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Sample Chapter
BECAUSE of YOU Sara Marx Mitchell Chapter One “Aspine-tingling thriller. Another fine specimen of what we have come to expect from Melody Pittoff, best-selling horror novelist.” Meghan Laine smoothed the wrinkled newspaper that was nearly transparent with wetness. Little chunks of Iowa snow had scattered the countertop when she shook it out, and were melting into tiny pools all around. Folding it again, she took a better look at the weekly syndicated book review. “That this rugged work, written from a first person male perspective, could actually be from the pen of a woman, only adds to the intrigue of this novel. There is incredible “ballsiness” that proves masculinity cannot be judged by the writer’s gender.” A few blond hairs had worked their way out of her braid, softly framing her face, tickling her eyelashes. She blinked and hastily shoved the hairs out of her cobalt eyes. “Ballsiness. How charming.” Gibson Porter was a man who would likely never write a book himself, yet, felt qualified to direct the masses as to where to best invest their seven bucks for a paperback or twenty-five for a hardbound. And the masses paid loyal attention. Unimpressed with the business of books and reviews, Boo, her tan Labrador, sighed from his place in the corner. Meg smiled at him before her eyes roved down the kitchen countertop to her laptop computer. It was her own novel in the works, one in an unpublished series of dozens, untouched so far this morning. Meg stretched, arching her back as she yawned. Her rumpled plaid pajama pants were warm and cozy, topped off with a navy sweatshirt and a pair of oversized socks that actually belonged to her fiancee. The bulkiness guarded her feet from the icy hardwood floor, as December in Jasper Falls was maybe all of eight degrees above zero. Still, that was better than winter in her hometown, Lacross,Wisconsin, where winter daytime temperatures would peak at ten below on the worst days. But she was used to it, having lived there all her life. It was the only thing she’d known before becoming engaged to Marcus St. John, which called for a move to Iowa. Meg knew that she and the farm boy couldn’t be more different. But he adored her, and she appreciated his intended sweetness, despite his sometimes unconventional way of showing it. Finding a moral, single, self-supporting man in this day and age was a luxury that some never knew. In her young thirties,Meg felt fortunate to have him. He was barely tolerant of her passion for writing, however, citing far more useful ways that she could spend her days. There were rooms to fill with St. John babies, after all, a project that she was admittedly less enthusiastic about than he. But theirs was a comfortable relationship. She considered it a work in progress. A blast of northern air pummeled the room as the door swung open, ramming the doorstop with a loud twang! Meg turned to see Marcus’ solid frame nearly filling the doorway. Even he was battling with the wind gusts this bitter day. She looked next at the snow that had invited itself in, all over the place. “Oops.” Marcus offered her his trademark little-boy grin, fumbling with his stocking cap. He pulled it off altogether, revealing a mess of dark hair that he shook like a wet dog, flipping little chunks of ice about. Meg heaved a small sigh of annoyance, but gave him an indulgent smile, watching as Marcus brushed off his coveralls with his wool gloves. It only took him a few long strides to get to the other side of the cozy kitchen. He smiled at her over rosy cheeks as he poured steaming coffee into his thermos and screwed the lid back on. “Look at my floor, you.” She pretended to smack him with the tea towel, and sidled over, wrapping herself in as close a hug as she could manage over his tan Carharts. The coveralls were cold from having spent so much time in the barn, and little chilly blasts of breath emitted through his apologetic laughter. Meg planted a kiss on his cool cheek. “Creative juices flowing?” The welcome warmth of the oven filled the room, and he gazed over the paper stacks that lined the countertop as they always did whenever she was working. Clumsily, he tousled her hair, causing a few more tendrils to droop into her eyes. She drew back and smirked at her computer, still sitting there, lonely. He nodded. “Having a little writer’s block? |