What inspired
you to write A Semi-Precious Christmas?
A few years ago, the jewelry store right up the road from my
husband and I was robbed. The saleswoman we know best (yes, my husband is a
sweetheart!) was threatened by the criminal. When she was relating the story of
how the thug had pointed a gun at her face—half scaring her to death—I could
see the residual fear in her eyes and feel her trembling angst down to my tippy
toes. I got to thinking how I would feel and
react if I were in the same situation. I put myself in my friend’s shoes and
tried to relive the moment. And thus, a story was born!
A Semi-Sweet Precious Christmas Blurb
On
a bright, crisp December morning, jewelry store manager, Peridot Keaton-Jones,
arrives at work expecting to find her beloved uncle Marty. Instead, she’s
greeted by the muzzle of a gun pressed to her temple. When thugs assault her,
threaten her life, and steal thousands of dollars worth of jewelry, Peri can
only pray her uncle is late to work for the first time in his life.
Christopher
Lane is a TV news cameraman in the right place at the right time. He witnesses
the heist, calls the police, and offers help when Peri needs it most. She can't
deny her attraction, but is he really her hero, or is he just after a story?
And with Christmas right around the corner, can Peri and Chris avert a holiday
disaster?
Excerpt from A Semi-Precious Christmas
My hand stilled as cold steel
pressed hard against my temple. A gloved hand covered my mouth, and a low voice
rumbled in my ear.
“Keep your mouth shut and turn off the alarm. We
won’t hurt you if you play nice. All we’re after is the jewelry.”
God, help me!
I couldn’t see the man who’d sneaked up behind me,
but he wrenched my left arm behind my back and shoved the gun up against my
skull. I wasn’t about to resist, but my heart stuttered so hard I barely
recognized my own voice. “It’s easier to open the door and disarm the alarm if
I have both hands.” Where had that come from? I almost sounded collected.
He released me. “Well, aren’t you the plucky thing?
Remember I have my .45 pointed at the back of your head.”
As if I could forget. With trembling fingers, I
turned my key in the lock of Keaton’s Jewelers, switched on the lights, and
fumbled to shut off the beeping alarm. The robber didn’t need to know my uncle
was too frugal to spring for an alarm system that notified the police…or
anyone.
We. He’d said we. How many of them were there? And
where was the accomplice? I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. It wasn’t
quite 10 AM and the jewelry store was due to open in five minutes. Where was Uncle
Marty? He was always here early. Always.
With an unrelenting hand on my back, the man hustled
me into the showroom.
I peered over my shoulder and stole a good look at
him. He was tall and burly, his mouth twisted into a sneer. And that was all I
could see—his mouth. A dark blue ski mask covered his hair and the rest of his
face. But his eyes. His eyes were a cold, mean, arctic blue. This guy exuded
unbridled malevolence.
“Do you think she has a key to the jewelry cases?”
The second robber’s voice cracked.
I twisted until he came into my line of vision. His
slim build pegged him as a kid, maybe mid to late-teens. He slouched in his
worn black jeans, black t-shirt, and a black hoodie. So cliché. His mask
drooped a bit on the left side, and I could just make out the beginnings of a
scraggly beard covering a thin, café au lait African-American face.
“That’ll take too long,” Mean-Eyes snapped. “Why do
you think we brought the hammer, moron?”
“OK, OK, OK.” Hoodie-boy lowered his voice to a
whisper. “And I ain’t no moron.”
“Shut your trap.” Whipping a small, oddly shaped
orange hammer from the waistband of his jeans, the nasty man moved over to one
of the gem cases, raised his hand high, and let fly. The watchcase fractured
into little pieces. Thank goodness, safety
glass covered the display cases.
Hoodie-boy opened an old backpack and hurriedly
scooped up men’s and ladies’ watches.
Mean-Eyes broke open another case, the diamond
engagement rings this time. He nailed me with a contorted leer that lifted into
a smirk, then slipped a diamond ring on his pinky—one of our gaudier items. The
way he waved that gun around was nerve-wracking. But then he zeroed in on me
and aimed the pistol at my head.
I froze. Was I
about to die?
I understand you
have published another Christmas book. What inspired you to write Moostletoe? Cute title by the way.
Thanks. The novella
is set in the fictional town of Moose Creek, Maine. While I might live in
Maryland, my Mom’s family is from Maine and I have visited several times. What
really made me excited about writing the story of Rev. Samantha was that my
little sister, Diane, pastored a church in Maine. I patterned my sweet but
feisty little minister after her. I had only planned on writing Moostletoe, but
I loved the town and the characters so much, there are now books 2 and 3
featuring Samantha and Eric, and book 4 with Samantha’s Aunt Clare as the main
character in the newly released boxed set titled Somewhere Beyond The Blue.
Will there be a
part 5? I’ve started another book called A
Christmoose Carol. Stay tuned.
Moostletoe
Blurb
Fresh out of divinity school, Rev.
Samantha Evans is ready to conquer the world for Christ. She lands in Moose
Creek, Maine, a tiny backwater town with more moose per square mile than men.
Even worse, one of her new parishioners chews up new ministers for breakfast,
and he’s hell-bent on sending her packing.
Forest ranger Eric Palmer is done
with women. Determined to live simply with no encumbrances, he’s moved to
Northern Maine to study the moose population. With Christmas right around the
corner, he runs into his buddy, Sammie, the girl who’d been his best friend
when they were teenagers. Unlike most of the women in his life, he trusts her
implicitly. But could she ever be more than a friend?
When
Samantha’s career is on the line, Eric must save her job and rescue his own
shattered heart in the process. But how does Matilda the town moose factor in?
Excerpt from Moostletoe
As
they headed toward the fence at the back of the large yard, the trapped moose
turned her head and fastened Samantha with the longest, most distressed face
she’d ever seen. Somehow, the words “there’s a moose stuck in the fence” had
not prepared her for the sight of two hooves sticking to the top of tall
pickets.
Poor
moosie indeed!
The
TV news reporter strode toward Eric and Travis, a determined set to his jaw.
Eric
took charge. “Dale, you can film, but be quiet about it and keep well back. I
know everybody loves Matilda, but she’s a wild animal and she’s scared. You
too, Mr. Tremblay.”
“We’ll
do our best to behave.” Dale smirked. “But the TV audience is going to eat this
up and we’re here to serve.”
Eric
grimaced. “She’s just a moose for crying out loud. People in Aroostook County
see them every day.”
The
TV crew moved into position. Eric glanced at Samantha. “Sammie you asked what
you can do. Your job is to pray we can get this moose out of trouble, fast.”
“Will
do.” Samantha nodded and clung to the fence line several yards away. Matilda
puffed, her breath sending up a cloud of steam. Samantha’s heart went out to
the creature, and she unleashed a silent prayer. If God cared for the lowly
sparrow, He surely loved the magnificent moose.
Eric’s
eyes zeroed in on the television camera as two men continued to edge closer.
“Confound it, Dale, stay back. Don’t you have a zoom on that contraption?”
The
cheeky, young reporter lifted his chin. “We’ll stay back as long as you give us
an exclusive after the rescue.”
Eric
planted his hands on his hips and huffed. “Exclusive? Dale, what do you think
this is? Portland? You’re the only TV station there is in these parts. Just keep
your distance. Hey, Tremblay? You have a small hatchet?”
A
protest erupted from the cameraman. “Surely, you’re not going to hurt that wild
animal.”
Eric
shook his head. “No, of course we’re not going to hurt her. We have to break up
the fence.”
Dale
cocked his head. “Why can’t you just yard on it until her feet come out?”
Huh? Samantha
searched her memory banks. Yard on it. Ah, yes. Pull hard.
“Do
I look suicidal? I’m not getting anywhere near those back hooves. We have a
crazed five-hundred-pound moose who’s not thinking straight, here.”
The
cameraman grumbled and when Eric turned his back, the cameraman made a hand
gesture that meant … Samantha wasn’t sure what it meant, but it couldn’t have
been nice.
Matilda
shifted her back feet, tried to maneuver backward and pitched a bit to the
side. The wooden fence scraped against her front fetlocks and she bellowed, a
terrible noise that rang hollow in the damp, night air. Terrified, her eyes
flicked back and forth, the whites showing. Helpless, Samantha prayed harder
and shuffled her feet to keep the circulation moving, her chest squeezing.
The
cameraman hefted his camera and aimed it at the reporter. The show was about to
begin.
Jan’s Bio:
Jan Elder is an inspirational romance writer with a
passion for telling stories other women can relate to on a deep level. She
strives to write the kind of book that will strengthen the reader’s faith,
introducing the reader to a loving and forgiving Lord who walks beside us in
our daily lives, while also providing an entertaining and engrossing love
story.
Happily married for fifteen years to loving (and
supportive) husband, Steve, the two live in central Maryland along with Jamie
(a chubby black and white tuxedo cat), and Shu-Shu (a willowy tortoiseshell
cat). On the weekends, Jan and Steve comb the nearby countryside in search of
the perfect ice cream flavor.
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