And Winter is Back

I sure do wish Mother Nature would make up her mind! Where I live in North Texas, our weather has always fluctuated depending on where the winds are coming from.  If they blow from the chilly north, we have cold days, and if it blows from the balmy south, we have warm days. The difference can be startling - 40 degrees today and 70 degrees tomorrow.  But by February, the huge gaps usually arent as big or as frequent. The chilly times are more often at night and not so much in the daytime. 

Well, not so today - it's just plain cold all dang day! and gray and cloudy- wouldn't mind the cold so much if it were sunny, but it's not - sigh. 

The other thing is I prefer writing on a sunny day - but- since Quinn needs to be finished sooner than later - writing on a gray day I shall do! 

and since I have a ton of work ahead of me today- here's the opening scene of Quinn to wet your whistle! remember pre orders are up at all vendors and if you want it a little early (not much mind you) then you can wait and buy it at a 10% discount direct from my site! 

here goes- hope you like it: 

 
      The sun beat down mercilessly on the old café, its weathered clapboard siding a testament to nearly a century of neglect. Another Texas summer hung over the town of Four Corners, now more commonly known as Sadieville.
     Quinn Farraday stood with his boot propped against a pile of broken lath and plaster, surveying the building's skeletal interior with a critical eye. One of the crew carried stacks of broken chairs and rotted tables covered with demolition debris to the front porch. Progress, sure but steady. He liked that.
      Returning to the assigned task, his work-gloved hand brushed against the crumbling walls, feeling the decades of history beneath his fingertips. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light streaming through the gaps in the termite riddled siding, soon to be replaced by cement board. Inside the bare structure would be covered with plenty of insulation and modern sheetrock. He grunted, shifting his weight and adjusting his grip on the pry bar. Another day, another renovation.
       Board by board, building by building, Sadieville had slowly been coming back to life.  One episode at a time, the dust, cobwebs, and rotted wood in the once forgotten ghost town, had painstakingly given way to the beginnings of an attractive and inviting small town.
      The Mercantile had seen the first transition, then, a nearby group of homestead houses had been rehabbed for the families the town hoped to draw. His brother Neil and his wife Nora moved into the first home. After that came the hotel—and now the café that would soon serve the production and construction crews alike. Not that the crews didn’t love Molly’s gourmet food truck, they did, but a sit down restaurant for dinner would be a welcome addition for the hotel guests and growing number of town residents the Tuckers Bluff council had been working so hard to attract.
      The camera crew from Construction Cousins reality TV show circled like vultures, their equipment catching every swing of a hammer, every cloud of demolition dust, and of course, every mishap, prank, and moment of shenanigans that ensued.
    "This place already looks better," Nodding his approval at the scene, his brother Neil crossed to a makeshift workbench cobbled together from salvaged lumber and unrolled his architectural drawings. "We're keeping as much of the original footprint as possible."
Quinn's gaze flickered briefly to the blueprint, catching the key details. The design would preserve the bones of the old cafe while bringing it into the modern era.
     Tracing a line on the blueprint, Neil tapped his finger on the page. "The idea is to  modernize the kitchen,”
       “Duh,” Morgan teased from across the large room.
Rolling his eyes, Neil ignored his older brother. “Open up the dining area. The town council wants something that still feels authentic to the original era, but can actually serve more than lukewarm coffee and day-old pie."
       On a ladder by the large window, Morgan laughed, pulling down another small section of lath and plaster. Wooden strips pulled away from the wall, revealing the rough-hewn studs beneath. Chunks of hardened plaster crumbled to the floor, releasing decades of settled dust.  "Speaking of pie, I hope they find a real chef. Not some celebrity who thinks wearing a white coat makes them Gordon Ramsay."
        “Or some hotshot celebrity chef who thinks adding mesquite smoke to everything makes it authentic Texas barbecue.” Ryan, the youngest brother and Quinn’s Irish twin, wheeled in a large trash bin to clean up the remaining debris.
      Morgan's laugh cut through the ambient noise. "I heard the town council is sorting through over a hundred applications."
     “You’re kidding?” Ryan’s jaw dropped slightly open. “Who knew there were that many people wanting to move to dusty West Texas?”
       Neil rolled the papers up again. “There are a lot of people who think moving to a ghost town will be fun.”
       “Or spooky,” Ryan added, his attention falling on the bare wall in front of Quinn. Wooden laths revealed like old ribs of a building holding its breath.
      “Or spooky,” Neil chuckled, tucking the tube of designs under his arm. “I’m going with Connie to look for some fixtures. The kitchen appliances will be top of the line, but in the dining room I need vintage for atmosphere. I’ll leave y’all to finish cleaning this place out.”
      With a nod, Quinn turned his attention to the wall, working methodically, each movement calculated. Baseball had taught him precision—every swing counted, every motion mattered. The muscles in his shoulders remembered the discipline, the quiet intensity he'd always brought to every task.
       A particularly stubborn section of plaster resisted. Quinn's jaw clenched. He'd never been one to back down from a challenge. A quick strategic hit, and the wall surrendered, showering debris across the floor.
     His brothers moved around him, a well-choreographed dance of demolition and preservation. No words needed. They'd been doing this together so long, communication happened in grunts, half-glances, or the subtle shift of a shoulder.
        Quinn's hand tightened on the hammer. Another swing. Another piece of history revealed. His focus on the wall, his mind wandering to the next stage; the arrival of the chef. The man’s professional know-how would add the final touches of the kitchen. If they continued moving at this pace, the town council had better choose their candidate sooner than later. Much sooner. 

Okay - that's it for today - have a good week and stay warm!