Author Rachael Anderson A USA Today bestselling author, Rachael Anderson is the mother of four and is pretty good at breaking up fights, or at least sending guilty parties to their rooms. She can't sing, doesn't dance, and despises tragedies. But she recently figured out how yeast works and can now make homemade bread, which she is really good at eating.
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Excerpts
Excerpt 1
Her father eyed her hand with disdain. “I feel fine. I don’t need a bunch of medication to mess that all up.”
“No medication, no breakfast.” Cambri wriggled her palm.
“What’s for breakfast?”
Her eyebrow lifted. “I can tell you it’s not the fatted calf.”
Although he harrumphed, a twinkle of humor appeared. “I almost forgot how cheeky you could be.”
“And I almost forgot how ornery you could be.”
He rolled his eyes, but grudgingly accepted the pills, swallowing them with a sip of water. Then he settled back against his pillow. “I always have sausage, eggs, and hash browns on Saturdays.”
“Believe it or not, I remember.” Cambri retrieved a breakfast tray from the kitchen and set it on his lap, mentally preparing herself for what would come.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Her father stared at the food in disgust.
“Oatmeal, whole wheat toast, and freshly squeezed OJ,” said Cambri smoothly. “Try it. You might like it.”
“Why isn’t there butter on this toast? Where’s my sausage and hash browns?”
“Your heart doesn’t want bacon and hash browns. It wants oatmeal.”
“Bullwinkle.”
Excerpt 2
In Cambri’s life, mistakes were like boomerangs. She’d make them, regret them, and launch them as hard and far as she could to get away from them. Then suddenly, after she thought they were long gone, they would come sailing back to thunk her hard on the chest.
Like now.
Cambri could practically hear the figurative boomerang whooshing toward her as recognition dawned on Jace’s face—the kind of recognition that came when seeing someone from your past you’d rather not see.
“Hey, Jace,” was all she could come up with to say. She clutched the pruning shears, frantically trying to think of something more. “Long time no see.”
He glanced at the shears, and a few awkward seconds passed before he responded. “Yeah, long time.”
“I was just, uh . . .” Cambri brushed a few dried leaves off the shears and held them up—“trying these out. They’re sharper than I expected. I’ll take them.”
“Will you take the hose too, or was it the sprinkler head you were also trying out?”
Excerpt 3
She rested her hand on his arm, but when he tensed, she pulled it away. “University Park and Charlotte are beautiful cities with so much to offer, but Bridger isn’t without its charms. Coming back here is like entering a different world.”
“An archaic world.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Cambri. “People here know and care about each other. When you walk down the street, you pass friends instead of strangers. The air is cleaner, the pace slower, and the world calmer. I’m pretty sure the sky is even bluer.”
Jace slung his bag over her shoulder and leveled her a hard look. “Actions speak louder than words, Cambri. Or are you forgetting you left for bluer skies six years ago?”
Her gaze held steady. “Sometimes it takes seeing other skies to know which is bluer.”
One eye brow quirked as he considered her words. “What are you saying? That you’ve had your fill of city life and want to move back?”
Cambri looked away. Was she saying that? No, of course not. That would be crazy. She was happy in Charlotte. “All I’m saying is that I appreciate Bridger a lot more than I used to.”
He let out a low chuckle that didn’t sound even close to humorous. “Like I said, actions speak louder than words.” He started to walk past her, then paused, looking beyond her to the back door. “You talk of passing friends instead of strangers, but in my experience, friends are really just strangers disguised as familiar faces.” His arm brushed against her shoulder as he left, and an uncomfortable, almost palpable, sensation spread down her arm and landed with a thud in her gut.
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