Sassafras Summer

By Carol Owen

Annie Hughes’s life is a train wreck. She lost her boyfriend, her condo, and her job, all at the same time. She drives cross-country to take refuge with her mother, Dorie, in North Carolina, only to discover Dorie is engaged to a man Annie has never met. He has a son, Jax, newly returned from overseas. Sparks fly between Annie and Jax, the kind that lead to a three-alarm fire. But how can Annie trust her instincts when they’ve led her so far astray in the past? Jax comes back from his year away, determined to establish his career as an architect. He doesn’t have time for a serious attraction to Annie. When an old girlfriend shows up with a mysterious hold over him, Jax must deal with her demands. While Jax juggles his career, his ex, and his nascent feelings for Annie, the question Annie must answer is, can she trust herself to let love in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Feb 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509219728

Book preview

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Chapter 1

Annie left LA in a snit, stoking her anger like a reluctant fire. Better to be angry than depressed; better to be furious than weepy. Tears left her face red and her eyes puffy. You can’t see the road when you’re crying, and she had a long way to go, all the way to North Carolina. She couldn’t remember that saying, something about home being where they have to take you in when you have no place else to go. Was that it? She wasn’t sure. She’d have to think about it, and she had lots of time, days even.

Her secondhand car kept making funny noises, and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Stick with me, baby, she said out loud.

She wasn’t sorry to leave LA. Crazy traffic, plastic people, boring weather. To be honest, she wasn’t even sorry to lose her job. She’d thought being a paralegal would be exciting and interesting. Instead, it was more boring than the weather. They had her doing research and sitting in on depositions, for God’s sake. She didn’t really like her job, but she didn’t like being fired either. Well, they called it letting her go. Same thing, as far as she was concerned.

The only thing she’d liked about her job was the forty-year-old partner, Leonard Grant, who’d moved her into a condo he owned out near Venice Beach. GQ handsome, like those men in the underwear ads, and a place to live for next to nothing. Just enough so she wouldn’t feel like she was for hire. Eight months of pure bliss until he got drunk at a partners’ party and talked too much and his wife heard about it. His wife, for God’s sake. The wife he was supposed to be divorcing, who was now six months pregnant and who insisted he not only dump Annie, but also sell the condo. And the law firm conveniently found they had to downsize the paralegals, and she was out of a job.

The worst part was it was such a cliché, embarrassing to be so stupid. Humiliating to turn out just like her mother.

She honked furiously at a pickup truck that tried to cut in front of her and got the finger in return. She slowed down to a crawl after that and pulled off at a rest stop, her heart pounding. This is California, get a grip. They have guns out here. Well, to be honest, they have guns everywhere.

And the rant in her head continued. Even losing her job wasn’t the worst part. Now she had no place to live and no money to get a new apartment. And no chance of getting a job either. The word was out in the legal community. She had an A on her back, or was it her forehead?

She dragged herself into the restroom, splashed cold water on her face, and stared into the mirror over the sink. She wanted to change her life, change everything about herself. What could she do? Could she dye her hair blonde? Could she get a nose ring? She certainly saw everything in Los Angeles. She couldn’t imagine being blonde, not when she had masses of black curls, bedraggled now around her face from the water. She’d hated those curls when was a teenager, even thought about shaving her head to see if she could start over. Now that she was twenty-six, she found she liked her curls. Men liked her curls. Women even wanted to know where she’d gotten such a fabulous perm. Bright blue eyes—at least, they were bright when she wasn’t weepy. A cleft in her chin her mother said was the only thing she ever got from her father. Once she’d told her mother she was tired of the cleft, she wanted to get rid of it. Now she just shrugged. It was what it was.

Walking out of the bathroom, she saw a map of California on the restroom wall. Good-bye, California. Hello, Arizona. Maybe she should take what money she had and detour to Las Vegas. That thought made her laugh. With her luck, she’d probably wind up broke, hitching a ride, or sleeping under a bridge.

Her car gave out in Oklahoma, or was it Arkansas? She couldn’t keep those in-between states straight. A friendly mechanic who liked her curls took a quick look at the engine and gave it last rites. Transmission, too expensive to fix; the car wasn’t worth it. He offered to buy her a drink, but the look in his eye told her it would be too expensive. Definitely not worth it. He shrugged philosophically and gave her a ride to the bus station.

****

I don’t know where she is, Dorie said at breakfast. She waved the letter that had just arrived, marked No Forwarding Address. It was the last address she’d had for her daughter from a year ago. Jackson, I don’t know where Annalee is.

He was reading the morning paper and noisily turned the page to indicate he was occupied.

Jackson, I’m worried.

Giving in to the inevitable, he folded up the paper and put it aside. You look mighty good this morning, sugar.

Her blonde hair was curled softly the way he liked it, and expertly applied makeup gentled the lines around her eyes and mouth. She thought a little nip and tuck now and then did wonders.

Don’t give me that southern drawl, Jackson Murphy, she said, but she couldn’t help smiling at him. This gorgeous man sat across from her, big and broad, with just a little bit of a paunch. He’d earned it. And he still had most of his hair, pretty good for a man in his sixties.

I tried calling her, but her phone’s been disconnected. Then I called that law firm where she was working in Los Angeles, and some snippy girl told me she no longer works there.

Why are you so worried? You know she’ll turn up eventually. That’s what you always say, anyway.

You don’t know her, she said, pouting a little. You’ve never even met her. I wanted to invite her to our engagement party so you two could get to know each other before the wedding. She tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice. Jackson didn’t like her to be anxious.

She’s probably just changing apartments, Dorie. And changing jobs. You know how these kids are.

She doesn’t even know I’m getting married. And what about your son? He doesn’t know either.

Well, he’s somewhere in Bolivia. Not so easy to reach. He’s supposed to be home sometime soon. I told him to get back now. He’s got clients waiting to meet with him.

What if neither one of them is here? Are we going to postpone the wedding? Her blue eyes searched his face for answers.

He reached for her hand. Do you want to postpone?

No, she said quickly. Do you?

Not on your life. The sooner the better. I’ve waited long enough for you, Dorie.

I’m so lucky, Jackson.

We’re both lucky, honey. They held hands across the breakfast table, the letter marked No Forwarding Address swept off to one side.

Did you try her cell?

She looked surprised. No, I don’t even know her cell number.

Well, did you try her email?

She shook her head. You know I’m not any good with computers.

I’ll help you, he said soothingly. I can’t do it now. I’m late for work. We’ll do it tonight.

She looked up at the wall clock and smoothed the skirt of her nurse’s uniform. My shift starts at eleven. Let’s do it after. Have you got a busy day today?

The usual. I’ll be glad when Jax gets back. That new girl in the office, Sally what’s-her-name, is driving me crazy. She messed up two appointments yesterday.

She started carrying the breakfast dishes to the dishwasher. Jax hasn’t said when he’s coming home?

He shrugged into his jacket. Whenever he can, he said. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. Don’t worry about Annalee. She’ll turn up.

****

Annie, exhausted and cranky, got off the bus in Raleigh just after noon. It was hard to sleep when the bus stopped at every crossroads all night long. The bus was full of soldiers going to the base in Fayetteville, and what seemed like dozens of families with hyperactive children and screaming babies.

She traveled with a suitcase and a duffel bag and no idea of how to get to—where was that place her mother was living? She dug out the scrap of paper from her pocket. She’d written down her mother’s address in a hurry as she was being evicted from the condo. It looked like Sassafras. That couldn’t be. She squinted at it again, but that’s what it looked like all right. And she’d started writing down the phone number, but she only got part of it. Screwed up again. But at least she had the address.

She went to the ticket booth and waited her turn. Excuse me, sir. Do you know where Sassafras is?

He looked at her over his glasses. Is that a joke?

She gave him a smile that usually got her one in return, and it worked this time, too. It sounds like it, doesn’t it? Or an old song. But that’s where my mother lives. And I don’t even know where it is.

He turned to his computer and, after a couple of minutes, turned back. It’s west of here, about thirty miles, off Route 64.

Any buses go that way? she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. Sorry. Best bet is to take a cab.

Her heart sank. There went a big chunk of whatever money she had left. She could hardly hitchhike carrying two bags.

Chapter 2

The taxi dropped her at a two-story brick house on a tree-lined street. Houses lined both sides of the street, spaced far apart, but she saw no people. She found the silence a little unnerving. She was used to city noises, traffic and dogs barking, and the frenetic sounds of the beach area where bikers, joggers, mothers pushing strollers, street musicians, and fortune tellers thronged the boardwalk. She missed it already, about all she did miss about LA. She shrugged it off as she went up to the door and rang the bell.

Ten minutes later when no one answered, she was finally convinced no one was home. She started checking out the place. Out back, pots of pink geraniums surrounded a patio. She climbed three steps leading to a deck and peered in the window at a deserted kitchen. She looked around again. This was a little high end for Dorie, a little tame. Dorie never went for suburbia or small towns. No action. What in the world was she doing here?

She walked over to a two-car garage behind the house and stood on tiptoe to look in the windows. Empty, no cars. An outside stairway on the side of the garage indicated an apartment might be up there. She climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Again, no one home. At least the apartment over the garage looked more like Dorie’s style.

And where the hell is she? What if she’s off on a trip somewhere? Then I’m in big trouble. I don’t suppose this one-horse town has a homeless shelter for temporarily stranded daughters.

She went around to the front where she’d dumped her suitcase and duffel bag by the door. The sleepless night on the bus was starting to drag her down. She sat on the suitcase and tried to figure out a plan B. She still hadn’t come up with one, and her mood was very dark by the time a cab turned into the street and came to a stop in front of the house. A man got out, paid off the driver, and dragged out a backpack. He hoisted it over his shoulder and came up the walk. It was hard to judge his age because he looked so tired and scruffy. Maybe around thirty. He was wearing sandals and jeans and a ratty old T-shirt.

Can I help you? he said. He sounded a little on edge. Tall, with sandy blond hair that needed a trim. He hadn’t shaved in a while. Nice eyes though, hazel, a little bit green. He looked baffled to find her on the doorstep.

I don’t know, she said, still sitting on her suitcase. What have you got to offer?

He dropped his backpack with a thud. Look, miss, I’ve been on a plane for what feels like days, and I’m not in the mood. Who the hell are you?

I’m Annie Hughes, and what have you done with my mother? She stood up. She was five eight in her running shoes, but he towered over her. She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him. And I’ve been on a bus for what actually was days, and I’m not in a great mood either.

He looked confused. I don’t know who you are, Annie Hughes, and why do you think I’ve done something with your mother?

She pulled the scrap of paper out of her wallet. This is 309 Haw River Drive, isn’t it? At least, the cab driver thought it was. That’s my mother’s address.

That’s the address, all right, but my father lives here. Jackson Murphy.

They eyed each other. Annie glared at him.

He dug keys out of his pocket and shrugged. You better come on in, and I’ll call my father and straighten this out.

She followed him inside and dropped her bags by the front door. A couch and two chairs faced a stone fireplace. Framed photographs crowded the mantel. A pile of magazines threatened to fall over any minute on the coffee table. He didn’t stop but went directly into the kitchen before she could check anything else out. He indicated the chairs around the table.

Sit, he said.

She almost made an answering bark, managed to restrain herself, but couldn’t resist saying, Don’t I get a treat?

Giving her a sour look, he pulled out a phone and punched in a number.

Who’s this? he said when someone answered.

Rude! She’d worked for lawyers and she knew rude, but this could be the rudest man she’d ever met.

All right, Sally. I’m Jax Murphy. Put my father on.

He looked amazed. Unbelievable. We got disconnected. My father tends to hire blondes with big boobs, long legs, and nothing between their ears. He dialed again.

Annie wandered into the living room to give him some privacy. Many of the pictures on the mantel were of Jax and an older man she guessed was his father. The resemblance was very strong. Several photos showed groups of people at various outdoor locations. And then one in the middle of Jax’s father and Annie’s mother, arm in arm. Uh oh. She headed back to the kitchen fast, to find out what he was saying to his father.

Dad, I just got in. I’m home. No, it’s okay. I took a cab. Look, there’s someone here, looking for her mother. She had this address. He paused. All right, see you.

Well, what did he say?

He’ll be here in a few minutes. The office is nearby. He started rummaging in the refrigerator. I’m starving. There must be something in here. Want a sandwich?

What? And even though her stomach was rumbling, she said, I won’t be here that long.

He shrugged. Suit yourself.

She watched him put bread and mustard on the table, and then he pulled out a package of turkey and looked at it in surprise. My father never ate deli turkey in his life.

He found pastrami and cheese and put together a high-rise sandwich. When he turned back to the fridge to get a beer, she reached out without thinking and pinched off a piece of meat.

Hey, he said, make your own. I don’t share.

Figures, she muttered. Must be an only child.

As a matter of fact, yes.

She looked at him smugly. She knew it. After a while watching him attack his sandwich, she grudgingly made herself one. The way things were going, she wasn’t sure when she’d get something to eat. Someone at work had a grandmother who’d come from eastern Europe and always said, Eat fast before the Cossacks come. Good advice.

A big man with salt and pepper hair and hazel eyes came in the kitchen door. Evidently, this was Jackson Murphy. She recognized him from the pictures on the mantel. The father.

Jax, my boy, why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I’d have picked you up.

Jax got up, and the two men hugged each other. His father turned to her and said, This is Annalee, I bet. He held out his hand.

It’s Annie. Reluctantly, she shook hands with him. His were callused and strong, but he gave her a gentle shake.

Annie, your mother has told me a lot about you.

None of it good, I bet, she said, not really joking, but he laughed as if she’d said something funny.

Your mother’s been trying to reach you. She called your law firm, and they said you’re not there any longer.

Um, there’s been a change of plans.

I bet, Jax said under his breath, and his father gave him a look with his eyebrows raised.

Where’s my mother?

She works for a home-health-care place in Chapel Hill. She’s on the eleven-to-seven shift, so she’ll be home after that.

Annie was astonished. She’s a nurse? Since when?

An LPN actually. She got licensed last year. Didn’t she let you know?

She didn’t want to tell him she seldom read Dorie’s letters. They were usually full of trivia or else she was gushing about some man she’d met. Obviously, Jackson Murphy was one of them, and her mother had landed on her feet, judging by the house. Much nicer than some of the places Dorie had wound up in. Annie had grown up in some frightening situations.

Where are you staying? Jackson asked, and he and Jax looked at her, waiting for an answer.

I don’t know, she said, swallowing hard. Here, I hope. She wanted to crawl under the table. Maybe I can sleep on the couch?

Before Jax could say anything, his father said, No way, girl, we’ve got plenty of honest-to-god beds. He turned to Jax. Where’s your stuff?

Jax indicated his backpack. I shipped the rest of my things.

Well, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Go put your pack in your room, and show Annie the room at the top of the stairs. It’s all made up. He looked at her closely. How did you get here? I didn’t see a car. Did you fly?

She shook her head, and her curls shook, too. "My car