Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel Read online

  Love On Anchor Island

  Terri Osburn

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Terri Osburn

  Published by Macie Rae Publishing, Nashville, TN

  Cover Design Copyright © 2020 Terri Osburn

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Other books by Terri Osburn:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I am so excited to take you back to where it all began—Anchor Island. If you haven’t read the original four-book series, no worries. You can still jump right into this book. But you are going to meet lots of characters from the other books, and if after reading this one you’d like to read their stories as well, here’s the series details.

  The Anchor Island books are:

  Meant To Be (Beth & Joe)

  Up To The Challenge (Sid & Lucas)

  Home To Stay (Will & Randy)

  More To Give (Callie & Sam)

  In Over Her Head (Lauren & Nick) coming Feb 2021

  Love On Anchor Island picks up just over four years from when we left off in More To Give, so for those who have read the previous books, you’ll get to see several of your favorite characters as parents with growing families. The hero and heroine of this book, Alex Fielding and Roxie Chandler, are brand new to the world, but both related to established characters.

  Thank you to those who are long-time readers, and those of you who are just stepping into my books. Without all of you, I wouldn’t have the greatest job in the world. Please know that I am forever grateful!

  Happy Reading,

  Terri

  PS: If you’d like to keep up with me and my work, you can always subscribe to my newsletter.

  Other books by Terri Osburn:

  Find them all here

  Anchor Island Series

  Meant To Be

  Up To The Challenge

  Home To Stay

  More To Give

  In Over Her Head*

  *coming Feb 2021

  Ardent Springs Series

  His First And Last

  Our Now And Forever

  My One And Only

  Her Hopes And Dreams

  The Last In Love

  Shooting Stars Series

  Rising Star

  Falling Star

  Wishing On A Star

  Among The Stars

  Stand-Alones

  Ask Me To Stay

  Wrecked

  Awakening Anna

  Chapter One

  I am going to die of boredom on this godforsaken island.

  This thought had been running through Roxie Chandler’s mind since she’d agreed to this allegedly unprompted visit, that just happened to coincide with her most recent fall from grace. Despite this time not being entirely her fault, with her track record, she hadn’t been surprised when no one believed her.

  Dying of boredom might actually be what she deserved.

  The call from Beth—her cousin, her opposite in every way, and the only person who’d ever taken Roxie’s side in anything—had come at too perfect a time not to have been her mother’s handiwork. Seven years older and a hundred years wiser, Beth had once upon a time been Roxie’s cheerleader, her confidant, and even her conscience.

  Now, she was offering a port in the storm. Literally.

  After the scandal had broken, Roxie might as well have stuck a scarlet letter on her leather jacket. Even her own mother had cast judgmental glares her way when she thought Roxie wasn’t looking. And then, out of nowhere, came the call. Beth’s adopted home of Anchor Island needed help with recovery efforts after Hurricane Deloris tore through in mid-November.

  The choice between getting her hands dirty or getting dirty looks everywhere Roxie went had been an easy one. Less than forty-eight hours later, she found herself standing on a car-laden ferry, floating at the breakneck speed of a lame tortoise on a blustery February day.

  “Talk about a slow boat to hell,” she mumbled to herself.

  “Excuse me?” came a deep voice to her right.

  Roxie spun to find a man staring at her with one chestnut brow arched high. The eyes were nice and the shoulders broad, but the preppy outfit said snooze city.

  “Sorry.” Roxie lifted her denim-clad bottom onto the hood of her 1972 Camaro—her most prized possession—and crossed her legs. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Did you just refer to Anchor Island as hell?”

  Great. Now she’d pissed off a local. “I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t mind me.”

  Yuppie dude wasn’t appeased. “Have you ever been to Anchor Island before?”

  Ignoring the cold wind chilling her cheeks, she locked her gaze on the horizon and gritted her teeth. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Roxie snapped. “Dude, what is your problem?”

  Arms crossed, he leaned against a baby blue Prius—a Prius for God’s sake—and met her gaze. “I don’t like people insulting my home. Being small doesn’t make it a bad place.”

  She paused the argument to ask, “How small are we talking?” Beth had let her know about the ferry, that there was no mall, and no fast food. Roxie hadn’t asked for any further information, fearful that she’d change her mind.

  “About fourteen miles long,” the stranger replied, “but the village covers just over a square mile at the southern tip.”

  One square mile? Seriously?

  “Tell me you’re joking,” she begged. Maybe being the hometown pariah wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Like I said, small doesn’t mean bad.” Both brows rose this time. “Or boring.”

  Then they had very different definitions of the word boring.

  Sliding across the hood, Roxie dropped to the ground in front of the stranger. She had to look up to see his face, but at five foot four, that was nothing new. “Are you the mayor or something?”

  “No.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve just encountered your type before.”

  How she hated statements like that. “My type? You don’t even know me.”

  Green eyes trailed down to her Doc Martens and back to her face. With a smirk he said, “Aren’t you a little old for this emo look?”

  Wearing all black did not make her emo. “Aren’t you a little young for this boomer look?”

  The man was wearing a sweater vest. And loafers.

  A muscle in his perfectly defined jaw twitched. That was another strike against him. Guys this pretty were almost always assholes.

  “I’m dressed like an adult. You should try it sometime.”

  What a douche. “Do you always pick fights with total strangers, or am I just a lucky girl today?”

  “You’re the one who insulted my island.”

  She was going to insult a lot more than that if he kept this up. “I mumbled that comment to myself, not to you. How did you even hear me, anyway? Were you watching me?”

 
Green eyes widened before he schooled his features. “I wasn’t watching you.”

  Bullshit. “So you just happened to hear me muttering over the roar of the wind? What kind of a creep are you? Do you case this ferry for desperate women, and then offer to ‘show them around’?”

  “Do you always deflect like this when you’re caught being rude?”

  “I’m being rude?” Fists balled at her sides, Roxie stepped forward despite having to tilt her head back farther in order to maintain eye contact. “Listen here, Jack. I was sitting on my car minding my own business when you got your preppy little panties in a twist. Guess what? Not everyone has to like your dinky island. And you don’t get to be a dick about it. So back off.”

  Roxie waited for the snappy comeback, but instead, full lips curved in a sexy grin. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Either the wind grew louder, or warning bells were going off in her ears.

  When darkening green eyes dropped to her lips, the screaming stopped. This wasn’t good. How could she possibly want this stuffed shirt to kiss her? There must have been something in the air. Did a ferry give off fumes?

  “Are you always this feisty?” he asked, his voice an octave deeper than before. He hadn’t moved a muscle, yet Roxie felt surrounded by him.

  Grasping the last threads of her sanity, she said, “I’m not feisty. I’m pissed. You should recognize the difference.”

  She didn’t sound pissed, damn it. She sounded flirty and breathless, as if he’d kissed her already. The wind shifted, blowing dark curls across her face, blocking her view.

  Before she could clear her vision, he brushed the hair aside, then reached both hands behind her head to hold the unruly locks in place. Hovering inches above her, he said, “I stand corrected.”

  Roxie didn’t speak. Or breathe. Or dare to move. She simply waited, depressingly aware of the invitation in her eyes but unable to look away. The moment he bent his head toward hers, a loud horn bellowed out of nowhere, jerking her back to her senses.

  Her hands shot out and hit a chest that felt like a cement wall. The stranger’s hands fell away, sending her hair into her face as Roxie’s bottom landed against her car door. Scrambling, she regained her balance and shoved the curls behind her ears.

  “What the hell was that?” she yelled, cringing when the horn sounded again.

  Strong hands turned her toward the horizon. They were less than twenty yards from what she assumed was Anchor Island.

  “Are we here?” Roxie asked.

  “We are.” As if he’d also come to his senses, the stranger added, “Just in time.”

  Feeling oddly hurt by his words, she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and charged around the front of her car. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Without another word, they climbed into their respective vehicles and started the engines. Not that she could hear his, of course. Good Lord, she’d almost kissed a guy with a Prius.

  Roxie pressed the gas pedal, letting the power beneath her foot soothe her damaged pride. She was first in line and drove off the ferry as soon as the signal came. Mr. Prius had to wait, which put a more comfortable distance between them.

  The GPS said to continue straight ahead, as if she had any other choice. One good storm surge and this narrow strip of land would be under water. Trees lay bent and mangled along the roadside, leaving her to wonder what the tiny village must look like. Minutes later she got her answer. Not good. And this was almost three months into recovery?

  Whether her mother had had a hand in this or not, Beth’s cry for help had been very real. Following a new order from the GPS, Roxie went right at a fork in the road. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she didn’t see the Prius.

  Good, she thought. With any luck, he lived as far away from Beth as possible. Then she remembered as far as possible meant one mile. So be it. If a mile was all she could get, Roxie would take it.

  The scent of wildflowers lingered in Alex Fielding’s senses as he watched car after car go by. Finally, he took his turn and pulled off the ferry, questioning his own sanity. What he’d said about knowing that woman’s type had been true. Snobby. Judgmental. High-maintenance.

  He’d nearly married that woman once, and though Camille wouldn’t be caught dead in a leather jacket and Doc Martens, the attitude was the same. Especially when it came to his adopted home. Alex’s decision to embark on a quiet life as an island doctor had been enough to send his former fiancée in search of another doctor to marry.

  One who didn’t expect her to be Mrs. Dr. Nobody.

  Alex checked the time on the dash screen. His rounds at The Outer Banks Hospital were supposed to take two hours and instead took three. Though there was a facility on Anchor, Edwards Medical Center reflected the size of the island, which meant it was small and offered mostly emergency services.

  Procedures ranging from gall bladder removal to hip replacements were treated at the full-service hospital on Hatteras Island, and regardless of whether Alex performed the procedure or not, he made a point to check in with all of his patients.

  As he rolled into the village, he noticed Howard’s Cafe was open for business. Like many establishments on the island, the small restaurant had sustained extensive damage from Hurricane Deloris. Residents had prepared for moderate water damage before evacuating, but the storm strengthened, and their efforts hadn’t been enough. Even he had two exam rooms left to repair, but the cafe reopening was a good sign that things would soon be back to normal.

  Floyd Lewinski waved from the mailbox in front of the Trading Post as Alex drove by. The older man had canceled an appointment earlier in the week, and Alex made a mental note to pay him a visit. Floyd’s sweet tooth made managing his diabetes difficult, requiring an ever-watchful eye from his physician.

  Even before med school, Alex had known that having a relationship with his patients would be far more important than money or prestige. As a child, watching his maternal grandmother, Dr. Blythe Hommel, care for the residents of tiny Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania, had cemented the idea in his mind. Unfortunately, his father and brother, a world-renown brain surgeon and a sought-after cardiologist respectively, didn’t see things his way.

  They believed Alex was wasting his degree and talent, and insisted on more than one occasion that he return to Philadelphia to take his rightful place in the family business. For two years, he’d tried to make them understand, but in the last twelve months, he’d given up. Visits home were few and far between, though he called his mother every week. She was his only support in the family other than Grandma Blythe.

  Approaching the home that doubled as his office, Alex spotted a familiar car in the Dempsey’s driveway next door. Beth had mentioned a cousin coming to visit, but she hadn’t said when the relative would arrive. Clearly, that day had come. And she just had to be a petite brunette driving a cherry-red muscle car. He couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Alex climbed from the Prius as Beth ran down the drive and nearly toppled the woman over with what looked like a bone-crushing hug. Behind her trailed five-year-old Mary Ann, curls dancing in the wind as she squealed with excitement. On the porch stood two-year-old Daphne, clutching the family dog, Dozer’s, fur and appearing much more leery of the newcomer.

  Where Mary Ann was a wild soul who would no doubt rule the world someday, Daphne took a more cautious approach to life. Alex didn’t have a favorite between the two, but he related more to the younger child’s thoughtful nature.

  He watched the introductions play out, and as Roxie bent to greet the rambunctious little girl, Alex noticed the similarities. Dark curls and a ready smile that split a heart-shaped face. If their brief interaction on the ferry was any indication, the personalities were similar as well. Lost in the scene, Alex lingered in the drive with his car door still open when Beth waved.

  “Come meet my cousin,” she called, and Alex watched Roxie’s eyes widen then narrow. He could almost hear her thoughts. Not you again.

  His own br
ain echoed the sentiment, but manners sent him into motion. Before he took two steps, a dark sedan tore into his drive, nearly taking out Alex and his car door as it whipped into the parking space beside him. Recognizing the driver, he sighed and prayed for patience. Knowing that Beth would recognize his guest as well, he sent a maybe later wave before stepping around to the new arrival.

  “Mrs. Stamatis, are you supposed to be driving?” he asked while opening the door. They both knew the answer was no.

  “There’s no time for that,” she snapped, winded as she climbed from the vehicle. “I’m dying. It’s real this time.”

  Nota Stamatis’ near-death experiences were always real, until he found a reasonable explanation for whatever had sent her into a panic. Alex retrieved her cane from the passenger seat, then escorted his patient into the house.

  “What makes you think you’re dying today?”

  “My fingers are numb,” she replied, crossing the threshold once Alex unlocked the door. “They were tingling, and then they went numb. That’s a sign of a stroke. When Millie Bonneville’s husband had his stroke, that’s what he’d told her right before. That his hands were tingling. Dr. Fielding, you have to do something.”

  Her color was good, and her words were clear, but a stroke was nothing to play with.

  “How is your vision?” he asked.

  She propped a hand on her hip. “The problem is in my hands not my eyes.”

  “Blurred vision is another sign of a stroke.” Alex led Nota into the first exam room. “Have a seat while I pull your chart.” Because Nota was a regular visitor, they kept her file in a special, easily accessible spot. He returned to the room in seconds to find her as alert as when he’d left. “Any dizziness?”