Journal Jots – Blog

He was a man of missed opportunities.

— In reference to Logan McClare,

Love at any Cost by Julie Lessman

WHOO-HOO … I finally have a cover to show you for book 1 in my new “Heart of San Francisco” series, Love at any Cost! And unlike Mr. Logan McClare, the 2^nd-tier hero to whom our quote today refers, I am not about to miss any opportunity to share it with you along with scene to pique your interest!

Because this series is written a wee bit lighter and a little more humorously than my last two series, my publisher decided to give our heroine, Cassie McClare a sassy pose, which really does fit her pretty well, I think, so I hope you like it too.

But … don’t judge a book by it’s cover because although Love at any Cost has a lot of humor in it, it would never do for a Julie Lessman book not to have its moments of high tension and drama, right?? Of course, right, which is why I decided to also give you a sneak peek at a scene between the older hero in this book, Logan McClare and the widowed heroine, Caitlyn McClare, Logan’s sister-in-law AND the ex-fiance he cheated on twenty-six years ago before she upped and married his brother.

Caitlyn and Logan are my “Marcy and Patrick” of the “Heart of San Francisco” series, meaning my older secondary love story that I hope will provide an ongoing underlying romantic tension throughout all three of the books. I’ll leave you with just a glimpse of the sparks that will fly in the “Heart of San Francisco” series in the following scene. Caitlyn McClare, Chairman of the San Francisco Vigilance Committee has just asked her brother-in-law Logan, who happens to be on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, to support her proposal to clean up the brothels, bars and peep shows on the Barbary Coast. Logan agrees to do so and then gives Cait his heir signet ring that her husband Liam—his brother—wore before it was passed on to Logan after Liam died. And then the sparks fly …

BIG FAVOR: If you have time, PLEASE hop on over to the following Amazon.com link and click on the LIKE button for Love at any Cost. Note: The pic is not up yet on CBD.com or B&N.com, which is why I didn’t list them. Here’s the link, then just arrow back to return to this Journal Jots page!

I “LIKE” LOVE AT ANY COST

Thanks SO much and I hope you enjoy the excerpt! Have a great weekend and stay cool!

Hugs,

Julie

“I have something to give you,” he said quietly. Hands still in his pockets, his thumb grazed the ring on his finger, knowing full well what he was giving away. Not his heart as he’d hoped, but a piece of his heritage and the only ring he would apparently be able to put on Caitlyn McClare’s hand. He could almost feel the raised gold outline of the lion and Celtic cross against black onyx, the McClare signet ring passed down from centuries past. It had belonged to his ancestors of old … on down to his grandfather, his father and then Liam, who’d never taken it off till Cait gave it to Logan the day Liam was buried. His father’s will delegated ownership to the McClare heir, but it had pained her to part with it, he knew, from the tender way she’d fingered it with such care. Just as I’m doing now. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he removed the ring, thumb gliding against the smooth onyx one last time before he held it out, determined if he couldn’t love her the way he wanted, he’d love her the only way he could. “I want you to have this,” he whispered. “It belongs to you.”

“No …” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “I can’t take it—it’s yours.”

Yes, it was. And it claimed a piece of his heart for so many reasons. The connection to his heritage, his father, his brother … and to her. For twenty-six years it had grazed her skin when Liam had held her hand, touched the warmth of her body every night when they slept, and when she’d given it to Logan, it was as if she’d given him a piece of herself. A piece he realized he no longer had a right to. Not if she didn’t care like he did. Not if she wasn’t drawn as he was.

“Take it, Cait,” he whispered. “You lived with it for twenty-six years—it belongs to you more than me.” He took her hand and placed it in her palm, closing his fingers over hers.” And maybe—just maybe—it will give you a touch of Liam, easing your heart like I long to do.”

Her hand trembled to her mouth as tears trickled her face. “Oh, Logan …”

His heart seized when she launched into his arms, clutching him so tightly, it paralyzed him to the spot. Moisture stung and he closed his eyes, resting his head against hers, the scent of lavender invading his senses and taunting his soul. Oh, Cait, I’d give anything to have you love me once more, want me again …

She pulled away and swiped at her eyes, her lips quivering into a smile. “You must think I’m crazy, but I’m just so very grateful …” Peering up, she gently braced his jaw with her palm, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than right this moment, Logan McClare—thank you!”

His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her touch, their lips so close he could smell the hint of hot chocolate they’d enjoyed around the fire. They froze in the same split second of time, and his pulse thudded slow and hard as he waited for her to pull away. Only she didn’t, and heat scorched his body.

“Cait,” he whispered, barely believing her lips nearly grazed his. He waited, not willing to push for fear she would bolt, but when her eyelids flickered closed, his fate was sealed. “God help me, I love you,” he rasped, quickly caressing her lips before she could retreat. The moment his mouth took hers, he was a man hopelessly lost, bewitched by her spell. She jolted in his arms as if suddenly realizing her folly, but he refused to relent, his grip at the nape of her neck strong and sure, allowing him a taste of the sweetest lips he’d ever known. A groan trapped in his throat, and he devoured her, delving deeper with a passion stoked by twenty-six years of denial and longing. “God, help me, Cait,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he nuzzled her ear, “I need you in my life.” 

He felt it the moment the winds shifted, pulse skyrocketing when her blanket dropped to the ground and she melded in his arms. His mouth explored with a vengeance, the frenzied beat of her heart throbbing beneath his lips as he grazed the hollow of her throat. He skimmed up to suckle the lobe of her ear, and his heart swelled with joy when a soft moan escaped her lips. Blood pounding in his veins, he wove fingers into her hair to cradle her face. “Marry me, Cait, please!”

Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a glaze of desire so strong, his mouth descended again, dominant and possessive until her lips surrendered to his. “Marry me,” he repeated, his kiss gentling to playful nips meant to coax and tease. “I need you, Cait … and I want you.”

In the ragged space of a heartbeat, she suddenly hurled him away, breasts heaving and eyes wild. “Oh, you’re a devil, Logan McClare,” she whispered, tone quivering with anger, “always lusting after what you can’t have!”

Sleet slithered through his veins. “No, Cait, it’s not true—I want you because I love you.”

He reached for her, and she thrust back, fury welling in her eyes. “You want me because you can’t have me. And once you had me, you would just throw me away again, returning to your old habits of carousing with women all hours of the night.”

“You’re wrong—let me prove it, please. Marry me.”

She shook her head, a scarlet curl quivering against her neck. Her tone trembled with a violence that stunned. “I-don’t-want-you, and I-don’t-need-you, do you hear?”

His anger surged, but he tamped it down with a clamp of his jaw, his words as hard as hers. “Really, Cait? Why don’t you tell that to the woman whose body just responded to mine?”

The lightening force of her slap shifted his jaw clean to the right, the sound of it like a crack of thunder. “How dare you?” she whispered, tears streaming her cheeks. “You forced yourself on me in your usual callous way, and if you ever do so again, it will be the last time you step foot my house, is that clear?” He didn’t answer, and she took a step forward, her jaw engaged once again. “I said, is-that-clear?”

Gritting his teeth, he turned away. He sucked in a harsh breath and released it again, fighting to keep his temper under control, the only control he apparently possessed with the woman before him. Well, she might hold all the cards and he might lose this hand, but he would not lose the game. With a heavy blast of air, he turned—and stopped—all anger fading at what he’d reduced her to. A quivering mass of tears. God, forgive me … He studied her with sorrow in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, all of his emotion finally spent, “it’s clear.” She started for the door and he stopped her with a gentle hand. “Forgive me, Cait—I never meant to hurt you. Not then, not now.”

She nodded stiffly and started to leave.

“Cait?” She turned at the door. He plunged his hands in his pockets, no longer a man of the world, but a little boy whose heart was on the line. “I love you, and deep down inside, I think you know that, know I would never cheat on you again.” He stared, his eyes naked with the truth for the very first time. “That said, I need to know why? What else are you afraid of?”

She must have sensed his honesty because the hard plain of her face ebbed into a look of such sorrow, it plucked at his heart. Her voice was gentle and low once again, the Caitlyn he was privileged to love. “I love you as family, Logan, but I can never be “in love” with you again.”

The words stabbed. “Why?” he whispered, his voice no more than a croak.

Her bodice quivered with a burdensome sigh. “Because I don’t trust you.”

“Why? I swear to you Cait—I will be faithful.”

“No Logan, you can’t. A man of your habit and ilk can’t be faithful without God.”

“Let me prove it. I can do this.”

“Maybe. But I can’t. I refuse to fall in love with a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

He took a step forward, his eyes intense. “I believe in God, Cait.”

“No, Logan, you believe in yourself first, God after. There’s a difference.”

His jaw sagged in disbelief. “You’re attracted to me and love me, yet you turn me away because my faith isn’t up to snuff?” Fury boiled in his veins, trumping his passion. He chilled her with a look so cold, he saw her shiver. “Even if it means your precious Vigilance Committee?”

The blood leeched from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her words laced with shock. “Y-you agreed, and it’s the decent thing to do.”

 He moved in, fists clenched and a nerve twitching in his cheek. “No, Cait, the decent thing to do is to forget the past and admit you’re in love with me.”

Her legs faltered before steel appeared to fuse in her spine. “That’s your price, then?”

He stared, his jaw as rigid as his pride. She loved him, she wanted him, but she wouldn’t have him because of God? Outrage like he’d never known singed his very soul. “It is.”

She winced as if she’d been struck, pain contorting her face while she listed against the wrought-iron chaise. Firelight flickered across her beautiful features, illuminating myriad feelings that tore at his heart. Shock, fear, fury, resolve … and sorrow. The same sorrow he saw in himself, reminding him he was a man of missed opportunities. The flames spit and popped behind him, as if portending a fiery future that would ravage both him and the woman he loved.

He watched as the anger slowly siphoned from her body, softening her features, welling her eyes, and he was reminded once again what a rare woman she was. Prone to gentleness rather than anger, giving rather than taking, others rather than self. Despite the fact he would rob of her of something so dear, her eyes bore no retribution or blame, only a sadness that seemed to personify Caitlyn McClare where he was concerned.

“Then it’s too high,” she whispered, the trace of a tear glazing her cheek as she placed his ring on the chaise. She turned away, her voice a broken whisper that prophesied their doom. “Even for my precious Vigilance Committee.”

 

 

But love your enemies,

do good to them and lend to them

without expecting to get anything back.

Then your reward will be great,

and you will be children of the Most High.

— Luke 6:35

 HAPPY FRIDAY!!

Whew … it’s been a busy week! I am just about done proofing the final galleys for A Love Surrendered, and I gotta tell you that so far I’ve gone through 26 Kleenex, and I still have 50 pages to go!! So it seems that true to my initial record of 30 Kleenex on the first edits of this book, I should come pretty close on this final edit too. Now, I certainly don’t think any of my readers will go through that many Kleenex because let’s face it—I’m a water spigot when it comes to emotions, but … so help me, if you all don’t cry or tear up at least once in this book, I will throw in the towel as a writer … and it will be soaked, trust me! 🙂

Well, my husband finished A Light in the Window yesterday, and I’m happy to say he LOVED it!! Told me it had the same effect on him that A Passion Most Pure had, and I said, “sure babe, whatever you say,” thinking he just loves me and that’s why he liked it so much. Imagine my surprise (no, total shock) when I get a call from my agent, telling me that she was up late the night before reading the prequel because she couldn’t put it down—the same thing that happened to her on A Passion Most Pure. To say I was stunned is an understatement. I mean, yes, I love this story, but I certainly didn’t think it was the best thing I’d written so far like my husband said nor had the “power” quality to it that A Passion Most Pure did like my husband and agent both implied. So … needless to say, I am pretty darn excited about this book and am hoping to release it as a Christmas e-book this September. And those of you who do not have e-readers? Don’t worry—I will be having several contests where you can win a hard-copy ms. of the book, okay?

Now, in last week’s Journal Jot, I talked about “the flip side” of the coin—how whatever annoys or bothers us in those we love usually has a “flip side” associated with something we LOVE in that person. But the idea of the “flip side” can also be found in abundance in the Bible, such as our Scripture above that talks about doing something that is the total opposite—or the “flip side” of what we want to do. Let’s face it, nobody wants to love their enemies and do good to them, and yet that is exactly what God calls us to do.

Well, last week I promised you part of the first scene of my 9^th book, book 2 in the Heart of San Francisco series, working title Dare to Love, where the “flip side” comes into play in a big way. Not only do the negative habits of both the hero and heroine clash from page one, but it’s those very traits that draw them together in the end as well. Especially when our heroine plays the “flip side” of the coin in her behavior with the hero by “loving her enemy” and “doing good by him.”

So, without further ado, here is most of the very first scene when a grouchy Italian police detective bumps heads with my spunky Irish-tempered heroine. Happy reading and HAPPY WEEKEND!!

Hugs,

Julie

RARE GIVEAWAY!!! June 25-29, 2012: Join me at the “Overcoming Through Time — With God’s Help” blog to celebrate a week of reviews on my books and win your choice of any of my books including my upcoming release, A Love Surrendered. Here’s the link:

 http://cfpagels.blogspot.com/

 

BOOK 2  IN “THE HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO” SERIES:

DARE TO DREAM (working title)

Chapter One

San Francisco, August 1903

“Uh, I think you took a wrong turn, lady—high tea is at The Palace.”

Allison McClare glanced up with a straight pin lodged in her teeth, blinking at a tall, disgruntled stranger cocked in the door of her empty classroom who might have been attractive if not for the scowl on his face. An unruly strand of dark hair, almost black—like his mood—toppled over his forehead, as if in defiance of the slicked-back style of the day, peeking out beneath a strawboater he obviously felt no courtesy to remove. He hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the front door, his gruff voice a near snarl as he glared through gray-green eyes that seemed to darken by the moment, the color of stormy seas. “I assume that’s your fancy car and driver out front? Well you need to move it to the back of the building pronto, lady, whether you’re here to teach or just out slumming with the poor folks.”

The straight pin in her teeth dropped to the floor along with her jaw. She gaped, hardly able to comprehend the rudeness of this Neanderthal who would be better attired in a bearskin and club than the charcoal suit coat draped over his shoulder. Rolled sleeves of what might have been a crisp white shirt at one time revealed muscled forearms thick with dark hair like the brainless caveman he appeared to be. His fashionable silk vest hung open, sloppy and unbuttoned. Like his mouth. A late-afternoon beard shadowed his hard-angled jaw, lending an ominous air to a man who possessed less charm than found on the head of her pin. And a head just as pointed, no doubt. Her eyes narrowed to take in a high starched collar with an off-center four-in-hand tie as if he had loosened it in protest to fashionable attire he considered a noose ‘round his neck. Alli’s lips squirmed. Like the one she was envisioning right now …

He squinted as if she were the intruder instead of him, daring to invade his cave. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Yes, you pinhead … a polecat. She glared right back in silence, figuring if she waited long enough, his face would crack … something she’d pay good money to see. She almost wished she had listened to Mother and not attempted to ready her classroom on a Saturday when no one else was here. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall that indicated her elderly driver Hadley was more than on time to take her home. And not a moment too soon, she thought with a purse of her lips, if her encounter with this halfwit was any indication.

Her silence apparently ruffled his fur because his eyes narrowed, if possible, even more than before as he blasted out a noisy exhale, shaking his head as if she were the one with a pea for a brain. “Great—a rich dame as dumb as she is lost,” he muttered under his breath, and every word his insolence had stolen from her lips suddenly marched to the tip of her tongue to do battle.

“Pardon me, Mr. Personality,” she said in a clipped tone that suggested he’d just crawled out from under a rock, but the one who is lost here, you cave dweller, is you, so I suggest you lumber back to whatever cavern you climbed out of and search for the manners you obviously left behind.” In a royal swoop befitting the new drama teacher of the Hand of Hope School for Girls, she snatched the dropped pin from the floor with a swish of pink taffeta, jabbing it into the bulletin board as if it were the backside of a certain unsavory baboon. Before the baboon could speak—or grunt—she whirled around with a flourish, satisfied to see a sagging jaw that likely resembled the mouth of his cave. She’d obviously rendered the beast dumb. Good—a perfect match for his brain.

“And for your information, sir, I am the new English and Drama teacher for the Hand of Hope School for Girls, so I hardly need some surly wiseacre telling me I took a wrong turn. Because trust me, mister …” Lips pursed, she did a painfully slow perusal from the tip of his pointed head miles down to laced oxford shoes that were surprisingly well polished. Her gaze sailed back up past a lean body with muscled arms and massive shoulders to settle on an annoyingly handsome face. “If I needed a compass, I’d buy one.”

 The grouch caught her totally off-guard when the sullen slant of his mouth twitched with a hint of a smile, joining forces with a shuttered look that fluttered her stomach. “I don’t care if you teach angels to fly in the wild blue yonder, lady,” he said with a flip of a badge from his pocket, this is my beat, and you can’t park your fancy car out front. It’s an annoyance.”

Yes, I know the feeling. She jutted her chin. “You don’t look like a police officer,” she challenged, eyes narrowing at the dark sack suit he wore that appeared of high quality even if it was as disheveled as his hair.

He exhaled with a slack of his hip. “Yeah? Well I’m not real fond of the uniform, okay?” His eyes narrowed right along with hers before he huffed out another sigh. “Look, lady, I’m off duty, all right? And if we’re going to get down to brass tacks here …” He gave her a half-mast look that deliberately meandered from the diamond-studded tortoise-shell combs in her upswept hair, down the bodice of her Chanel shirtwaist, to her Italian kidskin shoes peeking beneath the hem of her expensive Worth and Bobergh skirt. He angled a dark brow. “I’m afraid you don’t look very much like a school teacher either.”

If there was one thing she disliked more than a drafty classroom in an abandoned building in the wrong part of town, it was an obnoxious police officer scowling in that same drafty classroom as if she’d just committed a crime. Which, given the snide look on his handsome face, she was sorely tempted to do … She folded her arms. “Well, then, if you are ‘off duty,’ officer,” she said with a thrust of her jaw, “I fail to see what business it is of yours just where my driver parks our car.”

She stumbled back with a tiny squeak when he yanked his coat off his shoulder and barreled forward, the mere threat of his presence butting her to the bulletin board while he loomed over her like Attila the Hun. “Look, lady,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I’m just looking out for your best interest here.” He stabbed a finger toward the front of the building while he glared, the heat in his eyes going head-to-head with the heat in her cheeks. “This is the bloomin’ Barbary Coast, not a tea party on Nob Hill. The presence of a pretty debutante in a fancy car and diamond combs is nothing more than an engraved invitation to trouble in a district where I’m working my tail off to keep crime down.”

She blinked. Pretty?

He gouged the bridge of his nose with blunt fingers, venting with a blast of air that smelled faintly of animal crackers. “All right, okay,” he said in a civil tone that sounded forced. A hint of contrition laced his words as he held out a ridiculously large hand pert near the size of a baseball glove. “Maybe we need to start over. My name is Detective Nick Barone of the 14^th Precinct and you are—?”

Allison stared at his hand, then peered up at his chiseled face, the man so blasted tall, it put a crick in her neck. Up close he was larger than life, older and more intimidating than before, the gray-green eyes such a striking color, he might as well hypnotized her with a watch swinging on a chain—she couldn’t blink, breathe or move. Mouth slack, she finally swallowed hard, the scent of Bay Rum from his shadowed jaw and bold gaze doing funny things to her stomach. She tried to speak, but it was if those incredible eyes had fused the words to her throat. Her apparent stupor actually tipped his full lips into a charming if not cocky smile that sent the warmth in her face straight to the tips of her fingers and toes. She blinked, her sharp tongue utterly mute, insults a whole lot easier when this goliath was a half room away.

His smile eased into a lazy grin as he slacked a hip, the little-boy twinkle in his eye telling her this was a man who knew his way around women. “Now, I know you can talk, ma’am, because you shot enough barbs to qualify me as part of the cactus family, Miss—”

“Mc—” She coughed, clearing the knot of awkwardness from her throat as she tentatively placed her hand in his. “McClare—Allison McClare.”

He hiked a thick brow. “The McClares of Nob Hill—as in Logan McClare?”

“My uncle,” she said with a tremulous smile, wondering how a caveman could go from heating her temper to heating her skin within four powerful strides and a smile that could thaw ice.

He responded with a sharp rasp of air through clenched teeth while the temperature dropped along with her hand when he jerked away, his smile as stiff as an iceberg during an Antarctica winter. “I see,” he said with a glacial look that broke the spell of his eyes. “A snob hill debutante used to doing whatever you bloomin’ well please.”

Her mouth sagged open before she snapped it shut with a plunk of hands to her hips, lips clamped as thin as her gaze. “Look here, Mr. Ga-roan, when you see a sign out front that says ‘no parking,’ you come see me, all right, and I will make good and sure Hadley parks elsewhere.” Her lips tipped in a smirk. “If you can read.”

“It’s-pronounced-Ba-ron-ee, long ‘e,’” he ground out, planting two massive hands low on tapered trousers and slanting in. The motion parted his open vest to reveal a shoulder holster with gun, stealing a rush of air from her throat. “Look, missy, I don’t have time to be a nursemaid to some spoiled rich kid who doesn’t have the sense God gave a gerbil. If you insist on rubbing your old man’s money into the faces of every sick and starving whore monger, cut-throat or murderer roaming these streets, then be my guest—you deserve everything you get.” He grunted. “I’d like’d to see how long it takes before you hightail it back to your comfy-cozy mansion when a thief absconds with one of those diamond combs.”

Gun or no, Allison stepped in and snapped her head up, contemplating suing the moron for whiplash. “Well, Mr. Ba-lon-ee, long ‘e,’ I’d like to see you ‘long’ gone from my classroom, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?” She jabbed a finger toward the door like a schoolmarm reprimanding a student, her eyes burning more than her cheeks. “So why don’t you take your little gun and your little snide attitude right out that door, mister, because you are seriously putting a cramp in my neck and my day.” She swished her fingers under his nose as it to shoo him away. “Go on, pester somebody who is actually breaking the law, you oversized bully, or I’ll give you something to arrest me for.”

The dimwitted oaf actually stood there and laughed with a fold of his arms. “Is that right? What are you going to do, Miss Mc-High-and-Mighty? Sick your butler on me? That ancient dolt appeared as lost as you when I asked him to pull around back.”

“He’s deaf, you brainless barbarian!” she shouted, his insult to Hadley unleashing her Irish temper. “That’s it.” She stomped to the blackboard to snatch her pointer and smacked it on her desk before waving it at the door. “Out—now!”

“Ahem … excuse me, Miss, but is this hooligan disturbing you?” Her beloved butler and driver Hadley stood straight and staunch at the door, his stoic figure impeccable as always in black tails and tie as he studied Mr. Pinhead with his usual air of calm. “I will be happy to escort this buffoon out of the building if you like,” he said, his silver head tipped in question and tone as starched as his crisp white shirt.

  The buffoon laughed again, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, old man, I’d hate to break any of your bones—”

“Oh! Good idea!” Allison said, charging the cretin with the stick in her hand. She stopped two feet away to award Hadley her sweetest smile. “Thank you, Hadley, but that won’t be necessary—I’ll be out momentarily after I dispose of this imbecile.”

“Very good, miss,” The elderly man said with a tight click of heels, allowing an uncharacteristic hint of a scowl at the pinhead before disappearing down the hall.

She poked the pinhead’s chest without mercy. “Out—now!”

“Hey, that smarts!” he said with a laugh that bordered on a growl.

“Oh, as if you’d recognize anything ‘smart,’ you dimwitted moron—out!” She prodded him toward the door without mercy while he fended her off with hands in the air, laughing so hard, she whacked him one good. “You think this is funny, mister? Good—let’s see you laugh when I file a police report for harassment.” She walloped hard him on the shoulder, which immediately wiped the smirk off his face.

“Hey, lady, do that again, and I’ll arrest you for assault on an officer.”

“Assault on a moron, you mean—you’re off duty, remember?”

She clobbered him again, and the thug promptly plucked the pointer from her hand and broke it in half with a loud crack. “Okay, sister, you’ve asked for it—I’m going to report your sassy mouth to the principal of this school.” He tossed the broken stick across the room with a clatter, eyes glinting like jagged quartz.

“Good!” She slapped her hands to her hips once again, arms rigid and shoulders square. “She’s-my-mother, you moron …”

“Well, that explains it,” he said with a grunt. “Another rich dame wasting government grants so she can dabble in charity between high tea and tennis on the lawn.” He stared her down, knuckles clenched white on the jacket in hand. “She’d have to be blood related to hire a smart mouth like you.”

That did it. Eyes blazing, she marched right up and thumped him on the chest. “She didn’t hire me,” she snapped, “I volunteered. She tilted her head, hands back on her hips and voice thick with sarcasm.  “Because you see, you big lummox, rather than play lawn tennis or eat bon bons, my mother and I prefer to use our time and money to educate disadvantaged young girls so they don’t grow up to be bullied by pompous blowhards like you.” Chest heaving, she recharged with a harsh inhale, unleashing every bit of fury the dumb ox had provoked in a final blast of air. “And at least I have a mother,” she railed, “and wasn’t hatched under a rock in a cave like you.”

His face paled. “Are you quite through?” he said quietly, a tic flickering in his jaw.

She elevated her chin, body quivering as all energy slowly seeped from her limbs. “No, she whispered, tears sparking her eyes. “Please leave and don’t ever come back …”

 

 

“For many, love is a two-sided coin.

It can strengthen or stifle, expand or enfeeble, perfect or pauperize …

Polish the coin and you will see only requited love.

— Colleen Houck

I don’t know if you know this about me, but my very first job at the age of sixteen was to dress up like a Southern belle for the premiere of the fancy new Mark Twain theatre in St. Louis for which the opening movie was Gone With the Wind. Yep, it’s true—God gave me the chance to live out my Scarlett dream, complete with hoop skirt, fancy dress and a curly updo. Admittedly, the dream fell a wee bit short with the skinny boys they hired to tear tickets and sweep the lobby who, regrettably, looked NOTHING like Rhett Butler!

I may well be the only person on the planet who dressed up both like a nun and a Southern belle to see GWTW, but it’s an achievement of which I am quite proud. Yes, I have been a GWTW freak since the age of twelve when I first read Margaret Mitchell’s masterpiece—a masterpiece that, as many of you already know, also inspired me to begin my debut novel, A Passion Most Pure at the same age.

Had I known when I talked my friends into borrowing novice outfits to crash a free showing of GWTW for the local clergy (back then, GWTW was only re-released every seven years), that I’d be watching it a second time months later in my very first job, well, this Southern belle may well have swooned with a case of the vapors.

Thus I embarked on one of the most exciting eras of my life—mixing and mingling with other teenagers, living out my dream of popcorn, soda and GWTW and yes, my very first boyfriend! Sigh. But I digress … something at which I am quite good, I’m discovering.

Anyway, one day when I was working behind the snackbar, wiping down the counter while I hummed my heart out, alternating between singing and humming the same few bars of a song over and over, one of the ticket takers waltzed up. Giving me a smirk, the little smart aleck promptly tossed a coin on the counter and said, “Play the flip side, will you, Julie? I’m getting tired of that tune.”

Mmmm … the flip side. For some reason that phrase stuck in my head, coming to mind years later while I was listening to Focus on the Family on the radio as a newlywed. Dr. James Dobson was talking to a caller who was complaining that although she had a pretty good marriage, her husband had this one quirk that drove her batty, almost to the point of rocking the marital boat. “Some nights when I come home late from work,” the woman said, “my husband will roll over in bed and say, ‘did you lock the door?’ ‘Yes, I locked the door,’ I tell him,” but it’s never good enough. She proceeded to explain to Dr. Dobson that her husband would then get up in a near stupor, stumble to every door in the house and jiggle the knobs before dropping back in bed comatose. “The man acts like I’m inept,” the woman complained, and I will never forget Dobson’s answer that went something like this:

“What does your husband do for a living?” he asked. “He’s a comptroller for a large corporation,” she replies. I could almost see the smile curving on Dr. Dobson’s face. “Ah, the flip side factor,” he says, explaining to this disgruntled caller and his entire radio audience a phenomenon that would be forever emblazoned in my brain. And that’s the principle that for every bad thing that gets on our nerves about our spouses or other people, there is a flip side—a mirror-opposite ‘good thing’ that we love and probably attracted us in the first place. A door-checker that gets on your nerves, yes, but also a spouse who is so keen and cautious and exacting that he’s risen to the highest financial position in a corporation, providing well for his wife and his children.

Let it be known that I am a crazy, jerky, lead-foot driver, so when I first married Keith, it would drive me up the wall to ride in the car with him because he was so relaxed and slow behind the wheel that I’d swear he was 90-year-old in a gorgeous man’s body. I’d sit there, hands clenched to the the seat with a tic in my eye and knot in my gut while he’d follow a car going 20 mph in a 45-mph lane rather than ease into the passing lane. Excuse me, but if it were me, that slow car would be belching my exhaust, but noooooooo … Keith is never in any hurry.

And sweet preservation of mind, am I doing backflips today!! When I am harried and crazy and ready to go tilt, that man is like a decompresser and a balm to my sorry soul. The “flip side” in a spouse that God not only knew I needed to buffer my CDQ personality, but used—ad nauseum—to teach me one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever learned: patience.

So, what made me think of the “flip side” today? Well, as many of you know, I just began writing my ninth novel, which will be book 2 in the “Hearts of San Francisco” series for Revell, working title Dare to Love. I have approximately 25 pages written so far, and talk about spontaneous combustion between two characters right off the bat! My spunky, hot-tempered Irish heroine goes head-to-head with my hard-as-nails Italian grouch of a hero in the first chapter—or maybe I should say the first round—and I have to admit, I’m having WAY too much fun at the expense of these two! I was going to post the first scene here in Journal Jots this morning, but obviously my talent for verbosity has gotten in the way, already making this one of the longest jots in history, so I will refrain. Instead, I will give you a fun sample next week that is the very beginning of a story where the “flip side” becomes all too apparent in a relationship that goes from fireworks to a flaming romance in the short lick of a fuse.

In the meantime, here’s to the proverbial “flip side” in each of us, hopefully helping us to squint past the fault/irritants in the people we love to see to the other side of the rainbow where God has given us a true pot of gold. And may each of us, through the refining grace of God, polish the coin of our own relationships until both sides gleam bright with His love.

Hugs,

 

Julie