Here’s a short excerpt from Chapter One of Love in a Mist, my new Murder Mystery, to whet your appetite for your upcoming trip to Provence, France. (Those of you who have read Highland Heather or Alpine Meadow will recognize Finn and Meadow’s names. Although Love in a Mist will read just fine as a stand-alone, you may want to pick up copies soon so you’re all set to begin Love in a Mist on March 28th.)

EXCERPT from Love in a Mist by Sherrie Hansen:

“When she was young, Misty had dreamed that her father would come for her. But in her dream, when he had appeared, the night was so dark, and the moon so dim, that he hadn’t seen Misty. She’d faded into the night, her black hair becoming one with her surroundings. Instead, he’d spied her sister’s rich auburn hair, aglow in the moonlight. It made perfect sense. Kezia looked just like their mother. Kezia had reminded him of Clementina, who he had loved. Her father hadn’t wanted a little black-haired girl who looked like him.

From that time on, Misty had worn bright colors. Yellow, pink, blue. She’d wanted to be a brightly shining star in the night, a moonflower, a blue moon. She’d wanted to capture her father’s attention. She’d wanted him to love her, want her, and be around her. But he’d never come for her. He’d lived only in her dreams.

How stupid that she was jealous of a sister who was dead, and a father who didn’t have a name, a father who she’d never met and never would. She glanced at her niece, Meadow. Kezia’s daughter. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Misty didn’t like redheads.

Meadow was talking. Her lush auburn hair was as animated as her words. “Our gypsy caravan has been the perfect honeymoon cottage for the two of us, but we’re in the process of building a house so if we have a family one day, we’ll have more room. Maybe our children can use the caravan as a playhouse.”

Lucky kids. They would know their father. Not that Misty cared who her father was at this point in her life. Really. She didn’t even want to know. Not even a small part of her. Her mère had always told her she’d taken after her father. Except she hadn’t known who her father was. If her mère knew, she’d never told her. Which was fine. Who had fathered her was the least of her worries.

Meadow was still rambling on about their life in the Highlands, and McKnight Farms, and the woods where they’d parked their caravan and made their home, which, sorry to say, didn’t interest Misty in the slightest. Misty may have been born in Scotland, but her life was here now. Her eyes refocused on the grass green wall behind Meadow and Finn. 

She rubbed her hand over her thighs. Her sundress was bright yellow, with sky blue flowers and a few splashes of coral pink. The colors of Provence. Could any place be such a polar opposite to the cool green shade of the Highlands? Her mind flashed to Scotland for just a few seconds. She saw the red curls of a highland coo framed in green, bellowing, shaking its head, wanting to be brushed. Damn cow had better hair than she did. So did Meadow. That beautiful, auburn red hair. One of her few memories of Kezia was of their mother brushing her hair. Clementina had never brushed Misty’s hair. It was like her straight black locks were a horrible reminder of something – or someone.

One of her favorite songs started to come through the speakers. She might have black hair, and Meadow, red, but they had to have something in common besides a few stray genes. “I love this song,” she told Meadow, swaying to the disco beat. It was the song she and Jean-Luc were dancing to when she’d started to fall in love with him. “It’s How Deep is Your Love by the Bee Gees. Do you know it? Classic 70s disco.”

Meadow smiled at Finn. “When you said, How Deep, my mind leapt to one of our favorites, How Deep the Father’s Love.”

Finn laughed, a deep rumpling noise that stirred Misty’s heart with its sincerity. “It’s a far cry from disco.” Finn hesitated, like he was waiting for the Bee Gees to yield the stage.

    How deep is your love? How deep is your love?
          I really mean to learn
          ‘Cause we’re livin’ in a world of fools
          Breakin’ us down
          When they all should let us be
           We belong to you and me.

The Bee Gees took a breath and Finn started to sing, just loud enough to be heard over How Deep is Your Love. Finn’s voice rang true and clear.

    “How deep the Father’s love for us,
          How vast beyond all measure
          That He should give His only Son
          To make a wretch His treasure.”

And then he stopped. And the Bee Gees regained their momentum with,

    I believe in you, You know the door to my very soul
          You’re the light in my deepest, darkest hour
          You’re my savior when I fall.

Jean-Luc had been Misty’s savior, until he died. Sadly – or maybe she should say happily – if she knew anything about Finn and Meadow’s faith, and she did, thanks to her mother’s somewhat recent Come-to-Jesus moment, she knew that their Savior was alive.      

She was looking at Meadow’s hair and feeling an irrational flash of jealousy that Finn and Meadow had a living Savior when she saw auburn curls out of the corner of her eye.

What was her mother doing here? “Mère? How did you find…?” She looked up and saw Bayn Alexander just behind her mother. The one person she’d told where she was going. 

Misty’s mother rushed to Meadow’s side and gave her a hug the likes of which Misty had certainly never experienced. Long-lasting, full-bodied, filled with love. “Meadow? I’m Clementina Revel. Your grandmother. I’m so happy to meet you! That awful day when I said good-bye to you before they took you off to the Isle of Uist, I never dreamed I’d get the opportunity to see you again! And now look at you! You’ve grown up to be a beautiful young woman with a handsome husband and a bright future. God certainly works in miraculous ways, doesn’t He?”

Misty stifled a gag as Meadow relaxed into Clementina’s arms, obviously having found a kindred spirit, a family member with whom she was comfortable. Was it because her mother had mentioned God? It had always irked Misty that Christians seemed to have some sort of homing device that not only drew them to one another but inexplicably linked them together. The grandmother / granddaughter, both red-headed, Christian peas-in-a-pod bond was so tangible she could see it blossoming.

Meadow had tears in her eyes. So did Clementina. So did Bayn. What was that about? See? This was the reason she couldn’t return the man’s feelings. The proverbial clean cut, boy-next-door, Bayn was strong and very masculine in a Scottish-Highlander-of-old way, yet not afraid to be emotional. Bayn was the complete opposite of the men Misty was attracted to. At least he didn’t have red hair.

Their waitress popped by and took Clementina and Bayn’s orders. Clementina was peppering Meadow and Finn with questions about home, faith, and family. Meadow appeared to be pouring out her heart to Clementina. Bayn motioned for Misty to pull her chair up closer so she could hear what was being said. Misty hadn’t realized she’d scooted her chair back. She did things like that when her mother was around.

Good Lord. Could this be any more of a nightmare? Bayn’s eyes were glazed over with tenderness when he tore his eyes away from Meadow and gazed at Misty. Of course they would be. His heart had never been in France. He was more than ready to return to the Highlands to tend his own vineyard. All he needed was a woman who was ready to settle down and raise a family in Scotland. He wanted Misty to be that woman. The man was so accepting that he’d wanted it even when she’d been sleeping with Jean-Luc.

Her mother still hadn’t said a word to her or acknowledged her presence in any way. Misty stared at Clementina for a moment, hoping to get a response, or maybe hoping to intimidate her into not responding.

Misty was imagining a Provencal pattern for the line of fabrics, tablecloths, placemats and napkins that a friend of Jean-Luc’s was going to manufacture to match Misty’s pottery, when she heard her name. The words murder, and then, suspect, made a brief appearance and then faded into a mysterious chasm of silence that had formed between her and the rest of the table.

All eyes were on her. Meadow’s were filled with horror. Finn’s reflected a wary skepticism. Her mother’s – shame. Bayn was looking at her with the same love, acceptance, and compassion he always did. His reaction upset her more than all the other’s combined.

The waitress chose that moment to appear with their food, her face a cheery expression of pride in the plates she was delivering. They were lovely. Misty murmured her thanks.

Bayn finally broke the silence. “The police were by to visit earlier today. They’re not releasing any of the specifics, but they say Jean-Luc Lavigne’s death has been determined to be murder.”