Annie's Neighborhood (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Fox, Roz Denny

  Turns out home may be where the heart is, after all…

  Briar Run, Kentucky, is where Annie Emerson grew up, where her grandmother Ida raised her. Annie, now a social worker in L.A., left years ago but returns home when Ida’s health fails. She’s devastated to lose her—and shocked to discover how badly the town has deteriorated. But she’s inherited some money and uses it to help rescue Briar Run.

  Police chief Sky Cordova is dealing with an overabundance of crime, severe budget cuts and a battle over the custody of his five-year-old son, Zack. The last thing he needs is a woman with a cause stirring up trouble. Despite that, he’s captivated by Annie and her passion to revitalize her neighborhood. He’s not the only one, since Zack falls for Annie, too. Sky starts to realize that her way of bringing the town back to life—one house at a time—might work. Just as she’s brought his heart back to life, one smile at a time…

  Annie opened a small leather notebook.

  “I surveyed a few residents,” she began. “I believe their spirits can be improved by something as simple as home face-lifts, like the one I’ve started. Fresh paint. Maybe new drapes. Possibly some rosebushes and weeded yards. Those things take sweat equity.”

  “And money. Paint isn’t free. Cosmetic changes won’t break the stranglehold gangs have on local teens. If you want to do something meaningful, get me the names of the gang leaders.”

  Annie and Sky faced off across the table. “Maybe the gang leaders will give up and move on if we create the kind of community where families want to live. Restore hope.”

  “Perhaps that’s true in prosperous neighborhoods. Did any of the residents you talked to tell you how many hours a day they spend riding buses back and forth into Louisville to work at minimum-wage jobs that barely put food on their tables? Those privileged few who actually found new jobs?”

  “I haven’t totally gained their trust yet,” Annie admitted. “But I plan to. I thought I’d distribute flyers inviting residents to a meeting where I can lay out my ideas in greater detail.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I had hoped I could enlist your support.”

  He clattered down the steps and strode down the walkway without so much as a backward glance.

  Dear Reader,

  A lot of writers say that a story will come to life fully formed in their minds. For me, more often the characters appear first and then I need to find them a home. Annie’s Neighborhood was different. The houses in her neighborhood came first.

  Whenever I travel, I do so with a tour book of the state in hand. On a trip to Kentucky I wanted to see the home of the Kentucky Derby. We’d just missed the race, but the immediate area was still decked out in new paint and roses. On leaving Churchill Downs, we wound through a warren of streets lined with older Victorian houses. The once-vibrant neighborhood looked faded. Homes needed paint. Retaining walls were cracked and overgrown with vines. Lovely stained-glass dormer windows looked dull, and wrought-iron fencing was rusted. The greater city of Louisville, built by immigrants who worked in manufacturing, was a city in transition. A news article said some areas were battling an infiltration of gangs. But even as we left the state I kept thinking about those homes, about how beautiful they could be. Maybe they are now.

  My story of course is a total work of fiction, and Annie’s a character who rattled around in my head for quite a while. She had a murky background and needed roots. She needed my faded homes.

  And because I write love stories, independent though Annie is, she needed a family. Who better than a once-burned, jaded cop? Sky Cordova is in the middle of a custody fight with his ex. He’s also trying to keep the peace in a dying community populated by apathetic homeowners cowed by defiant gangs. And then Annie Emerson shows up! She’s testament to the fact that big changes begin with small ones—when it comes to houses and hearts.

  And that’s how this story was born. I’m glad Harlequin Heartwarming provided it with a home. I love to hear from readers. Contact me via email at rdfox@cox.net, or by writing to me at 7739 E. Broadway Blvd. #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941.

  Sincerely,

  Roz

  Roz Denny Fox

  Annie’s Neighborhood

  ROZ DENNY FOX

  Roz saw her first book, Red Hot Pepper, published by Harlequin in February 1990. She’s written for several Harlequin series, as well as online serials and special projects. Besides being a writer, Roz has worked as a medical secretary and as an administrative assistant in both an elementary school and a community college. Part of her love for writing came from moving around with her husband during his tenure in the marine corps and as a telephone engineer. The richness of settings and the diversity of friendships she experienced continue to make their way into her stories. Roz enjoys corresponding with readers either via email, rdfox@cox.net, or by mail (7739 E. Broadway Blvd. #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941). You can also check her website, www.Korynna.com/RozFox.

  Books by Roz Denny Fox

  HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING

  HEARTS ENTWINED

  THE WESTERN DARE

  THE BOSS NEXT DOOR

  THE HOPE DRESS

  HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING

  A SECRET TO TELL YOU

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  1036—TOO MANY BROTHERS

  1087—THE SECRET WEDDING DRESS

  1185—THE PERFECT TREE “Noelle and the Wise Man”

  1404—THE MAVERICK RETURNS

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1128—THE SECRET DAUGHTER

  1148—MARRIED IN HASTE

  1184—A COWBOY AT HEART

  1220—DADDY’S LITTLE MATCHMAKER

  1254—SHE WALKS THE LINE

  1290—A MOM FOR MATTHEW

  1320—MORE TO TEXAS THAN COWBOYS

  1368—ANGELS OF THE BIG SKY

  1388—ON ANGEL WINGS

  1412—REAL COWBOYS

  1459—LOOKING FOR SOPHIE

  1509—MORE THAN A MEMORY

  1518—A TEXAS-MADE FAMILY

  1586—THE BABY ALBUM

  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank

  Executive Editor Paula Eykelhof, my editor of many years, as well as Victoria Curran, Heartwarming senior editor, and Marsha Zinberg, Executive Editor of Special Projects, for the time and work they devote to acquiring and publishing good stories so many readers enjoy.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  ANNIE EMERSON WAS the lone occupant in the family car traveling behind the hearse that carried her grandmother to her final resting place. She stared numbly out a tinted side window. At the church, old friends of Ida Vance had said that at eighty-eight she’d lived a full, happy, productive life. But Gran Ida, as everyone called her, was Annie’s only known relative, and Annie wasn’t prepared to say goodbye.

  She felt like a stranger in Briar Run, a small town bordering Louisville, Kentucky, where she’d grown up, and where Gran Ida had lived for nearly seventy years. Soon her grandmother would rest beside the man she’d
loved and honored all those years, even though John Vance had died in World War II.

  As the car crawled along, Annie reflected on the little she really knew about the woman who’d raised her from infancy. Ida didn’t dwell on the past. In fact, it wasn’t until after Annie had sought and accepted a scholarship to UCLA—half a country away in California—that Ida deigned to share a bit of Annie’s own history. Gran got out an old photo album and showed Annie pictures of her grandfather, John, who’d come home to Kentucky on leave before World War II turned really ugly. He had bought the Victorian home, then left again to fight and die before Ida discovered she was pregnant with a daughter from whom, sadly, she’d be estranged for many years. That daughter had been Annie’s mother, but she still knew next to nothing about Mary Louise Emerson. Because Annie had badgered her, Gran admitted that the girl who’d run away at sixteen with an itinerant musician had reappeared at her door one rainy night seventeen years later, ill, pregnant and penniless; she swore she was married and her last name was Emerson. Later, weakened by a difficult birth, Mary Louise died without providing proof of any marriage.

  That had all taken place thirty-four years ago—her entire lifetime, Annie thought, wiping away tears of grief. For the past fourteen years she’d lived and worked in L.A. The truth was that she’d fled Briar Run because the boy she’d dated for two years and was sure she loved and loved her in return had let his parents break them up over Annie’s iffy parentage. That created a grievance, which stuck with her long after Gran Ida informed her Brock Barnard and his family had moved away. The hurt went so deep, Annie hadn’t been able to come back to Briar Run even for short visits until two weeks ago, when it became clear that Gran desperately needed her.

  During those intervening years she had earned a master’s in social work, and had taken a job in L.A. Her hours as a caseworker in a depressed area were horrendous. Her original aim had been to help young women like her mother. In the back of her mind, she’d foolishly imagined finding her father—which never happened. Letting an unknown, uncaring dad and Brock Barnard’s rejection drive her decisions for so long made no sense. And now, too late, Annie wrestled with guilt for avoiding Briar Run all this time.

  And why hadn’t she insisted Gran come and live with her? Maybe she could have gotten her the kind of medical care that might have prolonged her life. Gran loved her yearly visits to the coast, and Annie always sent her plane tickets. But Gran never stayed for more than a month. For the remainder of the year they spoke on the phone every Sunday evening. That felt like a cop-out now. She should have noticed signs of heart trouble during Gran Ida’s last visit. She’d chalked up Gran’s occasional memory lapses to old age. Annie truly hadn’t suspected something might be seriously wrong. Not until a neighbor called to say Ida had trouble finding her way home from the grocery store. Or she’d put a kettle of water on the stove and let it burn dry. Annie had immediately phoned Gran’s doctor. He’d said bluntly that Annie needed to come to Kentucky and arrange assisted living for Ida, whose arteries were hardening—arteriosclerotic heart disease, he’d called it.

  Taking any time off meant Annie had to dump her caseload on her overburdened coworkers—which took her a while. Then, after she got here, Gran flatly refused to discuss moving to a senior center anywhere, certainly not one in California. In fact, these past two weeks Gran had talked and acted as if Annie’d come home to stay.

  The car stopped behind the hearse, next to a grassy knoll where a blue canopy stood. Annie’s mind blanked when the funeral director opened her door, helped her out and led her to where Ida’s pastor waited at the head of an open grave. Copious tears clogged her throat. Few people had come to the graveside service. Annie acknowledged Ida’s next-door neighbors, the Gilroys and the Spurlocks. There was a well-dressed older gentleman she recalled seeing at church, but she didn’t know him.

  After the minister wound down a short eulogy, too short in Annie’s estimation, mourners murmured condolences and drifted away. Annie hadn’t planned a reception. First, she didn’t think she could face one. Also, even Gran Ida had said a lot of their old friends and neighbors had moved away.

  Annie bent to place a long-stemmed white rose on Gran Ida’s casket. Gran Ida loved flowers, roses in particular.

  The well-dressed stranger approached as Annie straightened. He gave her a business card, saying, “I’m Oliver Manchester, Ms. Emerson. I handle your grandmother’s legal affairs. We should meet at your earliest convenience to go over Ida’s will, you being her only heir,” he said.

  Annie had been so grief-stricken by Gran’s death, she hadn’t thought beyond arranging a funeral. She read the man’s card and tried to compose her response. “I, ah, left my rental car at the funeral home. If you’re free at one o’clock,” she said after a glance at her watch, “I can stop by. I’m anxious to get everything sorted out because I need to get back to my job in L.A. as soon as possible. I only arranged for a four-week leave.”

  “One o’clock is good. Our meeting shouldn’t take long. I must admit, though, I was under the impression that you weren’t returning to California. When Ida phoned me to say you were coming, she indicated you’d be staying on to help revive the neighborhood.”

  Annie frowned. Her grandmother had said something similar to her several times. She hadn’t argued, and now there seemed no point in making excuses to Mr. Manchester. She tucked his business card in her purse without further comment, and watched him walk to a dark blue sedan. As he drove away, Annie belatedly wished she’d asked if her grandmother had many outstanding bills. Oh, well, it didn’t matter; she was prepared to settle them. For a number of years she’d sent Gran Ida regular checks to cover rising food and living costs. Considering how badly the once-pristine home needed painting, Annie wished she’d sent more. What she really wished was that she’d made time to visit. Once again her heart constricted with guilt. If Gran had ever said she needed her, Annie would’ve come. Now all that might have enticed her to stay was gone.

  * * *

  IT WAS TEN after one when Annie jockeyed her subcompact rental car into an on-street parking spot outside Oliver Manchester’s office. Climbing out, she paused to lock the door, and tightened her grip on her purse; she’d noticed that all the offices and shops had iron grates installed over their doors and windows.

  She racked her brain, but couldn’t recall Gran’s ever mentioning the town’s business district going downhill.

  At the barred door, Annie read a typed sign instructing callers to push a buzzer for admission. Strangely this reminded her of the area where she worked—in the tough, run-down neighborhoods of south L.A.

  A woman opened the door and unlocked the outer grate after Annie supplied her name. “Mr. Manchester’s expecting you,” she said. “Would you care for coffee, or perhaps a cold soda, before you go into your meeting?” She smiled at Annie as she relocked the grate.

  “No, thank you. Mr. Manchester told me he didn’t expect this to take long.”

  Nodding, the woman opened a door and announced Annie’s arrival. She stood aside, letting her enter a private office. The attorney’s office was posh in the manner of old-time Southern aristocrats. The dark green pile carpet was deep. Leather chairs and an oversize mahogany desk befitted a well-to-do lawyer. Oil paintings graced his walls, and crystal decanters sparkled on a corner bar. It was easy to see why Manchester wanted to protect his belongings with bars.

  He came around his desk to pull out a chair for Annie. “I’ve gathered all of Ida’s files,” he said, retaking his seat. He opened a manila folder and indicated a spreadsheet on his computer screen.

  Annie blanched. Surely Gran Ida couldn’t be so much in arrears that it required a spreadsheet.

  “I’m sure you know Ida worked as a lead seamstress for a local lingerie factory until it went out of business.”

  “Yes.” Annie’s voice reflected a modicum of pride. “During my senior
year of high school, Gran was honored as the company’s longest-serving employee. Her award was a brand-new sewing machine we put to good use sewing my college wardrobe.”

  “Ida could have retired well before then. She was fifty-six when you came into her life, and she felt the need to prove to Family Services that she was able to care for you.”

  “For which I’m grateful.” Annie smiled.

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Ida bequeathed you the house, of course. It’s a bit of an albatross, I’m afraid, given how this community has declined in the three years since the glove factory, our last major employer, shut down.”

  Annie opened her purse. “Mr. Manchester, I don’t make a huge salary as a social worker. Neither do I have time to spend everything I earn. I’m ready to cover any bills Gran Ida left unpaid. Should they add up to more than I expect, I’ll take out a loan. If you’ll provide me with a full accounting of her debts, I’ll begin paying them today.”

  Leaning back, the man lowered his glasses and stared at Annie. “You mean you aren’t aware that in addition to her home, Ida has left you annuities and tax-free municipal bonds totaling nearly a million dollars?”

  Annie’s jaw dropped and her purse slipped off her lap to hit the carpet with a dull thud. She swallowed a lump that rose in her throat and bent quickly to hide a rush of tears. When she straightened, she had to dash them away, all the while shaking her head in denial.

  “I can see you had no idea,” Manchester said, turning to print what was on his computer screen.

  “N-no,” Annie stammered. “How...how can that be?” she asked, fumbling out a tissue. “Gran’s salary was modest. And she’s been retired for years.”

  “Ida made her first will when John died. She funded her first annuity with his military death benefit. Saving was important to her. The only time she skipped funding what she called her nest egg was after Mary Louise ran off with that guitar player. Ida dipped into it to find her daughter. A private investigator she hired did locate Mary Louise living in a tent on the west coast. She made plain that she hated Kentucky, and told the P.I. she had no intention of ever returning. It almost broke Ida’s heart, but she rallied, cut Mary Louise out of her will and resumed her investments.” The lawyer passed Annie a sheaf of papers. “Ida eventually forgave your mother, because you turned out to be the gift that gave her life purpose.”