Page 1 of Call It Love (Sterling Mill #5)

Anna

The more miles I put between myself and Nashville, the more I felt the tension ease between my shoulder blades.

A slightly obnoxious snore followed by the blowing of lips sounded from the back seat, causing me to grin. Even Jack, my Great Dane, seemed to understand that life was about to be less stressful.

I was heading to Sterling Mill, the town where I’d grown up.

I didn’t know what kind of welcome I would receive there.

Maybe none at all. I was arriving with no sure plan and no prearranged place to stay.

But even that uncertainty was easier to face than the life I was leaving behind.

Easier than living in Mason Washington’s shadow. Especially the ones he’d left behind.

Just thinking of him had me tightening my hands on the steering wheel. I drew a deep breath and tried to ground myself, remembering what my counselor had taught me to do when I felt overwhelmed.

“Think of three things you’ve done on your own that day, no matter how small. ”

It had been terrifyingly hard in the beginning. I’d started with small, simple things, such as getting my own breakfast or taking Jack for a walk. Mundane things that were more suitable for a young child. But I was growing. Today’s were the biggest yet.

Packed what I chose, not what was chosen for me

Bought a new phone, with a new number

Listened to the music I wanted on my trip across the state

I might not have an exact plan, but for the first time in a long time, I had something better. I had the will and freedom to try.

As the list generated in my mind, my new phone chimed with the only contact I’d programmed. Still, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my best friend’s name. Best friend? More like my only friend.

“Hey, Mal,” I answered.

“Where are you? Feeling far enough away from those assholes yet?”

Typical Mallory. Always direct and more likely to throw a punch than to hold one back. Especially for me.

Mason had hated her. I adored her.

I chuckled. “Not sure there’s anywhere far enough for that, but it’s a start.” I caught sight of the sign that indicated my exit was only two miles ahead. “But if you mean literally, I’m about to turn off the interstate.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? You know you’re more than welcome to stay with me. Or I could run away with you. We could be like Thelma and Louise.”

“Not sure that turned out so well for them at the end. ”

Mal snorted. “Well, we don’t have to drive off a cliff. We could just lay out at the beach and sip fruity drinks with little umbrellas.”

“I think Vince would miss you.” Unlike Mason, Mal’s husband treated her like a queen.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Besides, I’d miss the sex with him. I mean, last night he did this thing?—”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nope. Stop. I do not want details about your sex life. Period.”

“That’s only because you don’t have one. Never did, I bet. Mason probably had a microdick, you know, to balance his huge ego. The universe is like that.”

“I’m not going there.” She was wrong, but not in the way she thought. I knew what good sex was. It just happened long before my marriage.

I shook my head, trying to keep my thoughts from falling down that familiar rabbit hole. It was hard enough returning to the place where Chase still lived. Back to the last place where I’d felt anything close to happy.

She laughed. “Okay, okay.” Then her voice softened, an unusual tenderness slipping through. “But seriously, are you all right? You can turn around if you want and come here. No questions asked.”

I knew she meant it. But I’d leaned on her long enough. Too long. I needed to stand on my own two feet, even if they felt as wobbly as a newborn deer.

“Thanks, Mal.”

“You know I love you, right? And remember, you’re stronger than you think.”

Tears threatened, but I forced them back. I needed to believe her words. To believe in me .

“Love you, too. It’s getting a little dark and looking like rain, so I’d better focus on the road. ”

“Call me soon.”

I made my promise, then hung up just in time to take the exit that led up and over the Blue Ridge Mountains.

There were no signs to mark it, other than the generic white sign with the state route number.

No reason to take the road unless you were a local.

I could have gone farther east and taken the road to downtown Sterling Mill, but I didn’t want to risk being recognized.

Not yet. My car, which stood out among the pickups, four-wheel-drive jeeps, and SUVs that dominated the area, wasn’t exactly suited for this terrain, but it was one of the few things in my name, and I couldn’t afford anything else. Not that anyone would believe that.

The road twisted through dense forest as I climbed the mountain.

As my tires bounced over the uneven road, I wondered when it had last been maintained.

Jack lifted his head and let out a whine from the back seat, struggling to his feet as the car jolted.

My sedan might be classified as “luxury,” but it wasn’t built with him in mind.

It was too low and cramped, forcing his head and shoulders into an uncomfortable angle to his hindquarters.

“We’ll be there soon,” I promised him, glancing in the rearview mirror.

It had been years since I’d taken this road, yet it felt as familiar as if I’d driven it yesterday.

At the first bend was the old tree that had been struck by lightning, its charred trunk looking like a specter against the pine trees.

The clearing further up that once was a cow field remained untouched, swallowed by tall grasses.

And at last, three stacked boulders marked the curve that opened up to my parents’ property.

My tires kicked up a cloud of dust as I turned onto the dirt lane and traveled several yards to a two-story log cabin that sat nestled in front of trees.

At first glance, it easily could be mistaken for a settler’s cabin built over a hundred years ago.

But a closer inspection would prove it was the hub of a well-run working farm.

The fenced-in garden already showed signs of sturdy plants well on the way to bearing summer vegetables.

Heads of lettuce and other leafy greens peeked through the soil.

Two enormous plastic cisterns were situated next to the house to hold hundreds of gallons of water brought up by a pump from the pond.

Another was on the opposite side of the house to collect runoff water from the roof to water the garden and the livestock.

Off to the side were several solar panels that powered everything from lights to appliances.

Home. Rustic and isolated, yet full of life—if you counted all the plants and animals. Never boring. I’d grown up with everything I needed, but far from everything I wanted.

My father had decided to live off-grid while I was still a baby. He’d lost his job due to what he called a corrupt system, and he hadn’t taken it well. Instead of finding another job, he rebelled, pouring almost all of my parents’ savings into buying this 20-acre piece of land on the mountain.

Now, he was almost entirely self-sufficient. And proud of it.

He’d taught me everything there was to know about running the farm.

I knew skills most other kids never thought about.

I could set a trap for rabbits, butcher a chicken, and milk a goat.

I knew how to patch a leaky roof and how to fell a tree.

And without the benefit of running to the store frequently, I could can jellies and vegetables and treat a fever with nothing but herbs from our garden.

There had never been a choice; he’d never asked me what I wanted. And my father wasn’t a man easily confronted.

I’d been home-schooled through eighth grade before my mother convinced him I had grown beyond her ability to teach.

It was one of the few times she’d put her foot down, insisting a full education was equally important to running the farm.

I’d been so excited to go to high school with kids my age.

We seldom had company, but there were always certain jobs that needed more hands than my mother and I could provide.

Those times were the exceptions my father made for allowing several people on the property at one time, and only folks who lived similarly to us, although they were arguably better adapted to function in society.

It turned out to be a hard adjustment. A lot of kids didn’t know what to think about me. I was an outsider to them, awkward and easy to single out. Some were curious. Others were downright derisive.

But then I’d met the Allens, and for a while, life got better.

Until I ruined everything.

But that was something I was determined to make right when I returned.

First things first, however.

“We made it,” I murmured to Jack, who draped his big head over the car seat to rest on my shoulder. I reached up to scratch his ears, needing the reassurance I wasn’t alone, even if my only companion had four legs.

I turned the engine off, drawing in a fortifying breath and releasing it slowly, like the spout whistle on the kettle my mom had likely put on as soon as she heard the tires on the drive. She thought nothing was more welcoming than a good cup of tea.

The moment I stepped out, the front door of the cabin opened, and my father’s tall frame filled the door. His expression didn’t give any clue whether or not he was happy to see me.

I offered him my brightest smile. “Hi, Daddy.”

As if they picked up a clue from his posture, the breeze stilled, and the night birds grew quiet. A shadow moved behind him.

“Anna!” my mom cried. She tried to step around my dad, but he crossed his arms and spread his feet. A bulwark to his castle.

“Hi, Mama.”