Home to Chicory Lane (9781426796074) Read online

  That was a mistake. She’d been crying ever since. But enough. She had to get hold of herself before she got home. She swiped at damp cheeks, took a deep breath, and steadied her gaze on the road in front of her. If her eyes got any more swollen, she’d have to pull the Honda over. And if she did that, chances were good the stupid thing wouldn’t start again. Then she’d really be up the Hudson without a paddle. Besides, right now, she just wanted to put the past—and Chase Spencer—as far behind her as she could.

  She still couldn’t believe that her husband of six months had gone so far off the deep end. Without even discussing it with her, he’d let their great, albeit small, apartment on the Upper West Side go—sublet their home to a stranger—and rented a fleabag excuse for a studio apartment in Brooklyn. What was he thinking?

  He wasn’t. That was the problem. He’d let his art rep convince him that living in Bedford-Stuyvesant near some stupid gallery that was supposedly the next hot thing would jumpstart his career. The agent had told Chase the studio would pay for itself in a matter of months—and probably herald in world peace too.

  Well, fine. Chase had made his choice. But they were newlyweds. She should have been his choice. Oh, he claimed he wasn’t forcing her hand. But if she did what he wanted and followed him to Brooklyn, it meant an almost two-hour commute for her every day. They saw each other little enough as it was! Had he thought any of this through? No, he had not. And despite what Chase said, leaving Fineman and Justus, and a marketing position she loved, didn’t leave her with many options. Especially not now . . .

  The tears started again and she shook her head. She couldn’t even let herself think about that right now.

  She attempted to distract her maudlin thoughts with the stunning colors October had painted on either side of the Interstate. She thought she’d crossed over into Kentucky, though she didn’t remember seeing a sign. If Chase were here, he’d no doubt be sketching the trees or shooting photos in a vain attempt to capture the vivid colors. Then he’d complain that the pictures didn’t even come close, and she’d have to—

  A horn blared behind her. She checked the mirror and then the speedometer. She was barely going fifty in the left-hand lane. Stupid cruise control had quit working again. Heart pounding, she accelerated and tried to whip back into the right lane only to have the trailer tug her over the line into the passing lane. She finally managed to maneuver to the proper lane, and she glared hard at the driver as he passed her.

  It was a stupid, childish thing to do. She was the one in the wrong. But the guy had almost scared her into having a wreck. It would serve Chase right if she had an accident. She quickly checked the thought. He wasn’t the only one she had to think about. Mom and Dad had already lost one child. Her throat tightened at the thought of her brother. If they had to go through that again, she wasn’t sure they’d ever recover. Besides, Mom and Dad didn’t know she was on her way home. If she had a wreck, no one would know why she was on a road all alone, miles from New York.

  It did make her smile to think about what her parents’ reaction would be when she pulled into the driveway. She hadn’t seen Mom and Dad since her wedding in April, and it would be fun to surprise them. Suddenly she missed them the way she had that first summer she’d gone away to church camp and learned the meaning of “homesick.”

  But how could she tell them she was leaving Chase? After only six months of marriage. She could hear her dad now. “Landyn Rebekah Whitman,” he’d say (somehow forgetting she was now a Spencer), “you get in that car and you drive yourself right back to New York.” He’d be mad at Chase, too, but she’d be the one who’d get the talking-to.

  Well, they didn’t know the details. And they wouldn’t. Chase had fought hard to win her parents over, and she wasn’t going to make him out to be the bad guy now—even though he was. One hundred percent, he was. It still made her furious.

  No . . . worse than that. It broke her heart.

  She was beginning to understand why her parents had been skeptical about Chase in the first place. He was letting this . . . delusion of getting rich and famous selling his art sidetrack him. Not that he wasn’t good. He was. He had a ton of talent, but that didn’t mean he could make a living at it. And their finances didn’t exactly allow for risky investments right now.

  Chase had landed a job in New York right out of college, working in the art department for a small local magazine. It was a job that used his art skills, and one with room to grow.

  But then this nut job art rep had seen Chase’s work and gotten him all wired with delusions of grandeur. In a way, she understood. Chase hadn’t received much encouragement growing up. His dad left when he was five, and he’d been raised by a single mom who seemed to have a new boyfriend every other week. The minute Chase graduated high school, Mona Spencer had followed some guy out to California. She’d come back for their wedding on the arm of yet another flavor of the week, but Landyn didn’t expect to see her again unless she and Chase took the initiative to make a trip out West someday.

  Still, despite his rough childhood, and a couple of wild years in high school, Chase had defied the odds and turned into a good guy. A really good guy. Their youth pastor from Langhorne Community Fellowship took Chase under his wing, and by the time Landyn was old enough to date, he was toeing a pretty straight line. Well, except for that tattoo. Dad had come completely unglued when he heard Chase had gotten inked. She’d finally calmed him down by explaining that Chase’s Celtic cross—on his collarbone, so it was hidden under most of his shirts—was a symbol of his faith and of the permanence of God’s love for him. Landyn had always loved her husband’s tat—one he’d designed himself. She’d even toyed with the idea of getting one to match. But so far the fear of her father’s reaction and the lack of cash had prevented her—not to mention the disturbing image of herself as a grandma with a shriveled tat on her chest.

  After Chase proposed, Mom and Dad insisted they go to counseling before getting married—more intensive than the required premarital counseling—with Pastor Simmons. And though she’d balked big-time at the suggestion, Chase had been willing. And when their sessions were over, she was certain Chase Spencer was ready to be the husband of her dreams—even if her parents weren’t convinced.

  Maybe she should have listened to them.

  Because now he’d quit his job and all but forced her to quit hers. Forced her to run home to Missouri. Except she didn’t have a home in Missouri anymore either. Her parents had turned their house into a bed-and-breakfast, and her room was now a guest room at the Chicory Inn. Real original, Mom. From what her sisters said—and from the photos Mom had e-mailed her of the finished renovation—Landyn wouldn’t even recognize the place.

  Sometime this week was the big open house for the inn, too. She’d told her parents she and Chase couldn’t get away—which was true at the time. But now she had no choice. She’d stayed with a friend from work for three days, but if she’d stayed there one more day, she’d have had one less friend. So she’d loaded up what little furniture Chase didn’t take with him, and she was headed back to Langhorne.

  At least in Missouri she wouldn’t be shelling out two thousand dollars a month in rent for some roach-infested studio. And she’d be a world away from New York. And him.

  2

  The first guests arrived at one o’clock sharp. Audrey should have known Lawna and Fred Farley, from half a mile up the road, would be first to ring the doorbell. She had no right to resent them coming. She’d invited all their neighbors and friends, and she wanted them to come, despite the fact they’d likely never book a night in the inn. But, as Grant had suggested, they might be persuaded to reserve a night for visiting family members at the county’s newest and most quaint bed-and-breakfast.

  Still, Audrey knew Lawna well enough to know the woman’s main mission today was to critique the decor, the food, Audrey’s standard of cleanliness, and the Whitman children and grandchildren—and then report back to anyone in Langhorne who would
listen. Lawna’s Tease, Tan ’n’ Tone, the beauty/tanning/fitness salon the Farleys had opened in Langhorne a year ago (Grant called it Tease, Tan ’n’ Talk) would provide the perfect venue for her purposes too.

  Audrey pasted on her best smile and opened the door. “Welcome!” Behind them, two more cars pulled up the long driveway and parked on either side of the Farleys. She didn’t recognize the people getting out of those vehicles. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be a bust after all. “Here, let me take your jacket, Fred.”

  “I’ve got it, Mom.” Bree stepped in and took the corduroy jacket Fred shrugged out of.

  “Bless you, sweet girl.” Audrey didn’t know what she would have done without their precious daughter-in-law this morning. Not only had she cheered Simone up—and cleaned her up—but she’d somehow managed to whip the rest of the family into shape too. It was no wonder Tim’s wife was so good at her job as an event planner. “I owe you one,” she whispered to Bree after Fred and Lawna had wandered into the parlor to inspect the renovation.

  “Look out there,” Bree said, pointing to the knot of people gathered on the front veranda. “And the weather is perfect. If we get too big of a crowd we can just send people outside.”

  “It is perfect, isn’t it? And bless you, too, for thinking we’ll have a crowd.”

  “Of course you will.” Bree hung Fred’s coat in the closet.

  “Tell the girls we’re ready for the tours.” Audrey went out to herd the guests inside where Corinne and her sister, Danae, were preparing to host guided tours of the inn. The girls’ husbands, Jesse and Dallas, had taken the three grandkids for a ride in the wagon with instructions to keep the little girls occupied as long as possible.

  Hurrying down the stairs toward the small flock of guests, Audrey noticed there were now six cars in the makeshift parking lot and another coming up the drive. Pulling a U-Haul trailer. Hmm . . . She hoped no one expected to get a room tonight. They already had a dozen bookings on the calendar just from word of mouth and what little advertising they’d done. But they purposely hadn’t reserved anything this opening weekend since they’d asked the kids all to stay the weekend to celebrate the grand opening—a christening of sorts, and probably the last time they’d have so many of their family all under the same roof for a while.

  The white car towing the U-Haul moved slowly up the drive, but instead of following the signs to the designated parking Grant had roped off, the vehicle pulled around beside the detached garage where the kids always parked when they came to visit. The car looked a little like Landyn’s Honda, and for a minute Audrey dared to hope her baby girl had—

  Wait! Squinting, Audrey shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. The girl getting out of the car . . . It was Landyn.

  It was all Audrey could do to take the time to direct her guests inside, but she managed to tactfully do that before flying down the steps and across the front lawn.

  Landyn’s hair was a mass of pale ringlets around her face, and even with huge sunglasses covering her eyes, she looked exhausted. But she was beaming from ear to ear. “Hey, Mom!”

  “You stinker, you. Couldn’t get away, huh?” Audrey caught her youngest up in a bear hug, then looked past her to the passenger side of the car. “Where’s Chase?”

  “I came by myself.”

  “You drove? Honey! That’s a long trip to make by yourself. Did you drive all night? Oh, never mind! I’m just so glad you’re here! Wait till Dad sees you. He’s going to absolutely flip out.”

  Landyn laughed and opened the back door of the Honda to retrieve a small suitcase. “What’s with all the cars?”

  Audrey furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? It’s for the open house. People came. I thought that’s why you came.”

  “Oh—of course.”

  “You forgot?”

  “No, I mean . . . I knew it was this weekend. I just forgot it was today. I—I figured you’d have it on a Sunday or something.”

  Something seemed . . . off. But Audrey didn’t have time to press her right now. “Here—” She reached for her daughter’s bag. “What else needs to come in? And what on earth is in the U-Haul?”

  “Oh—” Landyn eyed the trailer as if she’d also forgotten she’d towed it halfway across the country. “Some furniture and stuff. To put in storage. We can unload it later. It looks like you have a good turnout.”

  “Better than I thought we’d have. And we’re just getting started. It goes until six. Are you hungry? We’ve already eaten, but I can fix you a plate.”

  Landyn hitched her purse up on one shoulder and locked the car. “Thanks . . . not hungry. And I’m a mess. Can I sneak in the back and freshen up before I have to see anyone?”

  Audrey scrambled to think where she could put Landyn. The other kids had already filled all the guest rooms—and the covered porch. “You can clean up in the master bath for now. I’ll take it off the tour until you’re out.”

  “Tour?”

  “Your sisters are giving tours of the inn.”

  Landyn raised a blonde eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. “Whoa . . . So it’s the inn now? Fancy schmancy.”

  Audrey felt the sting from her daughter’s snarky tone but tried not to let it show. “Come on. I’ll sneak you in. You can surprise everybody after you get cleaned up.” She hefted the suitcase in one hand, put an arm around Landyn, and squeezed her close. “I’m sorry Chase couldn’t make it, but I’m so glad you’re home.”

  And she was. She was thrilled her baby girl had decided to surprise them, but Landyn’s timing could not have been worse. The master suite on the third floor was Grant’s and her retreat. It would never be booked, but she’d wanted to let people see the impressive space this one time at the open house, and she’d said as much in all the advertisements.

  She toyed briefly with sending Landyn into town to clean up at Grant’s mother’s empty house, but that was no way to welcome a newlywed daughter home. Their guests would just have to understand.

  * * *

  Grant left a foursome of his golf buddies bragging in the front yard and went to greet a new carload of guests who’d just come up the driveway. Audrey would be delighted with the turnout for her open house. He hadn’t seen her for at least an hour, but through the open windows he could hear the pleasant murmur of conversation inside. And above it, Corinne and Danae’s well-rehearsed tour guide lingo floated down from the open windows. His two eldest daughters’ voices sounded so much alike he couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began.

  Their kids had done them proud today. He tugged at his tie, which now hung in a loose loop around his neck. He’d be glad when the last guest pulled out of the drive and he could don shorts and flip-flops and just hang out with his family. He had steaks marinating in the fridge in the garage, and Audrey assured him there’d be plenty of leftovers from the open house to round out the meal. She’d no doubt be exhausted after this day, but he’d talked her into skipping church so they could sleep in tomorrow. “God will understand,” Grant assured her when she protested.

  And the girls, including Bree, had all agreed to stay long enough to clean the floors and get the house back in shape after half of Clemens County and beyond had traipsed through it.

  “Hello, folks. Welcome.” He stretched out a hand to two middle-aged couples who’d emerged from a Lincoln Town Car. He glanced at the license plate. “Tennessee? You’ve come a ways.”

  The driver of the car laughed. “We’re visiting my brother here. He and Doris live just up the road in Cape Girardeau.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, you Tennesseans definitely win the prize for coming the farthest. So far.”

  He directed them through the front door and spied the tail end of Corinne’s tour group of six heading out to the backyard. “I’m not sure where my other tour guide is, but why don’t you help yourself to some refreshments and I’ll see if I can track one of the girls down.”

  “Oh, thank you, but we just ate.” The driver’s wife patted her am
ple belly. “Don’t worry about us. We can just do a self-guided tour.”

  The quartet seemed harmless, but Audrey had warned them all about letting people roam the house unattended. “I’ll give you the grand tour myself,” he said. “We can start on the third floor and work our way down.”

  As they climbed two flights of stairs to the master suite, Grant noted points of interest—not necessarily the things Audrey would have chosen to highlight were she guiding the tour, but the gentlemen seemed interested while their wives oohed and aahed among themselves over the decor.

  “This is our private living quarters, but my wife wanted to show it off today.” Grant pushed the door open and motioned for the group to precede him into the room. “Audrey’s invested a lot into this proj—”

  The women gave a little gasp, and Grant followed their gaze to the bed. Someone—someone wearing Audrey’s lavender polka-dot bathrobe—was curled in a fetal ball in the middle of the down comforter Audrey had paid a small fortune for. But it wasn’t Audrey.

  The body stirred and sat up looking dazed.

  What on earth? “Landyn? What are you doing here?” He turned to his guests. “I’m sorry, but would you excuse us for a moment, please?”

  Murmuring unwarranted apologies, the two couples pivoted and nudged each other out of the room, obviously feeling awkward—and probably wondering why there was a pretty young woman sleeping on his bed.

  “Daddy!” Landyn squealed and rolled off the bed and into his arms.

  “I thought you couldn’t come! Does your mom know you’re here?”

  She giggled. “She snuck me in the back way. I—wanted to surprise everyone.”

  “Well, you certainly did that.” He glanced back at the door, relieved to see the guests heading downstairs.

  He held her at arms’ length. Her eyes still looked sleepy. “Where’s Chase?”

  “He couldn’t come. I . . . came by myself.” Landyn looked around the room. “It doesn’t even feel like the same place.”