A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (A Year of Weddings 2 #2)
Rachel Hauck
I heard the name Ginger and I knew she didn’t believe she was beautiful. Then I thought of the hero, Tom, and knew his job was to make Ginger see her true beauty.
I cannot begin to expound God’s faithfulness to me in the winter of 2014. Dropping this idea in the midst of crying out for help and ideas for another book is only one example.
I turned in the novel and went to a writers’ retreat where I helped mentor eighteen aspiring authors. When the week was over, Susan May Warren, Beth Vogt, and Alena Tauriainen brainstormed A Brush With Love with me, beginning, middle, and end. I actually had enough story for a big novel! Their help and friendship was a blessing to the core of my soul. Another example of God’s faithfulness.
To my editor, Becky Philpott, you are a dream. A friend. A champion and cheerleader. Thank you for your partnership with not only this novella, but my writing journey. You’re a treasure.
To Daisy Hutton, publisher extraordinaire, I love the honest conversations we’ve had and how you champion your authors. Thank you for giving me opportunities to do what I love!
Katie Bond, Elizabeth Hutton, and Karli Jackson, for being a fabulous marketing and editorial team. It’s such a feeling of contentment to know I can e-mail any of you, any time, and get a response. Katie, we’ve been together a lot of years now and it’s more an honor day by day.
To the rest of the HarperCollins Christian Publishing team, let’s keep writing and publishing for Him. You all are the best.
To my husband who lives with a writer. He is my hero. God knew what He was doing when He paired us together. I love you, babe!
To my canine writing partner, Lola, thanks for making me get up out of my chair from time to time. Ha!
To my writing partner, Susan May Warren, ten years we’ve been doing this biz together. Sometimes face-to-face but mostly phone call to phone call. I shake my head in wonder at how blessed I am to have you in my life. XO.
To my hair dresser, Michele Lacy, who’s kept me looking beautiful and young for over twenty-three years. Thanks for your help on this one.
To my line editor, Jean Bloom, thank you for your time, insight, and help.
To all of the readers who take the time to curl up with a book I’ve written, thank you! It means more than you’ll ever know. Be blessed!
The crazy January day it snowed in Rosebud, Alabama, Ginger Winters sensed a shift in her soul.
In the distance, pealing church bells clashed with the moan of the wind cutting down Main Street.
“Have you ever?” Ruby-Jane, Ginger’s receptionist, best friend, and all-around girl Friday, opened the front door, letting the warmth out and the cold in. “Snow in Rosebud. Two hours from the Florida coast and we have snow.” She breathed deep. “Glorious.” Then she frowned. “Are those the church bells?”
“For the wedding . . . this weekend.” Ginger joined Ruby-Jane by the door, folding her arms, hugging herself. “If you’re Bridgett Maynard, even the wedding bells get rehearsed.”
Ruby-Jane glanced at Ginger. “I thought they were getting married at her grandparents’ plantation.”
“They are, but at four o’clock, when the wedding starts at the Magnolia House, the bells of Applewood Church will be ringing.”
“Disturbing all of us who didn’t get an invite.” Ruby-Jane made a face. “It’s a sad thing when your friend from kindergarten turns on you in junior high and ignores you the rest of your life.”
“Look at it this way. Bridgett dropped you and you found me.” Ginger gave her a wide-eyed, isn’t-that-grand expression, tapping the appointment book tucked under RJ’s arm. “What’s up with the day’s appointments?”
“Mrs. Davenport pitched a fit but I told her we were moving appointments around since you didn’t want anyone driving in this mess. And you know Mrs. Carney wanted you to come out to the house but I told her you weren’t driving either.”
“Sweet Mrs. Carney.”
“Demanding Mrs. Carney.”
“Come on, RJ, she’s been coming to this very shop, with its various owners, since after the Second World War. She’s a beauty shop faithful.”
“Either way, she can go a day without you blowing out her hair. Maggie never catered to these blue hairs.”
“Because Maggie was one of them. I’m still earning their respect.”
“You have their respect. Maggie wouldn’t have sold you this shop unless she believed in you. So they have to believe in you.”
The wind rattled the window and skirted tiny snowflakes across the threshold. “Brrr, it’s cold, Rubes. Shut the door.” Ginger crossed the salon. “I think today . . .” She pointed at the walls. “We paint.”
“Paint?” Ruby-Jane walked the appointment book back to the reservation desk. “How about this? We lock up, go home, sit in front of the TV, and mourn the fact that All My Children is off the air.”
“Or, how about we paint?” Ginger motioned to the back room and shoved up her sleeves, a rare move, but since the doors were shut, the shop was closed, and snow was falling, she didn’t mind exposing her puckered, relief-map skin. “We can use the old smocks to cover our clothes.”
Ruby-Jane had been the first person outside of Mama and Grandpa to ever see the hideous wounds left on her body after the trailer fire.