Five Facts about Jake Thompson, hero of my
contemporary Christmas novella The Christmas Phoenix.
1. Ice sculptor Jake Thompson is modeled after Randy Finch, star of the Food Network show Ice Brigade.
2. He’s a wounded veteran who suffers
from PTSD.
3. He’s a loving but absent-minded brother
who loves his sister Donna.
4. He’s a great cook.
5. He hates to ask for help.
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com//dp/B006DTOCRO/
Jess
Tate is trying to make a life for herself and her teenage son after her
husband's sudden death.
Running the family’s struggling landscape business in Northern Michigan has been hard work, and her son hasn’t been much help. She’s managed to get by, learning to run the big equipment herself, but between snowplowing early in the mornings and working her daytime job in town, she often wonders if there will ever be more to life than endless work.
Talented
ice sculptor Jake Thompson had fame and fortune in St. Louis, but he’s been
forced to start over after a disastrous relationship left him embittered and
deeply in debt. His sister’s remote vacation home in Northern Michigan is the
ideal retreat to lick his wounds and rebuild his career in peace and
quiet—except a certain feisty redhead and her teenage son have a penchant for
disturbing his solitude.
In
the snowy winter, Jake and Jess unexpectedly find their lives and attitudes
begin to change. Will family involvements and ghosts from the past keep them
apart, or are they strong enough to risk rising from the ashes of their lives
like the mythical phoenix?
Excerpt
She
shifted gear and stepped hard on the accelerator. The truck shot several feet
further up the drive then her wheels spun again. Groaning, she repeated the
process until she reached the top of the hill. She was within a few feet of the
garage when she realized someone stood in front of her truck, waving his arms.
She stood on the brake, stopping inches short of the man. What idiot would
stand in front of a moving vehicle? He could have been hit!
The
man came around her truck to the window. She rolled it down, wondering if he needed
help. He walked with a limp, she noticed, and seemed quite agitated. Maybe he
was hurt.
“What
in Sam Hill are you doing?” he yelled.
She
blinked. “I’m plowing your drive. Didn’t you hire me to do it?”
“No!
I can plow my own drive, if I need it. But I can’t work with all this noise,
and with you shaking the ice in my workshop.”
Shaking
the ice? What on earth is he talking about? “Aren’t you Mr. Hanks? Isn’t this 1285 Fairview Lane?”
“No!
That’s old Ben, next door. Now, get off my property before I get my shotgun and
blow out your tires.”
Without
a word, she closed her window. She backed up, turned the truck around and made
her way back to the road. No need to tell her twice. What a grouchy, ungrateful
man, she thought.
With
his shaggy beard and piercing dark eyes, he’d resembled a wild mountaineer as
he’d waved his arms like a madman. Too bad he’d let her plow that long drive
before telling her it was the wrong address. She should send him a bill.
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