It’s a special Sunday, Snippet Sunday-ers and Weekend Writing Warriors, as it’s the first day of summer vacation. I’m thrilled I get to focus on my writing for the next few weeks while not being distracted by my other job. On the top of the list is to finish my first draft of Swashbuckler, the contemporary romance I’ve been sharing here on Snippet Sunday. At the beginning of July I’ll be looking for beta readers–let me know if you’re interested!
So, I feel like I have to do a disclaimer for this snippet. Eight sentences is just not enough to get through this scene so I posted a bit more–I want to move on to happier things (it is a romance, after all and I want my HEA!). Next week I’ll post a final snippet from this part of the book so you get an idea of what’s going on.
Rachel walked into the small room the nurse had pointed to, the lights and beeps of the various machines confronting her. The muted light showed one empty chair and a bed. It took her brain a moment to register there was a body in that bed. The small form was almost completely hidden under plastic tubing, rubber leads, and bandages.
Rachel struggled to identify the still shape as her daughter. There was no laughter coming from the bed, no stubborn, pre-teen stance; no mumbling, tossing and turning as Angela was prone to do when she slept. Almost daring to hope this little girl was not her little girl, Rachel’s eyes traveled the length of the patient from toe to head.
A shag of brown, curly hair, so much like Angela’s, spilled over the pillow.
Rachel’s heart stopped and a choked sob escaped her throat. In two steps she was at her daughter’s side, reaching for her hand. “Angie, sweetie, it’s mommy,” she whispered.