Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Day 8 - St. Anne's Day Soiree VIP Book Launch

Hello Anne Fans!


I guess I could say Happy St. Anne's Day Eve, as the Feast of St. Anne is tomorrow, and that is the day when the novel opens.   To get you into the mood for the big day tomorrow, I thought I'd post the scene in the novel where Anne is introduced to her new patient, Peg McMaster, who begins scheming to bring Anne and her playboy son together:


“It’s Anne. Anne Lyons,” she said softly as she moved closer to the old woman, gently touching her spindly arm. “I’m going to help you to get back on your feet.” 

Mrs. McMaster’s face brightened and her skin, which had been pale while sleeping, now pinked. “What day is it?” Her lips were dry and stuck to her teeth as she spoke. Pushing with her hands and elbows, she struggled to sit up. 

“It’s Friday,” Mac said as he held her shoulder to the mattress. “Hold still, let me raise the bed.” 

Anne noticed that he was not wearing a wedding ring. 

Mrs. McMaster licked her lips as the head of the bed slowly rose. “No, I mean, what’s the date?”

“July 26,” Anne said. “Would you like some water, Mrs. McMaster?” 

“Yes, Honey.” 

Anne moved to the other side of the bed and grabbed the pitcher from the nightstand. She shook it. “Is this fresh?” 

“Yes,” Mac said. “Went down to the banks of the Allegheny River this morning and filled it up myself.” 

Mrs. McMaster waved a hand at her son as she scrutinized Anne. “He’s a wise guy. Ignore him. Did you say your name was Anne?” 

“Yes, Anne Lyons.” 

“Irish?” 

Anne poured her some water and helped her to drink. “Nearly all, except for one German grandparent.” 

“That explains the hard-headedness,” Mac muttered. 

Anne shot him a withering look across the bed. 

Mrs. McMaster smacked her lips and handed the glass back to Anne. “You’re such a pretty little thing with that red hair. I knew you had to be Irish.” She looked up at her son. “Isn’t she pretty?” 

He patted his mother’s hand. “I’ve got eyes, Peg.” 

Anne felt the heat begin in her chest, rise up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. This was going to be a challenge working here. 

“Where are my glasses?” Mrs. McMaster asked. 

Anne laughed. “You might not think I’m that pretty after you put them on.” 

“She’ll think you’re doubly so.” Mac winked. 

 Anne felt her heart speed up. As he located the trifocals on the nightstand and held them up to the light to check if they needed to be cleaned, Anne took the opportunity to study him more closely. She judged him to be six feet tall. He had the perfect bone structure of a model—well-formed nose, firm jaw—but the small scar on his chin gave his face enough ruggedness to keep him from appearing pretty. His green golf shirt and pleated khakis hugged a toned body. The brighter light of his mother’s room, made the contrast of his dark hair and shocking blue eyes more distinct. And more handsome. Why did he have to be such a jerk?

Out of the corner of his eye, Mac caught her staring at him and smiled. Anne quickly looked back at her patient.

“Do you believe it?” Mrs. McMaster said, her eyes looking three times their size behind the thick lenses. “What luck! I’m feeling better already.” 

“Why’s that?” Mac asked. “Because you’re back home with me?” 

Mrs. McMaster rolled her eyes. “July 26—it’s the feast of St. Anne.” She folded her hands contentedly. “They send me a beautiful Irish nurse named Anne on St. Anne’s feast day. It’s a sign.” 

Mac rolled his eyes. “Be forewarned. My mother has a saint for every day, every circumstance, and every occasion.” 

Anne wondered if Mrs. McMaster had a saint who could change his personality. Then she remembered there already was one—St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes. 

“Don’t laugh.” The old woman glared up at her son. “When I was a young girl, I’d say the prayer, ‘Dear St. Anne, get me a man as fast as you can.’ The nuns at school taught us that so we’d get dates for the dances. It worked. St. Anne found me my Martin.” 

“Wasn’t St. Anne demoted by the Pope, like St. Christopher?” Mac said. 

“You’re going to roast in hell,” his mother warned. 

***

I hope you enjoyed that excerpt and are now in the mood to party tomorrow!  See you blog side on ST. ANNE'S DAY!!!


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