A Face in the Clouds by Marianne Evans

/ Dora Hiers / 8 Comments
Reporter Paul Hutchins is all about finding facts and uncovering the truth. Verification, authenticity and quantification are the fuel of his spirit…Until he falls in love with producer Sandy Pierson.

Sandy sees Christ alive in every aspect of her life. No need for quantified facts. Faith is the fuel of her spirit . But her love for Paul puts her at odds with God’s call toward faith and all of its mysteries.

Paul considers Christianity to be well-meaning myth—hyperbole. To Sandy, it’s everything—and she can accept nothing less from the man she loves.

Can a miracle happen? Can the touch of God Himself keep their relationship from shattering?
EXCERPT 
“I know how deeply you feel things, Paul. You have a wonderful heart. That’s part of why I love you so much. I’m torn in two about my feelings for you.” Sandy’s declaration would have filled him were it not chipped and cracked by the impact of her doubts.
“Your reporter’s instinct toward authenticity and revealing the truth is a big part of what I admire about you. There’s nothing wrong with facing the world honestly, but you need to make room for a few other truths.”
“Like God.”
“Yes, and the fact that life holds as much mystery, and as many intangibles, as it does realistic things you can hold tight with both hands.”
She wanted him to change. Right down to the soul. Paul continued to study her. She was hurt enough that she had almost stepped away from attending tonight’s event—out of a frustrated sense of love.  Yet here they were—together—out of a frustrated sense of love.
And if he wasn’t mindful of her beliefs, she’d step away from him.
Paul navigated the rapidly-filling parking lot of Woodland Church. Once they stopped, he killed the car engine and used a restraining hand to keep Sandy in place. He closed the space between them and gave her a kiss that lingered and thoroughly tasted. He felt the gesture ease a bit of the tightness in her shoulders and back. “I’ll keep an open mind, OK?”
She touched his face, and there was yearning in her eyes. “Keep an open heart. That’s much more important.”
About Marianne
Marianne Evans is a multi-published author of contemporary romance novels. Her professional career began when Kensington Publishing purchased her book, Friends & Lovers. Her second offering, Right Hand Man, followed shortly thereafter. Her third release from Kensington, Hannah’s Heart, won critical acclaim from reviewers and in the local media.
Her fourth book is her inspirational romance debut at White Rose Publishing – an award-winning novel entitled Hearts Crossing. Hearts Crossing led to the creation of a four-book Christian romance series: The Woodland Series. Book 2, Hearts Surrender, released in late 2010 with Books 3 and 4 – Hearts Communion and Hearts Key, slated for late 2011 and early 2012 release. A Woodland Series Bonus Story, A Face in the Clouds, is an Easter-themed short story, also from White Rose Publishing.
Recent awards include:
Hearts Crossing:
Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence Finalist
CAPA Finalist
5-Star Review, The Romance Studio
5-Star Review, Coffee Time Romance
Hearts Surrender –
Christian Small Publishers Association Book of the Year Finalist
4-Star Review, Romantic Times Magazine
5-Star Review & Book of the Week, The Romance Studio
5-Klover Review & Recommended Read, Kwips & Kritiques
A lifelong resident of Michigan, Marianne is an active member of Romance Writers of America and the Greater Detroit RWA where she served the chapter in a number of capacities, but most notably for two terms as Chapter Treasurer and two terms as Chapter President. She also belongs to the Faith Hope and Love chapter of RWA, American Christian Fiction Writers and the Michigan Literary Network.
Marianne loves to connect with readers ~ find her at:
http://www.marianneevans.com/ 
http://www.marianneevans.blogspot.com/.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Marianne-Evans/308711716744
Thanks so much for sharing A Face in the Clouds with us today, Marianne!

Daffodils by Donna B. Snow

/ Dora Hiers / 15 Comments

Margaret Ellington is not only grief stricken after her husband dies, but guilt ridden as well. Her solution—to run away. She moves away, hoping to escape the memories of her failure as a wife. She vows never to marry again unless she can love with all her heart—and she’ll never be able to do that unless she can finally get over her first love.
 
Lukas North is determined to reclaim the love he threw away ten years earlier. He’s willing to give Margaret time to recover from losing her husband—but letting her go is not an option.
 
When Lukas keeps a secret from Margaret about a major career move, she panics. After the mistakes they made in the past, can their relationship be rebuilt on anything less than complete honesty?

Excerpt:

Wandering from room to room, she doublechecked everything. Closets were empty, no boxes forgotten. The shadows on the walls outlined stark reminders of where pictures had been. The unfinished projects—a cracked floorboard, chipped molding, a small hole in the plaster, all stared at her accusingly.
 
Margaret closed her eyes as she clutched the doorframe. Oh, God, why Peter? He was the good one. I’m so sorry, Peter. A tear splashed onto the carpet.
 
Margaret took a deep breath, wiped her cheek, and stepped into what had been Peter’s sickroom. She walked to the window seat and stared out into the backyard, arms clutched around her middle. There would be no sound of children playing, no sitting on the glider growing old together. She put a hand on the window. If only I could have loved you more—
 
“Any more, Megs?” Lukas’ footsteps grew louder as he came down the hall.
 
She wiped away another tear as it dribbled down her cheek.
 
“Oh, hey, there you are.” He hesitated in the doorway, resting a hand on the frame. He lowered his voice. “You OK?”
 
She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, afraid that if he came near her she would collapse in those arms; arms she knew were strong enough to hold her up. Arms she had missed for years. She hated herself for wanting to feel them wrap around her again.
 
About Donna B. Snow…
I’m over 45 and I’ve stopped counting, but I’ve been happily married for 17 years and hope for many more. Our teenage daughter is an absolute joy and I can only hope it will stay that way. I have two passions – music and writing, and God has blessed me in both. What a joy it is to be able to use the gifts He’s given me to honor and glorify Him in word and song. I’d love to have you join me on this journey.

 

Anybody try painting an entire house during allergy season?

/ Dora Hiers

OK. OK. So I know that’s not the smartest thing to do. My sore throat, watery eyes, and coughing attests to that. A visit to the doctor will have to wait.

Before
When my 27-year-old son and his wife bought their first house, a short-sale, and needed help painting, how could I say no?
“You know I love you, John.” My legs dangled from the top of the kitchen pantry. Yeah, that’s right. The top. You can’t see the pantry from this picture, but it’s to the left of the cabinets. And no, you can’t see the ceiling, either. What is it, twenty feet high? And why didn’t my son take a picture of me for posterity? Just in case I fell.
I repositioned the clip holding my long hair. I’d already made one trip to the hairdresser to cut paint out of my hair. I didn’t need to spend money for another haircut so soon. Or endure my hairdresser’s snickers.
“Huh?” The rolling stopped. Wide brown eyes stared at me from ground level. What did he think I was going to say? That I was dying?

“Not everybody could drag me away from my writing to paint a house.” I sneezed. Coughed. Dragged a kleenex out of my pocket to wipe my nose. “Or climb a ladder this high. Only special sons. Keep rolling.”
Those brown eyes softened in a grin. “Yeah?” He picked up the twenty-foot extension roller. Started back on the living room walls.
“That’s right. You’re special. But you’re going to owe me. Big time.” I finished trimming and moved back to the ladder, my legs and arms shaking. 

I had to do this. Nobody else in the family could trim as well as I could. Well, actually, nobody else wanted to trim. Especially the open space above the kitchen cabinets.

“Wait, mom.” John dropped the roller in the tray and took giant steps in my direction.

Wait? For what? I had work to do and not enough time to get it done. I continued climbing down, balancing the almost dry paint pan, a paint brush, and a roller in one hand, the ladder rung with the other. And got as far as the kitchen counter. I lost my balance, and my rump landed on the counter with a thud. But I managed to keep everything in my hand. Except the ladder rung.

After

“Ohh.” I couldn’t begin to tell you everything that hurt.

“Mom, I said to wait.” John stood in front of me, exasperation and concern warring on his face as he took brush, pan, and roller from my hand.
When did my son grow up? Become so mature? So wise? I’d waited so long, I didn’t notice it happened right in front of my face.   
No. Painting in the midst of allergy season is not wise, but I can’t say there’s ever a good time to paint.
Except when your son needs you.