Winning the Queen's Heart: Contemporary Christian Romance (The Brides of Belles Montagnes Book 2) (40 page)

As administrator of the Mya Elizabeth Linscott Facebook page, Dorrie should know when the author had appearances scheduled. Dorrie had read all of MEL’s books so many times she could quote large sections of them. Her collection would be complete with autographs, but the only way to get signed copies was to get them off MEL’s website for twice the cover price. Sure, the extra money went to charity but Dorrie still didn’t have that kind of cash. Instead, she had a standing order with the local Christian bookstore to get the latest book as soon as it released.

She’d even emailed with MEL a few times. Okay. MEL’s assistant, but still.

How did she not know MEL would be making her first public appearance
ever
?

Anise hemmed and hawed for a second or two. “Well, I don’t know for sure MEL’s coming. But the bookstore coordinator sent me a list of authors who are going to have books and she’s on it.”

“One of her books is up for a CANDID Award,” Dorrie pointed out. “Those are automatically stocked. She’s up for an award every year. Those books are always there.” Not that Dorrie had been at the other conferences, but she knew people and heard all about it.

“I know
that
. But she has ‘five books’ in parentheses next to her name. She’d only have one if it was just the book up for a CANDID Award.”

Anise had a point. “Okay. She might be there.”

“Let’s plan how we’re going to make sure we get to meet her. And bring your copies because they have a place where you can put them to be signed.”

“You really think she’ll sign them for free? Everyone else does, but she never has. She gives away ten free signed copies of each book when it comes out, but that’s it.” Dorrie had never won, no matter how hard she tried.

“You never know.”

A glance at the clock showed Dorrie she had ten minutes before it was time to leave for her fourth ever local CANDID meeting. The one she was in charge of. What had she been thinking when she volunteered to be the coordinator? Dorrie half-listened to Anise prattle on as doubts assailed her once again.

Visions of George Costanza danced in her head to a Brad Paisley soundtrack as a dull ache began to seep into the edges of her brain. So much cooler in the online world. She should stay home where no one would discover she didn’t belong with the cool kids.

Online, Dorrie knew she was a blast. Always fun. Always up for something. Or pretend something anyway. There weren’t any real consequences to plotting with other readers to cyber-steal a flash drive with a manuscript on it from a favorite author when nothing actually changed hands. Or to resort to bribery with her peanut butter cookies. Dorrie had been known to send a box or two. Not that it had gotten her anywhere.

Another look toward the bookcase where her first edition Mya Elizabeth Linscott novels sat, unsigned, spurred her onward. She had to go. She had to follow her dream of becoming an author. No matter what anyone, especially her dad, said about it. In two and a half months, Dorrie could finally have a chance to meet her writing hero. If she was really lucky, have two, maybe even three, minutes to pick MEL’s brain about the publishing world.

“Dorrie!” Anise’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Can you get the walkie talkies?”

With a sigh, Dorrie turned to the conversation at hand. “Yes, I have walkies. I fail to see why we need them if we’re using earwigs.”

“Back-up. You know that. Back-up your back-ups. It holds true for manuscripts and trying to meet your favorite authors.”

Anise was even more obsessed with back-ups than Dorrie had ever been. The advent of “the cloud” and “cloud storage” helped, but one could never be sure it was enough. The loss of a Publisher file with hours worth of tweaks to a floor plan for her character’s house proved that.

Dorrie heard something in the background. A dog barking. Dishes crashing. Followed by, “I gotta run, darlin’, and I know you’ve got your meeting. I’ll talk to you soon. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Ha! Love you, Licorice.”

“I’m not licorice. I’m Anise.”

“Pa-tay-to, pa-tah-to. Same thing.” The spice, anise, had a licorice flavor to it. Dorrie rarely let an opportunity to mention it pass her by. Of course, the spice was pronounced an-iss, but her friend hailed from Appalachia and said her name uh-nese.

“Love you, too. I think. See you in a few weeks!”

They hung up. Dorrie headed from her hometown of Serenity Landing, Missouri to Springfield and her first CANDID meeting with a for-real published author as the guest.

She just prayed she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

* * *

Dorrie sat at a table in Panera Bread wiping her hands on her dress slacks. The nice ones. The ones that made her feel a little more professional than jeans or her usual scrubs. It was only the fourth meeting but who was she to think she should be the one running a group like this? At twenty-three, Dorrie felt woefully unprepared to run the local meeting of the country’s premiere group for Christian writers. Unpublished. Unagented. Uneverything. And inadequate.

And with a line-up of such prestigious guest speakers coming? Why her? Right. No one else volunteered to do it.

And just one guest speaker for now, .but Dorrie had to introduce her to everyone.

So what if “everyone” meant seven people?

Kathleen Watson really was very nice. Dorrie knew because they’d been talking on Facebook for months.

Dorrie took a deep breath and jumped in. “Okay, everyone!” Her voice echoed in the almost empty room as her nerves took a beating. “I think everybody’s got their food, so it’s time for the Springfield Area Christian Authors’ Network, Dedicated to Inspiration Distinction group to welcome best-selling, award winning author, Kathleen Watson.” What a mouthful! It made her even more grateful everyone just called the organization CANDID.

The half dozen or so writers gave a polite smattering of applause as Kathleen moved to sit on the table at the front of the meeting room. “Thanks so much for having me today. I was thinking I’d tell you a bit about me, my journey to publication, and life since then. Afterwards, we’ll open it up for questions.”

The door opened and in walked Prince Caspian – fresh off his voyage through the Seven Seas on the
Dawn Treader
. Dorrie’s logical side knew it couldn’t be the Narnian king, but had to be his doppelganger. Her romantic side didn’t care. He was, after all, about six feet tall with longish chestnut colored hair that looked silky enough for every girl in the room to be jealous, and eyes the color of Hershey’s chocolate.

“Is this the CANDID meeting?” His voice, smooth as velvet, melted Dorrie’s insides.

“Um, yes,” she managed to stammer. “Have a seat. We’re just getting started.”

He smiled, though Dorrie had the impression his full grin was much more drool-worthy.

Before she realized what he was doing, he slid into the chair next to her. If he got any closer Dorrie would be wearing his cologne. Very nice smelling cologne, too. Not at all like she expected from someone who spent most of his time on a boat with a giant talking mouse.

How was she supposed to concentrate? Ask insightful questions? Keep everyone on task during the Q and A if she spent the next two hours wondering if he’d take her back to Narnia with him?

Somehow, Dorrie managed to focus on Kathleen. She talked about what the industry had been like twenty years earlier when she first broke into publishing and how it differed now.

After about thirty minutes, Kathleen looked at Dorrie. “You know what? Why don’t we skip straight to questions? You guys ask me what you want to know about life as an author. I don’t know all of you so why don’t we do introductions, then questions?” The look she gave left it up to Dorrie.

Dorrie moved to the front of the room to direct the conversation and told them a bit about herself when one of the other gals interrupted.

“Did I see your name on the New Beginnings list?”

Heat rose in Dorrie’s cheeks. “I had two manuscripts final in different categories.”

“New Beginnings is the CANDID contest for unpublished authors, right?” The question came from the other new member. Dorrie didn’t think she’d heard the lady’s name yet.

With a nod, Dorrie confirmed the statement but turned to the next person. All but two of the other seven people she’d met several times and halfway tuned them out. The newbie who’d asked about the contest introduced herself as Julie Harders. And then they got to Prince Caspian.

“I’m Jeremiah Jacobs. I’ve been writing for years, but decided to switch genres to political thrillers.”

“What did you write before?” Kathleen asked.

He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “A bit of everything trying to find the elusive voice. I think I’ve found it writing political thrillers.”

“Good.” Kathleen turned to Dorrie. “Do you want to handle the Q and A?”

Dorrie gave a half-shrug. “Up to you.”

They spent the next hour asking Kathleen questions about how she came up with new ideas year after year, about what life was like on deadline, how to avoid the deadline crunch, and on and on. Two hours after the meeting began, they wrapped up, chatting a bit in little groups until an employee stuck her head in and said another group was coming in a few minutes.

Grabbing her laptop bag, Dorrie thanked Julie for coming and asked her to come again. She needed to do the same with Jeremiah. If only she’d out-grown the high school “stammer-when-I-talk-to-cute-boys” phase.

“Jeremiah?” Here went nothing.

He looked up from where he was gathering his trash.
Don’t look him in the eyes. You’ll drown in pools of chocolate that would make Willy Wonka jealous.
The glimpse or two she’d gotten had been more than enough to realize drowning would be a marvelous way to go.

His voice jolted her back to Panera. And there were those eyes. Could he be smiling at her? “Thank you for letting me join you today.”

“Of course. Are you new to CANDID?” She’d been told someone would send her an email telling her when a new member from the area joined, but she hadn’t gotten one yet.

He shook his head. “No. I’m here for a few months trying to decide if this is where I want to move.” At her puzzled look, he went on. “I work from home so it doesn’t matter where I am and I’m tired of Chicago. I thought I’d try out a few other places before making a decision.”

“That’s smart. How do you like the Ozarks so far?”

“I’ve only been here ten days, but one of the things I looked at when deciding where to go was a CANDID group. It’s not a requirement for wherever I settle, but it would be nice.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you for as long as you’re here.” Dorrie told him when the next meeting would be and got his email address so she could put him on the mailing list.

Dorrie went to take a sip of her soda, but the condensation on the plastic made it more slippery than she realized.

Like one of those slow motion scenes from the
Matrix
movies, every drop became individually visible from every other as the dark liquid first flew upward then plummeted down to Jeremiah’s laptop bag. Dorrie could see his eyes widen as they both followed the trajectory of the cup downward. He grabbed for his bag, but it was too late. The sloshing brought everything back to real speed. At least it seemed to be in the non-laptop portion of the bag.

“I’m so sorry.” Dorrie reached for the napkins sitting on the table next to her, frantically blotting at the papers inside.

Jeremiah pulled them out, spreading them on the table as he muttered something that sounded a lot like, “No, no, no, no, no.”

Dorrie continued to blot at the papers. When she moved one of the file folders, papers and photos fell out – a sticky, wet mess.

Dropping to the floor to pick them up, tears filled her eyes. Just what she needed to make a good first impression on this guy. Not that she really thought he’d be interested in
her
of all people, but this ensured he would
not
. Especially if she ruined his photos.

She flipped one over and gaped.

He reached for it, but Dorrie sat back on her heels and stared. “Why do you have this?” The words escaped before she could stop them.

“Give it to me.”

“This is the cover for the new Mya Elizabeth Linscott Cambridge Family Saga book. Not the one coming out in a couple months but the one that comes out in January. The title hasn’t even been announced yet.” Of course, after seeing the picture Dorrie knew, but the official announcement wouldn’t come until the day before MEL’s August book released. MEL would send out a newsletter with information on upcoming promotions, like when her eBooks would be discounted, and at the end, she’d announce the title and preview the cover of her next book.

Dorrie looked up at him. His face was an unreadable mask.

She
had
to know. “How’d you get this?”

* * *

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!

Jeremiah Jacobs moved to the Ozarks for a fresh start. He knows no one and has no plans to get romantically involved with anyone. Ever. He’s already had his heart ripped out once and once is enough. Besides he has contractual obligations that prevent him from talking about work - and what woman would want to be involved with a man who has to keep his job a secret? When he attends his first local writers’ group meeting, he finds the leader so intriguing, his instant attraction to her threatens to complicate his currently uncomplicated life. 
Dorrie Miller has never been good enough. Not for her father or any of the guys she’s dated in the past. She’s pushed beyond her father’s disapproval to have a good career while pursuing her dream of becoming a published novelist. The Christian Authors Network – Dedicated to Inspirational Distinction, or CANDID, is hosting their annual conference in Indianapolis and who’s rumored to be in attendance? The super reclusive, super-star author, Mya Elizabeth Linscott. 
The hunky new member of her local CANDID group, Jeremiah, wants to carpool to Indy. Dorrie can handle not making a fool of herself for eight hours each way. Right? But she never imagined doing a favor for someone during the conference would leave her accidentally married to the gorgeous guy she barely knows. How will she get out of this mess, married to a near stranger? Does she want to? Will her insecurities and Jeremiah’s secrets tear them apart? Or can she trust that, all along, God’s been helping her with 
Finding Mr. Write
?