Authors: Bobby Hutchinson
Pickin Clover (28 page)
“Only forty-eight more hours and we get to hand her back to her daddy and her new stepmom,” Polly noted with gleeful satisfaction. “I’m counting the minutes. C’mon, I’ll change these jeans for something more suitable if we’re having a celebration.” She linked her hand with Michael’s and they walked up the stairs.
The door to Susannah’s room was closed, and Polly frowned. “It’s awfully quiet in there. What the heck is she up to now?”
Michael opened the door.
The room was filled with sunlight, and it was a disaster. Pieces of jigsaw puzzle, mounds of clothing and dozens of crayons littered the floor. The delicate roses on the wallpaper were scribbled over with magic markers in garish shades of purple and green, and a feather pillow had burst. Feathers were scattered everywhere, and in the midst of it all was Clover, curled into an innocent ball, sound asleep in the middle of the bed, her thumb in her mouth.
“Why, that sneaky little...I can’t believe this,” Polly gasped. “I was gone only ten minutes.”
Michael pressed a gentle finger to her lips, silencing her. Pulling her into the curve of his arm, he led her back into the hallway and softly closed the door.
“Let sleeping demons sleep, Pol.” He bent his head and kissed her lips, then pretended to frown at her. “You’re obviously overwrought, Mrs. Forsythe. It just so happens I have the perfect prescription for total relaxation. Come with me into the treatment area.”
“Really, Doctor?”
He leered down at her. “Trust me, my dear.”
They were both laughing as he led her down the hall to their bedroom.
*****
Bobby Hutchinson's Bio
Bobby Hutchinson was born in a small town in interior British Columbia in 1940. Her father was an underground coal miner, her mother a housewife, and both were storytellers. Learning to read was the most significant event in her early life.
She married young and had three sons. Her middle son was deaf, and he taught her patience. She divorced and worked at various odd jobs, directing traffic around construction sites, day caring challenged children, selling fabric by the pound at a remnant store.
She mortgaged her house and bought the store, took her sewing machine to work, and began to sew a dress a day. The dresses sold. The fabric didn’t, so she hired four seamstresses and turned the store into a handmade clothing boutique.
After twelve successful years, she sold the business and decided to run a marathon. Training was a huge bore, so she made up a story as she ran, about Pheiddipedes, the first marathoner. She copied it down and sent it to the Chatelaine short story contest, won first prize, finished the Vancouver marathon, and became a writer. It was a hell of a lot easier than running.
She married again and divorced again, writing all the while, mostly romances, (which she obviously needs to learn a lot about,) and now has more than fifty-five published books.
She decided she needed something to do in the morning in her spare time, so she opened her first B&B, Blue Collar, in Vancouver, B.C. After five successful years, she moved home to the small coal mining town of Sparwood, where she now operates the reincarnated version of the Blue Collar.
She's currently working on three or four or eight more books. She has six enchanting grandchildren. She lives alone, apart from guests, meditates, bikes, reads incessantly, and writes.
She likes a quote by Dolly Parton: “Decide who you are, and then do it on purpose.”
I’d love to hear from you. Tell me whether or not you liked this story—or not. Input from readers is the greatest gift a writer can receive.
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