Retreat... by Liz Flaherty

A couple of times a year, my friend Nan Reinhardt take three or four days (or six!) and to on a writing retreat. Usually we're finishing a book (me) or starting one (Nan), and we're tired before we even start. 

We know we're lucky to be able to do this, that we have husbands who keep the home fires burning, that our kids and grandkids don't need us on a daily basis (I'm still a little wounded by that, but not terribly), and that our houses are perfectly happy to not have us to clean it and/or hang the toilet paper the right way. 

And, yes, my house is happier than Nan's because I'm the worst housekeeper on the planet and that's not going to change any time soon. Ever. That's not going to change ever. 

But I'm regressing and trying to be funny when the subject matter is really kind of serious. I hear and read a lot about mental illness and I've made no secret of taking an antidepressant.  We know the political and social media situations are toxic. We know respect for others is more of a meme than an actuality in way too many cases. 

Hence, retreat. No, louder. 

We were gone for six days. The only time we turned on the TV was to watch the vice-presidential debate. Social media was way down on our scale of interest, far below writing, eating, talking, and laughing. It was a great week. 

I'm not saying it's necessary to spend a week in South Haven, Michigan--although I recommend it--to get away from "what ails you." You can do it anywhere. You can do it by closing doors on things and people who create havoc in your soul, turning off devices that have you lying awake at night, not responding to the instigators, watching the sunset, watching the colors change. You can escape by acknowledging kindness and passing it on, by sitting with friends and telling terrible jokes, and by eating soup and pie; it is autumn, after all. 

Enough advice from me for one day. I'm late getting this posted and I have unpacking to do, but I'm wishing you all a good week and a gentle retreat. Be nice to somebody.

This Week by Liz Flaherty

As a Democrat, I've had a wonderful, hopeful week. A few days after the end of the DNC, I'm still feeling that. Still feeling the joy. Not to mention some sleep deprivation. I'd love to make this whole column about politics, but I'm not going to. Nearly everyone who reads it knows where I stand and within the personal friendships, we don't talk about either my stance or theirs. While that's hard for both sides sometimes, it's good for the friendships. 

As the mother of teachers, my kids are back in school just like yours are, which means I get to worry again about the things all teacher parents worry about. And get cranky about. Low wages, keeping their classrooms safe in ways we didn't used to have to think about, teaching kids what they need to know and what is true, making sure the students get enough to eat.   

As a nana, I got to see a picture and hear about our youngest grandboy playing varsity soccer for Danville. I got to see pictures of his brother climbing on rocks in Colorado. (GOT to see is wrong. It scares me to death.) I got to see another grandson and hug him. 

As a lifelong rural dweller, this week I got to watch the seasons changing every time I look out the window. I've seen sunrise and sunset every day. I've pointed at the place where Broadway Landing is going to be, listened to the yeas and nays of partial use of solar and wind power over only fossil fuel, and mourned the loss of small fields and big trees. We drove past the school road last night and saw the "Friday night lights," at North Miami, bringing back memories and reminding me to keep feeling hopeful. 

As a Christian, I've missed church two weeks in a row. Once because we spent a few fun days in Kentucky and once because a friend and I had a fun day signing books at a winery. While I do believe God doesn't take attendance, the Sunday morning time in the fourth pew is precious to me. I'll be glad to slide back into place tomorrow.  

As a human being, I am appalled by cruelty in any form. If you know something's going to hurt someone--even if it's "just" their feelings--for heaven's sake, don't do it. It's really easy. And when you DO hurt someone (also really easy), own it and apologize for it. 

As a columnist, I'm kind of tired. I'm also grateful to those of you who continue to visit the Window every Saturday even when what I write makes you roll your eyes. I don't have the words--shame on me--to say how much I appreciate it. 

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.

Meandering Through the Words by Liz Flaherty

I had to look up the word cabal this morning, because I'd never used it, and even context didn't clue me in on what it was. In truth, I should always look up words I don't know, because too often the person using them doesn't know what they mean either, so even context can really mess you up some. 

It sounds kind of silly, I guess, maybe even disingenuous, to say I love words, since I use so many of them. Some of them, like just and that and look, I use so often that when I do a global search of a manuscript and take out the unnecessary ones, I need to write a new chapter just to bring the book back to the length I want.

That might be an exaggeration. But not by much. 

When I was in high school--I think it was junior year--our literature class had to read Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. Although I liked the wow factor of a young woman having an affair with a minister and carrying his child out of wedlock in the 17th century--after all, it would have been just as shocking in the middle of the 20th century and, of course, all Hester's fault--I hated the book. I still regret the six weeks we spent on it when we could have been reading something...readable. 

But I have to admit that even now I remember Hawthorne's overuse of the word ignominy and all of its derivatives. If he'd had global search abilities with his quill and rag paper, I'm sure he'd have used it a lot less. 

I try to understand why we read the things we read in class, why we were introduced to Shakespeare and why we read parts of Beowulf and the Iliad. It was to introduce us to classics. At the time, I thought it was to encourage us to love reading and learning and I couldn't understand why it fell so wide of the mark. I didn't like any of it. 

However, reading all kinds of books is what taught me I like reading genre fiction best. I don't particularly care if it changes my life. If I don't like it, I don't finish it--life is too short to read what I don't want to. (Case in point, I never read another Nathaniel Hawthorne book.) I read for entertainment and to learn things. Especially things I like to know that clarify other things. It's a wonderful chain, the learning one. 

I learned about seasonal disorder in a romance by Jackie Weger. I learned about the Iron Range and Minnesota's lakes in books by Kathleen Gilles Seidel. I learned about the 19th century in books written about it by people who did the research before they wrote them. 

If it were left to me, I would never have read most of the classics on my mental bookshelf at all. (Other than Louisa May Alcott--she's a whole life chapter unto herself. I'll spare you.) Except for the words I learned in them. I had to look them up and develop a wish to use them in drawing a picture a reader could see. Their writers used a plethora of words, and they never used one word when 56 of them would do. But they sure could draw those pictures. 

This was certainly the long way around from me having to look up the word cabal, wasn't it? I'm trying to find my point, and I think it's one I've made more than once. If you use words without understanding what they mean, you're telling lies. If you use words only to hurt someone or create a false picture of them, you become the villain of whatever story you're promoting. 

But if you learn from them, if you use them to explicate what you say and mean, they're like the gift that keeps on giving.  (No--I don't actually use the word explicate. I looked it up to be a showoff. You can do that, too!)

I hope when you read something that you enjoy and learn from it. Check sources. Quit in the middle if it's not making you happy. Have a great week. Be nice to somebody. 

Come see Nan and me at the Whyte Horse! 

Keeping Settings and Secondary Characters Fresh by Nan Reinhardt

One thing I’ve discovered as I’ve been writing my River’s Edge series of books is that readers fall in love with settings and secondary characters as much as they do the main characters. They anxiously await the next story because it means another trip to a place we all want to live or at least visit. Series are a special kind of escape for readers and writers. For me, as author, the warmth of Mac’s Riverside Diner, the fun of the Four Irish Brothers Winery, a cruise through the colorful fabrics at the Seams Pieceful quilt store, pastries from Paula’s Bread & Butter Bakery, or a stroll along the River Walk are just a few of the good reasons to keep telling stories there.

But it’s not enough to use the same setting, the stories have to evolve naturally from it and the town must evolve with it. So new places must crop up in your old setting. Disasters that affect everyone in the town will inevitably become part of a story, as will the restoration of old familiar landmarks, like Aidan Flaherty restoring the River Queen riverboat in Christmas with You or Gerry Ross turning the old cotton mill into a boutique hotel in Meant to Be. Changes mean the setting becomes a developing character itself.

With each new book, readers find new places in River’s Edge to visit—Sudbury’s Nursery and Garden Center takes center stage in my newest novel, Make It Real, where we meet Kara Sudbury, just home from living in England for six years and her grandparents, Ginny and Hunter Sudbury. In the next book in the series, Made for Mistletoe, which releases October 24, Dot and Mary Higgins and their quilt store, Seams Pieceful are in the spotlight as secondary characters.

These secondary characters may never have their own book, but like the setting, they do have their own stories. Readers love to follow townsfolks to see just what’s going to happen next to background characters. In Book 1 of the Four Irish Brothers Winery series, we meet two secondary players, Carly Hayes, Sam’s uptight, high-society mom and Mac Mackenzie, a flannel-wearing Cordon Bleu chef who owns the diner in River’s Edge. An unlikely pair for sure, but by the end of Book 2, Carly and Mac are an item, and although they may never get their own book, their story progresses, and we watch their romance blossom as the main characters’ stories are told. They’re together, running the diner, and still madly in love in Make It Real—book 12 that happens in River’s Edge.

It’s important to introduce new secondary characters to interact with the old ones so the town and its stories don’t become stale, but putting old background folks into new situations is also a fun way to bring interest to your familiar setting and your stories. In my second River’s Edge series, The Lange Brothers, I tell the stories of three brothers who are all first responders. Each brother has his own book, yet woven throughout the three books is their mother’s love story with hotelier Gerry Ross, whom we met back in Book 2 of The Four Irish Brothers Winery series. So Gerry and Jane become a seasoned romance in River’s Edge, adding just a touch more fun to that little town on the banks of the Ohio. See how that works?

Each time we enlarge a secondary character’s story, we are inviting our readers further into our setting and our series, welcoming them into our fantasy world, where life may not always be perfect, but where a happily-ever-after is always guaranteed. 

Out now from Nan Reinhardt!

Make It Real, book 2 in the Walkers of River’s Edge series:

They were only faking it….

A landscape designer for his family’s construction firm, Joe Walker, is nearing completion on one of the most important projects of his career—gardens for spec homes that if they wow, Walker Construction will survive. When a freak accident sidelines him with a broken leg, the firm hires a competitor. Her ideas are radically different, but his stalker ex arrives to play nurse, and Joe needs more than gardening help.

After six-years working in English manor gardens, horticulturist Kara Sudbury returns to River’s Edge to help in her grandparents’ struggling garden center. She’s thrilled when Jackson Walker hires her to execute his injured cousin’s designs. Ignoring Joe is difficult because he’s as sexy now as he was in high school and even more stubborn. But when Joe asks Kara to play the role of girlfriend, they strike a deal that will help Joe handle his tenacious ex and put Sudbury’s Nursery back in the black. Kara’s up for the subterfuge…for a price, but then the pretense feels real, and Kara is reminded that every rose has its thorns.

Buy Links: https://tulepublishing.com/books/make-it-real/#order (links to all outlets are here)

Links to Me: https://linktr.ee/nan_reinhardt
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/nan-reinhardt
http://www.nanreinhardt.com/
https://www.facebook.com/authornanreinhardt
https://instagram.com/NanReinhardt
https://x.com/NanReinhardt

Excerpt:

The gun went off, the woman screeched, and Joe let out a loud oof, then a groan of pain. He released the gun and lay still, his head, face, neck, and bare chest stinging from the blackberry nettles and his left leg feeling very weird. Scout barked and ran up to him, licking Joe’s cheek and panting dog breath all over him.

“Did you shoot yourself?” The woman was there, too, stepping carefully through the brush until she was about a foot from him, her smooth, tanned legs only inches from his head. “Oh my God!” When he opened one eye and looked up at her, her face, which was vaguely familiar, had turned from angry to ashen and horrified. “Your leg!”

The sting of the blackberry thorns had somehow kept him from noticing what was now agonizing pain in his left shin. He started to turn over, but she stooped down and put a dirty gloved hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t move.”

“My face,” he managed, but it was hard to even speak because of the brambles sticking him everywhere, and shit! Was that poison ivy under his cheek? Inanely, his mind went to a couplet, his cousin Jack had taught him and Cam and Eli years ago—leaves of three, let it be; leaves of five, let it thrive. His glasses were gone, and his eye was blurry, but yep, that was three leaves. No. No. No. “I gotta . . . gotta get up,” he mumbled. “Poison ivy.”

The woman held him in place. “That’s the least of your problems. Your leg is really messed up.”

He lifted his head and shoved up with his arms, bringing his upper body out of the brambles, but dropped right back down again as pain shot through his left leg, leaving him nearly breathless. He attempted to peer over his shoulder, but all he could see was his own butt in the slipping-down sleeping shorts. When he tried to move the leg, pain, more excruciating than before, shot through him.

“Stop moving, will you? Your leg is stuck on a branch sticking out of this log and I can see”—she looked down his body at his lower extremities and her pallor grew even grayer—“oh crap, I can see a bone sticking out of your shin.” She plopped down next to him, heedless of the poisonous plants covering the ground, and pulled her phone out of her shorts pocket. “I’m calling 911.”

“You just sat in poison ivy,” he ground out, lifting his head again and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from adding idiot. He was pretty sure he owed her one. But on the other hand, he also needed some help here.

“It doesn’t bother me. I never get it.” She raked her fingers through her hair as she spoke to emergency services, relating what she believed happened, making him sound like a colossal dumbass as she speculated to the dispatcher that she thought he might have shot himself.

“I didn’t shoot myself,” he said as loudly as he could, given he’d dropped his face back on the ground because even the slightest movement sent red-hot fire through his leg and up into his thigh.

“Yeah, he says he’s not shot, but his leg . . . man, it’s pretty awful. Not bleeding too badly, but there’s a sharp piece of a stick stuck in his calf and his shin’s broken for sure”—she gulped—“I can see the bone. No, no, I won’t touch it. God, no!” She looked down at him. “What’s your address?”

He moaned, his mind a blank.

“It’s on Fourth Street behind Sudbury’s Nursery. Maybe the 2900 block?” she said into her phone.

“It’s 2917,” Joe managed.

“It’s 2917,” she repeated for the dispatcher, paused to listen, then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Joe Walker.” That came out stronger, but the effort exhausted him.

“Oh, crap! Joey? Joey Walker?” She bent her head to peer down at him, and her eyes, which were an unusual golden-brown color, were huge.

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 51 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake. Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com.

Make You Mine by Nan Reinhardt

My writing bestie Nan Reinhardt is here today and I'm always so glad to see her. We work together, talk an unconscionable amount, travel together...and there's wine and food involved ALL the time! She's here to talk about Make You Mine, the newest River's Edge book (think Madison, IN) and about where she gets ideas. Make her welcome!

So often I’m asked, where do you get the ideas for your books. I’ve tried to come up with answers that don’t make me sound as if I need to put away someplace or at the very least like I need to spend a few years in intensive therapy. But there isn’t really any better answer than the truth. So I take a deep breath and blurt it out, “I have these people in my head. They appear to me and want me to tell their stories, so I try to.” Problem is that, sometimes, the people talking to me aren’t the characters in my current work in progress.

That is a dilemma. As I’m writing book 4 in the Walkers of River’s Edge series and doing revisions on book 3 of said series, characters from book 1 of the next series are shoving to the front of the line demanding attention. It’s hard to tell them to slow their roll, so I just pull out the notebook for the next series and jot down thoughts and ideas. I’m not at all sure I won’t get characters, events, timelines, etc., mixed up if I try to write more than story at a time. I’m fairly adept at running two or three editing gigs concurrently, but I don’t think it work for writer Nan. So, I’ll continue with writing one book at a time, and let the people in my head clamor in the background. They’ll get their turn…eventually.

Speaking of the people in my head, two of them had their story released last week. Jack Walker and Maddie Ross’s book, Make You Mine is out now and available at all book retailers. Here’s the blurb—hope it intrigues you!

When his family’s company is on the line, business and pleasure definitely don’t mix, but maybe they should…

Madeline Ross left the city and a career glass ceiling behind, hoping to build a new life as the crew supervisor for Walker Construction in River’s Edge. She’s qualified and experienced, but new CEO Jackson Walker hires someone else. Even as she searches for a different job and builds a life in River’s Edge, the sexy memory of Jack teases.

After a rough year, Jackson Walker’s family business is still struggling. He needs a new construction crew supervisor, and Maddie Ross is perfect, except for the first time in his life, player Jack is suddenly smitten with the curvaceous redhead. He wants her in his bed more than on his payroll.

When his second-rate new hire is a disastrous mistake, Jack humbles himself on Maddie’s doorstep with an offer she can’t refuse. Maddie could be the key to saving his company as long as he hides his heart. But does he have to?

Amazon | B&N Nook | Apple Books | Kobo | Google Play | Tule Bookstore

EXCERPT

Setup: Jack has hired someone else and it didn’t work out so now he’s groveling on Maddie’s doorstep…well… groveling as only Jack Walker can do it.

As she struggled up the stairs with a stack of boxes, Maddie scolded herself. Idiot. You should’ve made another trip. She should’ve, but this was the last of the boxes, and she was tired and damp from the rain that was making the wooden steps up to the apartment above Mac Mackenzie’s garage rather slick. She should’ve known it would start raining while she was toting the last load upstairs.

The box on top leaned precariously and just as she moved her hand to catch it, her foot slipped on the wet step. I’m going down, was her first thought, but then footsteps thumped up the stairs behind her. A hand righted the box at the same time a strong arm wrapped around her waist and caught her.

“Careful now.” That deep voice was familiar, but Maddie was in no position to even turn her head at that point.

“T-thanks,” she managed and got her balance back.

The firm hold remained as a blond head peered over the boxes. “Let me take some of those for you.”

Jackson Walker?

One step below her, Jack lifted the top two boxes, leaving her only one, and when she moved her face toward his voice, his lips were mere inches from hers. His blue eyes smoldered dark navy and, for a moment, time stood still.

Maddie closed her eyes. Time does not stand still. Open your eyes, stupid, and get moving. She opened her eyes, but he was there so close, she felt his minty breath mingling with hers. When she opened them, he was gazing at her as if he wanted to . . . but he held back for a second, waiting, giving her time, it seemed, to say no. When she didn’t . . and then he did.

Clutching the boxes in one arm as if they held nothing more than feathers and moving his hand from her waist to grasp the banister behind her, Jack leaned in and very lightly touched his warm, full lips to hers. Her eyes closed again, automatically, and when he tipped his head and deepened the kiss, every nerve ending in her body went on point. The kiss was a crazy contradiction of gentle and passionate, sweet and sensual.

Bless whoever taught this man to kiss because she could’ve stood there in the rain forever in a lip-lock with Jackson Walker.

But finally, he lifted his lips and a wry smile curved his mouth upward. “So . . . that’s not why I’m here.”

She blinked and her voice came out croaky. “Why are you here?”

“Because I need you.” He shook his head as if to clear it. He hadn’t moved his arm yet, and it pressed against her back, sending tingles up her spine. “We . . . we need you.”

“We who?” Maddie knew the answer, but she asked anyway because she wanted to hear him say the words.

“Walker Construction.”

“Why? I thought you already hired someone.” She wanted him to beg. Maybe that was shallow of her, but he’d turned her away before and now here he was, telling her he needed her. He should grovel, just a little bit. Besides, he’d kissed her, something she felt had nothing whatsoever to do with Walker Construction. The man was an enigma.

Jack tossed his head and rain dripped off his wet hair onto her boxes. “Can we continue this conversation in a drier place, please?”

She stared at him, debating the wisdom of letting him into her apartment. Into her life, for that matter. However, she needed a job, and it seemed he was about to offer her one. But there was that kiss, that incredible, unexpected kiss . . . Her belly flipped at the thought. What was she supposed to do about that?

With a short jerk of her chin toward the door above them, she started up the stairs. “Come on, then.”

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake. Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com, stop by her website, or follow her on social media: Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

And Now It’s Christmas Nan Reinhardt

Carriage at Yuletide

Christmas has started out very low-key this year. Some years, it’s like that, isn’t it? We aren’t shopping much because as a family, we’ve chosen to donate our gift money to folks in the world in crisis, so gifts are small remembrances. I haven’t wrapped anything yet. I’m just now starting my baking for the neighbors, Son and Grandboy are sick, and life has been so rushed and overwhelming as I’ve been finishing a book, doing promotion, and starting the new book in the Walkers of River’s Edge series. I’ve barely realized it’s almost Christmas.

But a few nights ago, we went to Yuletide…

Yuletide with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra is how Husband and I know Christmas is truly here--that sounds kinda nutty, but the ISO is our benchmark for beginning the holiday season. That celebration with singing, dancing, and lots of holiday fun sets us up. We all have our favorite part of the traditional show. Grandboy and Poppy love the reindeer puppets, I love the dancing Santas, Son is always a little misty at the singing of “Oh, Holy Night,” and DIL relishes knowing some of the folks in the show personally from her theater days in Indy.

 

We always make sure to have a beverage and a Christmas cookie at intermission. Mine is generally a glass of wine or a Baileys and coffee while Son enjoys trying a new kind of martini. Grandboy loves the huge tree in the middle of the theater lobby and Husband and I both are crazy about the old restored Circle Theater, which we both remember from our childhoods. Jack Everly is a charming maestro, and Yuletide always has great guest hosts like Sandy Patti, Frankie Moreno, Ben Crawford, and other Broadway and TV stars.

 

This year we were a different crew—with Son and Grandboy both sick, DIL, Husband, and I planned to attend together, but what to do about the extra tickets? On a whim, we checked with our friends Ray and Bessie, and lo and behold, they were excited to join us. So they did. All in all, it was a delightful evening with the Yuletide concert, a carriage ride around the city, and hot chocolate at a little tea shop on the Circle. 

Christmas is finally here. Yuletide is what makes it happen and no matter what else is going on in our lives, once we sit in that theater and participate in the annual celebration, we are in the spirit. This weekend, we bake and next week, we wrap gifts and gather what we need for our holiday celebrations. 

Happy holidays, everyone. May you know joy and peace this holiday season. And fun—have fun! Eat the cookies and fudge, drink the eggnog, toast with champagne, even taste the fruitcake if you happen to end up with one. Play games, watch all the old Christmas movies. Most of all, enjoy your family and friends because now, it’s truly Christmas. 

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake.

Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tule Publishing | BookBub | Goodreads | linktree

Nan Reinhardt

Christmas in River's Edge by Nan Reinhardt

I can’t imagine doing a book release without my bestie, Liz. She’s my support, my best critic, my cheerleader, and my kindred spirit, so I’m delighted to spend a moment or two here at the Window Over the Sink to tell you about Christmas in River’s Edge—book 3 in the Weaver Sisters trilogy.

When Tule asked me if I could include a Christmas story in the Weaver Sisters trilogy, I wanted to make sure it included a child, so of course, Jenny’s story became the holiday romance. Jenny’s eight-year-old son Luke steals the show in this book, and he comes from my own Grandboy who is eleven now and continues to steal my heart every time I see him. Luke is small, big-hearted, charming, full of curiosity, and not terribly athletic, but gifted in other ways. Luke’s dad, Tuff, is an alcoholic who’s created a lot of problems for Jenny and Luke, but throughout the story, there is no question how much he loves his son. It was important to me—perhaps because I came from a divorced home and had an absent father—that no matter what Tuff’s personal issues were, Luke always knew his Dad loved him without reservation.

Jenny worries about bringing another man into their lives, but archeologist and professor, Gabe Dawson is exactly what she and Luke need. He is warm and kind and fun, and he respects the boundaries Jenny must set because she is a single mom with an ex-husband very much in the picture. Gabe’s relationship with Luke is exactly right—he doesn’t want to take Tuff’s place, but he discovers he can love Luke like a son and be there for him and Jenny without interfering in the father/son relationship that Luke and Tuff share. I think that’s a hard thing, as all family dynamics are, but Gabe navigates it all with dignity, which is why he one of my very favorite characters in River’s Edge.

Is there redemption for Tuff? Maybe…that remains to be seen. But Jenny, Luke, and Gabe become a family, and isn’t family what we celebrate at the holidays? I hope you enjoy coming home for Christmas in River’s Edge.

❄❄❄❄ Blurb ❄❄❄❄

You can go home again…

After a painful divorce from her high school sweetheart, triplet Jenny Weaver returns to River’s Edge with her young son. While happy to be reunited with her sisters and working at the family’s marina, she has no intention of jumping into the dating pool, especially going into the holidays. Then Gabe Dawson, once a shy nerd who tutored her in history classes, arrives home transformed into a handsome hunk who makes her pulse race.

Archeologist and history professor Gabe Dawson thought he’d long ago outgrown his teen crush on Jenny. Back in town for a few months to help his mom post surgery, he can’t resist reaching out to Jenny. She’s as beautiful, warm, and funny as he remembered and soon Gabe is reconsidering his future.

Gabe is determined to seize this second chance, but can he convince a very wary Jenny that a globe-trotter is ready to come home for good this Christmas?

Buy links:

https://amzn.to/3oNOTzT

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/christmas-in-rivers-edge-nan-reinhardt/1143614722

https://books.apple.com/us/book/christmas-in-rivers-edge/id6450019800?itsct=books_box_link&itscg=30200&ls=1

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/christmas-in-river-s-edge

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Nan_Reinhardt_Christmas_in_River_s_Edge?id=9YjYEAAAQBAJ&hl=en_US&gl=US

❄❄❄❄ Bio, Social Links for Author Nan Reinhardt ❄❄❄❄

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake.

Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com

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Bringing the Magic by Nan Reinhardt

The Weaver Sisters turned up in Max Lange’s book, Falling for the Doctor, when they brought Max’s love Lauren out to the showboat so they could have their reunion, and I was immediately intrigued with the idea of identical triplets. It’s funny how character surprise us, first by appearing in our heads, then by going off on their own to tell their stories. Jazz’s story, Home to River’s Edge, book 1 in the Weaver Sister series was pretty much in my head when I sat down to write it, although it took some twists and turns I wasn’t expecting.

Meet Me in River’s Edge, Jo Weaver’s story, was different. First of all, I knew my premise—a female boat mechanic who had no use for the rich, entitled “river rats” who cruised the Ohio River in their expensive yachts all summer long suddenly falls in love with one of them. I also knew that Alex, the hero and heir to a vast hotel fortune, had to bring his own special magic to win Jo over.

Adding a touch of magic to a contemporary romance was a tricky business for me because I’m not a paranormal writer, but I knew that Jo and Alex’s romance would get a little push from a very unusual and other-worldly source—Alex’s dead twin sister, Arianna. She’s not a ghost in the book, but rather a presence that Alex feels driving him toward Jo, a woman who is so not his type. The scientist in him might ordinarily have eschewed the feeling that his sister’s spirit was close, but Alex was used to feeling Ari near. He knows Jo is the one and it only takes a little nudge from the other side to convince him to pursue her. He wins Jo’s heart, but relinquishes it when he realizes that he may not be able to give her a forever. They are both devastated by his decision to separate himself from Jo, but Ari is there, pushing him toward his happily-ever-after.

The magic was fun, I loved creating subtle, not creepy, ways to bring Ari into Jo and Alex’s story. I hope you enjoy Meet Me in River’s Edge and that you can find the magic, too! Welcome back to River’s Edge, Indiana!

Meet Me in River’s Edge, book 2 in the Weaver Sisters trilogy

He ticks every one of her “never again” boxes…

Jo Weaver loves her job as a boat mechanic for her family’s marina in River’s Edge, Indiana. But when she’s pulled away from her high school reunion with her sisters to fix a stranded yacht, she can’t restrain her irritation. Jo doesn’t like wealthy men who think they can have whatever they want, and she has no intention of falling for rich and charming again.

Born into the international Briggs Hotels empire, Alex Briggs has never felt comfortable with his life of privilege. Abandoning his family’s business to pursue medical research, he’s far more at home in his lab. When the yacht he restored himself breaks down on the way to an important conference, Alex begrudgingly goes in search of a boat mechanic and falls, literally, into Jo Weaver’s arms. The fireworks he feels are impossible to ignore.

Jo does her best to keep Alex in the business zone, but he keeps slipping into something more. Can she trust her fragile heart, especially when Alex and his life-altering research are so far from River’s Edge?

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Excerpt - The Girl Mechanic

“But my dinghy’s tied up at the showboat landing.” His tone wasn’t whiny, not at all, although the slight undercurrent of anxiety that he’d clearly been trying to stave off since he’d fallen into the party at the winery was starting to show.

Jo’s sympathy grew slightly since his concern seemed to be for other boaters and not strictly himself, and he was a customer—a potential customer—so she gave him a smile. “Chill. It’s safe there, and I’ll take you to get it once we figure out what’s going on.” She pulled into the gravel drive and then stopped the truck in the parking lot by the marina shop.

Alex’s brow furrowed as she opened her door. “Are you going to call the mechanic to come out with us?”

She held back the retort that immediately rose to her lips and instead merely replied, “The mechanic is already here.” He had no way of knowing, after all.

Alex hopped out of the truck. “I don’t see any other cars and the place is dark.”

“I’m the mechanic, Mr. Briggs.” Jo slammed her door harder than was probably necessary, but it eased her urge to smack him.

His jaw dropped. “You?”

She hit the remote locks on the truck and strode to the service door, punching in the key code and tapping the light switch before giving him a cool stare. “I promise it’ll be more believable once I get into my coveralls and hat and collect some tools.” She turned, deliberately not holding the door open for him.

Alex had to rush to catch it before it shut in his face, which gave her a smidgen of satisfaction. “Look, I’m sorry. I got no problem with a girl mechanic. I’m a millennial—we’re open to anything.”

Jo stopped in the middle of the shop and spun around, hands on her hips. This guy was something else. “A girl mechanic? Did you seriously just say you had no problem with a girl mechanic?”

Defensively, he raised both hands, managing to look innocent as a lamb and rocket-hot all at the same time. Damn him. “Don’t shoot me. I’ve never met a woman boat mechanic before. It’s . . . unexpected, that’s all.” Somehow, his open expression reminded her of a golden retriever, all eager and wide-eyed and trying desperately to please, so he could get what he wanted.

She shook her head.

Don’t try to disarm me, buddy. I’m immune to river rat charm.

“Well, that’s who you’ve got tonight.” She held up her hand. “Wait here. I’ll go throw on my coveralls and grab some tools.”

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake.

Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com

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New Release from the Writer and the Editor @NanReinhardt

I'm so happy to have dear friend, travel partner, copy editor extraordinaire, and Tule Publishing author on the Window today. She has a new book out--as of yesterday!--which she wants us to know about, and she's also talking about her two jobs. 

Writer as Editor… Or Is It Editor as Writer?

I am a writer—an author. I’m also an editor. If you think those two things seem like a perfectly reasonable pairing, you’d be right on some levels and wrong on others.

Writer Nan and Editor Nan generally get along okay. We mostly stay out of each other’s way when we are supposed to. For example, Writer Nan doesn’t try to rewrite clients’ books as she copy edits, she merely copy edits, even if the urge to rewrite is sometimes strong. Rewriting is not Editor Nan’s job—ever. If the urge gets too strong, Writer Nan might disguise herself as Editor Nan and leave a comment in the manuscript, Something to the effect of “Maybe try…” with a suggestion for a better way to say whatever is clanging for her. Then it’s the author’s call if they want to rewrite.

Editor Nan (from now on, let’s refer to her as EN), on the other hand, is not nearly so polite or circumspect. She charges into Writer Nan’s territory at the drop of the proverbial hat, stopping Writer Nan (whom we’ll call WN from here out) in the middle of sentence if she feels the need and rushes in to fix whatever she thinks isn’t working. Most of the time, WN can keep EN at bay, but she does sometimes get in the way and makes writing much harder than it needs to be.

Here’s the thing that EN just doesn’t get—WN is on a deadline and the time for editing one’s own work is not while one is in the actual process of writing. Editing comes after the first draft is done, and unless a plot point changes backstory dramatically, most anything can be fixed later. WN can even stick a little comment into the manuscript—just a quick CHANGE MADDIE’S HAIR COLOR or RETHINK JACK’S DECISION HERE. Easy peasy, right? EN doesn’t need to be involved at all. But she insists on taking WN all the way back to wherever a switch-up needs to be made and together, they make it and then EN allows WN to move on with the story.

In writing her last few books, WN has been pretty much trying to ignore EN, even when she’s shouting at the top of her editorial lungs. WN has been picking up from where she left off the day before and continuing her writing. Not going back to reread what she’s already written, but rather simply taking up the story and moving it along. It hasn’t been easy, but it has worked pretty well for the storytelling, and WN is hoping she can continue to tell the first draft of her stories without any interference from EN. We shall see…

Thanks for spending time with me today, and thanks to Liz for having me here at the Window. I’ve got a little giveaway package—a backlist book, a handmade bracelet, a River’s Edge map notebook, and some other swag—for one lucky commenter. I had a little hard time coming up with a question for you because not too many of you will suffer my EN vs WN dilemma, so let’s just have some fun. For a chance at this fabulous (cough, cough) giveaway: What was your favorite book when you were kid?

 Home to River’s Edge, book 1 in the Weaver Sisters trilogy
by Nan Reinhardt

 She’s determined to start a new chapter, so why is she still drawn to a man from her past?

When Jasmine Weaver, the chief of staff to a powerful D.C. congresswoman, chose integrity, she didn’t anticipate ringing in the New Year disgraced, unemployed, and sleeping in her childhood bedroom. Now back in River’s Edge, Indiana, identical triplet Jazz has her sisters’ support while she plans her next steps. She agrees to lead the committee for their high school's fifteenth reunion, never dreaming that her co-chair is the man who broke her teenage heart.

As the new CEO of Walker Construction, Elias Walker has taken the family business to new levels of success. He’s buried himself in work to ease the grief of losing his fiancé several years earlier and wants nothing more than to be a carpenter again. He grudgingly agrees to co-chair the high school’s reunion committee, but when Jazz Weaver blows into town, suddenly anything seems possible.

These high school sweethearts have lived half their lives apart. Can they reinvent themselves back in the town where it all began?

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Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. She’s a mom to beloved Son and DIL, and a grandmother to darling Grandboy. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of nearly 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake.

Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com

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On Being Famous by Liz Flaherty

Photo by Brenda's Au Courant Images

My friend Nan Reinhardt and I went to Clifty Falls State Park this week for a writing retreat. We take off a couple of times a year, staying gone for four or five days, writing like madwomen while being uninterrupted by things like making beds, cooking, doing laundry, or putting anything away. We come home both exhausted and enlivened by the time away. We've finished books, started books, and made our way out of the morass the middles of books (for me) often are.

On this trip, Nan had a library talk and a book-signing--her River's Edge series is based on Madison, the beautiful river town only a few miles from the park. The events were fun, as they always are. We left cards and bookmarks with people we talked to.

Before we left to come home this morning, we left a couple of signed books with someone who had been particularly kind to us both. She was so excited by the books, and thanked us over and over. She had, she said, never met famous authors.

"Only in our own minds," we said, laughing. But it made us both feel good. We hope she reads our books and likes them and tells everyone she knows, but mostly we're grateful for her kindness and flattered by the compliment. While we learn not to flinch at snide remarks about the romance genre or at the words "mommy porn" or "bodice-rippers," we don't learn to like them.

I told Duane about it tonight. He chuckled about the "famous" part and was glad for the kindness we received on our trip.

Other than enjoying going back over the memories of this week and the fact that I'm really tired, I didn't have a good reason for writing this. Since I've done it, let me encourage you to attend book-signings and author talks even if you don't want to buy books, to go out and listen to local musicians, and visit and purchase from local galleries. Most of us aren't famous and never will be, but when we are acknowledged and encouraged by those in our own communities, that's all the recognition we need.

Thank you.

Have a great week. Be nice to somebody.

The Sweater by Liz Flaherty

2013 or so - almost new!

Twenty-plus years ago, Duane was given a gift certificate from Rock Hollow by people at work. He was thrilled because they thought of him and because he loved Rock Hollow. I'm sure he played golf with some of the gift certificate, but he also bought the Sweater. While I am deathly sick of looking at and washing the Sweater, even I must admit it deserves a capital letter at its beginning.  

It's light gray, no collar, and has three buttons at the neck and the Rock Hollow insignia where a breast pocket would be if it had one. It's loose enough to wear over a shirt, but perfectly comfortable without one, too. 

A few years ago, I felt a little bit of hopeful glee when a small hole wore though the front of the Sweater. Maybe we could give it a Christian burial after all. I don't know of any scripture exactly right for threadbare Sweaters, but...

"What do you think?" said Duane. "Think you could patch it?"

So much for burial. "Sure," I said. "Maybe."

You could barely see the mended place and he was happy with it. The Sweater went on. And on. I washed it more often than I wash sheets. Sometimes its owner puts it on before it ever makes it to a hanger--it's so nice and warm straight from the dryer. 

No surprise that when Duane went to the hospital for back surgery last week, he wore the Sweater because it would be comfortable for going home. Before he put it back on, we squinted at the patched place (squinting comes with age, in case you weren't aware of it), and sure enough, the patch has worn through, as well as another hole close to it. If the Sweater were a shower curtain, the bathroom floor would be soaked.

I didn't even think about a funeral. How could I possibly think of getting rid of a Sweater that was just reaching its sweet spot in life? Its owner had stitches in his back because of a lifetime of wear and I hadn't even considered getting rid of him. All right, I talked about it, but not seriously.

"I can fix that," I said. 

The Sweater will live on. 

Nan Reinhardt

Nan Reinhardt dresses really well. I'm always kind of happy when she hands down something to me that she doesn't wear anymore because I know I'm going to like it. 

But then there's her Sweater. I asked her if it had a story and she said, "I put it on over my jammies and go to work in my office every morning." Nan and I travel together sometimes on writing retreats and I've seen her pajamas--I'll bet they cringe every time she puts that sweater on. It probably looked nice when it was newer, before it had holes in it, but I'm not placing any bets. 

Jim Reinhardt

Her husband, whom she calls Husband in print, also has a Sweater. He's had it for...oh, a long time. It's referred to in the family as his Mr. Rogers sweater. It was with...er...Husband every day in his office until he retired in 2014. Now it's in his home office. Except for when he's wearing it. 

The last Sweater is mine. Tahne, my daughter-in-law, bought it for me from a store near Biltmore in North Carolina. It's deliciously soft and seems to fit me no matter what size I am. It was expensive, and I told Tahne I was going to save it to wear when I was dressing up. 

My Sweater--not me.

She said No. She wanted me to wear it to be warm and comfortable in while I was working or whenever I needed it. I didn't argue. It does, after all, have pockets and is the perfect length and I roll the sleeves up to wherever I want them to be on any certain day. And every time I wear it, it's like being hugged by someone I love. 

I love sweaters. I have a blue-green one with sparkles that gives me some shine on a day when I need it. When I was in the fourth grade, teacher and I had the same royal blue cardigan, I was so impressed and felt so grown up! I doubt Mrs. Kotterman was all that excited about it, but I certainly was. 

I bought a burnt orange one on clearance once and wore it with everything. Although I admit burnt orange isn't much of a neutral, it still works for me. It's a warm color. Forty-some years later, my raincoat is that color. So is a down jacket I just bought on clearance. It was the only color available in my size. I think that was a message.  

When my grandmother died, we found a brown cardigan she'd never worn, and I took it home with me and wore it until there was little left of it. That's what Grandma did--she looked after us. 

This is one of those interactive blog posts. Tell us about your Sweater. Your favorite or your least favorite or one that wakes a memory. 

Stay warm. Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.