Two Roads Home
Two Roads Home
Other books by Deborah Raney
The Chicory Inn Novels
Home to Chicory Lane
Two Roads Home
Another Way Home
Because of the Rain
A January Bride
Silver Bells
The Face of the Earth
The Hanover Falls Novels
Almost Forever
Forever After
After All
The Clayburn Novels
Remember to Forget
Leaving November
Yesterday’s Embers
Two Roads Home
Copyright © 2015 by Deborah Raney
ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-7041-8
Published by Abingdon Press, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd, P.O. Box 280988, Nashville, TN 37228-0988.
www.abingdonpress.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording,or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from the Common English Bible. Copyright © 2011 by the Common English Bible. All rights reserved. Used by permission. www.CommonEnglishBible.com.
Macro Editor: Jamie Chavez
Published in association with the Steve Laube Literary Agency
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Raney, Deborah.
Two roads home : a Chicory Inn novel / Deborah Raney.
1 online resource. -- (A Chicory Inn Novel ; #2)
Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.
ISBN 978-1-63088-796-4 (e-pub) -- ISBN 978-1-4267-7041-8 (binding: soft back : alk. paper)
I. Title.
PS3568.A562
813’.54--dc23
2014046930
For Jaxon Parker Raney, our first grandson to carry our name.
Acknowledgments
As I begin another new series, I’m all the more aware that no book ever comes into being by one person’s efforts. It would take an entire volume to thank all those who ultimately made this new story possible, but let me name just a few to whom I’m especially beholden for this novel:
Ken Raney, my favorite person in the whole wide world, with whom I’ve enjoyed the last four decades of life––each year more than the one before. I love you, babe! Let’s see if we can do like your grandparents and spend eighty-two years together! We’re almost halfway there!
Courtney Walsh, creative and amazing friend, whose casual comment, “You have so many neat family stories. You should write a book about a big extended family!” got these characters swirling in my imagination. It never would have happened without our fun conversation that night, Courtney!
Tamera Alexander, critique partner of more than a decade now (we’re gettin’ old, friend!) but so much more than a business friend. Thank you for your constant encouragement and for walking this mostly fun but often frustrating path beside me.
Terry Stucky, dear friend, thank you for all the good catches and great ideas and, most of all, for giving us a great excuse to grab a cup of coffee together.
Steve Laube, agent extraordinaire, thank you for a dozen years now of wisdom, guidance, psychological insight (aka talking me down from the ledge when necessary), and always that great wit that makes hard times easier and good times “gooder.”
Ramona Richards, Jamie Chavez, Susan Cornell, and the rest of the crew at Abingdon Fiction, thank you for your expertise and insight in seeing the diamond in the rough this book was before you got your talented hands on it.
To my parents and kids, grandkids, in-laws, outlaws, dear friends, and kind acquaintances: you each enrich my days more than you will ever know. Thank you for everything you pour into me and squeeze out of me. I am rich in so many ways because you are in my life.
We are God’s accomplishment, created in Christ Jesus to do good things. God planned for these good things to be the way that we live our lives.
Ephesians 2:10
1
Mom, can you get the door behind me?” Corinne Pennington hiked her oversized purse—the one that doubled as a diaper bag—on her shoulder and stooped to pick up Simone. The toddler popped a thumb in her mouth and clung to Corinne like Velcro.
“Listen, baby girl, you should be over the Terrible Twos by now, so sweeten up, okay?”
Simone popped her thumb right back out of her mouth and answered with an ear-piercing wail.
“Sadie?” Corinne called to her dawdling four-year-old. “Come on . . . Hurry up.”
“Wait, Mama. I gotta go tell Huckleberry g’bye.”
“No, sweetie.” Corinne’s mother came to the rescue, taking Sadie firmly by the shoulders and turning her toward the door. “You already told Huck good-bye. You do what your mama says now.”
“Get in the car, Sadie, we’re going to be late picking up your sister.” Corinne gave her mother a grateful look and waved a free elbow. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay. And you’ll let Landyn and Chase know about Sunday dinner?”
“I will. Tell Dad I’m sorry I missed him.”
“Will do. And you tell Jesse hello when you talk to him.”
“Sure. Come on, Sadie, hustle up!” Corinne herded her entourage down the wide steps of the house she’d grown up in.
“How’s come Sari got to go to skating and I didn’t?”
“Because it was her friend’s birthday party, and you weren’t invited.”
Wrong thing to say. Sadie pasted on a pout and stomped her Croc-clad foot.
“You’ll get to go another time.”
Corinne’s mom stood waving at the door, looking just a little too happy to see them go.
Well, who could blame her? The girls had been brats all morning—all week really. Ever since Jesse had left for his second consecutive week in Chicago. Her husband worked hard as a sales manager at Preston-Brilon Manufacturing just outside Cape Girardeau. The company made high-end industrial vacuum sweepers, and despite the inevitable jokes about him being a vacuum cleaner salesman, Jesse made good money. She was lucky—blessed—that she got to stay home with the kids. But she wasn’t sure how many more of these business trips she could survive. It was hard being a single parent, even if it was just for a week or two.
She buckled the girls into their car seats, closed the door of the SUV, then turned and promptly tripped over Huckleberry.
“Huck! Get! Get out of the way.” Stupid dog.
The chocolate Lab panted up at her like she’d just offered him a T-bone.
“Get back on the porch, boy.”
Huck pranced backward, then looked up at her, testing to see if she really meant it.
“Go, Huck. Now.”
Huckleberry trotted back to the wide front porch and plopped down beside an urn of freshly potted red geraniums, watching her with mopey eyes. It made an idyllic picture. The Chicory Inn, her parents’ empty nest project, looked beautiful in the waning May sunshine. Mom and Dad had done wonders with the remodel of the house her grandparents had built almost one hundred years ago.
This was the only home she’d known for the first eighteen years of her life. But sometimes she missed the place she remembered—the spacious, creaky house where the cupboards wore chipped paint, the heavy doors sometimes stuck, and the floors boasted shag carpet in garish shades of orange and blue.
But it had been alm
ost a decade since she’d lived here—not counting summers after she’d left for college—and she couldn’t begrudge her parents’ right to bring the house into modern times, and even to make a business of it by opening the Chicory Inn.
And she had to admit they’d done the house proud. New cream-painted woodwork and wainscoting, refinished original hardwood floors, and bright contemporary rugs, curtains, and paintings gave the century-old house an elegant, yet still cozy vibe. At first, she’d had trouble making the rather trendy style fit her very traditional mother. But seeing Mom in her element, entertaining guests and cooking in the new state-of-the-art kitchen, she couldn’t help but be happy for her.
And maybe a wee bit jealous. Not that she had any reason to be. Three years ago, she and Jesse had built a beautiful new home in Cape Girardeau just a few miles up the road. And as much as she loved the charm and history of an older home in the country, she appreciated living near every convenience, in a house where everything was brand new, where she’d had a say in every inch of the design, and where nothing would need repairing for many years to come.
Corinne climbed into the SUV and sighed. She didn’t know why she was worrying about houses, since it seemed as if she spent half her life in this vehicle. Checking on her daughters in the rearview mirror, she started down the long driveway that led out to Chicory Lane, the country road that was the inn’s namesake.
She flipped on the AC and adjusted the vents. The interior was like a sauna. She checked the dashboard. Why was it taking so long for the seat coolers to kick in?
Her mother had been a little short-tempered with the girls today—and with her. Yes, there was a full slate of guests scheduled at the inn this weekend, but Audrey Whitman had always claimed the inn would never come before her kids or grandkids. Lately, it seemed like that was exactly what was happening.
Oh, the girls thought their Gram hung the moon. And Corinne knew Mom adored her daughters—she’d practically bought out the Baby Boutique in Cape Girardeau when Sari was born—and she doted on all three of them. Though now that Chase and Landyn’s twins had arrived, they seemed to get the lion’s share of both Gram’s and Poppa’s attention. But then her sister had always been the spoiled baby of the family. Nothing had changed there. Corinne was used to that and prided herself on being more independent as the oldest. Still—
Oh, waah waah waah, Pennington. Grow up. She was being over-sensitive. Still, it would be nice if once in a while—
Her cell phone trilled from her purse. Keeping her eyes on the road, she snuck a glance at the Bluetooth screen on the dashboard. She didn’t recognize the number, but with Jesse out of town, she hated to ignore it.
She clicked Accept Call. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mrs. Pennington, this is Michaela Creeve. I work with Jesse.”
For the space of a heartbeat she stopped breathing. Had something happened to him?
“Jesse wanted me to let you know that our flight has been delayed.”
“Oh—okay . . .”
“We’re not sure by how much, but we’ll let you know as soon as they announce anything.”
“Um . . . okay. Thank you.”
What? She stared at the display on the dashboard. Jesse couldn’t call her himself? Now he was communicating with her through his staff? She’d never met Michaela, but she instantly disliked the perkiness in the woman’s voice.
“Could you put Jesse on for a minute, please?”
“Well, he’s . . . Just a minute. I’ll see if he can come to the phone.”
A flash of heat went through her and she gripped the steering wheel harder. How dare she screen Jesse’s calls! Corinne bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she’d be sorry if she said what she was thinking.
She heard the feminine voice in the background, and then Jesse’s familiar deep timbre. But it was Michaela who came back on the line. “Mrs. Pennington, Jesse’s on the phone with a client right now.”
“Oh . . .” So he was “Jesse” but she was “Mrs. Pennington”? She felt her arteries hardening by the minute. “Well, I guess—”
“Oh . . . Hang on. They just announced our flight.” A pregnant pause. “It looks like it gets in around ten. Into St. Louis, not Cape. Jesse says we’ll rent a car from there, but it’ll probably be after midnight by the time we get home.”
Corinne wracked her brain to remember who else had made the trip with Jesse this time. Usually Wayne from the Cape office went, but she didn’t remember Jesse mentioning him. Probably too busy flirting with Miss Perky—
“Mama?”
“Shh . . . I’m on the phone, Sadie.”
“Why are we goin’ so slow? I thought we were in a hurry.”
She glanced at the speedometer and pressed the accelerator. She shushed her daughter again, then saw that Simone had fallen asleep in the car seat. Great. There went the afternoon nap . . . her only time to get a break.
“Oh—I’ve got to run, Mrs. Pennington, but just wanted to get that message to you.”
“Yes. Thank you, Michaela—” But the girl had hung up.
* * *
Audrey pulled a ginger pear torte from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. The spicy fragrance filled the house, mingling pleasantly with the Mozart concerto wafting from the CD player. She smiled, imagining what their current guest’s reaction would be. It was a bit intimidating to have a professional chef as a guest, but she was pretty sure she’d hit a home run with this new recipe—thanks to the gift of some perfect Harry & David pears from a guest who’d stayed with them for a full two weeks last month.
“Something smells good.” Grant came in from the side porch, brushing his hands together.
“Grant! Honey, I just swept that floor.” She rolled her eyes and tossed him a damp rag.
“What? My hands are clean.”
“Then why were you brushing them off, and why did I see dust falling from them? And debris.”
He chuckled. “A little dust maybe, but I assure you there was no debris.” But he knelt and gave a half-hearted swipe of the rag over the smooth, wide planks.
She let it go. “Corinne said to tell you hi.”
“Oh. Sorry I missed her. I think it’s been two weeks since I’ve talked to her more than waving as she pulls out of the drive. How’s everything going in their neck of the woods?”
“Okay . . . I guess.”
He studied her, a frown creasing his brow. “What’s going on?”
She reached to turn down the CD player, then opened the cupboard and retrieved the powdered sugar. “Probably nothing. I just—” She sifted sugar liberally over the still-warm torte, trying to decide how much to say to Grant. She didn’t want to get him worried over nothing. “I just think Corinne is getting tired of Jesse’s traveling, that’s all.”
“Why? Did she say something?”
“It’s more what she doesn’t say.”
“And what doesn’t she say?”
Grant hated her putting words in people’s mouths. She quickly edited herself. “Maybe it’s more just her attitude. She just seems—tired. And maybe a little depressed.”
He frowned. “That’s not like our girl.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
“Well, hopefully Jesse won’t be traveling forever. But Corinne can’t complain about his income.”
She sighed. “She does like the finer things in life. Always has.”
“As does her mother.” He reached for a pear slice at the edge of the springform pan.
Audrey slapped his hand away. “Huh-uh. Don’t you dare ruin my presentation.”
“I thought you were presenting it—to the man you supposedly love.” He batted sad puppy-dog eyes at her.
She laughed. “I’m presenting it to the chef who is currently our guest. Once he’s seen and tasted it, you can have at it—my love.” She planted a kiss on his cheek.
Frowning, Grant glanced toward the staircase that led to the guest rooms on the second floor. “Where is His Royal Hig
hness?”
She shushed him, even though she knew Chef Jared Filmore hadn’t returned for the day from the conference in Cape, where he was presenting. “He promised he’d be back around seven.”
“I say don’t ever trust a skinny chef.” Grant reached for the slice of pear again with the same result. “Ouch.”
“Sorry, but you knew better.”
He rubbed his hand. “Fine, then. What’s for supper.”
She thought fast. “Tell you what . . . If you’ll eat that leftover pizza, I’ll do a pre-sliced presentation of the torte and you can have a piece now.”
“Deal!” His delighted grin made him look ten years younger than his almost sixty. Even after thirty-five years, she loved this man so much it hurt.
But his offhand remark about her liking the finer things in life—and the tone he’d used—stung a little. She tucked it away to examine later. Right now, she had a world-class chef to impress.
2
How’d you talk Chase into letting you come?” Corinne stirred her decaf and leaned back in her chair, pushing down her guilt over leaving the girls with a sitter on a Thursday night while she had dessert and coffee with her sisters.
“Corinne. Please.” Landyn hung her head dramatically. “Chase doesn’t let me do anything.”
Corinne laughed. “Let me rephrase that. How did you talk Chase into babysitting.”
“Really? You call it babysitting when the father of your children takes care of them?”
“Oh, good grief, Landyn. Get off your high horse.” Danae rolled her eyes and gave a short laugh.
But Corinne thought her words held a bite. “Babysitting? Hmm . . .” She tried to diffuse the tension. “Actually, I don’t have a clue what I call it because it never happens.” She immediately felt guilty. Jesse worked hard so she could stay home with their kids. That had been her dream for as long as she could remember.
“How long has he been gone this time?” She could read Danae’s expression even in the dimly lit restaurant. And she didn’t like the judgment she saw there.