A Brush With Love
Authors: Rachel Hauck
Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Short Stories (Single Author), #ebook
ZONDERVAN
A Brush with Love
Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Hauck
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
ePub Edition © December 2014: ISBN 978-0-31039-610-9
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible,
New International Version®, NIV®
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Interior design: James A. Phinney
To
Susie Warren
Beth Vogt
Alena Tauriainen
For being there . . .
Contents
An Excerpt from Serving Up a Sweetheart
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.
At the age of twelve,
everything
changed for Ginger Winters. But out of the pain, one good thing emerged: her superpower to see and display the beauty in her friends. Despite her own ugly marring, she was
the
go-to girl in high school for hair and makeup.
It was how she survived. How she found purpose. Her ability took her to amazing places. But now she was back in Rosebud after twelve years, starting a new season with her own shop.
She’d left home to become a known stylist, fleeing her “burn victim” image.
And she’d succeeded, or so she thought, landing top salon jobs in New York, Atlanta, and finally Nashville, traveling the world as personal stylist to country music sensation Tracie Blue.
But the truth remained, even among her success. Ginger was
that
girl, ugly and scarred, forever on the outside looking in.
Face it, some things would never change. If she hoped different, all she had to do was look at her role in her old “friend’s” wedding. The hired help.
Ginger tugged the paint cans from the storage closet. Six months ago, when she returned to Rosebud and signed the papers for the shop, she ran out to Lowe’s and purchased a pinkish-beige paint to roll on the walls, giving the old shop a fresh look and a new smell, adding her touch to the historic downtown storefront.
But Maggie kept a full appointment book and Ginger hit the ground running, with only enough time to paint and decorate her above-shop apartment.
Then the two long-time stylists who had worked for Maggie retired. And ten-hour days turned to fifteen until Ginger hired Michele and Casey, part-time stylists and full-time moms.
Painting had to wait.
“Can we at least order lunch?” Ruby-Jane tugged open the doors of the supply closet, the long-handle roller brushes toppling down on her. With a sigh, she collected them, settling them against the wall.
“Yes, pizza. On me.”
“Ah, I love you, Ginger Winters. You’re speaking my language.”
Kneeling beside the paint can, Ginger pried off the lid and filled the paint trays, then moved to the shop and dragged the styling stations toward the center, covering the
old hardwood floor around the perimeter with paper and visqueen.
“Have to admit, I love this old shop,” RJ said, pausing between the shop and the back room.
“Me too.” Ginger raised her gaze, glancing about the timeworn, much-loved room. “Don’t you wish these walls could talk?”
Ruby-Jane laughed. “Yes, because I’d like to hear some of the old stories. No, because talking walls would really freak me out.” She eyed Ginger, pointing. “But one day these walls will tell
our
stories.”
“Can we go back to talking walls freaking you out?” Ginger laughed with a huff as she pulled the last station away from the wall. “I don’t want any stories going around about me.”
She’d heard them already.
Freak. Ugly. She gives me the creeps
.
“I think the walls will tell lovely stories:
Ginger Winters made women feel good about themselves
.”
She smiled at Ruby-Jane, the eternal optimist. “Okay, then I can go with the talking walls. Okay . . . painting. Shoo wee, this is a big wall. Let’s do the right side first. Then, as time allows, we’ll finish the rest. With the right side done, we’ll be more motivated to get the rest done.”
“You’re the boss.”
Adjusting the scarf around her neck, Ginger smoothed her hair over her right shoulder, further covering herself. While she had the courage to shove up her sleeve and expose her scarred arm, she wasn’t brazen enough to expose her neck and the horrible skin graft debacle.
Two infections and three surgeries later, Mama had given up on doctors and decided to “leave well enough alone.”
Ginger had cried herself to sleep at night, her hand pressed over the most hideous wrinkled, puckered skin patch at the base of her neck.
