Home to Chicory Lane (9781426796074) Read online

  Praise for Home to Chicory Lane

  “Deborah Raney has once again painted a vivid portrait of our own humanity using characters readers will love and identify with, no matter what their stage of life. I fell in love with the Chicory Inn and the Whitman family. Tender, touching, and filled with a unique patchwork of personalities, Landyn and Chase’s story made me feel like a part of the family. Raney wraps her beautifully flawed characters in the unconditional love of a God who will never leave them—or us. I’m already anticipating the next book in the series!”

  —Courtney Walsh, New York Times bestselling author of A Sweethaven Summer

  “Deborah Raney is the queen of small town, hope-inspired fiction, and Home to Chicory Lane has everything you’ve come to expect from her award-winning novels—and more. Raney captures all the nuances of today’s family and delivers it up with signature warmth and humor. Book your reservation for Chicory Lane. You won’t be disappointed!”

  —Tamera Alexander, USA Today bestselling author of A Beauty So Rare and To Whisper Her Name

  “Once again, Deborah Raney has succeeded in creating a heartwarming story that doesn’t skimp on the realism of life—joys and jolts, challenges faced bravely and others regrettably. Within the first few pages of Home to Chicory Lane, the Whitmans, their children, and the community around them will feel like family—angst and all.”

  —Cynthia Ruchti, award-winning author of When the Morning Glory Blooms and All My Belongings

  “Home to Chicory Lane is a compelling story that will draw you in and make you care about the main characters, even when you want to throttle them, and then sit them both down and have a serious talk. Not that they’d listen. Both Chase and Landyn are hardheaded, selfish, and need to grow up—for more reasons than one. Don’t miss Home to Chicory Lane for a compelling read that will make you thankful for home and family.”

  —Laura V. Hilton, author of A White Christmas in Webster County

  “Deborah Raney’s Home to Chicory Lane is her best novel yet, with characters you wish lived on your street. The Whitman family will quickly find a home in readers’ hearts, and Grant Whitman is the best male point of view I’ve read in a novel. Home to Chicory Lane has earned a spot on my All Time Favorites list and my Top Ten for 2014. Novel Rocket and I give it our highest recommendation. It’s a 5-star read, and I can’t wait for the next book in this series.”

  —Ane Mulligan, president, Novel Rocket

  Other books by Deborah Raney

  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

  Home to Chicory Lane

  A Chicory Inn Novel

  Deborah Raney

  Nashville

  Home to Chicory Lane

  Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Raney

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-9607-4

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  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.

  Macro Editor: Jamie Chavez

  Published in association with the Steve Laube Literary Agency

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Raney, Deborah.

   Home to Chicory Lane : a Chicory Inn novel / Deborah Raney.

     1 online resource. — (A Chicory Inn Novel ; #1)

   Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

   ISBN 978-1-4267-9607-4 (epub) — ISBN 978-1-4267-6969-6 (binding: soft back, pbk. adhesive : alk. paper) 1. Bed and breakfast accommodations—Fiction. I. Title.

   PS3568.A562

   813'.54—dc23

  2014016960

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my wise and wonderful parents,

  Max and Winnie Teeter,

  who’ve given all of their children

  such a wonderful heritage of faith.

  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.

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Group Discussion Guide

  Want to Know More About Author?

  Bonus Chapter
from Two Roads Home

  1

  So, Mrs. Whitman, is everything ready?” Grant stood under the archway dividing the formal dining room from the parlor, smiling that cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin Audrey adored. And had for nearly thirty-five years.

  She went to lean on the column opposite him. She loved this view of the house—no, the inn. She must remember to refer to it as such. This wonderful house where they’d raised their five kids and where she’d played as a little girl had finally become The Chicory Inn. The stately home just a mile outside of Langhorne, Missouri, had been built by her maternal grandparents on a wooded fifty acres with a clearwater creek running through it. Now it was her fifty-five hundred square-foot dream fulfilled. Or at least that was the plan.

  Audrey gave her husband a tight smile. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I just know I’m forgetting something.”

  “Come here.” He opened his arms to her.

  She stepped into his embrace, desperately needing the strength of him.

  “Everything looks wonderful, and anything you forgot can’t be too important. Just look at the weather God supplied—sunshine, cool October breeze, and the trees are at their autumn peak. Even the chicory is still in bloom in the ditches. Made to order, I’d say.”

  She nodded, feeling as if she might burst into tears any minute.

  Grant pulled her closer. “Can’t you just enjoy this weekend? It’s no fun if you’re in knots the whole time.”

  “Were we crazy to invite the kids home for this?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “We were crazy to have kids, never mind five of them. But hey, look how that turned out.”

  “I wish your mom could’ve been here.”

  He cleared his throat. “Trust me, it’s better this way. Besides, you know she’ll find a way to get in her two cents, even from the wilds of Oregon. What do you want to bet she’ll call, just as guests are arriving, to make sure you didn’t forget anything?”

  She loved Grant’s mother dearly, but the woman did have a way of trying to run the show—even when it wasn’t her show to run. Grant was probably right. Cecelia—or CeeCee, as the kids called their grandmother—had timed her trip to visit Grant’s brother perfectly.

  Audrey’s cell phone chimed, signaling a text message.

  “See?” Grant gave her an I-told-you-so grin. “There she is.”

  She checked her phone. “Your mother barely knows how to make a call on a cell phone, let alone send a text. Oh, it’s Link. He’s running late.” She texted a quick reply to their son.

  “Link late? Well, there’s a huge surprise.”

  She laughed, grateful for the distraction. Their son was notoriously tardy. But after she put her phone back in her pocket, Audrey turned serious. “Oh, Grant . . . What if this whole thing is a big fat flop?”

  “And why, sweet woman, would it be a flop, when you’ve poured your heart and soul and passion into it for the last eight months?”

  “And most of your retirement funds, don’t forget.” The thought made her positively queasy. It wasn’t as if he could just return to his contractor job tomorrow and get back his 401K. “Not to mention a lot of sweat equity.”

  “And don’t forget the blood and tears.” He winked.

  “And your blood pressure,” she said with a look of warning. “How can you joke about this, Grant? What if we—”

  “Shh.” He tipped her chin and silenced her with a kiss.

  She knew Grant had been relieved to get out of the rat race his job had become. In fact, his doctor had prescribed retirement along with the blood pressure meds he’d put Grant on last fall. The past year of renovations had been anything but relaxing, but things would settle down now that the remodel was finished. Maybe this was all a sort of blessing in disguise. She let that thought soothe her. For the moment anyway.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’ll be Corinne.” She pushed away from him. “She promised to help me with the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t just have chips and salsa or pretzels or—”

  “And don’t forget your tie.” Audrey scooped the despised noose, as Grant had dubbed it, off the end of the hall tree and tossed it at him.

  He caught it and dangled it by two fingers as if it were a poisonous snake. “You’re not really serious about that?”

  “Serious as a heart attack.”

  Grant’s grumbling faded behind her as she hurried to answer the door.

  Their eldest daughter stood on the wraparound veranda with almost-two-year-old Simone propped on one hip.

  “Corinne?” Audrey sagged. “I thought Jesse was going to watch the kids?”

  “He is, but I think Simone’s cutting teeth, and I didn’t want Jesse to have to deal with that, too. You know how he gets when—” Corinne stopped mid-sentence and eyed her mother. “It’ll be fine, Mom. Dad can watch Simone if we need him to.”

  “No, your dad has a whole list of things he’s in charge of. I need him.” She pushed down the resentment that threatened. “Never mind. You’re right . . . it’ll be fine.” She reached for her youngest granddaughter and ushered Corinne into the foyer.

  Corinne walked through to the parlor, her eyes widening. “Wow! It looks gorgeous, Mom. You’ve been busy.”

  “I just want everything to be perfect. Just this one time.” She didn’t have to look at her daughter to know Corinne was rolling her eyes.

  “Just this once, huh?”

  She ignored the sarcasm and tweaked little Simone’s cheek. “Are those new toofers giving you trouble, sweetie?”

  The baby gave her a snaggletoothed grin and wiped her turned-up nose on the shoulder of Audrey’s apple green linen jacket.

  “Simone!” Corinne’s shrug didn’t match the grimace she gave Audrey. “Well, at least it matches.”

  Audrey did not find that amusing.

  Corinne swooped in with a tissue, which made Simone screech like a banshee. Which made Huckleberry come running, barking as if he’d just cornered a squirrel.

  Great. Just great. “Can somebody please take this dog outside? How did he even get in here?” Audrey hated raising her voice to her family, but she knew too well that the playful Lab could undo in two minutes everything they’d spent a week preparing. “I want him outside until the last guest leaves.”

  “Come here, Huck,” Corinne coaxed, stroking the sleek chocolate-colored coat. “You bad boy.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll take him out.” Audrey handed the baby off to Corinne, put Huck outside, and came back to the sink. Grabbing a damp dishcloth from the basin, she scrubbed at her jacket, exchanging the toddler’s snot stain for a dark wet spot. She prayed it would dry before the first guests started arriving.

  The clock in the foyer struck eleven, and a frisson of panic went through her. They had less than two hours and so much still to do. She heard Link’s voice at the front door. Maybe she could enlist him to watch Simone for a few minutes. Like his brother Tim, Link had always had a way with kids.

  “Hey, Mom. Dad said to report in.” Tall and rugged-looking like his father, Link appeared beneath the arch of the kitchen doorway. “Smells good in here.” He gave Audrey a quick hug before snatching a bacon-wrapped canapé from a silver tray. He popped it in his mouth before Audrey could protest.

  She placed herself between her son and the gleaming marble counter full of food. “There are snacks out in the garage for you kids, but I’m not joking; this stuff is off limits until we see how many people show.”

  “Got it, Mom. Off limits.” In one smooth motion, Link gave her a half-salute and reached behind her for a sausage ball.

  “Cut that out! Shoo! Out of my kitchen!”

  “Place looks good, Ma.”

  Grant appeared in the doorway. “Reporting for duty.”

  Link shot his dad a conspiratorial grin but obediently backed into the entryway. Audrey wondered for the thousandth time why some sweet young girl hadn’t snapped up this handsome son
of hers. But that was a worry for another day.

  “Hey guys,” Audrey said, “can you bring in some folding chairs from the garage? Maybe just half a dozen or so. I don’t want to set up more than we need.”

  “You’ll need more than six.” Grant sounded so sure the day would be a success. “Bring a dozen, Link.”

  She hoped he was right. But if not . . . Well, there would be no problem getting rid of all the food she’d made. The good ol’ Whitman family reunion they’d planned for the rest of the weekend would take care of that. The thought brought a pang of longing with it. It was wonderful to have most of her family together, but it wouldn’t be the same without Landyn and Chase.

  And Tim. Nothing would ever be the same without Timothy.

  * * *

  Landyn Spencer craned her neck to check the Interstate traffic behind her in the rearview mirror, but all she could see was the U-Haul trailer she was pulling. The extended mirrors on the behemoth were smeared with a dozen hours of rain and dust.

  New York was thirteen hours behind her, and with the sun finally coming up, she realized she was in familiar territory.

  She’d left the city after ten last night, starting out on only four hours of sleep. She’d been watching the lit-up Empire State Building fade into the skyline in her rearview mirror, and not until she’d passed through the Lincoln Tunnel and come out on the New Jersey side had she finally allowed herself tears.