Debut Author Patience Griffin talking Quilts & Kilts

Patience-GriffinHey Banditas and Bandit Buddies, y’all know how much we love bringing you debut authors so you can get their very first book for your TBR collections. Well, today I have a delightful new author to introduce you to. I met Patience several years ago at my local RWA chapter here in Dallas. Since then I’ve had the pleasure of watching her grow in her writing career and take that first step into publication. She’s in the Lair today to tell us about her debut novel, TO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE, book #1 in her Quilts & Kilts series.

Suz: Welcome, Patience!! Pull up a chair here in the Lair bar. Sven will serve up whatever you’d like to drink while we chat. Name your poison!

Patience: I would love to have a caramel frappe…with plenty of whip.

Suz: So, first things first…we LOVE call stories in the Lair, so tell us yours.

Patience: Oh, dear, do you really want to hear this? I have a long history of kidney stones and was in pain on this particular day. I had been sitting in a warm bath and had just gotten out. I’m usually pretty shaky after one of these episodes—I call it a kidney stone hangover—and decided I didn’t feel good enough to get dressed. So here I was lying under a pile of covers, naked, when my agent called. I had to ask her to repeat herself several times. Oh, and to this day, my agent doesn’t know I was naked while getting the news. So shhhh, mums the word. Okay?

Suz: Can you give us a little bit about TO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE to wet our appetites, please.

Chapter One
Cait Macleod frowned as the taillights of her taxi sped off into the night. She was standing in a deserted parking lot on the northeast coast of Scotland in the middle of December. All alone. Not new for her, but it sucked all the same.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said to the now-long-gone cabbie. She kicked snow off her shoe. “I’ll be fine and dandy.”
A fierce gust of wind caught her hair, reeling it around her head like tangled fishing line. The saying You can never go home again smacked her in the face as surely as the wind did. She gazed down at the scant glow of lights rising from the coastal village below and wondered if she was crazy to think she could recapture the happiness she’d once had here. Instead of coming home with her Scottish head held high, she was coming home in defeat.
But there was no time to ponder what was or what might be again as a wintry chill settled into her feet. She grimaced down at her metallic Brian Atwood heels immersed in the snowy slush. Clearly, she hadn’t given enough thought to her wardrobe when she’d decided to escape her crappy life in Chicago.
“This is one hell of a birthday,” she said into the wind. Thirty-one years today. She’d forgotten Gandiegow was a closed community—no cars past the parking lot, only walking paths. And here she stood with four hefty suitcases and only two arms to drag them into the village. She yanked two of her bags over to a tree to wait their turn. The other two, she rolled behind her as she awkwardly hobbled into the village, all the while cussing in Gaelic.
Gandiegow had exactly sixty-three houses arcing around the coastline, with rocky bluffs boxing in the village. The way the town snugged up against the sea made it look like an extension of the ocean. But instead of ripples of water, there were houses. She’d been born in this village. She’d watched her mother bake bread in their wood-fired stove. Her father, when he’d cared about being a good da, had taught Cait how to fish just yards from their front steps. Her cantankerous grandmother still lived here in one of the little stone cottages.
Cait sighed heavily at her predicament. How had it come to this? Her cheating husband, Tom, was dead. Her journalism career was nearly a corpse. And her hope for reviving her life was gasping for its last breath, too.
She stopped, pulled out her map, and checked the location of her own newly bought bungalow. It sat farthest away, next to the bluffs, isolated but for one other house next to hers. She’d purchased the cottage sight unseen, based on a few snapshots over the Internet. It was the craziest thing she’d ever done, selling everything and running away. But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t really running away; she was running home. Her father had been the one to uproot Cait in the first place. When she was thirteen, he’d dragged her and Mama halfway around the world.TSWL
“God, I haven’t turned into my da, have I?” she said to the wind.
No. Her rash move affected no one but herself. It was Tom’s deceit, their marriage headed for divorce court, and then the dirt mounding over his grave that brought Cait to the breaking point. She had to get out of Chicago and come home to Scotland. Maybe here she could pull herself together and eventually revive her writing career.
She went back to slogging through the slush, not really thinking about the cold. It was the tension that had built up over the last few days that was getting to her. Now it increased exponentially, making the knot at the back of her neck feel like a burning fist. Deydie. The only family Cait had left.
Her gran would wring her neck for not letting her know she was coming. Cait had tried—sort of. Before the plane lifted off, she’d called, but Deydie hadn’t answered and there’d been no machine to take a message. What kind of granddaughter waits until the last second to let her gran know she’s coming? A stupid one?
But dang it, Deydie wasn’t your typical gran. Cait loved her, but the old gal had issues. Crabby, in-your-face issues. During their last phone call, her gran had made it perfectly clear what she thought of Cait: a chip off the old block—specifically, her father’s worthless, good-for-nothing block. Cait knew there’d be hell to pay. She’d never given Deydie a good reason for staying away so long. But what could she have said? I can’t leave town because my husband screws around at every opportunity? Or, I lost myself along the way and did everything the cheating bastard told me to do? How ridiculous Cait felt. Especially now.
What if her grandmother and the other townsfolk rejected her? Cait hadn’t visited even when she was an adult and had the means. In Gandiegow’s eyes, that was indefensible, regardless of Tom. Cait had slapped her kinsmen in the face, and they would surely repay her by showing her their backs. What would she do then?
The gravel and slush gave way to a cobblestone walkway. Under other circumstances, Cait would’ve found the winding sidewalk charming, but right now it felt like the devil’s path. Her heels kept getting lodged in between the stones, and every few feet, the suitcase wheels got stuck, too. If she had to lug the baggage much farther, her arms were in serious danger of being ripped from their sockets.
Six houses and two turns of the stone walk later, she found cottage number thirteen. Her heart stopped. There had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be the two-bedroom bungalow she’d seen online. That one had been a quaint, one-and-a-half-story, ivy-covered dream.
This one was a black, smoky ruin.
“It figures,” Cait groaned.
Dangling sideways from a wrought-iron post hung the #13 sign. Judging by the look of the charred wood, a fire had claimed every bit of her new home. The only parts left were the chest-high stone wall surrounding the perimeter of the house and a smoke-stained chimney jutting out of the ashes.
Her house was dead.
It all made sense now. Death comes in threes. Wasn’t that the old saying?
Well, the Christmas tree back in Chicago had knocked off first. It turned into a skeleton and dropped pine needles all over the floor. Tom, her lying, cheating, weasel-of-a-husband, went next. He had a heart attack while inserting his holiday sausage into his mistress. And now her new home was dead, too. A freaking funeral pyre.
A shiver, which had nothing to do with Scotland’s frigid December weather, overtook her. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” Could life get any worse?
A fat raindrop hit her head. Then another. Just like that, the heavens opened up and dropped a shitload of rain on her dumbass head. She looked up. “Thanks.”
She dragged her bags to the house next door with the intent of using her neighbor’s phone. While stepping up on the porch, she formulated a few choice words for the online Realtor—the big swindler!
Before reaching for the knocker, Cait decided to dislodge the rock from her shoe first. But when she bent over, the door suddenly opened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man come through and stop short. She felt pretty sure, even from that angle, he was giving her ass the once-over.
She had every intention of giving him a piece of her mind—she didn’t allow men to ogle her like a rump roast—but when she stood and saw who was eyeing her . . .
Omigod! Mr. Darcy. She nearly fell in the ice and mud.
She couldn’t catch her breath. Graham Buchanan. It was Graham Buchanan in person. He was so outrageously handsome he seemed to glow and shimmer, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. More impressive than he’d ever been on the big screen or in a magazine spread. No glitz, no glamour, no hair gel. Not put together in any sense. And better, so much better—his collar-length brown hair tousled, his beard a two-day stubble, and he wore a Scottish warrior’s frown like a badge of honor. Sexy as hell.
She had come to this house to ask for something, but for the luvagod, she couldn’t remember what. All she could do was stare at his broad chest and tall frame. She licked her lips. His spicy cologne drew her in.
He took a step back, ready to slam the door in her face.
“Wait,” she cried. She still needed a phone. And to smell him a second longer—a tantalizing mixture of ginger, cardamom, and nutmeg.
“You’re with the press,” he accused.
How did he know? Graham Buchanan must have a sixth sense.
But right now, who cared? His Scottish burr rolled off his tongue like melted caramel. She wanted to lap him up. And the pheromones flying off him were so palpable, they had her wanting to drop to her knees and offer herself up as his love slave, his sex kitten, his everything.
Get it together, Cait.
She straightened herself up and took a deep breath, then lied as if her career depended on it. “I am not with the press.” Not anymore. Editing Chicago Fishermen’s Monthly didn’t count when it came to journalistic credits.
She looked into his golden brown eyes. Being near him caused her heart to bang against her insides like a wild badger inside a metal drum. She closed her eyes, trying to center herself. It didn’t work. She felt like the envy of all ovulating women in the free world. It wasn’t every day she stood in the presence of the sexiest man alive.
It hit her then like a wrecking ball—oomph. The headline from People magazine in her carry-on bag—Graham Buchanan Gone Missing Again. According to People, no stone had gone unturned, yet she’d stumbled into him, now only three feet away. She’d found the lost actor. Cait Macleod had done it—found Graham Buchanan!
Inside the cottage, another man’s voice rang out from behind Graham. “What is it?” He sounded a little perturbed.
Graham’s eyebrows furrowed, distrust shrouding his features. “I’m not sure,” he called. Any second now he’d slam the door in her face.
Cait stuck her hand in the jamb. “I need to use the phone.”
“Then you’re not a journalist?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You look like one of those leeching paparazzi—”
“Heavens no. I—I—” Her brain faltered, and the stupidest answer came out. “I’m a quilter.”
Graham jerked back. “You’re a what?” He closed the door a bit more.
A small boy saved her. He came up behind Graham and grabbed his hand. The kid looked about six, dark red hair, sad eyes and an even sadder mouth. Graham put his arm protectively around him. “Go back to your da, Mattie.” Obediently, the boy turned and left.
Graham watched him until he disappeared; then he gave her his full scrutiny again. “Usually, I’m right about these things. I can’t believe you’re not with the press.”
“You’re wrong this time, buster.” Her Episcopal upbringing had her wanting to make the sign of the cross, a little protection against lying so fervently. And for calling the mega star buster. She gestured toward her misfortune. “That’s my house next door.” She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. “The one that looks like a campfire gone awry.” She made sure she looked him square in the face so he wouldn’t know she’d lied about her profession. What a bonus that he was so easy on the eyes.
He leaned out and nodded toward her house. “She went up in flames day before yesterday.”
Cait gazed over at her cremated house as well. “I knew it was too good to be true. I’m plagued with bad luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” He shrugged. “Faulty wiring is what I hear.”
“About that phone? My cell’s dead.” She wiped the rain from her eyes.
He seemed to wake up to the fact that she was soaked. “Come in.” He still sounded leery, but stepped to the side and opened the door fully. “Duncan, you have company.”
“What?” A young man appeared, the same height as Graham, so like the actor it made Cait stare at both of them. Two things hit her at once.
The man behind Graham was little Duncan MacKinnon, whom she’d once protected from a bully at Gandiegow’s one-room schoolhouse. Shoot, she’d babysat for him a time or two as well. Duncan would be, what, twenty-five or twenty-six by now?
Second, and most unbelievably, Duncan MacKinnon was undoubtedly Graham Buchanan’s son. People insisted the star had no family. But the resemblance was just overwhelming. And the sad little boy—Graham’s grandson? She rubbed her temples. It was almost too much to take in.
“Duncan, meet your new neighbor.” Graham looked at her quizzically. “Miss . . . ?”
“Caitriona Macleod.”
“Caitie Macleod?” Graham said, incredulous.
Caitie. Her mother had called her that, and the villagers had called her that, too. Her stepmother, however, had refused, insisting
Cait drop the ie along with her other Scottish traits.
The men stared at her, gape-mouthed, in the entryway.
Finally, Graham found his voice. “I knew your mother, Nora, well.” Then, a lot sterner, “Does Deydie know you’ve come?”
“No, but I plan—” she started.
“Are you daft?” Graham took her arm and ushered her into a small but cozy living area. “Call her.” He pointed at the black 1960s-era wall phone hanging on the real-wood paneling.
Cait crossed her arms. “It’s late. I’ve been up more than twenty-four hours. I’ll see her tomorrow.” Graham might be a superstar, but he couldn’t tell her what to do. “Listen, I feel too wet, too tired, and my brain too jumbled to deal with Deydie. Is there a hotel in town?”
The men looked at her in disapproving astonishment, like she’d stubbornly sailed a dinghy into a hurricane. A churlish Deydie hurricane.
Duncan prodded her, much gentler than his da. “You must call her. She’s family. You don’t want her upset.” It sounded like a warning, the bell of a danger buoy.
He was right about one thing: Cait didn’t want to upset Deydie, the most daunting woman in all of Scotland. But there’d be no avoiding it. Cait was the prodigal granddaughter, and that was some powerful unpleasantness she’d rather face when she was dry and when her feet didn’t feel like a couple of stumps in her six-hundred-dollar heels.
She tugged at her Barbour trench coat. She’d never tell them the real reason she wasn’t asking her gran to put her up. Rejection. Cait had had it up to her wool cap with being dismissed, denied, rebuffed, and repudiated. “Tomorrow. I’ll see Deydie tomorrow. Tonight, I need a hotel.”
Cait got more frowning from Graham. “Gandiegow doesn’t have one,” he said, irritated.
“True,” Duncan said with an edge of resentment. “But he can help you out.” He gestured toward his da.
She didn’t know what was going on between the two of them, but at least someone was on her side. Cait used her best downtown-Chicago scowl to stare Graham down.
Finally, Graham caved with a sigh of resignation. “If you insist on being obstinate, then you can stay in the room over the pub.”
She was the one to be circumspect now. “You know this for sure about the room? Shouldn’t you speak with the pub owner first?”
The men shared a knowing look.
Graham pulled the handles up on her suitcases and started walking toward the door. “Aye, you’re in luck. The owner won’t turn you away tonight.”
Cait turned to Duncan. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
“Then you do remember me?” Duncan said.
“How could I forget little Dunkie MacKinnon? I used to babysit you at your grandda’s house,” she said.
Duncan smiled. “I remember getting extra biscuits when you took care of me.”
“We’ll catch up later,” she said with a genuine smile, then realized that Graham was already out the door.
She stepped outside and found the rain had turned into sleet. “Lovely weather we’re having.”
Graham shook his head. “What did you expect? It’s December in Scotland.”
She felt like an idiot and pulled her lapels around her face to block out the December in Scotland welcome. “The rest of my bags are back in the parking lot.”
“Let’s get you to the pub first; then I’ll go for the rest.”
The conversation died, and a million thoughts converged in on her. Was this where Graham went when he disappeared for months at a time? If Duncan MacKinnon was his son, how come the press didn’t know? Even more perplexing, why hadn’t she known? She’d grown up in Gandiegow.
Cait slipped and grabbed for Graham. He dropped the bag handles and reached for her, catching her around the waist with a strong grip. For a moment, they stood toe to toe with her hands holding on to his biceps, his made-of-steel biceps. Time downshifted to a complete halt. Before this moment, she wouldn’t have given two cents for a muscly man. In a twinkling of an eye, Graham Buchanan changed all that. She looked up into his face and turned into a hot puddle in his capable arms.
Geesh, Cait. Get a grip.
She dropped her hands, made sure she stood on solid ground and then continued on, not looking over at him. Thank God it didn’t take long to get to the pub or she might have gone so far as to ask for his autograph . . . or if he needed a warm bod to snuggle up to tonight.
Graham withdrew an old-fashioned skeleton key from his coat, unlocked the door, and held it open for her. “The switch is on your right.”
Her own lightbulb went on. “You’re quite the joker, aren’t you?” She mimicked his baritone voice. “The owner won’t turn you away tonight and all.” She flipped the switch. The place lit up with old-world ambience—all dark wood on the floor, booths, and counter.
The chairs had been upended on the tabletops, and the bar and floor had been polished by Mr. Clean. It lacked only a band of rowdy Scots and it would’ve been perfect.
“Why isn’t the place hopping?” Cait asked.
“Renovations. Tomorrow night is the grand reopening of the Fisherman.” For the first time, he actually smiled. “Let’s get you upstairs and dried off. Over here.” He made his way past the bar to a narrow set of stairs. He had to duck his head to make the climb.
She followed him, getting a gratifying view of his man-butt in his jeans. At the top landing, she found a small hall with two doorways.
He pointed to one. “The bath’s in there.” He opened the other door. “The bedroom. It’s not much. It should be enough for tonight, though.” He frowned at her, the frown he’d given her earlier. “Are you sure you won’t stay with Deydie tonight?”
She shook her head.
“Well, then, I’ll be off to get your other bags.” He pointed at the armoire. “Towels and linens are in there.” Then he was gone.
Cait hurriedly slipped out of her ruined heels and freed herself from her coat. Her Jones New York slacks would never be the same, and she stepped out of those as well. When she dropped her tailored white shirt to the floor and stood in nothing but her lacy white bra and her French-cut undies, the door opened.
Graham stood there slack-jawed. “I . . . I . . . just came back to tell you I’ll leave your other bags out in the hall.”
Bless him, he was embarrassed. But not enough to look away. He gave her underthings an appreciative nod. “I’ll be going.” The door shut.
Cait should’ve been incensed by him barging in. Instead, her belly warmed with excitement, and adrenaline made her tremble. What was wrong with her?
“What female wouldn’t get a little flustered with Graham Buchanan gawking at her underwear?” she rationalized to the wall.
The mirror caught her flushed face and bright eyes. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered to her reflection

Suz: I have to confess, the moment I read your hero played Mr. Darcy on TV, Colin Firth was in my head for the duration of the book. Sigh. Who did you have in mind for him?

Patience: I do love Colin Firth, but I might have had a particular Scottish actor in mind (perhaps Gerard Butler) while I was working on To Scotland with Love. My first Gerard Butler crush was when I saw Timeline. There have been many since.

Suz: Sigh. I do love a good Gerard Butler movie, picture…uhm, yeah. He could work for me as Mr. Darcy, too. Poor Cait, the heroine of TO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE. She has some hard choices to make when she arrives in Scotland, doesn’t she?

Patience: Cait does have a tough time of it. She has to choose between kick-starting her career or respecting the privacy of someone else. Her hard choices are just a reflection of what we have to face every day. When we get up in the morning, we have to decide whether we’re going to do only for ourselves or to take care of others. It’s a balancing act between self-preservation and loving those around us. It isn’t easy, but no one ever said life would be.

Suz: So quilts? Why did you decide to put quilting in your books?

Patience: I began quilting in Iowa. On the first Saturday of every month, a group of us quilters would get together and sew. We would eat, tell stories, and laugh while we were sewing. I loved my community of quilters and thought it would be fun to create a small town where quilters were the center of everything. Women are powerful and I enjoy showing how this community of women draw strength from one another through laughter, and sometimes, tears.Scots at Highland games

Suz: Okay, you know I’ve been green with envy ever since I heard you were going to Scotland. How was your trip? Meet any Scots in kilts?

Patience: My trip to Scotland was amazing. And, yes, I did see many Scots in kilts at the Highland games last weekend in Birnam—from the bagpipers and drummers, to the Highland dancers, to the men competing in the heavy athletics. It was a kilt feast for the eyes! My cousin wanted me to take a picture of a tartan that she liked. The older Scot accused me of taking a picture of the younger Scot’s bum. They had a good laugh about it and let me take a face-forward picture of them.

Suz: What’s next in your Quilts & Kilts series? Meet_Me_in_Scotland.indd

Patience: MEET ME IN SCOTLAND comes out January 6, 2015. Here’s a little blurb: You can run from your problems, but you can’t hide from love in the Scottish seaside town of Gandiegow…. When a video of her calling happily ever after “a foolish fantasy” goes viral, marriage therapist Emma Castle is out of a job—and off to Scotland.

The tiny town of Gandiegow is the perfect place to ride out the media storm and to catch up with her childhood friend Claire. But also in Gandiegow is the one man she hoped never to see again. She’s successfully avoided Gabriel MacGregor since Claire and Dominic’s wedding, only to find he’s now the village doctor—and just as tall, dark, and devilish as ever. Claire and

Dominic’s blissful marriage, however, is not what it used to be. Soon Emma and Gabriel find themselves taking sides even as the sparks begin to fly between them. Can Emma help her friends—or regain her career—as she struggles with her own happily ever after?


The Quilters of Gandiegow Creed: Our life is not measured by the quilts we create but by the number of quilts we give away.

Patience wants to know what’s your favorite quilt? Do you have a story to go with it? She’s giving away a signed print copy of TO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE to one poster today.


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  • Jane says:

    Congrats on your debut release, Patience. I remember we had a quilt, but it was purchased from a department store so it wasn’t one of a kind and no story behind it.

    • Hey, Jane!

      I have a lovely store bought quilt for my guest room. It’s heavy and the stitching it neatly done. I’m thinking store bought quilts are well worth the money!

    • Hi, Jane,
      Suzanne is totally right about store bought quilts. My cousin (my Scotland traveling buddy) has a beautiful store bought quilt which is lovely and has held up nicely over the years.

  • Helen says:

    Hi Patience

    Congrats on the release this one sounds fantastic and I love the call story 🙂

    I actually don’t have any home made quilts and we have none that have been passed down in the family we do have quite a few crocheted blankests that my Mum made and they are special but of course I do have a good friend Barb who makes some beautiful quilts and a couple of my grandchildren have one that Barb lovingly made with their names on them and they are special and of course will be passed down for many years I hope

    Have Fun

    • Hey Helen!

      Isn’t it great to have friends who make us such wonderful gifts?

      I have a nurse friend named Linda who made “crazy quilts” for each nurse when she had a baby. They were always themed to go with the nursery decor. Too sweet!

    • Hi, Helen,
      I never had a homemade quilt either though I had plenty of handmade clothes as a child. It’s wonderful that you have crocheted blankets from your Mum. What an heirloom. Do you crochet yourself? I haven’t in years but have been thinking of trying to pick it back up.

  • Deanna says:

    Congrats on the debut novel, Patience. Your little excerpt certainly drew me in. I’m hooked! As to my favorite quilt, I should say quilts really, there were two. One I had when I was very young, from between age 5 to 8, the other from about age 9 to 11. Both were well loved and used to death. They have not survived the years. One was made by my grandmother and the other by my aunt. I still remember what they look like. I wish that we had saved them, if only because they have great sentimental value. Those early quilts have given me a long abiding love for all things quilts. I have quite a few of them today that are much newer and very treasured.

    • Hey Deanna!

      The beauty of quilts, besides in the pattern and love that goes into them, is that we use them and the more we use, wash and love them, the better they get! My mom has one from my great aunt that is a “grandma’s flower garden” and it is still lovely with all those different hexagonal scraps in it.

    • Morning, Deanna,
      It’s awesome that you have had some treasured quilts and hold them so dear in your memory. Mental snapshots are priceless. Those quilts, though gone, did their job, right?
      My daughter has a blue jean quilt that a friend made for her and she has nearly loved that thing to death, but what wonderful warmth it has given her through the years.

  • Patience,

    When I was a teenager, my grandmother and my two aunts sent my sister and I quilts for Christmas one year. The quilts were a “Southern Belle” applique and the other was a purple pansy one made by my great aunt. I took the pansy one and it went to nursing school with me. I had it until it fell apart 15 years into my marriage. Loved, loved LOVED that quilt. It got me through some very difficult days in nursing school and afterwards!!

    • Suz,
      I’m going to look up the Southern Belle applique–I’m not familiar with that one. But how wonderful was it for your grandmother and aunts to give you such a gift! A quilt’s job description is boundless, isn’t it? I’m so glad that it helped you get through nursing school. Nurses rule, in my opinion!

  • Debbie Oxier says:

    My favorite quilt is a variation of the Texas Star that my grandmother and I pieced together before she got to where she couldn’t sew any more. Our time together working on it was priceless.

    • Debbie, what a lovely memory to have made a quilt with your grandmother. My grandmother taught me how to sew and it was the best gift she could ever given me. I remember sitting with her in her sewing room for hours on end, chatting and laughing. I still miss her, but I’ll always hold her dear in my heart.

    • Hey Debbie!

      By the time I developed an interest in quilting, my grandmother wasn’t quilting anymore, but she had these crazy quilts she’d made over the years with scraps of her kids old clothes. They were so fun to look at!

      Cherish that memory. Do you still have that quilt top?

  • Mary Preston says:

    Thank you for the wonderful chapter.

    No one in my family quilts. We do other craft work though. I am in awe of people who can quilt. I doubt I’d have the patience.

    • Hi, Mary,
      What kind of crafts do you like to do? My sister-in-law does scrapbooking and I’m in awe of her. I don’t have the patience to do it, but her work is incredible.

    • Hey Mary!!

      Have you ever seen paper piecing? I have one small wall hanging I did. You just sew scraps on according to the printed pattern, and then at the end you pull away the paper and wha-la! A square pieced block!

  • flchen1 says:

    What a lovely excerpt, Patience! Thanks for visiting today! My favorite quilt is one my friend’s mom made for my eldest–it’s got colorful sailboats on a blue sea 🙂

    • Good morning,
      I’m so glad you liked the excerpt. I’m writing about a Scottish coastal town and would love to see your sailboat quilt. (I have a thing for sailboat quilts!) For book three, I’m making a nautical quilt to display at booksignings. I just need more hours in the day to get it done!

    • Morning, Fedora!!

      I love the sound of the sailboat quilt. Hmmm…do have 2 new grandsons…

      Nope…I have books to write, dang it! 😀

  • Patty L. says:

    I love your first chapter. Scotland is so romantic. I can’t wait to read. Sorry about the kidney stones but how awesome to have a unique call story.

    My mom is a quilter, apparently I don’t have the gift because I have no patience, and she made me a wedding ring quilt as a gift. I sleep under it every night.

    • Hey, Patty!

      I have two wedding ring quilts in my bedroom. One is green that my Mom gave us, the other is a small pink and green one I found at a flew market. Just enough extra warmth on a rare cold winter day down here in Texas!

  • Hi, Patty,
    A Wedding Ring quilt? Your momma loves you! I have never made one, but think they are gorgeous. I did patch my aunt’s Double Wedding Ring quilt that her mother gave her as a wedding present. My aunt loved several holes in hers over the years. What a great gift!

  • linda hudson says:

    Arrrgģgg wish I had time to read all this. Duty calls . Back tonight and looks like I’m buying more books.

  • Joan Kayse says:

    Welcome to the Lair Patience! I’ve become an even bigger fan of kilts since Outlander 😀

    I love me some stories set in the Highlands…Ireland….Ireland….Ireland…er, the Highlands. No two ways about it, Celts are hot

    My mother was a lifelong quilter. Do you have a favorite pattern?

  • teresa says:

    Wow, what an awesome excerpt!

    I’m not a quilter unfortunately. No one in my family is. It does look fun and therapeutic though.

  • Shannon says:

    Congratulations on the book. I don’t know about getting the call, but I know way too much about being sick and cuddling under the covers.

    My Mom is a quilter, although she’s slowed down a lot. I have a comforter that she made after seeing my first home. Then I have a queen sized quilt for my bed. I have no idea of the pattern.

    This Monday we went to a quilt show in northern Idaho. After seeing all those quilts, I don’t know if I could pick a favorite. And then the stories pinned to the quilts. About one that a woman made between her bouts of chemotherapy. The one that a mother made of green trees, blue streams, and soaring eagle of Idaho for her son after he came back with pictures of a beige and brown Afghanistan or Iraq. And then there was one that had an outside binding of fans, so the woman designed her own fan blocks. I forget the quilt, but I loved the sign that said she made it for her daughter who whined for six months because her Mom was putting it into the quilt show first before the cats shed on it.

    • Hi, Shannon,
      I love the stories attached to quilts, too; a story is stitched into each one, isn’t it? I love making tee shirt quilts because the kids can look back on them and remember the times they had. The last quilt I made was when my son made Eagle in Boy Scouts. I put all his Cub Scout through Boy Scouts tee shirts in it, along with patches and emblems. It’s one of my favorites.

    • Hey Shannon!!

      Love quilt shows. Dragged my daughter Lyndsey to one. She whined the whole way. Before we went in, I told her, “Think of it as art work made out of material.” Being an artist it gave her a whole new persepective on them. And there were some very beautiful and detailed ones.

  • Verna Spangler says:

    Hi Patty as that is what I knew you by in the old times , And I do miss those times. I am a quilted as was my Mother and Grandmother. Have one quilt from my grandmother and several from my mom. The Country Homemakers club I belong to makes quilts and lap robes to give to people whose homes burn and the nursing homes. We also make a quilt each year for a fund raiser and I was so happy last year that I won it. It is a sampler quilt done in blues very pretty and I love it. I also make fund raising quilts for the Veitnam veterens . Sorry for running on but quilts is my passion. Verna

    • Hi, Verna,
      It’s great to see you here at Romance Bandits. I would have to say that quilts are my passion, too. I just don’t have as much time as I’d like behind my sewing machine these days. The next quilt I’m going to make is a nautical flag quilt for the third book in the Kilts & Quilts series. It’s super colorful and should be fun.
      Take care!

    • Hey Verna! Welcome to the Bandit Lair!

      Wow! You must do lots of sewing to help make that many quilts each year! I’m envious!!

  • CrystalGB says:

    My favorite quilt is a quilt that the front side was hand sewn together by my grandmother. She died when I was 14 and she had given it to me before she passed away. I had my sister in law finish it and it is a cherished possession.

    • Crystal,
      What a treasure to have a hand-sewn quilt from your grandmother. I’ve never hand-stitched one myself; I can’t imagine the time that your quilt took. Loving hands and loving work goes into a quilt. It’s wonderful that you have such an heirloom.

    • Oh Crystal!

      That’s going to be a family heirloom and just think, your grandmother will be touching generations with her love!! <3 <3

  • catslady says:

    I don’t really have a favorite. I think they’re all gorgeous and know how much time and effort and love must go into each and every one. I would have loved being part of a quilting group of women like they use to do in the old days but I would have to learn how but it is something that fascinates me (along with Scotland lol).

    • Hey Catslady!

      Do you know that my great uncle built a huge quilting frame, then suspended it on a pulley system in their living room? My great aunt would piece together tops all spring and summer, then in the fall they’d mount a top, with the batting and the backing on this frame. Every night they’d lower it and he’d quilt right along side her.

      Now that was a man who loves his woman!!

    • Hi, CatsLady and Suzanne,
      I’m with you…that all quilts are beautiful. What an ingenuous idea to have the quilt frame hanging from the ceiling! I can’t imagine PhD helping me quilt, nor would I want him to. He’s not very crafty, but he’s an excellent dog wrangler and pretty fabulous husband.

  • Deb says:

    Hi, Patience. Congrats on your releases.

    My mother makes quilts and has for many years. She really, really, really wanted me to quilt, so bought me a sewing machine. I have made 13 blocks for a star quilt, but I just don’t like it. The sewing part is fine, but the precise cutting drives me insane.

    My mother has made 2 big quilts for me, and 3 for my daughter. My all-time favorite of hers is the one she did for my sister’s wedding present. It is a Wedding Ring Quilt, and made with pine green and red materials. It is completely hand quilted, completely! It’s beautiful.

    My favorite one of my two is the one she made for my wedding, The Ohio Star. It is black and maroon squares on white. She also hand-quilted that. As of late, however, she machine quilts.

    Thanks for being here today!

    • Hey Deb!

      Wow, your mom sounds like a very busy quilter! And those quilts, especially the Ohio Star sounds fabulous!!

    • Jeanne Adams says:

      Oh, Deb! My Sister! Grins. I love the quilting part – the sewing is soothing in its own way – but the fiddly parts, the cutting and the precision matching of the cuts? Oh heck no. :> I’d probably do a lot more quilting if I didn’t have to do all the cutting, but then again….maybe not. Ha!

    • Deb,
      I’ll chime in here. I really dislike cutting the pieces for a quilt. But I’ve come to accept it as a necessary evil. I usually try to cut fabric while I’m watching a romantic comedy so I’m a bit distracted. My favorite part of quilting is when I get to hug the finished product and take tons of pictures. I only have two of my own quilts as I’ve given the rest away, so sometimes I’ll go back and look at the pictures to reminisce.

  • It’s not my quilt but I love the charitable organization called Victoria’s Quilts. They make lap-quilts for cancer patients to take with them to their chemo treatments because they can feel quite chilled during the treatment. If anyone is interested in more information, here is the link to their website.

  • Jeanne Adams says:

    Hi Patience!! Welcome to the Lair and CONGRATS on your new releases! I’ll be buying these – you’ve got several things I love here…sexy heroes, kilts, and quilts and Scotland the Brave. Grins. What’s not to love about that?

    Love the excerpt too! :>

    My favorite quilt is one my sibs and I always called the Bumblebee Quilt. It’s very old – probably early 1900s, maybe 1910s. We never thought about that though when we were kids, because in my family quilts were blankets to be USED. Grins. Anyway, the Bumblbee is black and yellow and white. It’s a tulip pattern but that’s almost unnoticable b/c of the coloration. Hence it’s bumblebee reference.

    We also have my great granny’s Texas Star quilt which is coming to pieces, and a whole bunch of dogwood, log cabin, and other quilts. My aunts and greats were serious quilters. Me, not so much. Neither my sister nor I quilts. We keep them though and treasure them for the works of art they are.

    • Jeanne,
      I love the concept of the bumblebee quilt…I can just hear you kids naming it!
      Have you seen some of the wonderful things that people are doing with their overly loved quilts? I’ve seen teddy bears and Father Christmas made from old quilts. At our church bazaar, there is a woman who makes Christmas stockings and ornaments from used quilts. I have some large pillows made from a Dresden plate quilt that I picked up from an estate sale. Those quilts live on and on.

  • pjpuppymom says:

    Hi Patience! You already know how much I adored TO SCOTLAND WITH LOVE. It’s one of my favorite books of 2014 and I’ve been busy recommending it to everyone I know.

    I enjoyed tagging along on your recent journey to Scotland via the photos you posted on Facebook. What a wonderful trip! I’m more determined than ever to make it there one of these days.

    I don’t have any quilters in my family (that I’m aware of) but I do have friends who make beautiful quilts. I don’t have a favorite design. I’m impressed with the skill it takes to make all of them!

    I just put a big smiley face on January 6th on my 2015 calendar. Can’t wait to return to Gandiegow with MEET ME IN SCOTLAND! 🙂

    • Thanks, PJ, for all your support. I’m so glad that you loved To Scotland with Love. (That book had a lovely time on the trip to her homeland. She’s a bit jet-lagged like I am.) I have a ton more pictures that I’m going to post. Not the least of which is me dressed up as a Scottish lass at one of the shops in Edinburgh. Edits for book 3 in the series have to get done first! I’m glad I updated my research notes on the flight home, because I’m definitely back in the swing of things here.
      Thanks for the smiley face on January 6th. I’m super excited about it. Also, I’m excited that the audiobook for To Scotland comes out next week, September 8th. I know a lot of quilters that listen to books while they sew.
      Take care!

  • Louise Sitton says:

    Hi Patty, Mary gave me a signed copy of your bk. I am reading it for the 2nd time and going to critique it as in figurative language and characterizations–later. This spring my daughter, Kathy, helped me make a Tshirt quilt with my 40 year collection of Tshirts. I think it is beautiful. It shows highlights of my family, my school experiences, and my adventures. You have achieved great things, and I am so glad I can say, “I knew Patty when.”

    • Hi, Louise,
      I’m so glad that you stopped by Romance Bandits today! I would love to see your tee shirt quilt. Would you like to post it on my Facebook page at Patience Griffin? That would be great! Also, I can tell everyone that I knew Louise Sitton when! Take care!

  • Chelsea B. says:

    I’ve always loved quilts. Something so comforting about them. I currently don’t own one, unfortunately!

  • Pam says:

    Our favorite quilt is one sent to us by my husbands now deceased mother. She was on disability, had many health issues (mental and physical), and lived out of state. We sent her cash to help her out every month, and she used used that to go have some fun. She loved to shop the thrift shops. One day she found a beautiful hand made quilt and sent it to us. She couldn’t quilt or sew herself, but she knew that her son would love to have this physical “hug” from her across the miles. And now… across time.
    Quilts are forever.

    • Pam,
      What a lovely story. And you’re right…quilts are physical hugs.
      My Aunt Janet wanted to have a quilt to give to each of her granddaughters one day. She was short one and had been on the lookout for another quilt. Aunt Janet already had a quilt that I had made for her and my uncle (my cheerleaders), but I made her another one so she would have enough for each of the girls. Right after I finished the quilt, Aunt Janet was diagnosed with a brain tumor. While she was sick, we went through the quilts and took pictures and made notes; she wanted to make sure that the right quilt went with the right granddaughter. It gave her a lot of comfort. She passed away the following year. Yes, Pam, you’re right; quilts have a way of touching people across time.

  • bn100 says:

    don’t have one