James Paterson Books Novels & Stories

“I love you, Lila Montgomery. You, this baby—you’re my family now. Grace can’t touch that.” I kissed him then, soft and sweet, until James bounded back in with his book. “Found it!” He paused, seeing us. “Were you kissing?” “Maybe.” Nick winked. “Problem with that?” James pretended to gag but smiled. “As long as you still read to me.” We settled into the fort, James between us as Nick read about dinosaurs and adventures. Eventually, James dozed off against my shoulder, his breathing deep and steady. “He’s out,” Nick whispered.

"Do you ever get lost?" "Sometimes," Grandma winked at him. "That's what makes it fun." James, my quiet boy, was last. He looked up at Grandma with those serious eyes of his. "Do you have any books?" Grandma's face softened even more. "My dear boy, we have an entire library. Walls and walls of books, just waiting to be read." James looked like he might faint from happiness. He grabbed my hand. "Mom! A real library! Can we go see it now? Please?"

Everything she could get her little hands on would find its way in her mouth. Late in the afternoon, it wasn't for a short time she whined she kept going as she rubbed her cheeks furiously. "What do you think is wrong honey?" I asked James. "Hmmm, I don't know. I think I'll get the book." He mused. Of course, he would get the book. It was a book about babies, from the day they were born until they turned one year old. It was like his bible for everything concerning our baby girl.

Several Weeks Later Jasper slowly eased his body onto its side. Mimicking sleep, he intently listened to the conversation between a young woman named, Cora, and the old nurse he’d heard called both Bess and Smithfield. He’d assumed that her true name was Elizabeth Smithfield with Bess being the nick name for Elizabeth, but names were funny things. He’d noticed the increasing pattern of nick names or abbreviated names being given to children at birth by parents wanting to be different. Therefore, he could have been incorrect on that assumption.

“Mama! Read! Story time!” Seraphine pulled him onto her lap, grateful for the interruption. Charlotte’s academics could be managed. Right now, James needed a story. “Which book today?” “TRUCKS! Big trucks book!” James had simple, enthusiastic preferences. They read about trucks construction trucks, delivery trucks, fire trucks James pointing at pictures and narrating with increasingly elaborate stories about what each truck was doing. “This truck going to BUILD something! Big building! With BLOCKS!” His imagination was developing rapidly.

Then: "Does he have a house? Does he have a dog? I want a dog but Mommy says we have to wait until we're responsible enough. James lost his shoe twice." "That was one time." James objected from across the room. "Twice. Monday and Wednesday." August was firm on this. He turned back to Patricia. "Does Daddy have a dog?" "I don't think he does. But I know he'd love to meet you and hear about the dog you want someday." Patricia chose her words carefully. "He thinks about you very much." August went quiet with this information. Turned it over in his mind the way he did with everything. James had wandered back over and was now sitting at Patricia's feet trying to put a block on her shoe.

he said. Inside were pages full of pencil sketches and short, clumsy sentences—none of them professionally done, all of them exactly him. There was a crooked family on the first page with two parents and a rescue dog named Bix. The second page had a sketch that looked suspiciously like our penthouse couch, with the caption: Where Tuesdays live. The book was a hand-made children’s story: The Little House That Held Tuesdays. Each page held a tiny adventure—the first puddle jump, the first burned pancake, the time a kite escaped and came back with a ribbon.

"What do you think?" The clothes are snatched away from your hold and are soon showcased in front of Zale. Said man takes a step back since the clothes were practically shoved so close to his face. He gives it a good stare and James nudges it as he says. "This will fit my baby sister right?" When he doesn't say anything other than engaging himself into a stare-down with the cloth, James impatiently whines out. "Come on hyung. I need your input in this!" His voice's almost desperate, causing Zale to sigh before grabbing the piece of clothing.