Excerpt from FALLING INTO US by Denise Hunter:
Chapter 1
Gabrielle Donaldson was surprised the unopened letter hadn’t burned a hole through her purse. It had been casually resting inside her leather hobo bag since she’d left Indianapolis this morning. But now that she’d finally arrived in Gibson, a gust of dread swept through her.
She’d planned to arrive before sunset, but a series of traffic and construction issues delayed her arrival. The sun had slipped below the horizon long ago, and now she crept along the hairpin turns in her yellow Volkswagen Beetle.
She took her eyes off the road long enough to glare at the headlights in her rearview mirror. “Seriously? I’m new here, people, and I’d rather not slip off the mountainside.”
A few minutes later she breathed a sigh of relief when the tailgater turned into a drive just in time for the road to level out. She stifled a yawn. She was normally a night owl, but she’d been driving all day and wasn’t used to these mountain roads.
“In half a mile your destination is on the right,” the male GPS voice said in a British accent because everything sounded better in a British accent.
Nighttime in the mountains was a new level of darkness. She could see nothing beyond the cones of her headlights and hadn’t seen a sign of civilization (other than the tailgater) since leaving the town proper ten minutes ago.
The road dipped and turned only to rise again a moment later. An illuminated sign appeared beside a gravel drive. Autumn Creek Farms. She passed the sign and headed into more gentle curves, hills, and utter darkness.
She usually stayed in hotels when she traveled, but a local football game had apparently attracted the entire state of North Carolina to the small mountain town, leaving her no choice but to rent an Airbnb. Before booking she’d written the host, Mason Morrison, with a few questions. The house more than met her criteria, and based on his concise communication style, she’d dubbed him Just the Facts, Ma’am.
She’d booked the home for two nights but hoped she’d manage to complete her mission tomorrow. If she was lucky she could spend the extra day working or exploring the area. The town seemed interesting, kind of folksy, with some newer hipster shops and restaurants. And the area was known for its majestic scenery—not that she could see it at the moment.
“Your destination is just ahead on the right: 2417 Shady Creek Road.”
“Thank you, Jesus.”
Gabby eased off the gas and turned onto the gravel drive. After following the lane a short distance, the headlights illuminated a quaint two-story log cabin with a huge porch. Not exactly her style, but it seemed as cozy as the online pictures she’d skimmed.
She brought Daisy to a stop, then shut off the ignition and pulled up the lockbox code on her phone. Then she slipped from the car with her shoulder bag and grabbed her duffel from the back seat. There was not so much as a porchlight to guide her, so she used her phone’s flashlight.
Night sounds warbled loudly from the nearby woods. Some kinds of insects, no doubt. She wasn’t a fan. Since she was basically a mosquito magnet, she quickened her steps. She caught the scent of woodsmoke—lovely on a crisp night in mid-September. It conjured up the image of a youth group gathered around a bonfire, swapping tales and sharing laughter.
In fact, a nice crackling fire would be the perfect way to unwind before bed. Hopefully the fireplace came equipped with gas logs and a wall switch since that was the only kind she knew how to operate.
She took the stairs to the front porch, her sandals flapping on the wooden planks. A screech from the nearby woods had her grabbing the lockbox with one hand while shining the light with the other. Some poor creature was probably about to become the food chain’s most recent victim, and she didn’t want to stick around to meet the predator.
She leaned down and dialed in the code. Messed up. Started again. Once done she flicked open the lid, and voilà! The key. She pulled it from its nest just as her hobo bag slipped from her shoulder, whacking her hand. The key went flying.
“Drat!”
It pinged on the planks a few times before going silent. She shoved her purse in place and aimed the light at the deck.
All around where she stood.
Near the door.
Against the threshold.
She moved aside, checking under her feet, then broadened her search in case the key was made of space rubber and somehow bounced clear across the deck. Nowhere to be found. She checked the lockbox again—surely Just the Facts had more than the one key.
But nope. Just the one.
She shone the light around the deck once more. And that’s when she noticed the gaping boards—just wide enough for a key.
Mason Morrison opened his front door and ushered his daughter inside. “All right, young lady, teeth and pajamas. I’ll be right there to tuck you in.”
Peyton pushed her light-brown hair behind her ear. It was windblown and tangled from the football game and also from the cartwheels she’d been turning with her friends during halftime. “Aw, Dad, it’s a Saturday.”
“And we have church in the morning. Plus it’s way after eleven. Past your bedtime.” And he still had an article to write.
“But can’t I watch a Heartland episode? It’s so boring when you interview people, and all my friends had to go home.”
He softened because his daughter had to tag along sometimes on work assignments. And also because it was seven years ago today that Peyton had lost her mother. Not that she remembered the traumatic day. But his own heart jackknifed in his chest at the mere thought of it.
“Please?” Her brown eyes pled.
“Half an episode.”
“Yay! Thanks, Daddy.” She plopped on the sofa and wielded the remote with the proficiency of a twelve-year-old.
Mason set his notebook and recorder on the small butcher-block island and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. Between errands, family time, and work, he’d easily managed to stay busy all day. But somehow his heart still whipped around in his chest.
Think about work.
The Lumberjacks, their local college football team, had come from behind in the last few minutes to win the game. It had been a celebratory crowd, and the article would all but write itself. Half the town would read his online recap and interview snippets in tomorrow’s article.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Perhaps one of his brothers who’d been at the game. He checked his phone and frowned at the text on the screen. His new Airbnb guest had somehow managed to lose the key already.
That had to be a record. He released a hard sigh. He had an extra, but the house was fifteen minutes away, and there was Peyton to consider. She was already mesmerized with Amy and Ty. Shoving that problem to the side for the moment, he replied to the guest.
Be there in 15-20 minutes with a spare key.
He should’ve had those extras made. He’d been meaning to. He’d also been meaning to give his parents a spare—they owned the adjoining property. But he hadn’t gotten around to that either.
“Peyton, I need to run out to the cabin real quick. Why don’t you come with me?”
“Daaaad. You said I could watch Heartland.”
He let himself consider leaving her home alone, but anxiety beat a wild path to the decision-making part of his brain. “I know, but it won’t take long.”
“If it won’t take long, then why can’t I just stay here?”
He’d already dragged her to a football game and made her stay through interviews with coaches and players. “Fine. I’ll call Miss Connie to come over.” According to their neighbor, she hadn’t slept a wink in years anyway. Plus her lights were still on, and she was always happy to lend a hand.
“Nothing’s going happen if I stay alone for half an hour, Dad. We’re the only ones who even lock our doors around here. Plus you said I can babysit when I’m thirteen. That’s just ten months away. How can I be responsible for another human being if you won’t even let me be responsible for myself?”
He hated when his daughter made so much sense. “Well, it’s late and it would make me feel better if you had company. If anything happened to you who would call 911?” He took out his phone and speed-dialed their next-door neighbor.
“Dad,” Peyton whispered. “Miss Connie still has a landline and can’t even operate a cell phone. Do you see the irony here?”
When you sired a daughter with an attorney, she grew up to argue her way out of paper bags with words like operate and irony. He supposed he could budge—just a little.
Miss Connie answered the phone.
“Hi, Miss Connie. You going to be up for half an hour or so?”
“I’ll be up half the night at least. How can I help?”
She was an angel, this woman. He grabbed his keys. “I have to run to the cabin. Peyton’s watching a little TV and will be going to bed in”—he gave his daughter a pointed look—“twenty-five minutes. Can you just keep an eye out from over there?”
“Should I come over? I’m just sitting here with Bingo, knitting a scarf.” The mutt never her side.
Tempting. It would sure make him feel better. But his daughter was growing up and craving independence. “That’s okay. I won’t be long.”
After thanking her, he headed to the door as he stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Miss Connie’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Great. I’ll be sure and sneak all my friends in the back way.”
“Just be sure you use the recycling bin for the beer bottles.”
“What should we do with the drug paraphernalia?”
“I’ll clean it up when I get home.” He tossed her a wry look as he slipped out the door. “Love you.”
From FALLING INTO US, copyright 2026 Denise Hunter with permission from Thomas Nelson
FALLING INTO US by Denise Hunter
Narrator: Kim Churchill
A heartwarming, low-spice contemporary romance
She only meant to drop off a letter. She found a family instead.
Gabby Donaldson’s late mother left her with one final task: deliver a letter to her estranged mother. Once Gabby fulfills her mom’s deathbed promise, she’ll leave behind the grandmother she never knew and return to her carefully constructed life in the city. With a fulfilling career as a jewelry designer, she’s convinced she doesn’t need roots to feel whole.
But locating Rosemary proves more complicated than expected. And when journalistand single dadMason Morrison offers help in exchange for telling her story, Gabby agrees. The arrangement seems simple enough: he gets the human-interest piece that could be his big break, and she gets to fulfill her mother’s final wish.
What neither anticipates is how quickly professional boundaries blur. As Gabby is drawn into Mason’s worldand the life he’s built with his precocious twelve-year-old daughterGibson begins to feel less like a stopover and more like home.
Yet the past has a way of complicating the present. If Gabby uncovers the truth about her family, will it free her to move forwardor make leaving impossible? And when the story is finally written, will she return to the life she planned . . . or risk falling into one she never saw coming?
Romance Contemporary | Christian Romance [ Thomas Nelson, On Sale: October 13, 2026, Hardcover / e-Book / audiobook, ISBN: 9781400348787 / eISBN: 9781400348794 ]
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About Denise Hunter
Denise Hunter is the internationally published bestselling author of more than 40 novels, three of which have been made into Hallmark movies. She has appeared on The 700 Club and been featured in Woman’s Day and Southern Living.
Denise writes heartwarming, small-town love stories, peopled with layered characters who struggle with real-life issues. Her readers enjoy the experience of falling in love vicariously through her characters and can expect a happily-ever-after sigh as they close the pages of her books.
In 1996, inspired by the death of her grandfather, Denise began her first book, writing while her children napped. Two years later it was published, and she’s been writing ever since. Her husband says he inspires all her romantic stories, but Denise insists a good imagination helps too!
When Denise isn’t orchestrating love lives on the written page, she enjoys traveling with her family, drinking coffee, and playing drums. Denise makes her home in Indiana where she and her husband are currently enjoying an empty nest.
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