The Wishing Quilt

by Jodi Thomas, Lori Wilde, Patience Griffin

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Three wishes—for love, second chances, and brand-new beginnings—come true, Texas-style, in this uplifting anthology from a talented trio of acclaimed authors . . .

THE SECRET WISH * Jodi Thomas
The little town of While-a-Way, Texas, may as well be named Last Chance as far as Avery Cleveland is concerned. Running her late great-grandmother’s quilt shop is the only way to build back her life after losing her dancing career. But local sheriff Daniel Solis is stunned by Avery’s beauty and spirit—and hopes to show her how to stitch brand-new dreams together . . .
 
WISH UPON A WEDDING * Lori Wilde
Ellie Winter’s sister is holding a quilting bee as her bachelorette party, creating a memory quilt for their grandmother. If only the event weren’t happening at the ranch where Ellie spent childhood summers, now owned by the man she can’t forget. Four days surely isn’t enough time to fall in love again . . . but what about four long, hot, summer nights?
 
WHEN YOU WISH UPON A QUILT * Patience Griffin
Paige Holiday’s last visit to the International Quilt Festival in Houston ended in heartbreak. It seems like all the women in her family are unlucky in love. So at this year’s festival, Paige is focused solely on business, until a gorgeous cowboy crosses her path, ready to turn her life—and her luck—around . . .
 

Release date: August 30, 2022

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Late Fall in Texas

Avery Cleveland inched her rusty, red Mustang off the highway as icy rain blasted against her cracked windshield. Gripping the wheel, she yelled at the car she’d had since high school, “Hang on, boy. I don’t want to go this way either, but it’s our only option.”

After fifteen years the car still refused to answer.

She made two lazy curves before the road narrowed and lightning flashed, revealing the black outline of a small town. The place looked abandoned, forgotten, slowly corroding.

Worthless, she thought, then sighed. The place looked pretty much how she felt right now.

Avery headed toward the buildings with only a line of blinking stoplights reflecting on a blacktop ribbon winding between stores and huddled homes.

They should have named this place Nowhere, Texas, she decided. While-a-Way, Texas, didn’t fit.

But this was her last chance. Her one refuge in a world that had finally broken her spirit. The name didn’t matter. It was a place to stay until she figured out how to restart her life.

As always Avery refused to let one tear fall. She’d been down before and she’d learned no matter what life threw at her, she could always tumble lower. She’d danced when her feet bled onto the stage floor. She’d given up meals so she could pay for lessons, and she’d learned to walk again when she’d fallen into hell. She was a survivor, and she’d survive here.

One red light blinked at her just after she passed a city limit sign. The electricity must be out all over town if only the traffic lights worked. That, or all the people of While-a-Way had moved on.

The second stoplight blinked, shining only far enough to reveal last summer’s dead plants still hanging in weathered baskets from the lamp pole. Avery pushed on through the rain.

The corner of the town square loomed before her with trees shaking their bony, bare branches toward the sky. It was almost December but there was no sign of Christmas here.

Third stoplight in town and she saw her great-grandmother’s old storefront. The quilt shop was dark and huddled between two bigger buildings. Avery fought the urge to turn around. Her last place to run to wasn’t welcoming her, but she didn’t have enough gas to make it back to Austin.

She parked and cut the engine in front of a tilted sign with several letters missing. This was the end of her journey. The bottom of the barrel. Her last place to hide from a world that no longer wanted her.

Pulling her poncho around her thin body as the Mustang engine rattled to a stop, Avery grabbed the chain of keys from the glove box.

With icy rain pelting her, she ran one more time toward the unknown.

A few seconds later, three locks blocked the door. One was broken, the second opened with the first key she tried and the third lock was jammed.

Avery pushed hard, breaking the rotted frame that held the bolt. What did it matter if she broke into her own property? The shop probably didn’t want her any more than she wanted to be here. Austin, Texas, had always had a heartbeat full of life, but this place was silent. “Where the dead go to sleep,” she whispered.

Her world had stopped fifteen months ago when a stumble on stage had put an end to life as she knew it; and now the silence, the shadows of this place were her last sanctuary.

In a blink she was inside the shop. Standing in the stillness of total darkness. She didn’t even breathe. Damp air weighed down the thick layer of dust.

Fear won out for a moment before she turned and pulled the heavy paper off the windows. Lightning raged, showing off a huge space with rubble scattered around. Ornate shelves and staircases bookended both sides of the chamber.

Her life had finally melted down to one room.

Slowly, a memory of this place drifted into focus. Her mother had brought her here once when she was four or five. The room had been covered with patchwork quilts and bright bolts of material and shelves of books and notions.

Avery remembered thinking the shop looked like a fairyland of color. While her mother had talked to an old woman, Avery had pulled off her coat, fluffed her tutu, and begun to twirl across the polished floor.

Her mother yelled, but the music was too clear in Avery’s head. She had to dance. Up the stairs she’d gone, leaning over the railing as if posing for a picture. Onto the wide landing she pirouetted like the great ballerina she knew she would someday be. The huge lights two stories high spotlighted her dance, and she could almost hear the crowds cheering.

Now, on this gloomy night, Avery let her poncho hit the floor and slowly began to dance as she had years ago. Her life might have crumbled, but she still needed to move. In a strange way she understood why Nero fiddled while Rome burned. It was all that was left to do.

Her legs were no longer strong, but they held as she moved across the dusty floor. Arms wide, she whirled with the grace of an artist and the joy of a five-year-old child. Lightning was her footlights and thunder played bass. Rain tapped a melody as she danced.

No one could stop her midnight performance this time. She was alone. She owned this room. No critics around to see her imperfections. No one to care.

Avery felt a moment of peace as she moved, light as a butterfly through sleeping air. Dance, the one thing she’d always understood and loved.

The unlocked front door tapped open against the wall. For a moment the sound was merely a crescendo to the orchestra playing in her mind.

Then, she turned and saw a man framed in the doorway. The ghost of a cowboy from another era, maybe. His shoulders almost touched both sides of the frame and a gun belt circled his waist. His hat was worn low. A rifle fisted at his side.

The moment she saw the weapon, Avery hesitated and missed her footing. She wilted into a tangle of arms and legs still spinning. Her body swirled out of control on the floor like a bottle twirling in a game.

“Stop!” the stranger yelled as if he could halt chaos in flight.

Avery’s head hit the stairs hard. She closed her eyes, no longer wanting to even breathe. Her last dance was over.

Sheriff Daniel Solis stood stone still as he stared inside the abandoned building in one of a dozen dying towns scattered across his county. In the lightning’s blink he’d thought he’d seen a woman dancing in the dark. She’d seemed featherlight, almost as if she’d take flight. Her movements were so graceful, for a moment he didn’t believe she was real.

A broken lock said break-in, but why would anyone bother with this place?

Pulling his flashlight from his belt, he panned the room. On his third sweep of the empty store, he spotted the dancer lying at the bottom of the stairs like a marionette with broken strings.

Without hesitating he stormed toward her. Boots hammered, echoing off the empty room. He fought not to raise his weapon. He’d found drifters and druggies in these abandoned buildings before. They came in out of the rain like rats. But this woman hadn’t looked like a vagrant and the Mustang outside had to belong to her. After being the county sheriff for five years, he pretty much knew every car and person around.

The vision he’d seen in the lightning’s flash couldn’t have been real, but the body at the bottom of the stairs was.

“Hello?” he called, worried that he might have startled her into a faint. “Ma’am, you all right?”

Dan set the flashlight down on the first step and knelt beside her. The long, thin body still didn’t move. With two fingers he slowly pushed light brown hair away from her face. “Lady . . .” he tried again.

Something wet dripped over his fingers as bright red blood trickled along her temple.

He grabbed the flashlight and saw a tiny cut on her forehead, no wider than a fingerprint. Slowly he moved the light down her body. She wore jeans and a loose sweater that stopped a few inches above her waist. No more cuts. No red spots of blood on her sweater, only dust.

As he moved back up to her face, ice-blue eyes stared at him. More angry than frightened.

“Are you all right, miss? I’m sorry if I scared you.” When she just stared, he added, “This is private property. You’re not supposed to be in this building. Want to tell me why you broke in?”

Dan didn’t want to arrest her. After all, breaking into a building to dance didn’t seem much of a crime. Maybe he’d just warn her and suggest she get back on the interstate. Nothing in this town was open this late.

To his relief she sat up and rubbed her head. “I own this place,” she whispered.

Dan offered his hand. “I’m Sheriff Daniel Solis. As far as I know no one owns this place. It has been empty for years.”

“Great, you can go ahead and shoot me then. Right now, I don’t really care.” She slowly unfolded as if testing her strength before she stood.

He gave up waiting for her to take his hand. Dan moved to her elbow and lightly touched her arm to steady her. She was almost as tall as him, and when another bolt of lightning reflected in her blue eyes all he saw was anger.

The lady was beautiful in a fragile, fine china kind of way, but she definitely wasn’t friendly.

He tried again. “I’ll need your name and some ID. I’m the sheriff of this county.” He attempted a smile, but he was too out of practice to make it look believable.

She limped to a shelf by the door and grabbed her purse. “Here.” She shoved her driver’s license and a legal-size envelope toward him. “I’ve got a letter from a lawyer that says my great-grandmother left her place to any relative who would move to this town, live here a year, and open the quilt shop again. The only relative desperate enough to take the bait is me.”

The woman’s head injury must have affected her brain because she kept rattling. “Granny Dorothy Dawn had only one daughter, my grandmother, who died before I was born. My grandmother had one daughter and one son. The son died twenty years ago without leaving any children and my mother died three years ago. I guess longevity doesn’t run in my family. Which leaves me and my sister in line to inherit this nightmare.”

When he just kept staring, she kept talking.

“My sister says she’d die in a small town, so that left me. She also said the only thing the big hall of a room was good for was hosting the town’s Christmas party, and the town stopped renting it two years ago. Which means the shop is worthless.”

Dan held the letter to the light. “This note from the lawyer is dated five years ago.”

The intruder, named Avery Cleveland according to her license, shrugged. “It took me a while to make up my mind. What do you care, Sheriff? I’ve paid the taxes on the place for years.”

The lady had plenty of sass, but for tonight she had enough proof to stake her claim. He was used to people saying “yes, sir” to him, but she seemed to be staring him down with those cold blue eyes. He had a strong feeling she never backed down or took any lip from anyone, including a sheriff.

“Welcome to While-a-Way, Miss Cleveland.” He almost added his condolences for being the relative who had to take the place. “You’re a great dancer from what I saw.”

“I’m not a dancer, Sheriff. I was once, but now I’m nothing.”

“No, miss, you’re a quilt shop owner.” He handed back the letter and her license, then surprised himself by brushing a layer of dust from her cheek. There was something about her that was sexy as hell even if she reminded him of an alley cat ready to bite him as he tried to help her.

He’d never seen a woman like her. So thin the wind would blow her away, yet graceful. Fine china. Deep beauty age would never take away.

“I really don’t see myself as an owner of anything much,” she snapped without moving away from him. “Owning this place and wanting it are two different things.”

Dan tapped his hat with two fingers and thought about asking her if she wanted to go down the road a few miles for a cup of coffee at the truck stop. He’d kind of like to see her in the light. But she had that big-city edge that worried him. City girls talk too fast and shoot questions as quick as bullets. He was way out of practice in the dating game to last a meal with her.

“Good night, miss.” He decided to run. “There’s a motel north on the interstate if you’re looking for a place to stay.”

“No, I’ve got a house somewhere around here that comes with the store, but I think I’ll camp out here tonight. This place might whisper to me in the night. Maybe it’ll tell me what to do with this shop.”

“Suit yourself.” He handed her the flashlight. “I’ll pick this up the next time I come through town. If the room tells you to go away, leave the flashlight by the door.”

“Thanks.” She almost sounded like she meant it.

With nothing more to say, he walked back to his cruiser. It was still raining, but before he started his car he watched her run to her Mustang and pull out what looked like a backpack and a blanket.

Dan frowned. Old car. No real luggage in sight. Not staying in a hotel. He’d bet a week’s pay she was homeless and broke. One other thing. The lady was probably meaner and crazier than any rats in the shop, so he guessed she’d be safe enough.

Only she’d danced with such grace she’d probably haunt his sleep.

After midnight Avery crawled into one of the wide shelves made to hold bolts of material. She needed sleep before she could solve her mounting problems. The deep square shelf was low enough for her to slip out easily and too high for any rats to reach. Thanks to the sheriff’s flashlight, she’d found a working bathroom under the stairs and an old quilt packed away inside a glass cabinet.

She used her backpack for a pillow and an old picnic blanket for her mattress and the quilt as her covers. With her knees folded she just fit in the space. After two days without sleep, even a shelf felt comfortable. Her body relaxed in dreams of dancing. She probably needed a shower, but she was too tired and too cold to take off her clothes.

Hours later she thought the silence must have awakened her. The rain had stopped and a blue moon spread an eerie glow from the now bare windows. Dawn was just starting to blink its way between the buildings across the street.

A sound came from the second floor open balcony. Not whispering or music, but movement. Then, she swore she heard someone walking down the stairs. Slow steps, as each level creaked with age.

She glanced at the flashlight by the windows four feet away. Whoever was in the shop would see her if she moved toward it. She’d be safer where she was. Stone still in the dark.

Avery slid farther back on the shelf. Unless the intruder came very close, the layers of shadows would hide her.

The steps stopped creaking, but now she heard the floor groaning with someone moving toward her.

Avery stopped breathing. She’d traveled halfway across Texas to be killed.

The slight sound of someone walking past her toward the windows, then a man’s dark frame stood in the pale moonlight and seemed to be staring outside as if there was nothing unusual about him watching the main street at dawn.

For a while he didn’t move. He was studying something on Main.

She tried to memorize every feature of him. Tall, maybe six one or two. Slim, in an athletic way. Not the body of a man who lived on the streets. He was dressed in black from his cap to his boots. A short dark beard covered the lower half of his face.

When he turned, she thought she saw binoculars in his hand. Then, before she could see his face clearly, he was moving toward the door and away from the dawn’s first light.

The shadow man knelt three feet from the front door and pulled something from his pocket.

There was just enough light for Avery to see what looked like a pet door low on the wall. Only this one had been painted to look just like the front door in miniature.

The stranger opened a small tin and set it by the tiny door, then vanished back into the darkness.

He traveled faster now, suddenly in a hurry.

Halfway across the room, he disappeared completely but she listened as his steps tapped up the staircase. Then the slight sound of a latch clicking and the shop was completely silent once more.

Avery remained still as morning spread across the floor. The beauty of the mahogany wood welcomed her. Even with its shroud of dirt and cobwebs, the workmanship shone through.

Slowly, like a bear waking from a winter’s sleep, she crawled out of her shelf. Her legs were stiff from lingering echoes of being broken but she began to stretch, pushing muscles to work.

The old quilt she’d found slipped off her shoulders. In the early light she thought it looked like the one her great-grandmother had been piecing the day they’d visited. The old woman had said it was a wishing quilt because with each stitch she wished Avery a full life.

As she moved in a routine she’d learned long ago, her silhouette looked like she was dancing. Avery smiled watching her black outline sway in beauty with twin shadows along the walls. Graceful carbon copies of her form stretched in rhythm even when all she felt was pain.

A new day, she thought. A new challenge.

A fat tabby cat banged his way through the pet door and began to eat from the tin the man in black had left. The cat glanced at her once but showed little interest.

“Morning, Euthyphro.” She smiled, remembering Plato’s play. Her big sister once made fun of her for not being able to pronounce Euthyphro. Karen had been nineteen, in college, and Avery had been thirteen. Always the dumb little sister.

The cat didn’t seem to mind the name or that she was talking to him.

“I never read the play, but I did learn to say the name. It seems a pompous title for you, cat. But after all, you can’t have a plain name. You have your own door and a ghost who brings you meals.”

Deep down she knew she should be afraid of the man in black, but she wasn’t scared of him or the sheriff last night. In fact, she decided she’d give up fear. She’d lived with it too long. Besides, any robber who breaks in to rob an empty store and takes time to feed the cat couldn’t be too dangerous or too bright.

As she moved through her stretches she took inventory. She had one relative, a sister who wouldn’t answer her calls. Avery owned a quilt shop without anything to sell. Sad fact, she didn’t know how to quilt or run any kind of store. Her car was teetering on worthless. And, somewhere just outside of the city limits, she owned a house. Which was probably a shack.

Oh, one last fact. She apparently had a cat who would probably never answer to his name.

Using the flashlight the sheriff loaned her, Avery moved to a bathroom beneath the stairs. She combed her hair and brushed her teeth, then said a prayer of thanks that no one had turned off the water.

First thing on her list today: Go see how rundown the house was, then eat breakfast and plan. If she could manage to live here a year, the land and this shop would be hers and she could sell them. A few thousand might be enough to make a start. Maybe the house would have something worth selling to give her pocket money. Then she could move back to Austin, find an apartment, and look for a job.

Only problem was how to pay the bills, food, and gas for a year when she had nothing to sell in the shop she owned.

When lights began to come on in the apartments over the shops across the street, Avery saw another pressing problem. Electricity. Mentally she changed her plans. First the house, then call about lights, and last breakfast.

She didn’t bother to lock the door as she walked out ready to face whatever came.

As she drove north toward her house, she glanced at the directions scribbled on a yellowed piece of paper. Drive down Main heading north, first right turn after the big billboard, one mile then take the left fork, about a half mile later take first dirt road. If you turn the wrong way you’ll end up at the interstate. Turn around, go back to town and try again.

“You have got to be kidding,” Avery said to no one.

She pushed her sister’s number. When the “leave a message” speech came on she shouted, “Call me back, Karen!”

Avery pulled off the road and waited. Karen always went to work early, but that didn’t mean she’d answer her phone.

Every five minutes Avery left the same message. Karen hadn’t flown to Paris a year ago when Avery had been hurt, but she had met her in Dallas months later and driven her to Austin for the second surgery on her legs. She’d made a big deal about letting her stay in their guest room for a few weeks while she was recovering, even though Karen’s new husband hadn’t liked the idea.

When Avery was on painkillers, she didn’t do everything right, or fast enough. She left her wheelchair in the hall because the bathroom door was too small, and she couldn’t pick up things she dropped, so clothes and towels littered her room. According to Karen, Avery slept too much and didn’t eat meals at the right time.

Karen complained she wasn’t a nurse. She hated it when Avery made any noise and acted bothered when Avery asked her to pick up things like medicine. When she fell in the bathroom, Karen called nursing homes until one finally came and picked Avery up, walkers, wheelchairs, and all.

The new place was noisy, the food was terrible, the staff indifferent, but the physical therapist, Sarge, was great. He’d been in the army and Avery felt like she’d gone through boot camp before she finished his workouts. She might have lost her dream of dancing on stages around the world, but when she’d walked out of the nursing home, she’d made it to the cab without limping.

Avery smiled wryly, knowing she’d hear the old guy yelling in her head every day for the rest of her life. “One more step,” he’d shout like a drill sergeant. “Straighten that skinny body up and march. Ain’t nobody goin’ carry you through this life, girl.”

As she held the phone waiting for Karen to call back, Avery decided there had been blessings scattered among the rubble of her life this past year. Unfortunately, she just couldn’t find many. But Sarge was one.

Finally, Karen returned her call, pulling Avery back to the present.

“What do you need?” Karen yelled. “We’re busy with work.” Apparently, she really loved the boss since she’d divorced husband number two to marry the workaholic lawyer. When Avery pointed out his faults, one being he married her so he wouldn’t have to pay her, Kar. . .