Happy New Year, everyone. I thought this month I’d give you a taste of the newest novel I’m working on. It takes place in the little fictional town of Emerson, Missouri, and is filled with lively, fun characters. I have no working title for it or the series it will announce. For now, I just call it Emerson.
Here are the opening two scenes. Give me your feedback in the comments—the good, the bad, and the ugly—so I can improve it.
“Glamping? What self-respecting detective goes glamping?” Callum MacDonald’s partner stared at him as they stood in the sparsely furnished living room of his apartment. “I’ll look after your place while you’re gone, bro, but glamping?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Callum cringed at his partner’s words. He had expected that response, which is why he waited until the last minute to state his plans. He thought the same thing when his doctor first recommended it. After several nights in the hospital with nothing but nightmares of getting shot and lying in the street bleeding out, he decided a glamping convalescence might bring some sanity back to his mind. “I wasn’t keen on the idea either when the doc suggested it. But have you forgotten I’m recovering from a bullet wound that nearly killed me?”
“You’re my partner, of course not. Besides, the captain gave us daily updates while you were in ICU. What’s it been, a week since you got out of the hospital?”
“Ten days.” Callum winced as he adjusted his sling. “Look, you know how much I like the outdoors, and it’s been ages since I’ve been able to get away. Glamping offers me the peace and solitude of camping without all the physical labor.” Callum looked down at Ferguson, his Norfolk terrier, panting quietly at his feet and looking up at him with expectant eyes. Ferguson appeared as excited to get on the road as Callum. Nervous energy pulsed through him, goading him to get behind the wheel and out of the city as fast as possible. “Like I said, my doc recommended the place for my recovery time. Pulled a lot of strings to make it happen. The place focuses on health and wellness. It’s only an hour away. If I get bored, I’ll give you a call and we can meet at O’Malley’s for a whiskey or two.”
“You got yourself a deal. Can I help get your bags into the car?”
“Why do you think I asked you here?” Callum chuckled and slapped his friend on the back. “Thanks, man. And thanks for keeping an eye on my apartment. I gave you the spare key, right?” He glanced around the living room feeling as though he’d forgotten something—Ferguson’s bed. He grabbed it and they followed his partner down to the car and loaded up.
Within thirty minutes, the unforgiving pavement and stolid buildings of Kansas City, Missouri, disappeared behind him, and the vibrant greens of trees and pastures, corn and soybean fields met his eyes. He turned off the A/C and powered down the front windows, at which point, the early summer air rushed across his face, warming his cheeks.
Ferguson barked his excitement, jumped from the back to the passenger seat, and promptly stuck his head out.
“Well, buddy, it’s you and me and the countryside for the next thirty days. No more city smell. Now it’s cow manure instead of car exhaust.”
The dog gave a small yip then returned to his enjoyment of the fresh country air, his tongue hanging out and ears flapping in the wind.
With every inhale, Callum absorbed the calming atmosphere of the nature he loved and missed so much; with every exhale, he shed the weight of the unrelenting crime and chaos of the city. And—he hoped—the nightmares with it.
What he couldn’t leave behind were his doctor’s words: Your injury might mean medical retirement from the force.
He shuddered.
This had been the second time he’d been shot and the closest to being killed. Maybe leaving police work offered him better odds of living past the age of forty. But what work would he do?
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned his focus back to the road. He didn’t want to miss his turn to K&K Glamping.
Take one day at time, dude. One day at a time.
Gabrielle Emerson clipped on Maisie’s leash and the two headed out for their morning trek to work.
“Something big’s brewing, Maisie. The dream God gave me last night indicates it. I can even feel an electricity in the air.”
Gabby’s Scottish terrier barked.
“I’m glad you agree because it involves you. Not sure how, but I think you’re about to meet someone very important.”
Maisie stopped her trot, turned to face Gabby, and barked several times.
“Don’t use that tone with me. I’m only the messenger.” Gabby, one eyebrow cocked, stared at Maisie. “Come on now, or we’ll be late getting the store open.”
As they continued the eight-block walk to Emerson’s Books & Bibles, Gabby contemplated her dream. A little red dog named Ferguson. She chuckled. Such a big name for a little dog no bigger than Maisie. Ferguson, wildly barking, kept staring through the bookstore window at Maisie. A faceless man stood behind the dog. That the man was faceless didn’t surprise Gabby; it was a dream, after all. But the conciseness of the dog’s name. In her twenty-eight years, she’d never heard a name in her dreams.
Maisie stopped to christen the fire hydrant in front of the police station—the same hydrant she christened every morning on their walk. Gabby assumed it was Maisie’s way of letting the local dog catcher know her opinion of him. Across the street, Iris Chaffey, owner of Iris’s Cafe, waited in front of the bookstore with Gabby’s usual order of a half-dozen glazed donuts for the early morning tourists who stopped in.
“Morning, Iris,” Gabby hollered and waved. She looked down at Maisie who had finished her task, and they dashed catty-corner across the street.
“Mornin’, darlin’. Do you feel the electricity in the air?”
“You feel that too? I thought it was just me and the dream I had last night.”
“Holy Spirit told me this mornin’ someone’s comin’ who needs our help. Sounds like God mighta showed you in a dream.” Iris had read the book Thirty Days to Glory and got so inspired by the prayers of the Glory Sisters that she recruited several women from church, including Gabby, to pray for complete strangers. Since then, it wasn’t at all unusual for Holy Spirit to give her direction or for Gabby to have odd dreams.
“I think he has a dog named Ferguson.” Gabby pulled her keys from her pocket, unlocked the store, and held the door open for Iris.
“Ferguson?” Iris laughed as she walked to the coffee table that sat between two leather couches and set down the box of donuts. “Sounds like a name for a butler. Do you think royalty is coming to our little town of Emerson?”
“I doubt it, but if it’s the dog I saw in my dream, the name fits him. Did Holy Spirit tell you anything else about this man?” Maisie stood patiently while Gabby unclipped her lead, then promptly jumped onto the seat of the storefront bay window to stand guard.
“Nope. Just gave me the bare necessities—a man who needs our help.”
“Help how?” Gabby pulled a bank bag from her tote and paid Iris for the donuts.
“Does it matter?”
“How can we effectively pray for him if we don’t know what he needs?”
“We’ll find out after he gets here.”
“Considering the electricity we’re both feeling, must be he gets here soon.”
“I agree, darlin’. Might even be today. I’ll get the prayer chain started for Ferguson’s owner.”
