Another hump day, more snippets because as y’all are well aware by now, Wednesday means #1lineWed on Twitter. Today doesn’t have a theme, pulling the lines from page 1, 11, and/or 111. I’m at almost 33K words and working steadily on Red Dirt Royalty #3, with a working title of FOR THE LOVE OF A COWGIRL. That is, of course, subject to change once HQ gets it. 😀
So, from Page 1, in fact, it’s the opening paragraph…
Clayton Barron owned the room—held the emotions, the very hearts and minds of his audience in the palm of his hand. He controlled them with the power of his voice and the words he uttered with such complete conviction. He was in charge, just the way he preferred it. He’d been born, bred, and raised to be a U.S. Senator. Now into his second term, he stood at the podium of the convention of the Western States Landowners Association in Phoenix, Arizona and the words rolled off his tongue, his voice infused with sincerity.
And from Page 11, after an incident with some protesters at Clay’s speech, wherein Georgie got separated from the party and ended up hurt.
He made an effort to soften his voice. “This isn’t your fault. I’m angry at them. I’m angry because this happened to you. I am not angry at you, Georgie.” He smoothed his thumb in small circles against the back of her hand. “We’re headed to the hotel so you can get cleaned up. Don’t…just don’t worry.”
Her bottom lip quivered and she closed her eyes again. Clay felt like a bully but anger still roiled in his gut, the feeling every bit as sharp and bitter as a gulp of vinegar. “I’m sorry, Georgie. This shouldn’t have happened to you.” He cut his eyes to Hunter. The other man’s expression was remote but for the regret and anger in his eyes.
And finally, from page 111 because I’m actually past that point now! *does a virtual cartwheel* Georgie was a last minute “fill in” as an escort for a state dinner at the White House. The limo has just dropped them off at his Georgetown townhouse. FYI, Georgie doesn’t wear heels–except to state dinners with the president. LOL And yes, it’s more an excerpt than a snippet but I love this scene. And since this is a rudimentary first draft, it’ll change majorly before it ever goes to print and y’all will have forgotten you’ve even read it by then. 😉
“Come inside for a night cap.” He didn’t ask, but it wasn’t quite an order either.
Georgie offered him a lopsided smile and limped beside him. He chuckled—not at her discomfort but at the twists and turns their conversation had taken. How did they get from her feet hurting to his position in the senate? He glanced back over his shoulder and dismissed Hunt with a short nod. Georgie would be staying the night.
Inside, he settled her on the couch—a piece of furniture chosen for comfort far more than design. Deep, long, and covered in aged “bomber-jacket” leather, a man could nap on the thing during a football game or could sit and read countless bills, feet propped on the overstuffed ottoman.
“Wine?”
“I’d prefer decaf coffee. Or a Diet Coke?”
“I can handle that.” He checked the fridge. No Cokes. Time for plan B. Microwaves heated water, right? And somewhere in the pantry was a jar of coffee. Hopefully. Rummaging, he got lucky—a box of Starbucks single-serve tube things. Vanilla latte flavor. Georgie must have left them over here after one of their marathon strategy sessions. He emptied one in a coffee mug, added water and stuck it in the microwave for four minutes.
While he waited, he pulled on his black tie, unraveling the bow, and popped the first two buttons on the starched white shirt. The microwave dinged and the water was boiling when he reached in. Maybe four minutes was a little long. He found a bigger mug, poured the boiling water in and added a splash of cold water from the tap. He stopped dead. Did Georgie use cream or sugar? Did vanilla latte need extra? He had milk, if it wasn’t sour. And sugar, if he could find the sugar bowl.
“Ah, Georgie? I fixed one of your Starbucks vanilla latte things. Do you need milk or sugar?”
“Thanks, but no. It’s good just the way it is, Clay.”
Her voice wafted in from the living room and he breathed in relief but made a note to restock his fridge and pantry. He carried the mug out and handed it to her with a caution. “It’s hot.”
Writers, do you have something to share from pages 1, 11, or 111? Readers? How about you? Grab the book sitting next to you and share a line, along with the book title and author! 😀
Why does this keep happening?!?!? MONDAY!!!!
Silver James 