (The Farmer’s Daughter) in college.

The men harass and pick on each other, but are also there for each other during the tough times.

I recently listened to a class with Susan May Warren and James Rubart about how to write male characters in our fiction and realized that while I needed a lot of the tips, I also have the benefit of living with two men who I can draw from when writing from the POV of a man. Am I an expert in writing male characters? Not at all. I still make them sound like a woman more times than not, which is why my husband suggested I remove some of my “internal brooding” moments with Alex from The Farmer’s Daughter. Sure, men do some internal brooding but not as much as women. They have things to do, places to be, and, luckily, men can compartmentalize so they don’t spend every second debating their “feelings” about every single situation.

I had Alex being way too introspective in The Farmer’s Daughter, even with my husband’s changes, but, well, Alex was at an emotional crossroads in his life, so he was doing a bit more soul-searching than other times in his life.

Today I thought I’d share some of my favorite interactions between the men in my books, just for fun. If you haven’t read the books, be warned, there are some spoilers here:

When Alex had moved to Pennsylvania, he soon realized watching the Philadelphia Phillies every Saturday afternoon that they played was a requirement in the Tanner family, whether he liked it or not. He, Jason, and their friend Matt McGee had laid out a spread of subs, chips, and sodas, kicked off their shoes and flopped onto couches and chairs, ready for a baseball binge.

“Alex Stone sounds like the name of some guy from a romance novel.” Matt playfully punched Alex in the shoulder and handed him a soda. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Jason smirked. “How would you know about the names of characters in romance novels?”

“Hey, I had sisters growing up. They all liked those romance garbage novels. You know, the romances with the cookie-cutter plots. The ones with happy endings that made you want to gag because you knew it wasn’t real.”

“Yeah, just like the movies based on them,” Alex offered, cracking open a soda. He took a sip. “Girl with big career comes back to her hometown for a visit down on her luck.”

“Girl runs into an old boyfriend,” Jason said.

Alex mockingly sighed. “Old boyfriend brings back hard memories, but then old boyfriend tries to apologize for all he’s done.”

“Girl falls for old boyfriend again,” Matt said.

Jason grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl and shoved them in his mouth. “Old boyfriend screws up again and girl goes back to big city.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “But old boyfriend realizes he’s a screw-up and that he really loves her and follows her to the city.”

“He tells her he’s always loved her.” Matt took a sip from his soda. “And she tells him she’s always loved him.”

“And everyone lives happily ever after,” Jason concluded.

Alex choked out a gagging noise. The three men looked at each other, pretending to wipe tears from their cheeks.

“Cookie-cutter plots full of clichés.” Matt poked Alex in the chest. “And you, Alex, are one of those clichés. Alex Stone. The handsome cowboy with the six-pack who comes to steal the girl away from the boring, uptight rich guy in the city.”

Alex lifted his shirt and looked at his flat, but slightly paunchy stomach, pushing at the soft flesh. “I’d love to have a six-pack, but I think I would need to work out a little more.”

Jason opened a bag of chips and reached for the remote. “Or just work more period.”

“Oh, geez, thanks, bud.” Alex elbowed Jason in the ribs.

Then there was this interaction between Matt and another friend, Troy, when Alex revealed (spoiler alert) he had an interest in Molly.

“We haven’t seen you at the bars lately,” Troy said as the waitress brought the drinks. “What’s up with you?”

I’m growing up, Alex wanted to say.

“Just been enjoying some solitude,” he said instead, deciding not to add that he was actually enjoying that solitude with Molly when they could find time alone.

He found it uncanny that at the exact moment he thought of Molly, she appeared out front of the restaurant, talking to the librarian. What was the librarian’s name again? He thought Molly had said her name was Ginny. They’d been attending art classes together.

He smiled as an idea struck him; a way to make his friends think he hadn’t lost his way with women, when he knew he had and didn’t mind at all.

“What do you boys think about Jason’s sister? She’s good looking, right?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Um. Yeah. She is, but you better not be noticing.”

Alex laughed, looking out the window at Molly. “Why?”

“Because Jason will kick your butt for checking out his little sister,” Matt answered with a tone that signaled he thought Alex had lost his mind.

Troy shrugged. “I don’t know, she’s a little too big for me. Nice girl, though.”

Alex took a sip of his soda, still watching Molly talking with the librarian, and then smirked.

“She’s just right for me. I like a girl with some meat on her bones.” He winked at his friends. “More for me to hold on to.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Dude. You’re so going to end up with a bloody nose if Jason ever hears you talking like this.”

Troy laughed and punched Alex in the arm.

“Yeah, seriously, Stone, you better watch it. Jason will kick your butt to next week if he hears you talking like that about her.”

Alex looked at Troy and Matt and rubbed his thumb and index finger along his unshaven chin. “I bet I can get her to go out with me.”

Matt shook his head. “You’re too old for her. She doesn’t want to go out with an old man like you.”

Alex’s grin widened. “Hey, she’s only a couple years younger than me. I bet you she will.” He stood up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“Dude! Don’t make an idiot out of yourself!” Troy called after him.

“More than you already are anyhow,” Matt added with a laugh.

Then there was later, in Harvesting Hope, after Alex and Molly were seeing each other and Jason had to put up with the two of them sneaking kisses in the barn.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex’s arms slid around Molly’s waist, pull her close.

“Save that for later.” His tone denoted a touch of teasing, even though he was serious. “We’re behind schedule.”

Molly and Alex locked gazes, small smiles playing at the corners of their mouth. It was obvious they were ignoring Jason’s attempt at wielding authority. He’d have to start the milking without them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex pull Molly closer and lower his mouth to hers. Revulsion tinged with jealousy swirled in his stomach. Revulsion over Alex kissing his little sister right there, outside the barn door where Jason had to see it; jealousy because he wished he was holding Ellie the same way. He didn’t know if she’d ever let him hold her that way again.

Alex playfully bumped him in the arm on his way to gather the feed several moments later, grinning. “There’s always time for a sweet kiss from your sister, buddy.”

Jason choked out a gagging noise. “Dude, seriously. No. Just no. Never talk that way about my sister around me again. Especially not this early in the morning.”

There were moments he regretted convincing Alex to move in with him and work on the farm, for example right now, bogged down with thoughts of Alex kissing Molly. Most days, though, Alex was part of the family, as much as a brother as he was a best friend.

I also wrote about Jason dealing with his best friend and sister dating later in the book:

The front door slammed open, bringing Alex and a gust of wind into the room and jostling Jason from his memories.

This was present day Alex. Alex several years older but in some ways the same ole’ Alex. Well, hopefully not exactly the same, since he was dating Molly now.

The crash of thunder and rush of pounding rain roared into the living room, quieting only when Alex pushed the door closed, his clothes clinging to him. Sliding his cowboy hat off, he propped it on the hook next to the door, then paused and looked at Jason, sprawled on the couch on his back.

“All the lights are off and you’re listening to sad country music. This can’t be good.”

“It’s not sad music. It’s Chris Ledoux.”

“Who you only listen to when you’re sad.” A crack of thunder rattled the window and lightening lit the sky outside.

Alex winced as he pried his wet button-up shirt off and tossed it toward the laundry room. It landed in the hallway, and Jason hoped he would pick it up this time. “Thinking about Ellie?”

Jason tipped his head back against the arm of the couch, his long legs stretched across the faded grey cushions, one arm laying across his forehead, the other one hanging off the couch.

“Yeah. And Lauren.”

Alex reached up and flicked on the light switch. “Ah, man, no. Not a good combination. You can’t sit here alone reflecting on past mistakes. It’s not healthy.”

Jason burped and reached for the can of soda on the coffee table without sitting up. Alex kicked at an empty bag of potato chips on the floor. “Um… this isn’t healthy either. Where are your regular veggie sticks and protein shakes?”

Alex pulled his wet tank top off and walked behind the couch toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. “Listen, I’m going to go get dried off and changed. When I come back, you better tell me what’s up.”

“Will you have your shirt on when you come back? Because I don’t need to see that.”

Alex scoffed and slapped his hand against his bare chest. “Of course, you need to see this. Who doesn’t?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Yeah, well —”

“If you say Molly likes to see that, I will get off this couch and mess up your pretty boy face.”

Alex raised his hands in a surrender motion. “Okay. Okay. Calm down, big boy.”

And for a sneak peek of Beauty From Ashes, an interaction between Matt and Jason during a hunting trip:


Matt knelt next to the animal and drew his knife. “Too bad he rolled down here. It won’t be fun carrying him out.”

Jason lifted his arms and flexed his arm. “Leave that to me, puny man,” he said in a thick European accent. “I can carry your haul for you. When you’re done, you go ahead and get ATV and I’ll meet you at access road.”

Matt leaned back on his heels and quirked an eyebrow. “Puny man? Really? Just because your muscles are as big as my head doesn’t mean I am a puny man, Tanner. I’m perfectly capable of carrying my deer to the access road. Plus, let me point out that I got a deer today and you didn’t, remember?”

Jason laughed.  “Hey, come on. It’s barely nine in the morning. I don’t have to be back at the farm for a couple more hours. I still have time to get one.” He leaned over and poked Matt’s bicep. “But you, little man, don’t have time to build up muscle before we need to carry this deer out.” He laughed again as he swung his gun onto his shoulder. “Seriously, I’ll head down for the ATV. It will take me a while to hike down and by then you should have this dressed and carried down.”

Jason was right, of course. Matt wasn’t as muscular as him. Having played football in high school and college, plus lugging heavy hay bales and farm equipment around every day, Jason did have a lot more upper body strength than Matt and almost anyone Matt knew.

I’m looking forward to writing more interactions between these men in a future book that will focus on Alex and more of his backstory.

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 27

/ Lisa R. Howeler / Leave a comment

I will be sharing the last chapters of this story tomorrow. This chapter has a bit too much cheese at the end so that may change before this book is final.

Chapter 27

She couldn’t get her hands to stop trembling.

Even now, standing at her apartment door, unlocking it, far away from the scene of the shooting. She’d called Ginny and Ginny had agreed with Matt. She was closing the library early anyhow because of all the police activity down the street. 

A conversation she’d had with Molly over a year ago resurfaced.

“I’m just friends with Matt. It’s not like that. He’s easy to talk to and I like hanging out with him, but — he’s Matt. I’ll always think of him as a brother more than a boyfriend. Maybe because he’s friends with Jason and I just remember him as that weird military obsessed guy from high school.”

Molly had tipped her head in a pitying way, more pity toward Matt than Liz. “He’s a nice guy, Liz.”

“Yeah, I know, but he’s also a cop. I don’t know if I can date a cop. I mean, what if I develop more feelings for him and then I’ll just worry about him out there on the streets . . .”

Molly had snickered. “On the streets of Spencer? Where what — he might get punched by a drunk guy down at Mooney’s or get kicked by a cow?”

Liz had turned from the list of coffee flavors behind the counter at the coffee shop they were at and tipped her head. “Molly, you really are naïve about what happens in this county, aren’t you?”

And Molly had been, but maybe she’d been a little naïve too. Sure, she knew there were issues with drugs and alcohol in this town, but someone being shot on the street? No, she hadn’t thought that would happen. Matt could have been killed. It was a thought that surfaced, but that she pushed back down again. If she thought about that too long, she’d trigger a panic attack and those had been better lately. She didn’t want them to come back again

She glanced at the sunlight streaming in through the windows in the living room as her phone rang and she shut the door behind her, locking it.

“Are you okay? Martha said there was a shooting on Main Street. Is that true? Do you know?”

She tossed her keys on the kitchen table. “I’m fine, Mom. Yes. Matt was there and he’s okay too. He told me to go back to my apartment so I’m there, with the door locked.” Sliding her shoes off she yawned. Since her mom and dad were watching Bella, maybe she could manage a nap.

“Where is Molly? Is she with you?”

“She’s at the store. We’ve talked and she’ll be home early tonight.”

They chatted a few seconds longer about Bella and the fact she was taking a nap so Marge would bring her to the apartment in the evening. Liz’s shoulders relaxed as she slid her finger over the end call button and dropped her phone into her purse, then hung the purse on the back of the kitchen chair. Her bed was definitely calling to her.

“Are you okay, Liz? Really?”

A scream ripped through her at the sound of the deep voice from behind her. She swung around to face the dark hallway. Gabe’s laughter boomed off the walls, sending a chill shivering through her. When he stepped forward, sunlight brightened one side of his face and the other remained in darkness. What the sun hit was bruised and swollen, dark purple mixing with light purple.

Liz took a step back toward the kitchen.  “What are you doing here?”

Gabe gestured outward with his arms, leaning against the wall, more of his face coming into the light. “Just thought I should see what the mother of my child is up to these days.” His leather jacket was open, revealing a white T-shirt, stained with red and brown. “What? Don’t you like visitors?”

Liz’s chest constricted as she bumped into one of the chairs pushed into the table. “Not those who aren’t invited, no.”

Gabe pushed himself off the wall, and walked into the living room, slumping into the chair next to the couch.

Liz could clearly see his black eye and a deep cut across his cheek now. He winced and lifted his foot, stretching out his leg, and propping it on the coffee table. “Don’t worry, drama queen. I’m not here to hurt you. I just got myself in some trouble. Needed a place to lay low for a bit.”

“How did you even get in here?”

He smirked. “You know, for having a boyfriend who’s a cop, your apartment isn’t very secure. I climbed in one of the bedroom windows. Must be Molly’s room with all those cow photos hanging all over.” He grimaced as he lifted the other leg and propped it next to the first. “That’s what McGee is, right? Your boyfriend?”

Liz kept moving backwards until she bumped into the kitchen counter. Two more steps to her left and she’d have her hand on the drawer with the knives.

“You need to leave, Gabe.”

“Oh, Liz. Liz. Calm down and have a seat. Let’s just chat a while. I already said I’m not going to hurt you.” He hugged his arm around his side and made a face. “I’m not in any shape to hurt anyone right now anyhow.”

Her fingertips touched the edge of the knife drawer. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were focused somewhere outside the window, his eyelids heavy. She wasn’t sure she cared, but she asked anyhow. “What happened to you?”

He scoffed. “Life happened to me, Lizzie dear.” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes. “It finally caught up to me. All the fun couldn’t last forever, right?”

She ran her finger along the edge of the drawer, ready to open it if he moved. He kept talking as her eyes drifted to her purse, now several feet away.

Gabe sighed. “I’m in trouble.” He coughed out a laugh, his eyes still closed. “When am I not in trouble, right? But, alas, I am in even bigger trouble than ever before.”

Her mind flitted between opening the drawer and lunging for the phone in her purse. “What’s going on?” She should probably keep him talking until she decided. “Who did this to you?

She took a step toward the purse at the same moment his eyes opened, and he tipped his head to look at her.

“Do you really care? Really, Lizzie?” He sneered. “You know you don’t.”

He was right. She just wanted him to leave. She knew she should care, though. She should see him the way God saw him – as a flawed human who deserved a second chance. That wasn’t how she saw him, though.

She saw him as a threat.

He tipped his head back again, but kept his eyes opened, focused on the ceiling. “I never thought I’d be where I am today. All I did was borrow some money to keep the business going. Then a little more for the pills to keep me going. Who knew my uncle would call in the loan by manipulating me into running his drug business?” He laughed again, the sound sending a mix of pity and anxiety skittering through Liz.

She stood frozen between the kitchen table and the counter, unsure which direction to go. Gabe’s lack of predictably always had been a problem.

“Are you on the pills now?”

He stood abruptly and turned toward her, but leaned forward quickly, hands on his knees, grimacing. He lifted his head without straightening. “You think I’d be in this much pain if I was?” He stood, his arm wrapped around his side, and moved toward the other side of the living room, near a display of photographs on the wall above the television. His eyes moved from photo to photo as she took two steps closer to the purse.

He glanced at her. “She looks like you. That’s a good thing.”

Liz drew in a breath slowly, glad Bella was with her grandparents.

He kept his eyes on the photo as he spoke. “I screwed up, Liz. I borrowed money from him, lost it gambling and fueling the pill addiction. When I couldn’t get it back to him, he told me I’d either help him with deliveries and production or he’d end me.” His smile was unnatural considering the topic he was discussing. “Fitting isn’t it? He did to me what I did to you. Manipulated me into getting what he wanted like I manipulated you.” He pushed a trembling hand through disheveled, dark brown hair, laughed sardonically. “What goes around comes around, right? Isn’t that in the Bible?

Liz folded her arms across her chest, keeping her gaze locked on him. “No, I don’t think it is.”

He turned to face her. “An eye for an eye, right? Same thing?”

She tilted her head to one side, her jaw tight. “Not exactly. No.”

He walked toward her slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Liz. I already told you that.” He stopped a couple of feet from her, hands at his side. “I came here because I can’t figure you out and I want to figure you out before I go to jail.

The muscles in her body tensed. Her gaze flitted to the purse again. Only a few more steps and she could have it, but could she get the phone out before he reached her? He took another stepped toward her and she had her answer. “What are you talking about?

He tipped his head back slightly looking at her through narrowed eyes. “Why didn’t you press charges against me?” He tipped his head back down and shrugged a shoulder, pulling the chair with her purse on it out and sitting in it. “I pretty much assaulted you that night in my apartment. We both know it.” He laid his hand on the table. “Are you still so afraid of mommy and daddy finding out about you that you never told anyone how that baby was really conceived?”

Liz folded her arms tighter across her chest. What was his game, really? Was he kidding right now? Did he feel guilt or pride over his actions? She couldn’t read him.

“You really need to leave, Gabe.”

“It was wrong, Liz.” He leaned forward on his knees, winced again, and touched a hand to his ribs. “What I did. You deserved better than that. You’re a good person. Better than me and almost anyone else and I stepped all over that.”

She pivoted quickly, ripped open the knife drawer and grabbed the first one she could reach. Swinging around she held it out in front of her. She knew him too well. He never apologized. There was another reason behind his words.

“Get out, Gabe.”

He raised his hands, still sitting, a smirk twitching one corner of his mouth upward. “What are you going to do, stab me?” He laughed, his hands still up. “It would serve me right at this point. You should just go ahead and get it over with.”

She gripped the knife handle tighter, stepping slowly around the table until she was in front of him. “Just leave, okay?”

“So, you can call Matty-boy to come arrest me?”

He laughed again, lowered his hands, and then tipped his head forward, closing his eyes. “Just do it.” He opened his eyes again as he lifted his head and looked at her. “Call McGee. Show’s over for me.” He reached behind him, reached into her purse and slid out the phone, laying it on the table. He pressed a finger on top of it and slid it across the table toward her. “Jail is the safest place for me right now, trust me.”

She kept the knife in front of her, glancing at the phone then back at him. He inclined his head toward the phone. “Take it. Call him.” He slid his finger over the screen, opening it. “Here, I’ll help you.” He looked at the phone and tipped his head, pushing his lower lip out. “Aw, look at that. McGee’s in your favorites. “How cute.” He tapped his finger on Matt’s name. “There, I dialed it for you. Tell him to come rescue you from your scary ex-boyfriend.”

Instinct told her not to reach for the phone. Gabe tapped the speaker button instead.

Matt’s voice came from the phone. “Liz? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Gabe kept his eyes focused on hers, smiling as he leaned toward the phone. “Liz needs rescuing, McGee. At her apartment. Better drop your Bible and get on over here.” He leaned closer to the phone. “And feel free to bring the calvary.”

He slid his finger over the end button and leaned back in the chair. “Uncle Buck was running the overall operation. I agreed to take over the part in this area to keep him off my back about all the money I owed him. Bernie was just a scape goat. I tricked him into make deliveries. He needed the money for his family. When he caught on to what was going on he tried to break loose, and I tried to blackmail him. It didn’t work and he walked. The police already had him pegged as trouble, so it was easy to set him up.”

Why was he telling her all of this? She stepped back against the corner of the wall, pulling the knife closer to her. “You can tell the police this.”

“I will, but I wanted to tell you too.”

“Someone shot Bernie Denton.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that. Is he going to be okay?”

Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the knife. “I don’t know. Matt was with him.”

Gabe tipped his head back and laughed. “Of course he was.” He looked at her again, the smile fading. “Ah, then Bernie will live. Having McGee around is like having your own personal Jesus, right?”

Liz ignored the snarky edge to the comment. “Were you using?”

He shook his head. “Never sampled the product. Alcohol and pills are my vice. You know that.” He kicked the chair next to him out and propped a leg on it. “So, you officially with McGee now?”

She had no idea why she was standing here. She could reach the door, but part of her worried what he was really up to, if he’d grab her when she tried to run, take the knife and turn the tables on her.

“If you’re asking if I am in love with Matt, then yes I am.” Sirens sounded in the distance. “I used to think I was in love with you, but I was in love with the idea of you. Sadly, you were never what or who I thought you were.”

He snorted a brief laugh. “I wasn’t who I thought I was either.” He tapped the top of the table with his hand. “Sounds like the calvary is almost here so listen Liz, good luck with your life. With the kid. McGee. All of it.” He glanced at the door, the sirens louder now. “I’ll be in there a long time, so I won’t be messing anything up for you.”

Footsteps pounded on the steps outside and Liz lowered the knife slowly. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t reaching out for her.

He was a man beaten. He knew it and as his shoulders stooped, he even looked the part. She kept her eyes on him as she reached over and unlocked the door. It slammed open and back against the wall behind it seconds before Matt rushed into the room. Behind him were two uniformed Spencer officers, one she recognized as his former partner Tom Stapleton. The other must have been the rookie he’d mentioned to her.

Gabe brought his wrists together in front of him and held them up, his eyes still on Liz. “Cuff me, Officer McGee. I’m ready for my close up.”

Tom cuffed Gabe instead, one wrist first, while the rookie held a hand against Matt’s chest, as if to hold him back, remind him he was still on suspension.

Tom pulled Gabe to his feet, pushed him against the top of the kitchen table and pulled his arms behind him, hooking the other cuff in place.

Gabe pulled his gaze from Liz and looked up at Matt. “Look familiar, McGee? Bet you wish you had your knee in my back again, don’t you?”

Matt took a step back toward Liz as Tom pulled Gabe to a standing position and pushed him toward the front door.

Gabe tilted his head down, focused on the floor as he walked. “Take care of her, McGee. She deserves better than me.”

Liz swallowed hard, surprising herself when she told Gabe she’d pray for him.

He scoffed, head still down. “Pray all you want. I don’t believe in that crap and never will.” He swallowed hard and looked back up as Tom pushed him through the doorway. “But thanks for saying it anyhow.” He pushed back against Tom, pausing and looked at Matt, winking. “See what I mean? She deserves better.”

Matt stood in front of Liz and pulled her against him as the rookie followed Tom out the door, pulling it closed behind him. She buried her face against Matt’s chest and let out a shaky breath.

“You okay?”

She nodded, grateful for the numbness that was currently settled over her mind. “This day has been really, really weird.”

The vibrations of his laugh against her cheek made her smile. The warmth of his arms around her made her smile. Him being here when he could have been in a hospital right now fighting for his life like Bernie was made her smile. The fact she somehow wasn’t having a panic attack despite all that had happened also made her smile.

She closed her eyes as he held her and kissed the top of her head. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe and calm. Safe in Matt’s arms, safe in his love, and safe in the love of God.

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 26

/ Lisa R. Howeler / Leave a comment

For the next three days I’m going to share the last of the chapters of A New Chapter (renamed Beauty From Ashes). The complete book will be available in full on various sites on April 26. You can pre-order it HERE or HERE.

Chapter 26

Millie Baker stared at him through the glass door of her shop, her eyes widened in curious terror. He heard the lock on the other side of the door click and the door squeaked as it opened a few inches. “Matt, what should I do? Is that young man hurt? Should I call 911?”

“Yes, Mrs. Baker. Lock the door again and get to the back of the shop and call 911. Tell them we have an active shooter, okay?”

The elderly women lowered her head and he thought he saw a tear on her cheek. Poor Millie. Gunshots weren’t something the people of Spencer ever heard on their Main Street. The world was changing, and it wasn’t something anyone was comfortable with, not even Matt who’d known for years it would all spill into this picturesque scene one day, marring its quaintness.

He turned his attention back to Bernie. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dan running toward him down the street in the direction of the coffee shop. 

“Active shooter! Everyone, get down!” Dan’s voice echoed through the street that had vacated within seconds after the gunshots sounded.

Dan kneeled next to Bernie in the doorway, looking at Matt. “Did you hear where the shots came from?”

Matt gripped the gun, looked down the street. “Somewhere low, I think. Not up from the buildings. There was an echo when it fired. Like off walls or a hallway.”

“Call it in. Tell them we need back up.” Dan’s jaw clenched as he gripped his service weapon and headed for the alley across the street. Matt used his cellphone to contact 911, pinning it between his shoulder and chin while he tried to get a better look at Bernie’s wound. Mille could report the incident, but he would need to give the police the information they needed before they came in to the scene.

Bernie groaned as Matt yanked his own jacket off while talking to the dispatcher, pressing it against Bernie’s stomach to try to stop the bleeding. “One man down, gunshot to the stomach, trooper on scene needs back up.”

“The ambulance is already on its way, Officer McGee.” The female dispatcher spoke in a calm tone. “I need to tell them if this is an active shooter situation. Is it? They won’t come in until the scene is cleared.”

Matt’s chest tightened. Bernie needed to get to the emergency room as fast as possible. “The scene is not cleared.” He hated saying it, but he couldn’t put the paramedics or anyone else at risk. “Active shooter situation. Have them set up at the end of the street.”

Stan stepped from the other side of him and kneeled next to Bernie. “What can I do?”

“Help me get his head propped up and him stretched out so I can keep pressure on the wound.”

Stan sat and slid Bernie’s head into his lap. “It’s going to be okay, kid. Hang in there.”

Stan’s eyes glistened and Matt knew it wasn’t the cold air causing it. The poor man was a real estate agent who had expected a quiet, calm day and here he was holding the head of a man who had just been shot in their usually quiet, calm town.

When Matt looked up, Reggie was running toward him, weapon drawn, the rookie and his former partner behind him.

In a few seconds it was clear their weapons weren’t needed, though, as Dan emerged from the alley with his hand gripping the back of a man’s shirt as he pushed him into the light and toward the bake shop.

 Disheveled hair fell across the man’s forehead and dark brown eyes. His mouth twisted into a snarl as Dan pushed him up against the hood of the cruiser and yanked his arms behind his back.

“You got what you deserve, Denton!” the man’s voice echoed off the buildings on Main Street. “You snitch! You can die!”

Dan pinned him to the cruiser as he hooked the cuffs. “Are you serious right now? Did you really think you’d get away with shooting a guy in broad daylight?”

The man spit toward the ground, much of it landing on the hood. “No and I don’t care. Bernie got what was coming to him for being a snitch.”

Dan yanked the man to a standing position and shoved him toward the back of the car. “And you’re going to get what’s coming to you too.”

The sound of Dan reading the man his rights were drowned out by the sound of the ambulance. Matt’s attention returned to Bernie whose head was now propped up by Stan’s winter jacket.

“They’re almost here, Bernie. Stay with me, okay?”

Bernie’s head nodded slowly, his eyes closing. “I’m still here. Hurts like hell but I’m still here.”

“You did the right thing, okay? We’re going to get Gabe and anyone else he was working with.”

“I —” Bernie winced. “I shouldn’t have taken that package. I should have known there was more going on than Gabe said.”

Barriers were being set up at the end of the street by Reggie and the state police, but they stepped back to let the ambulance through. Matt only hoped the paramedics could stop the bleeding long enough to get Bernie to a trauma unit, which was a 45-minute drive. It was a clear day. Maybe they could call in the medivac helicopter instead. Living in a rural area had clear benefits but on days like this it also had clear drawbacks.

He sat back only when the paramedics arrived and took over. Standing, he lifted his hands, his throat thickening with emotion at the sight of dark red blood staining his skin. For several seconds he couldn’t think of anything but the blood, Bernie groaning in pain, the overwhelming worry that this man who had started turning his life around wouldn’t get the chance to see his children again.

The voice of the paramedic calling for a landing point to rendezvous with the helicopter blurred with the voice of Stan asking if he was okay. The older man clapped a hand on his shoulder, shook him. “Hey, let’s get you cleaned up. Come back to my office.”

Matt moved his head back and forth slowly. “No. I’ll need to give a statement and —”

Stan’s voice deepened into a firm tone. “We’ll tell the troopers where you are going to be. Come on.”

Matt staggered back away from the scene of the paramedics gently loading Bernie onto a stretcher, turning slowly to follow Stan. He watched the blood mix with water and soap, spiral down the sink as he washed his hands a few minutes later. He lifted his hands and stared at the tremble before clenching them into a fist and reaching for the towel.

“Your trooper friend is looking for you.”

Stan’s voice sounded far away, somehow, like in a dream, but he followed him back out onto the sidewalk to look for Dan.

“Stan!”

Ginny’s voice stopped them both and they turned to see Ginny at the barrier, clutching her coat closed, anguish and worry distorting her usually calm features.

Stan waved at her dismissively. “I’m fine.”

“They said there was a shooting.” The tremble in Ginny’s voice made Matt want to hug her, but apparently Stan didn’t feel the same. “We heard the gunshots at the library.”

Stan’s tone was strained, abrupt. “I said I’m fine. I’ll fill you in later.”

The brusqueness startled Matt, but he tried not to show it. Ginny was clearly upset and worried, but Stan didn’t seem remotely interested in comforting her.

Maybe Stan was made of sterner stuff because seeing Liz walk toward the barrier with an expression on her face that told him she’d thought the ambulance had been for him broke something inside him.

The only people he’d ever had to worry about worrying about him were his parents and his siblings. It had always meant a lot that they didn’t want to see anything happen to him, but it was an entirely different situation watching the woman he’d fallen hard for almost go to pieces in front of him.

When he thought of her, he also thought of Bella and the idea that a future in law enforcement could leave them behind —Liz without a husband, Bella without a father.

Wait a minute. What am I talking about?

He wasn’t either of those things to either of them. Not yet anyhow. He couldn’t deny that he hoped to be both one day. He broke rank with Stan and stepped the barrier grabbing the front of Liz’s jacket with one hand and holding her a few inches back so Bernie’s blood that was on him wouldn’t get on her. His eyes locked with hers and realized that, yeah, he’d be proud to be Liz’s husband one day, and also honored to be Bella’s father.

He pressed his mouth against hers firmly then pulled back, keeping her at a physical distance. Her eyes trailed down his form.

“Is that your blood?” Her bottom limp trembled when she asked it. He’d only seen her that vulnerable one other time, in the front of his pickup truck with a baby covered in vernix on her chest.

He shook his head once. “Bernie’s.”

She looked up sharply, her eyes meeting his. “Wh-what happened? Did you shoot Bernie? Is he dead?”

“No.” He kissed her briefly again. “I’ll fill you in later, but right now I need to make a statement and head home to get cleaned up.”

The dealer who’d shot Bernie was in custody and Gabe would be too soon, but a sudden desire to protect Liz rushed over Matt. “Go home, okay? Can you do that? Go home and stay there until I tell you it’s okay?”

Liz’s brow dipped in confusion. “Yeah. I can do that. If Ginny says it’s okay.”

“She will. Where’s your car? Do you have your keys?”

She nodded and he could tell she was still confused.

He stepped around the barrier, placed a hand under her elbow, steered her away from the scene where more state troopers were now gathering. “Next to the library, right?”

“Matt?” She looked at him as they walked, eyes darkening with worry. “What’s going on? Are you in some kind of danger? Am I?”

He picked up the pace, knowing he needed to get back to the scene and talk to Dan. “I don’t think so, but I just want to be sure you’re somewhere safe. Where’s Bella?”

“With Mom and Dad.”

He scanned the sidewalks and buildings around them as he walked. “Good.”

She didn’t ask any more questions until they reached her car. “Does this have something to do with Gabe? Is he threatening you? Did he shoot Bernie? I can’t believe he’d shoot someone.”

“Don’t worry.” He took her keys from her trembling hands and unlocked the car, still looking around him, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

But he wasn’t sure everything was fine. He’d never pegged Gabe for a drug dealer, but it sure looked like he was based on what Bernie had recorded. Not only that, but someone had ordered Bernie taken out, and that someone could have been Gabe. Of course, there was always the possibility the shooter had just been a little off his rocker, which was also possible, especially if he’d been sampling the product.

He kissed her quickly before she slid behind the steering wheel, closed the door behind her, and when she rolled the window down he told her he’d call her as soon as he was done. He watched her drive toward her apartment before turning to walk back toward the scene. He was glad she didn’t have far to go. Maybe he should have followed her.

He dragged a hand through his hair. No. She was fine. He was over reacting. Gabe had somehow gotten himself messed up in trafficking drugs but he wasn’t a psychopath. A jerk and a horrible boyfriend, yes. A crazed maniac, no. He’d clearly been reading too many Harry Bosch novels lately.

This was Spencer Valley, not Los Angeles, and yes, while there had just been a shooting in broad daylight on Main Street, there wasn’t a full-blown crime spree underway. Not yet anyhow.

***

He shouldn’t have walked away from Ginny, but he couldn’t talk to her. Not there, in front of everyone asking him if he was okay. Of course, he was okay. It was Bernie he was worried about. The man had just been shot and his color hadn’t been good at all when they loaded him in the ambulance to meet the helicopter.

He watched the aftermath of the chaos hundred feet from his office as if watching something in a movie. Was this real? It certainly didn’t feel like it.

A shooting outside his real estate office.

There was something he never thought he’d see. The world was certainly a mess and while he once thought that mess was confined to bigger cities, it wasn’t. It was spreading out, touching even little Spencer Valley.

When he was done talking to the trooper he went back to the office, filled Emily in on what had happened and told her to go home, he was closing up for the rest of the day, maybe longer. The young woman hugged him briefly, told him to go wash up and get some rest.

Wash up. Right. He looked down at his suit and dress shirt, at the red stained there. This certainly hadn’t been his week.

First, he’d found out his wife had kissed another man and now he’d somehow gotten himself mixed up in a drug deal gone wrong. It was surreal and even more surreal was that he wasn’t going back to his house to clean up and try to calm down, he was walking toward the Blueberry Inn where his clothes were, where he’d spend the last couple of nights because, apparently, his life was falling down around his ears.

Unlocking the door to his room — after assuring the young woman at the front desk he was fine and avoiding her questions about what had happened — a rush of emotion pressed down on him. He swallowed it, though, and reached for a towel and a change of clothes. Under the hot water of the shower the dam broke and the tears came. He pressed his hands against the wall, dropped his head under the water, trying to ignore how much he wanted Ginny here with him now, the old Ginny, the Ginny he used to know, not the Ginny who’d betrayed him by kissing Keith.

“He kissed me.”

He heard the words over and over in his mind, but he didn’t know whether to believe them.

Her pleading expression, the tears on her cheeks swam in his mind as the water pounded against him.

“I wanted you to kiss me. Not him.”

He shut the water off and toweled off slowly, remembering the many slow kisses he’d given his wife over the years, thinking about how long it had been since he had, though. Exhaustion seeped through his muscles to his bones and he collapsed on the bed after pulling on a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

Images of Ginny’s worried expression at the scene filled his mind seconds before sleep slammed him hard into darkness.

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 25

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 10 Comments

Here is a special extra chapter from Beauty From Ashes, or A New Chapter for the sake of the blog. We are almost to the end! I mentioned yesterday that the book releases April 26. If you want to pre-order it, you can do so HERE, or HERE but I am also going to be offering to send a copy to my blog readers for free once I have the final version.

If any of you are interested in being on the launch team for the book, you can sign-up HERE. Signing up doesn’t require a large commitment. I just ask that you share the information I will send you about the book on your social media sites leading up to the release of the book and afterwards. In exchange for your help, you will receive a free ebook copy of the book. If you have the opportunity to leave a review of the book on the various sites it will be on sale on, that would be nice too.

Feel free to let me know what you think about this latest chapter in the comments.

Chapter 25

The crisp morning air was helping to wake Matt up, but he knew a cup of coffee from the Community Cup coffee shop would help even more. Sure, he’d had coffee at home, but not with the fancy foam on top that made everything better. Maybe the barista, Wendy, would even swirl a heart into the whip cream for him like she normally did.

Liz’s comments about him being beloved by the town snuck into his mind as he walked. He’d never considered himself someone women flirted with and it had never occurred to him that maybe Wendy had been flirting all this time until now. Oh. He probably shouldn’t have winked all those times and told her she was his favorite barista ever. He’d have to be more careful about sending mixed signals from now on. The only one he wanted to send signals to was Liz.

“Matt!”

He turned at the sound of Stan’s voice from across the street and raised his hand in a greeting. Stan waved him over. Looked like the coffee would, unfortunately, have to wait.

“Hey.” Stan stepped aside to allow Matt into the real estate office, the other desks in the main office empty. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. I’m sure you’ve heard that I have more than a minute these days.”

Stan winced. “Yeah. When I first heard about it, I thought it was because we’d been sneaking around that building.” He gestured toward his office in the back. “Coffee?”

It wasn’t Community Cup coffee, but — “Sure. I could use another cup.”

Stan poured two mugs from a coffee pot that looked like it had seen better days. “Hate to say this, but in a way I’m glad you decked that Martin guy. No one deserved it more than him. I know it’s not the Christian thing to say, but sometimes I feel like if some of these kids had been paddled more as children they wouldn’t have turned out to be such awful adults.”

Matt took the mug of coffee and sat in a chair across from Stan’s desk. “You might be right.”

“Speaking of Martin, I have some news about who owns the abandoned building.” Stan slid a sheet of paper across his desk as he sat down. “Terry ‘Buck’ Simms.”

Matt made a face. “Who?”

“Buck Simms was a business owner who used to live here.” Stan sipped from his coffee and winced, then stood and poured creamer into the sludge. “Owned several buildings, warehouses, a few stores and essentially became a small-town slum lord. All those houses they tore down on the other side of the tracks last year were once his. He never took care of them, didn’t help the tenants, charged them crazy rent. He moved away from here about ten years ago. The deed is still in his name.”

Matt nodded. “Okay. That’s great. Once the property is released from the police, maybe you can track him down and he’ll sell the land.”

Stan leaned forward on the desk, shoulders stooped. The sunlight streaking in through the window hit his face and Matt noticed the puffy skin under his eyes, and the pale pallor to his skin for the first time.

“That could be a problem. No one has been able to find Buck in ten years. The council tried to track him down years ago to get those buildings either fixed up or torn down. They finally seized them through a court order after Buck never responded to all the messages sent to his last known address somewhere in Montana.” He took the paper again, pondered it and sat back in his chair. “Here’s the other thing. Some of Buck’s family still lives here in Spencer.”

Matt took a longer sip of the coffee. He didn’t know what brand Stan was brewing but it was certainly waking him up. “So maybe we can track them down, find Buck, and get the property signed over.”

“Again, might be a problem. It took me a bit, but I finally remembered who Buck was related to. Gabe. On his mom’s side. He’s Gabe’s great uncle.”

Matt set the mug down on the desk. “Oh. Okay, well that does change things.”

“Yeah, it does.”

It also makes Bernie’s story a lot more believable, Matt thought as he stared into the coffee mug.

The opening of the front door startled both men.

“Must be Emily. I gave her the morning off. Her mom’s been sick, and she’s been taking care of her.” He looked at his watch and quirked an eyebrow. “She’s a little early, though.”

It wasn’t Stan’s secretary who stood in the doorway of Stan’s office a few seconds later, though. Mud streaked across Bernie’s cheek and dark circles marked the skin under his eyes. A hole was ripped in the knee of his jeans, and he was breathing hard.

“Matt, I need to talk to you.”

Matt set his coffee mug down. “Yeah, I need to talk to you too.” He stood and gestured toward the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

Bernie shook his head, stepped into the office, and shut the door. “No way. The cops are looking for me, but I’m guessing you know that by now.”

Matt glanced at Stan whose coffee mug was half to his mouth, his eyes focused on Bernie.

“Why don’t we let Stan head out then?”

Bernie shook his head. “No. I don’t want him calling the cops. Not until I talk to you.”

Bernie sat in the chair across from Stan’s desk. Matt remained standing, leaning back against a bookcase on the far wall. “Why did you run, Bern? Were those drugs yours?”

Bernie shook his head vigorously. “No. No. They were planted. I’m telling you the truth, Matt, just like I was telling you the truth about Gabe. I’ve got proof now too.”

Matt folded his arms across his chest. He wasn’t sure he was buying this story. “Where?”

“On my phone.” Bernie thrust the phone toward him. “I also emailed it to myself and uploaded it to the cloud for safe keeping. I ran because there was a meet up with Gabe and another dealer and I knew if I told the cops they wouldn’t believe me. I heard the other guy talking about it when I was leaving after I dropped that package off. I didn’t know if it was still going down but I needed to try. I had to get the proof, get myself off the hook. Gabe saw me, though, and now they’re all after me — the cops, Gabe and the other guy he was with. At this point it’s just a matter of who gets to me first.”

Stan set his mug down. Matt could tell he was bewildered, maybe even a bit anxious, but he was hanging in there. He looked less freaked out than when they’d found the drugs at least.

Matt took the phone and pushed play on the video.

Great. That was definitely Gabe with another guy at a building that looked similar to the abandoned one. He couldn’t make out every word they were saying but Gabe was gesturing toward packages that looked a lot like heroin and the man across from him was shouting back, something about “It’s not my fault if your mules are incompetent!”

He kept his eyes on the screen as Gabe took a stack of cash from the man. “We need to get this to the state police.”

Gabe turned toward the camera seconds before it went black. “How did you get away?”

Bernie ran his hands along his jeans, letting out a breath. “I had a head start. It was dark where I was, I didn’t think he saw me, just heard the twig break under me when I stepped back. I was in my car and part way down the road when I heard him yelling. There was a couple of gunshots, but I kept driving. I hid out at Lover’s Valley until about 3 a.m. and then I walked to your place and waited behind your woodshed but fell asleep.” He laughed softly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Some criminal I am, huh? Anyhow, when I woke up you were pulling out, so I took the risk and followed you to town. I knew you’d listen.”

Matt glanced out the window. “You think anyone followed you?”

Bernie leaned back in the chair, shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not really very good at this criminal stuff. You should know that better than anyone.”

Matt huffed out a small laugh. He was right. Professional criminal Bernie was not. Nailing him for the burglary and all the other petty crimes he’d committed had been fairly easy all those years ago.

Stan stood and separated the blinds with his fingers. “I don’t know if Bernie was followed by Gabe or the other guy, but there’s a trooper pulling up across the street.”

Matt stood behind him, looked over his shoulder. “That’s Dan. He’s probably looking for me to see if we found out any more about who owns the building.”

Behind them Bernie stood, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other. “Is he coming here? He can’t come here. I can’t get caught.”

Matt turned to face him. “Bern, you’ve got proof.”

“Not that those drugs aren’t mine.” He slid his hands behind his back and when he pulled them in front of him one was holding a 9 mm. “I’m also not supposed to have this. I’m on probation.”

Stan scowled, his hands still on the blinds. “Then why do you?”

“For protection.” He tipped his head up toward the ceiling, sucking in a breath. “It was my dad’s. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t know what I was going to face when I got to that meet up.”

Matt watched Dan climb out of the police vehicle and head across the street toward the office. “We don’t have much time here. We need to make a decision. Pretty sure Dan knows I’m in here. Not sure about you.”

Bernie paced in the small office space between the chair and the bookcase, the gun in his hand. “He’s not going to listen. I know he’s not. If I keep you guys in here, maybe then he’ll stop long enough to listen.”

This situation was going to bad to very bad in a very short amount of time. “Bernie, you’re not thinking clearly. It’s just Dan looking for me to discuss the case. You’ve already run from the state police and now you’re going to hold me and Stan hostage? If we have any chance of getting you out of all this and keeping you out of jail, then I’d advise you not to even think of that scenario.”

Bernie stopped pacing and looked at Matt. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. I don’t want to do that. I just need some time.”

Matt walked toward the door. “I’m going to stop him in the front of the office. We just need to talk to him, show him the video. We’ll figure the rest out later. If he can get to Gabe, then maybe he can get him to fess up to trying to set you up for the fall.”

Bernie clutched at the hair at the top of his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think this is going to work.”

Matt held his hand up. “Stay calm, Bern, and put that gun away. You’re not helping your case right now.”

Bernie’s eyes flicked toward the gun, and he nodded, stashing it in the back of his jeans again.

Matt stepped out of Stan’s office, pulling the door closed behind him, at the same moment Dan stepped in.

“McGee.” Dan nodded in the curt way the way state troopers do, which always made Matt wonder if the hat made their heads too heavy to nod normally.

“Trooper McCallister.”

“I thought I saw your truck down the street and took a hunch you might be meeting with Jefferies. Has he got anything on the building owner?” He propped one hand on his duty belt and leaned his hip against Emily’s desk with the other.

“He does, but I’m finishing up another meeting in here. Can we meet at the coffee shop in a few minutes?”

Matt caught a flash of suspicion in Dan’s eyes as he glanced at the closed door over Matt’s shoulder, but he nodded that curt node again. “Sure. Ten minutes?”

Matt tried the curt nod and had to admit it was a bit more efficient and easier on the neck in some ways. “Yep. Perfect.”

Dan turned toward the front door, hesitated and turned back toward Matt again. “Everything okay in here?”

Matt smiled. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just some private real estate business.”

He hated lying but he needed a couple more minutes to convince Bernie it was in his best interest to talk to Dan.

Dan narrowed his eyes but he reached for the handle of the front door. “Okay, then, see you in a bit.”

He walked out but Matt could tell he didn’t believe him. A good cop wouldn’t, and Dan was a good cop. His instinct had kicked in, which meant Matt didn’t have long to talk Bernie into turning himself in and working out a deal with the staties.

When he entered the office Bernie was pacing again, rubbing his fingernails across his front teeth, looking at the floor. Stan was sitting at his desk watching him, his arms folded across his chest, his brow furrowed. Matt was sure this wasn’t how he’d expected to spend his morning. He’d already looked exhausted before Bernie walked in. He was looking completely beat down now.

Matt sat on the edge of the desk. “Okay, Bern, here is the deal. I’m meeting with Dan down at the coffee shop down the street in ten minutes. I want you to come with me and talk to him. It might mean you being taken into custody for a short time but —”

Bernie looked up sharply and shook his head. “No. I can’t go back to jail.”

Matt held up his hand. “Calm down. They’ll just need to question you. I’m going to vouch for you, show Dan the video and convince him that you’re not involved other than delivering that one package.” He leaned forward slightly, returning his hand to a position in the crook of his arm. “That’s all you did, correct.”

“Yes!” Bernie’s tone denoted his frustration and he tossed up his hands. “That’s it. I swear to you.”

Matt crossed one ankle over the other, doing his best to appear relaxed, even if he didn’t feel it. “Then you’ll be fine. We’re going to walk down there together and work this out. I’m going to have your back, okay?”

Bernie had been lied to a lot in the past. Matt was sure of that. He also knew that trust was a hard thing to have when so many had broken that trust before. “I know it is going to take a huge leap of faith for you to trust the guy who arrested you in the past.” He tipped his chin up to keep his eyes focused on Bernie’s. “But I need you to trust me that want to help keep you on the right track and bring you home to your kids. Let me help you, okay?”

Bernie let go of the hair he’d been clutching on the top of his head and stopped packing. He looked up at Matt, locked eyes with him, and inclined his head in agreement. “Okay.” His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed hard. “I trust you. Let’s go do this.”

Matt gestured toward the door, tipped his head toward Stan. “Wish us luck. I’ll be in touch about what I find out about the property.”

Stan nodded back, concern clouding his eyes. “I’d appreciate it.”

Matt set his shoulders back, hoped he looked more confident than he felt at the moment. Would Dan accept Bernie’s explanation? Or would he slap the cuffs on him before Bernie could even speak? He held the door for Bernie and then followed him out onto the sidewalk.

He slid his sunglasses on as the sun came out from behind a cloud and then zipped his jacket up to his chin when a cool breeze brushed across his skin. The coffee shop was only a block away and Bernie wasn’t enough of a wanted man they couldn’t walk that far in broad daylight.

The round of gunshots that exploded beside and around him in the next second sent a bolt of shock through him and left his ears ringing. He grabbed Bernie’s shoulder and shoved him to the sidewalk, reaching for the handgun gun strapped to his ankle. The revolver was his personal gun and the only one he had since he was on suspension. He clutched the back of Bernie’s shirt and dragged him backward into the doorway of Millie’s bakeshop, frantically scanning the parked cars and the second story windows in the buildings across the street.

Two people walking out of the diner down the street, ducked back inside and he watched the front window fill with curious, and frightened, onlookers. A groan next to him pulled him from his surveillance and he looked down to see Bernie crouched over, clutching his stomach, red dripping through his fingers and staining the concrete doorway of the bakery.

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 24

/ Lisa R. Howeler / Leave a comment

We are getting toward the end of this one and toward the release date for the final book. If you want to pre-order the book you can do so HERE and HERE.

If you want to catch up with the rest of the story click HERE.

I think this is my final book cover. I think anyhow.

Chapter 24

Matt rolled over and groaned as pain shot up through his back. Splitting wood for two days in a row was definitely a lot harder on his body than most days as a police officer in Spencer Valley. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to splitting wood. It was that he usually did it in smaller spurts, not two days straight. But what else did he have to do until the investigation into his incident with Gabe was over? He’d already cleaned out the fridge and Alex’s messes, picked up his deer from the butcher and loaded that in the freezer, and been to the gym every day this week, despite hating every second of working out.

Eventually, he was going to have to accept the fact there was a very good possibility he wasn’t going to be a cop much longer and start looking for a new job. Looking out of the area wasn’t an option now since it would mean leaving Liz and Bella, unless, of course, they wanted to go with him.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, wincing as muscles he’d forgotten he’d ever had protested their overuse the day before.

Even answering his phone when it rang sent pain shooting up through his biceps and shoulder. “Yeah?”

“McGee. Got a problem.”

Dan. Great. Now what?

“What’s up?”

“Your buddy Bernie took off on us when we tried to question him about the drug cave.”

Matt rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes to chase away the sleep. “Took off? What do you mean?”

“Took us for a run in the woods, jumped in some old junker, and took off. He was gone before we could get back to our cars. Any idea where he might have gone?”

“No idea.”

“Keep an eye out for him, will you? Because we got a search warrant and found about five kilos of heroin in a shed on his property. It’s clear he was trying to throw you off the scent by implicating Martin.

Matt pressed his hand against his forehead. No way. Bernie couldn’t be that stupid. “It could have been planted.”

Dan let out a breath. “Listen, bud, I know you want to think this guy turned his life around. We all wish that would happen with the guys we arrest but more times than not, it doesn’t. Just let me know if he contacts you, okay?”

“I definitely will. Anything more on Gabe?”

Dan sighed. “Not yet, but we’ll keep looking. Did you find out who owns that building through your real estate friend? I haven’t had a chance to get over to the register and recorder’s office.”

Matt stood and opened his dresser, pulling out a T-shirt. “No. Not yet.”

Dan took a sip on the other end of the phone and Matt imagined it was coffee he was sipping since he was an avid coffee drinker, which reminded him how much he needed some coffee right now. “I know you have your heart set on it being Gabe, but all the evidence is pointing toward Bernie. Why else would the drugs be in his shed, for one, and two, why else would he run?”

Matt trapped the phone between his shoulder and chin while he pulled a pair of jeans over his boxers. “Afraid of going back to jail for one. He’s married now with a couple of kids.”

“He should have thought of that before he stored all those drugs in his shed. The running makes him look even guiltier. Just call me if you see him.”

The line went dead, and Matt tossed the phone on his bed.

He needed coffee if he was going to be able to tackle the rest of this day.

A lot of coffee.

***

Ginny’s hands shook as she poured coffee into a travel mug. It wasn’t helping her situation that her mind was racing and causing her heart to do the same, or that she hadn’t slept more than three hours the night before. The bed had been cold and lonely. Physically this time. For years it had been cold and lonely emotionally but having it cold and lonely both physically and emotionally had been almost too much to bear.

She’d considered calling Liz more than once, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Liz was in a place of happiness at the moment, swept up in newly discovered love, or more accurately newly admitted love. Calling to dump all her emotional baggage on the poor young woman seemed cruel.

“I really need to get some friends my age.” The words came out of her softly, even though she knew no one else would hear her. Stan had kept true to his word and spent the night away from home, hopefully at the Blueberry Inn. Olivia was most likely still asleep and even the cat had chosen the warmth of the comforter on her freshly made bed over watching her mope around the kitchen this morning.

“Having friends your own age is highly overrated.”

Ginny jumped and almost screamed at the sound of her daughter’s voice behind her. “Olivia!” She swung to face her. “Where did you come from?”

Olivia walked past her on the way to the refrigerator, turned her head and winked. “Your womb, my dear lady.”

Ginny shook her head, laughing. “Very funny, young lady.”

Olivia snatched up the cream cheese and a carton of milk. “What’s all this menopausal depression this morning? All this worrying about not having friends your age?”

Ginny smiled faintly and returned to packing her lunch. “Oh, just lamenting the loss of friendships over the years, I suppose.”

Olivia took a bagel out of the bread box, broke it, and slid it into the toaster. “But you have Liz. It shouldn’t matter she’s not your age. Having friends of different ages, sexes, and backgrounds gives you different perspectives on things, right?”

Ginny zipped her bag closed. “Well, that’s an interesting way to look at it. I was just thinking that sometimes we are in different stages in our lives so sometimes we might not be able to relate to each other.”

Olivia poured a glass of juice and took a sip. “What can’t Liz relate to that’s going on in your life right now?” She turned away from the counter and leaned back against it, her eyebrow cocking like a revolver. “Tell me, Mom. What’s going on right now that you’re worried to talk to Liz about?”

Ginny smiled, shook her head twice, and reached for her jacket. She couldn’t tell her daughter what was going on. Not yet anyhow, not unless Stan demanded a divorce. Then, of course, she’d have to tell her. But for now, she simply couldn’t let her daughter know what she’d done, the horrible mistake she’d made. She looked at Olivia, who was looking at her and took a deep breath. Olivia was so young, so beautiful, so bright. She had her whole future in front of her. Maybe she did need to know what mistakes her mother had made over the years, including last week. Maybe then she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

She told her quickly, the words rushing out of her as if by saying them faster they wouldn’t hurt as much. “Keith kissed me last week when we went out to dinner. I didn’t want him to, didn’t expect it, and I told him I didn’t appreciate it. Your father found out before I could talk to him and was very upset. That’s why he wasn’t here last night for dinner and why he hasn’t been home all night.”

Olivia’s eyebrows rose in unison this time. She let out a quiet gasp, her mouth dropped slightly open, and she leaned forward as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Excuse me? Are you serious?”

Ginny sucked in a breath. Maybe this had been a bad idea. “I wish I wasn’t, but yes, I am serious.”

Olivia’s eyes stayed wide as she slumped back against the counter, her arms at her sides. “Wow. Okay, well, I knew something was going on, but I did not expect that.” She whistled and looked at the floor for a moment before looking back at her mom. “So, what’s the deal? Do you still love Dad or what?”

“Of course, I love your dad!” Tears filled Ginny’s eyes. “More than I ever have.” She touched a fingertip against the corner of her eye to catch a tear before it ran and messed up her makeup.

Oliva bit her lower lip for a brief moment before asking, “He’s been ignoring you lately, hasn’t he?”

Ginny’s lower lip quivered in a silent answer as she looked away from her daughter. She shrugged a shoulder. “He’s been busy.” Her gaze drifted out the kitchen window, into the neighbor’s yard where a hummingbird was hovering at a feeder under the edge of the porch roof. She looked back at Olivia. “But that is no excuse. I never should have been alone with Keith or swept up by his charm and sweetness. Or the way he noticed my hair when your father didn’t. Or how he seemed to be excited about going out to dinner with me.” She rolled her eyes. “When your father wasn’t.”

The bagel popped up and Oliva turned and began to spread cream cheese on one side, her back to Ginny. “Mom, listen. I understand. You felt neglected. It makes sense how you lost sight of who you are for a few moments.”

 It was clear Oliva was missing the point. Ginny needed to be sure she didn’t miss the point.

“But it doesn’t matter if I felt neglected. I made a commitment to stay with your father through it all — the good and the bad, sickness and health. All of that. Liv, look at me.” Olivia looked over her shoulder to look at her mom and Ginny took a step toward her. “I made vows with your father. That’s important, okay?”

Oliva set the butterknife down and turned to face Ginny. “Yes, Mom. I do. Really.” She walked to Ginny and slid her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “I know. I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I understand. I know you made a mistake. You know you made a mistake.” She leaned back, placing a hand on her mom’s shoulders. “Dad should understand that too and listen to you. Did you tell him how much you still love him? That you didn’t want the kiss from Keith?”

Ginny nodded. “Yes, and he still walked away.”

Olivia sighed. “Give him time. That’s all he needs. If he can just see that part of this is his fault, then maybe he’ll realize he’s also part of the solution.”

Ginny slid her coat on and began to button it closed. “I hope so. For now, though, I need to head to the library. I have to meet Liz and brainstorm plans for the new story hour we’re going to start and finish the final details for the fundraiser  and — oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! I forgot to order the cake for Clint and Tiffany’s homecoming party.”

Oliva walked over and buttoned the top button on Ginny’s coat. “Mom, calm down. I’ll order the cake. What am I ordering? Who am I calling? Give me all the details and I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, honey, thank you. I would appreciate it. I’ll text you the details when I get to the library. I need to go unlock it so Liz and Sarah can get in.” She blew out a breath. “And hopefully no one else.”

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 23

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 2 Comments

I shared Chapter 22 yesterday and you can catch up with the rest of the chapters HERE, or wait for it to come out as an ebook and in paperback in late April.


Chapter 23


The coffee on Ginny’s tongue was bitter, like her thoughts about herself at this point. She’d replayed the kiss with Keith over and over in her mind, not because she’d enjoyed it but because she still couldn’t believe she’d let it happen.

It had felt good to be wanted, for lack of a better word, but Keith wasn’t who she hoped to be wanted by. She’d barely spoken to Stan in the last few days. Thankfully he’d been at meetings or showings most of the week and she’d been busy preparing for Clint and Tiffany’s homecoming. It all kept her from having to feel any more uncomfortable around him. She had no idea how to even broach the conversation. Thank God he hadn’t asked her how dinner with Keith had gone. What would she have said?

“Nice. Food was great. The atmosphere was cozy and calming. That kiss at the end of the night was a bit of a shock, but what’s one to do when your husband is too busy to notice you’re still alive?”

She groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead, wishing she could chase away the ache increasing there. No, she couldn’t and wouldn’t say that. It would make it sound like she’d wanted the kiss, when she hadn’t.

The squeak of the back door alerted her she wasn’t alone. It was either Liz or Sarah and she was hoping for the latter because she knew Liz would want to know why she hadn’t been answering her phone the last couple of days.

Sarah, however, hadn’t been early or even on time lately so it was most likely —

“Ginny? You up there?”

Of course, she was up there, hiding in her office, waiting for the coffee to kick in and help her figure out how or even if she was going to talk to Stan about what had happened. He quickly swiped at the tears on her cheek as footsteps thumped on the stairs outside her door.

“Hey, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” Liz set her bag down on a chair and unwound the scarf around her neck. She didn’t wait for Ginny to answer. “I was going to call you last night, but it was too late once Matt left so I decided to wait until this morning.”

Ginny abandoned her self-focused thoughts at the words “too late once Matt left.” She looked at Liz with a quirked eyebrow. “Once Matt left?”

Liz’s eyes widened. “Oh. Not like that. He just stopped by to talk.” Red flushed along her cheekbones. “Well, and there was a kiss.” She looked up at the ceiling, biting her lower lip. “Or two or three.” She brought her eyes back to Ginny’s, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “But it really was only kisses. The rest of the night we tried to help Bella calm down and get some sleep.”

At least someone was finding happiness. Ginny raised her arm in a victory fist pump. “Yes! I knew you two would finally figure it out.”

Liz moved her bag and sat in the chair laughing. “Thanks. Yeah, it took a bit but we got there.” Her smile faded as she tipped her head and studied Ginny. Ginny turned in the office chair quickly. Maybe she hadn’t wiped all the tears away or was her mascara running? It was supposed to be waterproof. Why was Liz looking at her that way?

“What’s going on? You look funny.”

Ginny picked up her mug of coffee, breathed in deep the smell of coffee beans, vanilla, and sugar. She sipped slowly, savoring the flavor on her tongue, wishing she could spend the rest of her day sipping coffee and focusing on flavor instead of failure.

“Ginny, did something happen?” Liz’s voice thickened with full-blown concern. “With Stan?” Ginny shook her head slowly and Liz’s eyebrows raised as she tilted her head forward to listen. “With Keith?”

Ginny didn’t answer, simply sipping again, staring into the light brown liquid.

Liz took a deep breath and let it out again. “I knew I should have kept calling. Molly told me I needed to keep an eye on you.”

Ginny looked up sharply. “Molly told you what?”

Liz pulled a small travel mug out of her purse. “She was worried about you and Keith.” She stared at Ginny pointedly. “Should she have been?”

Ginny folded her fingers around the mug and nodded slowly. “Yes. Or about Keith anyhow.” She looked back into the mug. “He kissed me the other night when we went for a walk after dinner.”

Liz flopped back against the back of the chair. “That jerk! Are you serious! Didn’t he understand you are a married woman?” She slapped her hand against her leg, leaning forward again. “Of course, he understood. He just didn’t care. I knew there was something off about him and that dimple of his.” She made a face. “So charming and dashing. No. He’s neither of those things. He’s manipulative and devious.”

Ginny set the mug on her desk between a stack of papers with information for the fundraiser and a pile of damaged children’s books she either needed to replace or repair.

“I let him kiss me, Liz.”

Liz cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, running her fingertip along the top of her mug as if trying to decide how to respond.

“And —um — did you enjoy it?”

Ginny pushed a hand back through her hair and held it there, at the top of her head, clutching, for a few minutes as she spoke. “At first, yes. I forgot where I was, and it felt good to be touched in a romantic way again. Luckily, though, I came to my senses and pulled away.” She let her hair go and clutched her hands together in her lap. “I was horrified at myself. I never thought I’d become someone who could forget who they were, be swept up in a moment like that.”

“Why not?” Liz leaned forward. “You’re a woman, aren’t you? A human being who needs human interaction, to feel wanted. It doesn’t make it right, but your feelings are natural and real, Ginny.”

Ginny’s eyes stung with tears, and she closed her eyes. “Natural maybe, but acting on our feelings can often get us in trouble.”

Liz breathed out a small laugh. “Yeah, as I know.” Ginny felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Liz watching her with a deeply furrowed brow. . “Does Stan know?”

Ginny shook her head slowly. “No. I haven’t told him yet.”

“But you feel like you need to?”

Ginny’s answer was a slow nod as she cried against her hand. She tried to speak, but her voice choked with emotion.

Liz kneeled next to her, sliding her arms around her. “It’s going to be okay, Ginny. Keith kissed you. You didn’t pursue it. Stan will understand.”

Ginny swallowed hard and tried to speak again. A sob came out of her, and she took a deep breath. “Part of me worries that even if he understands he won’t even care anymore. He hasn’t cared for so long, maybe he won’t even care if another man kissed me.”

“Oh, Ginny. I don’t think that’s true. I’m sure Stan loves you. He’s just lost sight of what’s really important.”

Ginny accepted the tissue she handed her and though she nodded she couldn’t help thinking, But what if I’m not what’s really important to him anymore?

***

Paperwork, check.

Briefcase, check.

List of clients he needed to call today, check.

Stan started his car, but paused, looking at the house, thinking back on his morning with Ginny. She’d been quiet, barely looking at him all morning. Was she angry at him? For what? He really didn’t have time to figure it out. Matt had called him last night to tell him who owned the property where the drugs had been found. Someone named Richard Lantz. Neither of them recognized the name. It wouldn’t matter until the police released the site anyhow. He hoped the commercial buyers were still interested in the site. If he could track this Lantz down, hopefully, he would agree to sell.

His phone rang as he shifted his car into reverse. He tapped the speaker button on the dashboard.

“Clint. How’s it going?”

“Dad, is that really you?” Clint’s laugh was warm and teasing. “I didn’t know if you were still alive. I’ve been kicked to voicemail for weeks.”

Stan’s jaw tightened. Great. Another family member calling to tell him he worked too much.

“Yeah. I’m alive. What’s up?”

Clint cleared his throat. He must have sensed the annoyance Stan was trying to hide in his voice. “I’ve been trying to reach Mom and she’s been going to voicemail too. Anyhow, I just wanted to let you guys know that Tiff and the kids are flying out Friday. Frank and Marge are going to pick them up at the airport. I’m going to be driving the U-haul and the moving company has the other U-Haul. Just thought I’d update you.”

“Great, son.” A kid on a bicycle darted out into the street and Stan slammed the brakes on. His travel mug of coffee flew from the cup holder to the floor. “That’s great. We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

And he was looking forward to seeing his son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren again and on a more regular basis. He didn’t know if he’d have as much time with them as he would like, at least at first, but he’d find the time. Somehow.

He chatted with Clint for the rest of the drive to the coffee shop to pick up the muffins he’d promised his secretary and partner he’d bring. The sun was bright when he pulled into the parking space in front of the shop but he knew it was misleading. A chill nipped at his nose as he climbed out and shut his car door. He reached out and held the door open for a woman wearing a colorful knit cap, a bright red scarf wrapped up across the lower part of her face, and a knee-length, fluffy gray winter coat. He didn’t think it was that cold just yet but to each their own.

“Stan?”

He paused from walking in, still holding the door open. “Yes?”

She pulled the scarf down. “It’s me. Janine from church.”

“Oh, yes. Good morning, Janine. Sorry I didn’t recognize you with the scarf.”

She laughed. “Yes, it’s a little early for the scarf but I have a skin condition that gets flared up in the cold air.”

Stan felt a pang of guilt for having judged her before. “You do what you have to do. I hope it feels better soon.” He also felt guilty he couldn’t remember her last name. She’d been attending their church for a couple of years now. He needed to be more observant.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t ask this, but have you and Ginny split?”

What an odd question. Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “No. Why would you ask?”

“Oh.” Janine pressed her lips into a thin line. “Um. . .nothing.”

A strange buzz slid up Stan’s arms. “Did someone say we had?”

Janine shook her head. “Oh no. No. Not at all.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Forget I even asked. I just wanted to be sure I didn’t stick my foot in it later if I was around either of you and now . . . Well, I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.” She tipped her head back and laughed.

Stan persisted. What did this woman know that he didn’t? “There must be a reason you asked though.”

Janine’s cheeks had turned a bright red and Stan had a feeling it wasn’t from the skin condition. “I — it’s just — I thought I saw Ginny kissing some other man along the river walk in Clarkston the other night. I have to get new glasses, though. It must have been you and I was just too far away.” She laughed again, a nervous twitter more than a laugh, fiddling with her scarf, which she quickly yanked up over her face again. “Good thing I didn’t say anything to anyone else. That’s how rumors get started, right? Anyhow, have a good day, Stan!”

She rushed off, leaving him standing with the door still open, his mouth slightly open, his brow crinkled together as his mind raced.

Ginny? Kissing another man?

Janine must have been mistaken. Maybe it was someone else instead of Ginny. She’d had her haircut recently. Maybe the other woman had longer hair and Janine didn’t know Ginny had had her haircut. Of course, Janine had seen Ginny in church since the hair cut so . . .

“Stan! You comin’ in? You’re letting all the cold air in.”

The voice of the coffee shop’s owner cut through his musings. Stan looked at him but didn’t register what he was saying. “Hmm? Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door, staring at his car. What was he doing again?

Oh, right. Going to work. He needed to get to work.

He climbed back in the car and sat for a few seconds behind the steering wheel. Surely Janine had been wrong.

He turned the key in the ignition and sat for a few seconds longer. Maybe —.

He took a deep breath, shook his head as if to clear it, and shifted the car into park.

“I thought I saw Ginny kissing some other man.” Janine’s words played over and over in his head as he pulled the car onto the street and took a right, driving past his office and heading back toward his house.

***

Stan looked at his watch again.

Where was she?

She usually took a lunch break at this time. Well, if she hadn’t taken lunch with her that day. Had she packed lunch that morning? He couldn’t remember. He’d been on the phone with Patrick Stanton about selling his farm and right after that, he’d walked upstairs to load the rest of his paperwork into his briefcase. When he’d come back down, Ginny had been gone.

Gone. Without saying goodbye like she usually did.

She had acted like someone with a guilty conscience but he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t known that he should be noticing how she was acting.

Apparently, Olivia was right. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to Ginny lately. If he had, then he would have known she obviously wasn’t happy with him and was finding her happiness somewhere else. Like in Keith Stafford’s arms.

He paced the living room, running his hand across his chin and jawline, barely hearing the chirping of birds outside the window. His gaze fell on the picture of him and Ginny on their wedding day. He snatched it up, looked into eyes young and innocent. He’d had more hair then, that was for sure. A trimmer waist too. Stronger jawline, less wrinkles.

His older image reflected in the glass of the picture, lines along the corners of his eyes, a pinched mouth that hadn’t smiled in ages, and was his forehead higher too? No wonder Ginny was looking elsewhere for affection. She probably wasn’t even attracted to him any longer and looking at his reflection, at the bags under his eyes, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

He sat on the couch, the picture in his hand, images of that day playing in his mind like a movie. The white roses in her bouquet, the way she watched him as she walked down the aisle, his racing heart that he thought might burst from his chest. He could still smell the lilies in the arrangements at the front of the church and the honeysuckle when they’d walked out into the sunlight into a rain of rice from their friends and family.

Her dad hadn’t been a fan of him when they were in high school together, but his opinion seemed to change some after college when he saw Stan had a clear direction for his life. On their wedding day, her dad and shaken Stan’s hand at the front of the church before the ceremony, pulled him in close and whispered, “I brought her this far. Now it’s your turn. Don’t let me down.”

Had he let her father down? He didn’t think so. All these years he’d earned a living to support her and the children, he’d loved her the best way he knew how.

Maybe he wasn’t the man he used to be, physically or emotionally but that didn’t give Ginny the right to throw away their marriage, run around behind his back with her ex-boyfriend.

He laid the picture down on its face and started pacing again. As he lifted his arm to look at his watch the front door opened, bringing a stream of sunlight with it. Ginny’s head was down, focused on pulling the key from the lock. When she looked up a soft scream came from her and she jumped back.

“Oh my goodness! Stan! What are you doing here? You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Stan placed his hands at his waist, jaw tight. “what do you mean what am I doing here? I live here, don’t I?”

For now, he did anyhow. Maybe he wouldn’t much longer. Maybe Ginny was planning to kick him out and move Keith in.

Ginny seemed taken aback by his tone. She nodded slightly as she set her purse on the floor by the door. “Yes, of course, you live here. You’re just usually at work at this time.”

“Well, I came home, okay?”

She visibly tensed, pulling her shoulders back and walking toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. He watched her, seething inside at how nonchalant she seemed about it all. She’d been lying to him, sneaking around with Keith, but acting like nothing was going on. He thought he knew her. Apparently, he didn’t or he would have known she could be so cold-hearted. What had happened to her anyhow?

He followed her into the kitchen, ready to burst with anger. He tried to keep his tone even as he spoke, though. “So, did you have a good time with Keith the other night?”

She paused in front of the open refrigerator for a brief second before resuming retrieving the deli turkey and a jar of Miracle Whip.

“Yes, I did.” She kept her back to him. “Why do you ask?”

He huffed out a small laugh. She was something else. Really? She was going to act like nothing had happened.

“It’s just that I ran into Janine from church this morning.”

“Janine Taylor?”

Taylor. That was her last name. Right. “Yeah, Janine Taylor.”

Ginny spread Miracle Whip on the bread, keeping her back to him. “And how is Janine?”

“She thinks we split, that’s how Janine is.”

“Oh?”

The innocent lilt in her voice sent him over the edge. He dragged a hand through his hair. “She saw you, Ginny.”

Ginny turned slowly, the butter knife still in her hand. Light pink had spread across the skin exposed at the top of her shirt and was spreading up toward her face. “Saw me what?” She swallowed hard.

“You can knock off the innocent act, Gin.” He heard his voice raising but couldn’t seem to lower it, keep it under control. “I know you were kissing Keith along the river.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t let her. “How long has this been going on? Weeks? Months? When were you going to tell me our marriage is over?”

Ginny’s eyes glistened with tears, which is exactly what cheaters did when they were caught, Stan thought, fury clouding his mind and judgment.

“It’s not like that at all, Stan.”

“Isn’t it? Then what is it like?”

“He kissed me. I didn’t want that kiss.”

Stan slapped a hand against his leg. “Oh, yeah. Sure you didn’t.” He held his hands up in front of him, palms out. “I don’t even want to hear it. I would have never done anything like that to you. I can’t even believe this.”

A tear slipped down Ginny’s cheek. “Haven’t you though?”

Stan thought his heart was going to explode through his throat the way it was pounding. “Excuse me?”

Ginny took a deep breath, swiped at the tear. “Nothing was happening between Keith and me but haven’t you been cheating on me for years with your job?”

He lost the control he’d been hanging onto by a thread and slammed the palm of his hand on the counter. “How dare you suggest that my working to support this family is anywhere close to you running around behind my back with your ex-boyfriend.”

Ginny stepped back against the counter, clutched at it as if for support. “I was not running behind your back. You were supposed to be there Thursday night, where were you?”

“So you’re saying because I missed some dinner with you that you decided to kiss Keith?”

“Missed some dinner? You’ve missed probably a hundred dinners over the last couple of years. I barely see you.”

“More excuses? Really? I can’t even believe this.”

She stepped forward, tears in her eyes, but anger in her voice. “I didn’t kiss Keith, Stan. He kissed me. I didn’t want him to kiss me. I told him that.”

Keith stepped back, threw up his hands. “I don’t even want to hear this.”

“Hear what?” She snapped out the words sharply. “Hear that it isn’t Keith I wanted a passionate kiss from? That —”

“Oh so it was a passionate kiss, was it?”

“You’re not listening Stan!”

“I can hear you perfectly fine. You had a passionate kiss with your ex-boyfriend along the river the other night.”

“I didn’t want a passionate kiss from Keith! I wanted one from you! I’ve wanted one from you for months! You don’t even know I’m alive anymore.”

Stan shook his head, his hands up near his head. “I can’t listen to this right now. I can’t do this.”

He snatched his keys off the island and pivoted on his heel toward the back door. “I’m going for a drive.”

“Fine. Walk away like you always do.”

The parting words from his wife sent even more anger rumbling through him. He swung around and faced her. “Stop talking, Ginny! Just stop! I’ve heard enough today. I’m going for a drive and then I’m coming back and packing a bag.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I’ll get a room at that inn. Blueberry Inn or whatever it is called. I just can’t be here right now.”

The door rattled when he slammed it behind him and he heard the sobbing, but it only made him angrier. How dare she think she had the right to sob like she was the victim when she was the one who had betrayed him, throwing all they had away for  — for what? A passionate moment to get back at him for what she thought he’d done wrong? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d gone to work day after day to make sure she was fed, that Olivia could keep going to college, that they didn’t lose all they had built over their 35 years of marriage.

He slammed the car door closed and started the car, slamming his hand against the steering wheel and wincing. He didn’t even know where he was going. He couldn’t go to work. Not in the state he was in. All he knew was he couldn’t stay here. Not with the woman who’d treated their marriage like it was optional, like loving him was optional.

How had he not noticed how bad things had gotten? How had he not noticed that his wife no longer loved him?