Well I had a hard time deciding what to post today. It’s a bit on the long side for a snippet, but I decided to post a scene from House of Cards.
As basic information, the heroine Kensie has taken leave from her job (she’s an FBI agent) and gone out to her family’s old cabin out in Wyoming. She arrived about 3 in the morning, unpacked and decided to take a bath before bed.
Usual disclaimer. Copyright. Mine. Don’t borrow or steal (begging is okay, I suppose).
Kensie woke with a start. The bathwater had gone cold, but she didnāt think that was what had awakened her. She strained to hear beyond the bathroom. Nothing. She eased out of the tub, still listening and began to dry herself with one of the thick Turkish towels. She chalked whatever she had heard up to Samson. Wrapping herself in the towel and picking up the pile of clothes, Kensie went into the bedroom.
Beyond the pools of light cast by the bedside lamps stood an intruder. She was going for her Sig in the midst of the laundry in her arms when she noticed the gun in his hands aimed in her direction. She froze. His face was shadowed by a dark gray cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. He was a big man, tall enough to fill the doorway, easily blocking her escape route. She considered making a break for the bathroom and barricading the door while she shimmied out the bathroom window, but decided there was nothing in the bathroom with which to barricade the door against the bulk of someone his size.
Where the hell was Samson?
āYou should know that I carry nothing of value. No cash. No jewelry. Thereās nothing stored here that could possibly be of interest to you, except perhaps the TV, and youāre welcome to that. Thereās nothing to watch anyway.ā
His mouth fell partially open.
āMaāam are you all right?ā he asked, gun lowering only slightly.
āAm Iā¦what the hell sort of question is that?ā she demanded. āWho the hell are you? And what are you doing in my house?ā
Okay, keep him talking. Distract him, she thought, easing her hand through the pile of clothes to find the butt of her Sig. Diffuse the situation. If I can just get to my gunā¦
āWith all due respect maāam, Iām with the Sheriffās Department,ā he said, lowering the pistol entirely. The voice was deep and resonant. āWhoā¦ā
He stopped and stared.
āMy name is Mackensie Ferguson. My family owns this house,ā she replied raising her chin a notch. āWhat the hell are you doing here?ā
āGrace?ā he murmured.
Her brows drew together in confusion. āNo one calls meā¦ā
Absently, he placed the gun back in the shoulder holster beneath his olive green coat and stepped into the light. She felt every drop of blood drain from her face. It was a struggle to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. And to keep from pointing the gun now firmly in her grasp beneath her dirty clothes.
āCollin,ā she managed, furious that her voice sounded weak and questioning.
I will not fall apart, she ordered herself.
Collin Murphy had introduced her to a lot of things during her summers in the mountains, not the least of which was the art of the kiss when she was fifteen and a broken heart some years later.
āWhat the hell are you doing here?ā she demanded, anger settling into place like armor.
āI could ask you the same question.ā
Kensie glared at him.
āI think I have more of a right to be in here than you do.ā
āOne of the neighbors reported seeing someone up here. It was an unfamiliar vehicle, itās late, and the place hasnāt been used by anyone but Adam in years. The door was ajar and no one answered when I knocked so, I figured I ought to check it out. I did call out when I came in. You didnāt hear me?ā
āI fell asleep in the tub.ā
He seemed to cast around for something to say. āIā¦Iāll let you get dressed.ā
Kensie felt a blush stain her cheeks as she became aware of her state of general undress. āWhy donāt you wait in the den. And watch out for my dog.ā
āWhat dog?ā
Her recalcitrant pooch chose that belated moment to burst in with all the aplomb of the hounds of Baskerville. Collin jumped back in surprise, hands held up in surrender.
Still clutching the bundle of dirty laundry and the hidden gun to her chestāwith shaking hands, she was ashamed to admitāKensie called Samson off and told him to make nice. Assured that Collin was not someone he was supposed to attack, Samson escorted him into the den with an amiable nudge of his big head.
Giving in to the urge to put on something prim and Victorian, closed up from the toes to the neck, she opted for chinos and a turtleneck sweater. Kensie took the time to twist her hair into a loose knot and pinned it. By the time she finished, she decided she was composed enough to face him.
Collin had set his hat on the coffee table and stood apparently staring at the Albert Bierstadt print above the fireplace. Kensie stopped in the doorway and studied him. His hair was darker than she remembered, the nearly ebony curls matted from the hat, or perhaps from sleep. He looked tired around the eyes, as if heād been dragged from bed by the call. It was, after all, nearly five in the morning. He had grown a couple more inches, towering now at near to 6ā3ā. His shoulders were broader than they had been the last time sheād ever seen him, and they tapered down to a slim waist and jeans that showed off an admirable ass, she noticed. He had changed. So had she.
Samson was sitting up, tail thumping.
āSome watchdog you turned out to be,ā Kensie chastised. He looked in her direction and barked. She turned her attention back to Collin.
They stared at one another. Kensie was painfully conscious that her eyes looked bruised and bloodshot and that lines of strain fanned out around her eyes and mouth. Without skillfully applied cosmetics to mask it, she looked her age and felt ten years older. She wished sincerely that she had known sheād see him so she could have preparedāphysically at least. She was woman enough and vain enough to be furious with him for seeing her in such a state. It had nothing to do with wanting him backāshe didnāt, thanks very muchāit was the principle of the thing.
āWell,ā he said awkwardly, āI sure didnāt expect to see you of all people. Adam, maybe. You, never. Itās got to be eleven years since you last came here. Youāve grown up, Grace.ā
Eleven years, four months, but whoās counting?
āKensie,ā she insisted. āNo oneās called me Grace since I left for college. Well, thank you for checking on the place, but I assure you that nothing is the matter. Iām sure you have more pressing matters to tend to.ā
Again they stared, he with avid curiosity, she with annoyance. In defiance she met his eyes and felt a lurch in her stomach. Night dark with flecks of gray, like stars, those eyes had always pulled at her. Her own private universe in which to drown. She felt the years peeling away along with her defenses.
At last he shook his head.
āItās gonna take me a while to get used to this. Course you probably wonāt be around long enough for me to.ā
āDonāt count on it Murphy. I donāt have any plans to leave in the near future.ā
āWhat made you come back after all this time?ā
Did he want the cumulative list of reasons that had spurred her just yesterday to pack up and drive across the country to a place she hadnāt seen for more than a decade?
āI needed a change of scenery,ā she said. It was the truth, if uninformative. āIf you donāt mind Collin, Iāve driven about thirty hours today and Iām really tiredā¦ā
āOh, hell, Iām sorry, Grace. Youāre obviously asleep on your feet. Iāll get out of your hair,ā he said, picking up the hat.He stuck out his hand. For a moment Kensie stared at it with all the wariness sheād have displayed with a cobra. It would be rude not to take it. So she extended her own hand and placed it in his.
Something inside her snicked open and a flood of memories engulfed her. She had not remembered the sound of his voice. His hypnotic eyes had been banished from her mind. In so many ways he had changed. But thisā¦the simple feel of her hand within hisā¦this she remembered with a clarity as if she were again fifteen and newly aware of feelings for a boy sheād known almost all her life. Of all things she should remember, why something so simple, so tangible as this?
āIf youāre gonna be here for a while, youāll want to get the place checked out. You know, for general maintenance purposes.ā
Kensie pulled herself back to the here and now, forcing herself to relinquish his hand slowly.
āIāll do that,ā she said ushering him to the door. āGoodnight Collin.ā
āNight. And Grace?ā
āKensie.ā
āWelcome home.ā
Hope you enjoyed. Please sign Mr. Linky so I can go visit your snippet.
12 thoughts on “Blurb File Friday”
Hi, Seanachi.
A disclaimer: Since I’ve just finished Joely Sue Burkhart’s snippet, I’m a little numb right now to heroines who order themselves not to fall apart in the face of the man they’re crazy (literally) about.
Okay… So, Collin is actually standing in a room with a woman who is naked under her towell. (And presumably one he has lingering feelings for.) And he stands there and discusses his justification for entering? And only when she mentions the tub, only then does he get flustered? Uh… I’m just having a really hard time understanding what kind of a man this is. š
-TimK
Lol, I suppose this is a romance and her response appropriate for the genre. The scene flows nicely, too.
I’m a lot more cold blooded, it seems. If something is over, every attraction is gone beyond return. I don’t like warmed-up food. *grin*
Btw, Samson is fun.
Tim, there’s a lot of history there and he never expected to see her again, so there’s some shock. It makes more sense in context.
Gabriele,
Yeah Samson is my homage to my husband’s Malamute, who died earlier this summer.
As for her response…this is a genre favorite–the first love that somehow went awry and gets a second chance. š
Like Gabriele, this isn’t my genre and I feel a tad out of depth with it, so apologies for my lack of comments most weeks while you’re always good enough to comment on mine!
But for what it’s worth, I like the moment of hesitation over the handshake – the cobra moment. (I must be tired – I wrote ‘handsnake’ there first time around…)
I liked this scene overall but the first part caught me a bit…
“Beyond the pools of light cast by the bedside lamps stood an intruder. She was going for her Sig in the midst of the laundry in her arms when she noticed the gun in his hands aimed in her direction. She froze. ”
I wanted to know what she was thinking/feeling when she realized there was an intruder there. I wanted more fear, more adrenaline. It left out a lot of the tension and suspense I think a scene like this should have. Calling it “laundry” also made me think she was digging around in a basket or a hamper. I had to read back to realize she had the gun in her clothes (maybe you mentioned that earlier?). Also, I was confused on who first talked, so throw a “, she said. on the end of that and it would help a lot. š
Love the poochie!
Well if they’re dirty and you’re not wearing them anymore, what else are dirty clothes but laundry?
Yes in the preceding scene (which you obviously don’t have) when she’s undressing for the bath, I mention the gun. Will work on punching up the rest.
Um, thanks, Tim.
I really liked the hesitation she felt, the subconscious knowledge that touching him could have drastic consequences. You said she’s FBI? You could set off all sorts of fireworks at the beginning if she drops, rolls and shoots a warning shot or something, in her towel. *giggles*
>It had nothing to do with wanting him backāshe didnāt, thanks very muchāit was the principle of the thing.>
Loved this line.
Nice, downkey beginning to a romance–I’m assuming we’re in, or very near, Chapter One. You’ve introduced the primary players, and created some nice tension.
Cheryl, yeah this is the beginning of chapter 2. Chapter 1 takes place elsewhere and involves the incident that prompts her to take time off.
Joely,
Yeah I thought about that for a while, but she’s been driving for over 24 hours and I just didn’t think she’d be quite that, well, mobile after that and sleeping in the tub.
She probably didn’t want to scare the intruder with the sound of her popping joints *g* (yes, she got shot because her knee popped and startled the nice sheriff’s officer). Nice snippet.
Joely, that came out wrong. Sorry.
I know it’s a genre standard. And I know it’s true to life. I’m not complaining about it. It’s just that… I’m a guy. What can you expect?
-TimK
while not my genre I enjoyed what I read. The bit about the dog was nice.
e. Jim