Sisters, Ink Read online

  Praise for Sisters, Ink

  “Excellent! Rebeca captures the craziness of women’s lives, even while showing their commitment to each other and their craft of scrapbooking. A fabulous story of romance and family ties. I highly recommend Sisters, Ink.”

  Stacy Julian

  Founder, Big Picture Scrapbooking

  Founding Editor, Simple Scrapbooks magazine

  “Fun … funny … fantastic! Rebeca Seitz has brought together scrapbooking and sisterhood in a lively romp, with a love for going home again.”

  Eva Marie Everson

  Coauthor of The Potluck Club series

  “I am tickled to know there is another book coming soon. I honestly thought to myself, I hope I don’t have to wait too long for the next book, now that I have made these new friends!”

  Lisa Brennan

  Bazzill Basics Paper

  “Every woman wants a friend to confide in, laugh with, cry with, and just be herself around. When the friend is a sister, it’s even better. Add scrapbooking, family, and a guy, and things are sure to get interesting and wonderful. That’s exactly what Rebeca Seitz has done in this fun novel. I enjoyed it so much, I can’t wait for the next installment to see what else the sisters are up to!”

  Ginger Kolbaba

  Author of Desperate Pastors’ Wives

  “An enchanting tale. Sisters, Ink is written with a perfect balance of humor, candor, and a sprinkling of romance. The story embraces sisterly love through a conduit of art, emotion, spirituality, and diversity. Sisters, Ink is a genuine, engaging read for sisters, women of faith, and scrapbookers alike. I reached the last page with an enormous smile on my face.”

  Becky Fleck

  PageMaps.com

  “I don’t know much about scrapbooking—edgers, brads, and all those doodads—but I do know a good story when I see one. And that’s what Rebeca Seitz delivers with this tale of faith, romance, and four sisters’ shared love of scrapbooking. A delightful combination!”

  Tamara Leigh

  Author of Splitting Harriet and Perfecting Kate

  “What more can any woman want? Sisters, Ink weaves the love of sisters, the fun of scrapbooking, and a romance as sugary and tingling as Sweet Home Alabama. A must read for those who love southern fiction.”

  DiAnn Mills

  Author of Leather and Lace and When the Nile Runs Red

  “Sisters, Ink is warm, fun, and so easy to relate to! I connected immediately to the sisters & the family.”

  Kerri Wickersheim

  Marketing Director, Scrapbook Adhesives by 3L

  Copyright © 2008 by Rebeca Seitz

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-0-8054-4690-6

  Published by B&H Publishing Group,

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Dewey Decimal Classification: F

  Subject Heading: SCRAPBOOKING—FICTION

  SISTERS—FICTION GOD—WILL—FICTION

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Praise for Sisters, Ink

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty -Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Momma’s Buckeyes (Serves four ladies for three hours)

  For my patient, gentle husband, Charlie,

  without whom I cannot imagine life or love.

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many individuals that contributed to making this novel. I’m certain I’ll leave someone out, but the effort should be made.

  First, to my editor Karen Ball. We’ve shared a lot of laughs and lows along the way, lady, and I’m a better woman for them. Your involvement in my life is a gift for which I am not worthy but will always be grateful.

  And to my “new” editor, David Webb. I love your genteel, intelligent, quiet presence and strength on this project. Working with such a respectful, knowledgeable person is a joy and has made this process a pleasure.

  To the promotions team at B&H, thank you for your belief in Sisters, Ink and your hard work in finding unique ways to promote it. Robin Patterson, you’re a talented lady and I’m thankful for your experience (and fun conversations!) along the way.

  To Chef Oscar at the Ritz-Carlton in Naples, Florida. Thank you for taking time out from the festivities at Jim and Grace’s to share your culinary genius with me. Your wisdom made up for my lack of knowledge in the kitchen so that Joy could shine!

  To the team here at Glass Road PR, I know it’s not easy having a boss who is also committed to writing novels. I appreciate each of you for your dedication to the growth of this firm as a haven for Christian novelists and artists. It’s a blessing to work alongside each of you.

  To my fabulous assistant, Darcy Skelton, thanks for your attention to detail and willingness to do just about anything that’s asked of you. You make my life run smoothly! I’m so glad you found your One and Only!

  Finally, to my little one, Anderson. I know you can’t read this yet, little guy, but Mommy is so very, very grateful for you. Thanks for playing with Daddy so Mommy could write—and for giving me hugs and smiles every time I came downstairs and back into your world. God’s got plans for you, precious son, and I’m honored that one of them was making me your mom.

  One

  Tandy’s purple stiletto heel tapped in perfect rhythm to the pulse that threatened to leap out of her neck. She stared at the phone, willing it to ring and someone on the other end to declare this a joke. Her boss did not just call her into his office. Now.

  The smooth tones from her CD player of Ol’ Blue Eyes crooning “I Did It My Way” mocked rather than soothed her. She had to calm down, but Meg’s idea of music soothing the savage soul was not working. Fingers shaking, Tandy snatched up the receiver and dialed her sister. Calm, stoic Meg always knew what to do in a crisis. From falling off the swing set to supplying Oreos and caffeine the night before Tandy’s bar exam, Meg was a pro at handling crises and keeping her three sisters’ lives humming.

  A busy signal sounded, and Tandy slammed the phone back down. Of course Meg would be on the phone right now. Why on earth couldn’t that woman understand the helpfulness of call-waiting? Tandy could hear Meg’s gentle, persuasive response now: Why would I stop talking to one person before our conversation ended, T? It’s rude, and I just won’t have it in my house.

  Grabbing the receiver again, Tandy punched in Kendra’s numbers, jumping when yet another hawk flew into her window. Why did Orlando have to have a courthouse with perfect nooks and crannies for building a nest? Ever since the completion of this new structure, hawks circled attorneys in the BellSouth building across the street on a daily basis.

  Kendra’s melodic voice floated over the line, its harmonious tones the same as in childhood: “You have reached the voice mail of Kendra Sinclair …”

  Tandy slammed the receiver down again and glared at the circling hawks. Of course Mr. Beasley was angry. He had every righ
t to be, really. That fat deposit in her checking account every other week meant the continuation of her dedication to keeping their clients out of jail. Certainly it meant she wouldn’t hand the prosecution the very evidence they needed to obtain a conviction. She fiddled with the purple and black silk scarf tied around her neck.

  Would Joy be any help at all in this situation? Joy might be the baby sister, but her quiet strength could come in handy right now. Except that Joy loved to talk and Christopher Beasley was waiting. The thought of him in his office high above the hawks, tapping his long fingers on the glass top of a heavy mahogany desk, didn’t allow for long phone conversations.

  Tandy’s office phone rang and she jumped. “Tandy Sinclair.”

  “Tandy, it’s Anna.” Tandy smiled, thinking of the gentle lady seated a few floors above her. “Mr. Beasley’s on his third cup of coffee.”

  Her smile vanished. “Oh, no, Anna. Couldn’t you have dawdled a bit? You know how he gets with caffeine overload.”

  “And you know how he gets when I dawdle. You’ve got maybe three minutes before he asks me to get cup number four.”

  “I’m on my way.” Tandy pushed back from her desk and stood up. “Thanks, Anna.”

  “No problem, sweetie.”

  Tandy dropped the phone in its cradle, her gaze darting around the room for something, anything that would prevent the next ten minutes.

  If that idiot Harry Simons had been one iota less smarmy, this predicament could have been avoided. His outright ogling of her figure had been bad enough, but certainly that was not the first time Tandy had been forced to ignore a man’s unwanted attentions. They all seemed to believe her red, wavy hair was a sign she’d fulfill their wildest dreams. Heck, Mr. Beasley had probably even made that assumption at some point, as evidenced by his swift promotions landing her in a cushy corner office of Meyers, Briggs, and Stratton.

  Tandy swigged caffeine and paced the office. It wasn’t even Harry’s condescension. His superiority, rooted in maleness, made no effort to hide the belief that a brain resting between the pierced ears of a thirty-year-old female graduate of Yale School of Law somehow negated its existence. That idiocy didn’t even raise her blood pressure. She fingered her pearl earrings and grimaced as a hawk glided to rest on the ledge outside.

  No, she would have been fine, and Christopher Beasley would not at this very moment be preparing to fire her, except for one innocent little lunch with small-minded Harry. Why, oh why, had she agreed to go to lunch with the lizard? Honestly, his head rivaled the shape of the geckos that ran in and out of every flower bed in Central Florida. Come to think of it, his eyes were shifty like a gecko, too. Was the single life getting to her so much that she’d date a lizard? She stopped and tapped the window ledge. Meg and Kendra were on her case to date more, but who had time to meet people after spending sixty-five hours a week at the office? She sighed. The sisters just didn’t understand life in the city.

  “You guys have got it easy,” she said to the hawks. “Circle, eat, rest, repeat. With the occasional head bang into a window to keep us lawyers on our toes.” She shook her head.

  Well, it didn’t matter now. Mr. Beasley awaited her presence, and it would only get worse the longer she stood here. Her heels sank into the plush pearl-colored carpet as she crossed the office, ignoring the latest sacrifice to her black thumb, a nearly dead African violet. She opened her office door and cast one last glance at what, in about ten minutes, probably would not be her office. Oh well. Maybe she could take the plant to Anna.

  She picked up the violet. At least the charade of defending a slimeball who made fun of an old homeless man to make himself feel big would come to an end. And the day was still young—she could hit the beach before the lunch rush hit I-4.

  Shoulders thrown back, chin up, Tandy made her way down the hallway and entered an elevator lined in the obligatory mahogany, brass, and mirrors, testimony to Christopher’s desire never to rock a boat even in the decoration of his law firm’s offices. She eyed her reflection and saw steel in the brown eyes staring back. Cutting Harry off at the knees in public wasn’t the best financial move she could have made. How would she buy food for Cooper? Or pay his vet bills? Keeping an old basset hound with arthritic knees and hips in comfort was a pricey endeavor. Still, it had been worth it to see the shock on Harry’s face when she announced in her loud voice the impending completion of his career. From a 9 x 9 prison cell, that cardboard box would look like heaven.

  She checked her chignon, tucking in a stray curl and smoothing the rest down. Picturing Harry’s smug, pudgy face behind bars did way more to calm her pulse rate than Sinatra’s crooning. The elevator dinged, announcing her arrival to Christopher Beasley’s penthouse lair.

  Tandy took a deep breath, tightened her grip on the sagging violet, sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d picked the Ann Taylor suit today—must look sharp when being fired—and stepped across the threshold.

  “He’s waiting for you.” Sympathy shimmered in Anna’s blue eyes. The Orlando sun shining through the window made Anna’s hair glow like a fresh pearl.

  Tandy set the violet down on Anna’s desk. “Thanks, Anna. It’s been good knowing you. I wonder if you might coax this little guy back to life?”

  Anna raised her eyebrows. “Tandy, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re a danger to plants.” She smiled and wagged her finger. “You taking them in isn’t an act of kindness. You leave the greenery to us old chicks.”

  Tandy laughed. “Yes ma’am.” She took another breath. “I guess I should go in now.”

  Anna sobered. “Guess so.”

  “Still on cup number three?”

  “I just took in cup four. I doubt he’s taken a sip yet, though. He’s slowing down.”

  “Thanks for everything, Anna.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. Take care of yourself. And you call me if you need anything, hear?”

  Tandy nodded, only now realizing that losing her job also meant losing Anna’s kind wisdom. She blinked hard. Crying at work would not do. She stepped to Christopher’s door and knocked.

  “Come.” His deep voice bellowed through the door, and Tandy’s pulse kicked up again. This was it. For the first time ever, Tandy Sinclair was about to be fired from a job. When she’d moved to Orlando to take this job and declare war on the city that took her childhood, Tandy never would have guessed she’d become a beach bum herself.

  “Tandy, sit down, sit down.” Christopher stood, gesturing to a chair and patting the telltale stripes of his Ben Silver tie. “Seems we have a little situation on our hands.” The hawks circled one story below his window, the tops of their feathered backs lit by the sun.

  Tandy sat down and nodded.

  Christopher’s padded leather chair creaked with his weight. He settled back, propped his elbows on the arms, and templed his fingers. “Harry tells me he’s headed for a prison cell.”

  She nodded again.

  “He also tells me that would be your fault.”

  Another nod. This must be what bobbleheads felt like.

  “And he says he’s ready to sue this firm for inadequate representation unless I do something about it.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. Score one for Harry.

  “I’ve assured Harry that there must be some misunderstanding since you’re one of the most capable attorneys this firm has seen in quite some time. So, please, Tandy, explain to me how one of our biggest clients, someone for whom you serve as lead counsel, suddenly finds himself facing jail.”

  Tandy tilted her head. He was giving her an out, bless him. Leave it to Christopher Beasley, king of calm and proper appearances, to smooth the choppy waters and restore her professional boat to proper order. An image of Harry’s sneer popped into her mind, though, and the thought of backtracking fled like money from her wallet during a trunk sale.

  She smiled and adopted her lawyer voice. “Well, Mr. Beasley, I appreciate your belief in my professional abilities, but it seems Mr. Simons ha
s some rather extreme positions regarding personal values that led me to determine he is, in fact, guilty of the crime for which he has been accused. When I asked him directly, he admitted as much to me.”

  It was Christopher’s turn to raise a brow. “He told you he embezzled funds from Hope House?”

  Tandy nodded. “Yes, sir. I advised him I could not put him on the stand, as I would be suborning perjury, but he refused to listen. It was either let him lie to the court or remove myself from his case. I chose the latter.”

  Christopher swiveled his chair and stared out at the courthouse. What she wouldn’t give for a hawk to barrel into the glass. Anything to break the tension. Losing this job wouldn’t be the end of the world … just of her bank account, for the time being. She really didn’t want to lose the paycheck, but Harry gave her no choice.

  The man wouldn’t listen to reason if someone etched it in a brick and threw it at his head.

  She thought about their lunch again, seeing the humpbacked old man picking through a dumpster across the street. His coat had been threadbare, but Tandy knew too well the value of a coat, threadbare or not, on the streets. The priceless nature of every layer between skin and street. How the three bites of cheeseburger he found wrapped in its foil was enough to fill his belly for an entire day.