Life down South just got a whole lot sweeter...
Sweet Carolina Morning
Willow Hill #2
Susan Schild
Releasing Aug 2nd, 2016
Lyrical Press
Finally, just shy of forty years old, Linny Taylor is living the life of her dreams in her charming hometown of Willow Hill, North Carolina. The past few years have been anything but a fairy tale: Left broke by her con man late-husband, Linny has struggled to rebuild her life from scratch. Then she met Jack Avery, the town’s much-adored veterinarian. And she’s marrying him.
Everything should be coming up roses for Linny. So why does she have such a serious case of pre-wedding jitters? It could be because Jack’s prosperous family doesn’t approve of her rough-and-tumble background. Or that his ex-wife is suddenly back on the scene. Or that Linny has yet to win over his son’s heart. All these obstacles—not to mention what she should wear when she walks down the aisle—are taking the joy out of planning her wedding. Linny better find a way to trust love again, or she might risk losing the one man she wants to be with—forever…
Though it was February, the galley kitchen at
her future husband’s old farmhouse was steamy and hot, but Linny hardly
noticed. Peering at the pages on the counter, she pushed back up her nose the
reading glasses she'd had to borrow from Jack and double-checked to make sure
she’d not left out any key ingredients. Why had she printed the recipe in
ten-point font?
Tonight’s menu came from a website she’d found
called Recipes for Picky Eaters, and
she hoped it was a winner. She shook her head, chagrined at Jack’s
reaction to the first possible menu she’d suggested. He’d kept that pleasant
smile on his handsome face, but his eyebrows had shot up. Once
they’d come back down to normal, his veto had been so diplomatic. “Darlin’, the
mountain trout, braised Brussels sprouts, and
beet salad sounds tasty, and I hope you cook
them for me real soon, but eleven-year-old boys’ tastes tend to be more… well,
mainstream.”
Blowing back a stray lock of hair, she turned on
the oven light and peeked inside. The neat rows of crusted chicken breasts were
browning nicely in their casserole dish home. The side dishes—creamy-looking
mac and cheese and green bean casserole topped with onion rings—were both
bubbling gently. She breathed in cooking smells and was transported back to
Sunday suppers at the farm when Nana and Paw-Paw were still alive. Sighing, she
felt a wash of safety, contentment, belonging. Those were just the feelings she
wanted to infuse in this new little family.
Sliding into the chair, Linny admired the old
kitchen table and touched the swirls of the tiger oak. It felt warm, solid. How
many other families had sat around it and shared their lives over meals? She
pictured her and her two men gathered around like in a scene from the Hallmark
Channel, talking and laughing about their day. Jack and Neal would lavishly
compliment her on her cooking, she’d blush, wave them off, and act as though it
was no big deal. “I just threw the meal together,” she’d trill.
Trouble was, it was a big deal, and not just
because Linny was just learning to cook. She rubbed her chin and thought about
it. This morning, Jack had sat his son down after they’d cleaned up from their
pancake breakfast and told him that he and Linny were marrying in the summer.
Linny had just sat beside Jack and let him do the talking but felt a stab of
sadness as she saw Neal’s face fall. Forlorn. He looked forlorn. When he asked
in a trembling voice, “So, you and Mom aren’t ever getting back together?” she
thought her heart might break. He still held out hope for his family to be
whole again, the way it used to be. Never mind that Neal’s mother, Vera, had
already remarried the year before. Though Linny and Jack had been dating
officially since October, she’d only just started spending a lot of time with
the two of them. Jack hadn’t wanted to introduce her to his son until they knew
they were serious, so Linny was only just getting to know the young man.
Linny got a nervous flip in her stomach when she
thought about becoming a stepmother. She’d gone thirty-eight years without
children, and in a few short months, she’d be slipping into this new role
without even a course or certificate. Linny got up and made herself a mug of
Chamomile tea. Calming, the label said.
She sat back down and blew on the tea to cool it and tried to quell the
thrum of the squadron of butterflies that was revving up in the pit of her
stomach.
Staring out the window, she thought of the other
scenarios she’d been imagining, in living color and the minutest detail. If she
messed up in this new job, he’d be that troubled teen with the shaved head who
sold pot and lived in their basement after he dropped out of school in tenth
grade. Neal would end up being the inebriated driver of a speeding car full of
kids who drove them into a tree after leaving an unchaperoned party. Her heart
banged as she tried to obliterate the image she’d seen in this morning’s News and Clarion -the mangled wreckage of a barely recognizable car driven by a teen
going the wrong way on I-40. He’d killed himself and badly injured a whole
vanload of kids on the way home late from a church youth group retreat. Pulling
out her phone, she scrolled through her emails as the good smells wafted from
the oven and felt her shoulders relax as she reread Mary Catherine's note. Nice
to have a best friend who practiced family law.
Under the subject line, Impending Stepmother Hood, her friend wrote:
You asked for advice on your new parenting gig. Remember, a lot of
divorced couples and blended families don’t talk civilly and don't act in the
best interests of children. In my practice, we serve more of the
send-the-kids-home-dirty and talk-trash-about-the-stepmother crowd. What not to
do may be more useful than what to do.
Another disclaimer: I’m no expert on teenage boys just because I
had one. Remember just a few months back, my nineteen-year-old almost got a DUI
on a bike. Boys are knuckleheads between the ages of eleven and twenty-four.
Your nerves will fray no matter how hard you try to be a good mother—or, harder
yet, stepmother—but I will tell you what I know.
Meet me for a quick
breakfast 7:00 a.m. Wednesday at Jumpin’ Joe’s Bean House?
Blowing out a sigh of relief, Linny replied, Perfect. She let herself sink back into
the chair for a moment. Thank goodness for Mary Catherine.
Glancing at the clock, she rose and fretted as
she checked the timer. Last weekend’s cookout at her place had been a bust.
Neal had picked at his food, claiming he “'just wasn’t hungry.”' What American
boy didn’t like grilled hamburgers and French fries made from scratch—from the
actual potato? Could it be that he didn’t like her? She tried to dismiss the
thought. How could he not like her when she was already so fond of him? He was
whip smart, mostly well mannered, sensitive, and had an offbeat sense of humor
that would catch her when she wasn’t expecting it and make her burst out
laughing.
Tonight would be different, she decided, setting
flatware firmly at the three places at the table. After grilling Jack
extensively about his son’s food likes and dislikes, she’d scoured the internet
for the perfect menu. If she was finally going to embark on this mother thing, she
sure as heck was going to excel at it. She’d do the whole shebang: soccer
weekends, volunteering on field trips, deep talks about life. She’d waited long
enough for this little family, and now that she’d got it, dang it, she was
going to do it right. The water glasses spilled over as she set them too firmly
down on the table.
Jack and Neal were still at the barn with the
mare that was about to foal. She picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the
button. “Supper’s ready, men.”
The line crackled. “Be right up,” Jack said
cheerfully. “I’m hungry as a bear.”
She’d just finished putting on a slick of lip
gloss as they clattered into the room, bringing with them a wash of fresh
February air. Her heart still skipped a beat when Jack gave her a boyish grin,
and she longed for a kiss, but there was sweet-faced Neal, right on his heels.
She felt a pang of regret. She and Jack had talked about it and agreed on the
rule of no smooching or PDAs in front of the boy right on the brink of becoming
a man. She felt wistful. Leaning against the stove, she smiled as she took them
in, amazed at how much commotion the two could make just walking into a room,
with their thudding boots, unzippering coats, biceps punching, and easy
laughter. Linny raked back her hair with her fingers. Man, her too quiet life
had sure changed.
Susan Schild writes wholesome and sunny Southern fiction. She likes stories about charming men, missing money, adventuresome women, sweet dogs, and happily ever afters at any age.
Susan is a wife and a stepmother. She enjoys rummaging through thrift store for treasures like four dollar cashmere sweaters and amateur watercolor paintings. She likes taking walks with her Lab mix, Tucker, and his buddies. She and her family live in North Carolina.
Susan has used her professional background as a psychotherapist and a management consultant to add authenticity to her characters.
Susan is a wife and a stepmother. She enjoys rummaging through thrift store for treasures like four dollar cashmere sweaters and amateur watercolor paintings. She likes taking walks with her Lab mix, Tucker, and his buddies. She and her family live in North Carolina.
Susan has used her professional background as a psychotherapist and a management consultant to add authenticity to her characters.
SWEET SOUTHERN HEARTS, the final book in the Willow Hill series, will be released in January of 2017. Readers can look forward to more adventures, new beaus, sinister ministers, lovebirds over fifty, a road trip for Mama and her pals, and maybe even an “I Do”...or two.
Start the Willow Hill Series at the beginning!
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