Home to Walnut Ridge

Cover design by OBT Graphix

Front cover photo: ©
NadyaPhoto│iStockphoto.com

Front cover barn photo: used with
permission

from David Arms, of the

David Arms Art Gallery,

Leipers Fork, TN

Teacup photo: public domain

This novel is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or
the publisher.

Home to Walnut Ridge │ Book Three of the
Teacup Novellas

Copyright © 2013 by Diane Moody

Published by
OBT Bookz Publishing at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

To Sharon Jacob

For your amazing gifts
of

inspiration and
restoration;

For always seeing the
potential beauty

in old furniture (and
people too);

For your contagious
passion for life,

and your sweet, gentle
spirit . . .

How blessed I am to be your
friend.

On the third day, He will
restore us

that we may live in His
presence.

Hosea 6:2b

If you do a good job for
others,

you heal yourself at the
same time,

because a dose of joy is a
spiritual cure
.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Prologue

It’s Monday morning and I desperately
need to get to work. A few minutes ago, I made a fresh pot of Earl
Grey and poured it into a unique and intriguing teacup. It’s a part
of the collection of teacups I inherited recently from my beloved
Aunt Lucille. And just like when I wrote my two previous novellas
inspired by these family heirlooms, I can already feel her smiling
down on me as I begin this newest tale.

So why am I still staring at a blank
page on my laptop screen? Why am I having so much trouble staying
focused this morning? Well, if you must know, I’ll tell
you.

Last night, at long last,
I went out to dinner with Mark Christopher, my hunky UPS guy. And
we had the most
wonderful
time.

Actually, it was what
you’d call a rain-check date after a false start on Saturday night
when I
completely
forgot about our double date with my brother and his
girlfriend until the last possible minute; at which point I busted
tail to get myself ready just in the nick of time, only to have
Mark show up in his company browns telling me he had a work
emergency and needed a rain check . . .

Wait. I think that last
paragraph might just qualify as the second longest run-on sentence
on earth. The first, of course, penned by Victor Hugo on numerous
pages in his masterpiece,
Les
Miserables.
I once tried to read the
unabridged version, but finally gave up after dear Victor took an
entire page for one sentence. One sentence! Now, I love Jean
Valjean as much as the next guy, but Victor‌—‌a little brevity is
not a bad thing now and then. Just sayin’.

But I digress.

Bottom line, I should be in the deep
end of my next novella by now, but instead I’m chasing rabbits
here, there, and everywhere while suffering from a severe case of
what I shall call the Monday Morning Mushbrain. And if I’m honest,
this sheer lack of discipline all points back to last night’s date
with Mark. So why not cut to the chase and just blame it on
him?

I really can’t remember the last time
I went out on a bona fide date. My brother Chad says the characters
in my books have more of a life than I do. And I think that’s the
problem. I get lost in all these colorful stories, and I’m consumed
with their dramas. I get weak-kneed telling their sweet love
stories and describing their breathtaking romances.

Then some Joe the Loser wants to take
me out for gas station corn dogs and call it a date? No, thank you.
Give me fiction. I’m much more comfortable in the LaLa Land of
storytelling.

Still, I admit I was
rather enchanted when I heard Mark wanted to go out with me. I knew
he was a nice guy, and I’d always enjoyed his delivery visits. But
frankly, since I work at home and never bother with the whole hair
and make-up thing before “going to the office” each day, he always
catches me
beauty-challenged,
shall we say. Not exactly a guy-magnet, if you
know what I mean. On the other hand, his adorable dimples and
tanned muscular calves have always caught my eye. And did I mention
he has a great laugh?

Yes, but where was I? Oh, yes. The
date.

Can I just say that Mark is quite
possibly the nicest guy I’ve ever met? That sounds so clichéd, but
I’m pretty sure they broke the mold with this one. How do I know?
As an author, I keep an ongoing list of character traits and
descriptions in a little notebook I keep stashed in my purse. Let’s
just say I had to sit on my hands so as not to write down all the
thoughtful things he said, the sound of his easy laughter, and his
subtle kindnesses. Like when I came to the door wearing the exact
same dress and shawl as the night before when he’d rain-checked me.
I felt awkward about it, but right away, he smiled.

“
Wow, Lucy, you
look
amazing
. Is
it okay if I tell you I was really hoping you’d wear that little
black dress again?”

“
You had me at
wow,
big
guy.”

Okay, no. I didn’t say that.
Honest.

But see what I mean? And I think what
I enjoyed most about Mark was his positive outlook on life. Not in
a fake cheesy kind of way (think four-for-a-dollar powdered mac ‘n
cheese mix). It’s just who he is. He looks for the best in people
and situations. It made me realize how rare that is these days.
Which made me feel pretty darn lucky to have those baby blues
looking my way last night.

After dinner, we walked to a little
pub down the street. He casually took my hand then spoke my love
language‌—‌ “Best bread pudding on the planet,” he said. “Lucy, it
will rock your world.”

He was right. We shared a serving big
enough for four NFL linebackers.

“
I think I just found my
new office,” I said. “I could set up shop right here in this booth
with my trusty laptop, downing four or five of these decadent bad
boys every day. Would you swing by with your forklift to pick me up
after work?”

And there was that laugh again. I
decided then and there that Mark’s unrestrained laughter was one of
the happiest, most contagious sounds I’d ever heard. And that’s
why, without so much as a thought, I leaned over and kissed
him.

I have
no
idea what came over me. And for
the record, I’ve never done anything like that before. Ever! It
just seemed so perfect, so right. And guess what he said, after our
perfect, first kiss?

“
Whoa . . .
thanks, Lucy.”

Be still, my heart.

Which is why I’m not worth squat
today. Which is why I can’t stop smiling and looking forward to
seeing him again. Which is why I’m addicted to Amazon’s two-day
free delivery . . . by way of UPS.

But enough with the excuses. Time to
work. No, really.

And as much as I’ve procrastinated
this time, I’m really looking forward to writing this next novella.
There’s a “story within the story” this time around and that always
makes it fun. A little history, a little mystery, a little
romance . . . throw in a Harley or two, and I’m
ready to roll.

So to speak.

Chapter 1

With a deep cleansing
breath, Tracey Collins closed her eyes. The decision had come
quickly once she’d finally been honest with herself. She’d known
all along this was what she needed to do.
How naive I’ve been,
she
thought
. How easily I’ve been fooled,
thinking I could ignore the constant warning bells sounding off in
my head. Thinking I could withstand the subtle overtures day after
day.

Gently shaking her head to banish the
thoughts, she opened her eyes and placed her hands on her laptop
keyboard. And as she did, Tracey’s mind flashed back to the
reception she’d attended last night at the White House. Standing at
the beverage bar, she’d just stirred cream into her coffee when he
approached her, his voice hushed.