Again, Alabama

by Susan Sands

  Again, Alabama

  Susan Sands

  Again, Alabama

  Copyright © 2015 Susan Sands

  Smashwords Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-942240-73-0

  Dear Reader,

  This book, in its many forms, is the realization of a dream. Seeing my work in print is nothing short of a miracle made possible by lots of generous people. I would be remiss in not naming as many as possible.

  Writers need mentors who are willing to take time out from their busy schedules to give a hand up to others. Karen White picked me up from my house and drove me to my first Georgia Romance Writer’s meeting (and she’d never met me). She still answers my calls! Thanks and love to Eloisa James aka Mary Bly. She knows her role in all of this. I will be forever grateful to call these ladies my friends.

  To Christy Hayes, Tracy Solheim, Laura Butler and Laura Alford, my dear friends and critique partners: Through it all, you gals have been there for me and I love you for it. Such a wealth of support and fabulous brain trust we are combined! Also, to my sister-in-law and fellow writer with whom I took that trek to the west coast for our first writer’s conference. Thanks for allowing me to drag you all over the country in pursuit of this dream. Yours is still coming.

  Rest in peace to my grandmother, Alice Noel, who recently passed away. She read everything I wrote and was my biggest fan. I was able to tell her my good news just a few months before she left us, and she was so proud.

  To my parents, Ray and Linda Noel, who never even gave me a funny look when I told them I wanted to write a book. They’ve supported me from word one.

  To my husband, Doug Sands, who bought the laptop and sent me across the country for my first writer’s conference without complaint, and to all the RWA conferences since.

  To my children, Kevin, Cameron and Reagan: Sorry about all the time I’ve spent at the computer. Y’all have been champs.

  To my agents at Inkwell Management past, Allison Hunter, and present, David Forrer: I so appreciate your continued support and encouragement. I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me!

  To my fantastic editor, Sinclair Sawhney: You made my story shine with your focus and insight. Thanks for your willingness to roll up your sleeves and tackle this one!

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dear Reader

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Cammie stepped from the tiny bath into her childhood bedroom. She’d brushed her teeth, and briefly considered a shower after catching a terrifying glimpse of herself in the mirror, but opted for caffeine instead. Between her two a.m. arrival and very little sleep once she’d finally fallen into bed, the prospect of facing the siblings this morning made it a sound decision. And nobody was here to get a look at her like this anyway, thank God.

  Cammie groaned and stretched. Right now, she required a gallon of coffee. Where were her clothes? Darn it, she was certain she’d dragged that suitcase case upstairs—

  A sudden, loud banging outside her bedroom window nearly shot her through the roof. Whacking her shin on the corner of the antique, four-poster bed, she lunged toward the closed curtain and apparent source of the infernal noise. What the hell?

  Someone or something was trying to hammer its way inside—on the second floor.

  Flinging back the heavy drapes, Cammie was momentarily blinded by bright sunshine. She blinked, focused, and struggled to process what met her tired brain through her equally exhausted eyes.

  She made out a shirtless and very manly muscled chest. As the chest moved downward, Cammie squinted hard, and recognized the strong chin centered with a deep dimple.

  She thought she might vomit. Or faint. Or something equally humiliating. Over the years, the very thought of home, of Ministry, Alabama, had brought him to mind in the worst possible way. It was why she’d hardly been joking when referring to this town as “Misery” instead. He’d been her misery.

  Jumbled still-shots of memory flashed of an intimate and disastrous history with Grey Harrison, who currently stood outside on a ladder, gaping at her through her childhood bedroom window, while she sported her tiniest lacy, black panties and matching push-up bra. Beefy-eyed, with mascara smudged down to her cheekbones, she likely resembled an outmatched boxer gone a round too long with a superior opponent.

  If ever she’d envisioned another face-to-face scenario with him, this one bubbled straight from the blackest sludge of her cruelest nightmare. It was like one of those naked dreams where she’d forgotten to put clothes on before heading to the grocery store. Only, this was real.

  It took a minute for her stunted brain to crank back up and shift into self-preservation mode. Mortification switched anger to action. How dare he?

  Cammie spied the ratty old University of Alabama t-shirt she’d carelessly discarded last night, still hanging from the bed post, and snatched it over her head in a swift motion. She didn’t stop to check if it was right-side out. Lord, she hoped it was. Her jeans were in a heap at the foot of the bed, but before she bent down, she glared at Grey, who continued to gawk as if he’d been struck dumb.

  Pointing toward the ground, she hit him with her most effective stink-eye, hoping to convey a clear message. Get the hell off that ladder and stop staring at me, asshole!

  This seemed to do the trick. He flashed a quick—and possibly appreciative—grin and descended the ladder.

  Hadn’t she endured enough, like in a gigantic steaming pile, these past weeks? Grey Harrison, here, after all this time? Really? She looked up to the sky questioningly.

  She’d indeed come home to Misery.

  *

  It now occurred to her on her way downstairs that she could have immediately just pulled the stupid curtains shut. God, what an idiot he must think her. And why was he here?

  She took a deep breath and yanked open the door.

  “Grey.” His name on her lips after so many years sounded very strange.

  “Hello, Cammie. It’s been a long time.”

  Ya think? She ignored his shaggy hair and boyish grin. Instead, she said with as little peeve in her tone as possible, “I didn’t expect to see you here—banging on the house.” Outside my second story window, in this town, while I’m in my skimpiest underwear.

  “Sorry about that. Your mom, she uh, hired me to do the work on the house.”

  Her childhood home and family business, The Evangeline House, was a century-plus, old plantation home that hosted nearly all the towns weddings, anniversaries, and sweet sixteens. No event was too large or small.
>
  “What work?” She raised her eyebrows. She searched her spinning brain. Was he a handy man? Surely not. No, no, it was coming back. He’d majored in architecture.

  “The old place has some pretty serious structural issues. It’s going to be a big job.”

  “Are you living back in Ministry?” Did she sound shrill? She tried to keep her voice neutral, a pleasant expression pasted on her lips as her mind kicked into full-on freak-out mode. She’d loved him since middle school. Before makeup and sex. Since childhood. And he’d loved her too back then.

  “For a little over a month now—with Dad. I’m helping him renovate the old house.”

  No one thought to mention that Evangeline House had big problems or that Grey Harrison was back here, living just through the back gate with his dad. “It appears my family has seen fit to keep me in the dark.” She experienced an invisible punch in the gut that her siblings had kept this all from her. Or was it because he was standing here in the flesh?

  She tried not to clench her jaw. According to her dentist, she was a world class bruxer—a clencher—especially during stress. This caused headaches and neck strain. Had she remembered to pack her night guard and those muscle relaxers?

  She’d arrived in her current clench-worthy situation as a direct result of her four siblings’ web of guilt, effectively woven to trap her in Alabama for an indiscernible amount of time.

  Cammie was to handle the daily running of things while their mother recovered from today’s back surgery. Of course, she wanted to be here to support her mother, but they’d dumped the entire thing on her now that she was unemployed. How long she stayed depended entirely on how Mom’s surgery and recovery went.

  “I’m sure your family didn’t want to worry you with everything you’ve had going on—” He dropped his eyes, as if he’d said too much.

  And he appeared to know what was happening in her life, though admittedly, some of it was pretty public knowledge. “Yes, I imagine you’ve seen the whole thing on TV or heard about it from someone.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She held up a hand to ward off the stuttering apology. Accustomed now to the awkward and frequent foot-in-mouth syndrome folks were recently struck by, Cammie rolled her eyes and sighed. But on the inside her knees were wobbling and she was losing it, big time. He was here.

  “It’s okay. I get it all the time these days,” she said. They were chatting, like old friends.

  “Bet it’s not a lot of fun when people recognize you from television, I mean, not anymore.” He referred to her former recognition as the fan-type, not the latest finger-pointing and snickering variety.

  “A grand plan to hide out in Alabama, right? My family may have held off on letting me in on the house troubles, but it didn’t stop them from dragging me back here to take over. I guess they figured springing everything all at once after I got here would be more fun.” She shot him a look that said, “you know how they can be.”

  As in, they didn’t tell me about you being here, the assholes.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news about the house. But if it’s any consolation, Jessica Greene’s eyebrows will grow back,” he said, referring to her other, rather unpleasant situation.

  Cammie could do this. She could chat with him as if the world hadn’t just spun off its freakin’ axis.

  “If she’s lucky. She’s getting so much press from this; it’s likely she’ll shave ’em off if they start growing in too soon.” Jessica Greene was the South’s most famous television foodie, and Cammie’s very recent former boss.

  “I’m not sorry to say, she looked like a drowned dough ball with all that flour and water you dumped on her hair.” His shoulders began to shake. “Then, when they hit her with the stream from the fire extinguisher—” He didn’t sound especially sorry either.

  Her lips twitched. Despite the awful debacle that followed, she could admit it had high entertainment value on playback. “Yes, I was there.” Cammie couldn’t laugh about it yet though, it’d cost her too much. Her job, her pride, her reputation. The infamous Crepe Suzette hair fire hadn’t really been her fault, but the world believed it was, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Breathe, Cammie.

  “So why is she trashing you on all the talk shows?” And suddenly, as if a marvelous idea occurred to him, he asked, “Why don’t you make the rounds and tell your side of it?”

  Brilliant. As if she hadn’t thought of that. “My contract doesn’t allow me to discuss what happened. Her contract does.” That was her official position. Cammie smiled tightly at Grey. Grey Harrison, who was here.

  “Oh. Bummer.” His mirth died down.

  Changing the subject abruptly, she swept her hand, indicating the interior of the house. “How bad is it? We have several events booked next week.” She had to focus on the immediate problems, besides his being here in her mother’s house.

  He shrugged his well-toned shoulders, cleared his throat, and began, “I’ve put up yellow caution tape across the entrances to the doorways to indicate structural problems. Most of the larger rooms for entertaining are safe, but ask me before you head anywhere with the tape.” Now he was all business.

  “Sounds pretty serious.” She remembered now that he’d studied at Auburn to be an architect and engineer—something to do with restoring historic structures. He’d been in his second year, and she in her first at rival University of Alabama when their insanely happy little couple bubble had ended so abruptly.

  “It’ll take some time.” He looked pretty somber.

  “Well, that really stinks.” He was really here. Oh, my God. Cammie tried to keep her expression from revealing her inner freaked-outedness.

  “Sorry to be the messenger, and sorry I, um, surprised you upstairs like that.” He didn’t look especially sorry, she noticed. If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes appeared hot with the memory. Oh, hell no. He wasn’t allowed dirty thoughts about her ever again, not after everything that had gone on between them.

  “Yeah, no problem. Nothing like getting caught with your pants down.” She tried to blow it off like she was unaffected, and wipe that smirky turned-on expression off his face.

  It didn’t work. He was still smirking and still held her eyes with his smoky, heavy-lidded gaze. It was all she could do to keep her eyes above his belt and not crotch-check him. She was certain that the sweeping heat in her face had just turned it bright red.

  Her head was beginning to pound from the delay of caffeine reaching her bloodstream. “Mom’s surgery is in a couple of hours and I’m heading over to County General in a few minutes. Do you have what you need to—do whatever you do here?”

  He nodded. “All set here. Give Miz Maureen my best.” Still smirking.

  “Sure, thanks.” She turned on her heel. Getting out of this house as soon as humanly possible was the most important thing she’d ever done, or so it seemed. Too bad she couldn’t leave just like she was: beefy-eyed, barefoot, and in yesterday’s clothes. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Like in a slow motion horror flick, she’d almost made it to the stairs and in the clear of the danger when he said from behind, “Oh, and Cammie—”

  She turned, “Yes?” Aaaaghh!

  “It was really nice to see you again.” He fixed her with another killer grin that once upon a time had made a younger version of herself weak in the knees.

  “Uh, yes, you too.” Somehow she turned and made the final getaway on two sturdy legs, resisting the urge to run like hell upstairs.

  That thermostat needed bumping down a couple degrees, she thought. She locked the bedroom door, fanning her face, then threw herself on the bed. She started shaking almost immediately, sucking in deep breaths. She’d only ever had one real panic attack, and she’d thought she was dying then. This was a close second, but instead of sensing her imminent death, she was pretty sure she was gonna kill somebody. Her entire freakin’ family was in for it. Just as soon as Mom made it through surgery, they all had it coming.

&n
bsp; Somehow, she had to dress and get herself past him again so she could see her mother at the hospital before she went in for surgery.

  *

  After Cammie left, or, more accurately, slammed out and spewed gravel trying to get away from him, Grey still couldn’t believe it. She was back. She’d slipped out while he was down the hall working in the library. His heartbeat sped up a bit as it again struck him that he’d finally had the opportunity to lay eyes on her after all this time. And she hadn’t tried to gut him with a sharp implement. Better than he’d imagined it might go.

  Grey’d nearly lost his grip and tumbled off the twenty-foot ladder the second he’d seen her, wearing next to nothing, through the window. Tearing his gaze away from her luscious body, their eyes had locked—hers, a bit dazed for an instant, but no less gorgeous as she soon recovered from her obvious confusion.

  Maybe he had stared a bit too long, considering that she had been wearing the sexiest excuse for underwear on her sizzling, hot body, he should be congratulated. But surprised didn’t quite describe his gut-clenching reaction to seeing her through that window. Blown away was more like it. He’d finally torn his eyes away and climbed down before she called 911 to report a prowler.

  Yes, he’d heard she was coming back, but wasn’t prepared for his reaction to actually coming face-to-face—and other equally dazzling parts—with her. He wished he’d taken the time to get a haircut before she’d blown into town.

  Her hair was still honey-blonde, just below shoulder-length. It had been longer back then…and the rest of her, good Lord.

  He shook his head to clear it. Grey had the feeling her family members would catch all kinds of grief for their failure to inform her that he was here at the house—or judging from her reaction—back in Ministry.

  He’d imagined facing her again over the years, had actually spent time playing it out in his head, known it would sting, though this was more like a soul-shattering explosion. But never had he envisioned their meeting again as the second story window farce of fifteen minutes ago.