The Long Way Home by Staci Stallings Excerpt

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Sent from Chicago to the Kansas Flint Hills on family business, Jaxton Anderson finds himself in conflict with Ami Martin from their very first meeting. Yet he cannot stop thinking about the stubborn young woman and her struggle to keep her own family farm by turning it into a bed and breakfast. Each time he tries to draw closer to her, he makes the situation worse until a series of crises throws Jaxton and Ami together in unexpected ways. 

THE LONG WAY HOME is an adventure of love and reconciliation. Touching on themes of faith, family, and fortunes, it asks the characters and the reader "Who are you, and where do you want to be when you're eighty?" 

Excerpt:

Jaxton had always prided himself for being able to find any address in Chicago— no matter how bad the directions were, but after driving up and down identical farm roads for 45 minutes, he knew he was lost. In fact, if he’d been forced to give directions back to the main highway at that moment, he’d have been in major trouble.

“Whose stupid idea was this anyway?” he asked, the frustration pouring out of him as he turned into a tree-lined driveway.

The farmhouse just beyond the trees looked like it was about a hundred years old as did every other building on the place, and as he killed the engine and looked around, he wondered if anyone even lived here anymore. In fact, the thought crossed his mind that the whole place would probably be better off if a wrecking ball just took it out of its misery.

Slowly he crawled from the car and stretched as his legs and back reminded him how long he’d actually been behind that wheel. He took a deep breath, smoothed his tie, and shook his head at just how far he’d fallen in such a short time. As he climbed the steps up to the front door, he couldn’t help but notice that the whole place was covered with chipped white paint, and the wooden porch boards creaked and groaned as he crossed the porch threshold and knocked. Putting his fists on his hip where his slacks met his belt, he arched his neck and waited, looked around and waited some more. He knocked once more.

When no one appeared, he backed up and peeked through the window. He could vaguely make out a sofa and a chair sitting by the far wall, but as for people, he saw no one.

“Well, so much for that idea.” He shrugged to the ceiling of the porch as he stepped back down onto the cracked sidewalk. He really should’ve known he couldn’t get that lucky. This whole rotten day was just another notch to add to his whole rotten life. Letting the anger and bitterness take hold, he rubbed his hand over the five-o’clock shadow that had shown up two hours early. It must be the stress.

“Yes, Dad. Whatever you say, Dad,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from each word. But just as he reached for the car door handle, his ears picked up something he hadn’t noticed before. Music.

Curious but fighting back the hope, he turned and headed for the sound.

 

“Okay, baby,” Ami warned as she lay under the front fender, wrench in hand. “If this doesn’t help, I’m afraid we’re going to have to give you last rites.”

 

The graying boards were clearly visible under the peeling red paint of the old garage, and Jaxton could see the decrepit green pickup sitting forlornly in the middle of it. Some old farmer’s. How backward can these people be? Man, I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that.

The tune on the radio reminded him of hoe down music although he’d never actually been to a hoe down in his life. He looked around the small expanse, but there was no sign of anyone— only the small radio sitting on the workbench crackling something about a broken heart.

“GRRRRRHHH!”

Before Jaxton could react to the sound, a wrench flew out from underneath the pickup and hit the cinderblock wall next to his foot with a clang. Instantly he jumped out of the way although another couple of inches and the thing would have nailed him before he saw it coming. For one, brief moment his head said he should run— just get out of there before the farmer had a chance to turn that wrench on him, but then he thought better of the crazy thought. All he needed was some information. Surely that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Uh-hmm.” Jaxton cleared his throat, hoping to get the old man’s attention. “Umm, excuse me, Sir. Sir?” He rapped a knuckle on the side of the pickup in case the old farmer hadn’t heard him and leaned down as if to see under the vehicle.

 

Heart, body, and soul Ami froze the instant she heard the voice. Her mind spun through who it might be and what they might want. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and people didn’t just show up on her doorstep for no reason. After all she lived more than a mile from the highway.  Quickly she looked out from under the metal pickup body, and all she could see was a pair of black slacks ending in a set of shiny black shoes.

“Sir?” the voice said again, and she fought to gather what was left of her nerves from around her.

“Hmm. Yeah.” She cleared her throat and rolled slowly out on the creeper before sitting up and pulling herself up from the floor. “Something I can help you with?”

 

“Oh,” Jaxton said with a hard swallow, thrown totally off-guard when he caught a glimpse of the grease-stained beauty who’d just stood up in front of the pickup. Gray tank top, denim shorts, and a face that was at once young and heart-stopping, she was the epitome backwoods country, and for one second too long, Jaxton forgot he was supposed to be asking for directions. “Um.” Where had all the words gone? And why were the only ones he could find telling him embarrassing jokes about farmer’s daughters and Daisy Duke shorts? “Uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I thought... I’m sorry.”

    

“’S okay,” Ami said quickly wiping the grease from her hands and coming around to the side of the pickup. She wanted to tug on her tank top, but she didn’t dare let him think she was nervous, so instead she worked on removing the grease from her fingers. At the fender she regarded him as she leaned there.

“Umm... I... I was looking for the owner,” the guy that looked like a GQ model said. He had slightly wavy dark brown hair clipped and cut just so, a multi-hued blue striped tie over a crisp light blue button down. In fact, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a board room from a million-dollar deal.

Still, Ami fought not to notice or to let the intimidation of his presence rattle her. She brushed one strand of hair back off her face. “That would be me.” Although she tried, it wasn’t easy to act like this was an everyday occurrence as she extended her still-stained hand to the Armani-suited man standing in her garage, but she did a passing job of it just the same.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said again as he extended his own hand. When she looked at him and tilted her head with a half-confused smile, he tried to clarify that statement even as he retrieved his hand. “I mean I’m not sorry you own the place. I’m sorry I didn’t realize...”

Ami smiled then, knowing the best defense was a good, strong, full-on offense. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

 

Her smile, framed by those deep dimples, was dancing circles around Jaxton’s heart as his brainwaves zipped and zinged in disparate directions. “Umm, no. I’m not. How can you tell?”

“Your shoes.” She pointed at his feet before returning to the front of the pickup. “They’re too shiny to be a farm boy’s.”

He looked down at his shoes but never saw them, and when he looked up again, the only thing his mind could concentrate on was the curve of her face under the wisps of hair trailing down the two braids. Gorgeous did not do her justice.

 

“Well, Sir, I have a full set of Encyclopedias, and I’m not in the market for insurance or a vacuum cleaner,” Ami said as casually as she could, and she slammed the hood for punctuation. The pickup would have to wait. Right now, her main priority was figuring out exactly what this guy was doing in her garage, and then getting him out of there as fast as possible.

“Oh, I’m not selling anything,” he said as she moved over to the workbench. Having tools within reach if he tried anything was a very good idea. “I was just looking for the Snyder farm, but I... I seem to have gotten lost.”

She turned an inquisitive, confused and concerned gaze on him. “The Snyder farm?”

 

“Yeah.” Jaxton hesitated. For some reason the tone in her voice and the look in her eye made his nerves jump to attention, and the mere thought that this farm girl was getting to him unnerved him further. He smoothed his tie down as if to emphasize his station in life compared to hers. “Umm, I’m Mr. Snyder’s grandson. I was supposed to come help him, but I can’t do that if I can’t find him.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it thudded like a lead brick on the dusty floor between them.

“Oh.” Her eyes narrowed as she nodded knowingly, and her smile disappeared as she turned back to the workbench. “Well, if Mr. Snyder’s your grandfather, seems to me you should know how to get to his farm.”

“Yeah... well, it’s been a few years since I’ve been around here, and I wasn’t driving at the time,” he said, running out of steam mid-excuse.

Her brown braids twisted side-to-side with her head as she worked cleaning and replacing the tools. For his part, Jaxton was left trying desperately to keep his mind away from the long, tanned legs curving below the denim shorts that were making thinking straight increasingly difficult.

“So, you’re from California then?” she asked, straightening the tools on the wall, her back to him as if she wasn’t interrogating him. However, he felt every syllable of the challenge.

“No, Chicago.” He ripped his mind away from the gentle curve where her tank top met her shorts. “Why?”

 

“Just wondering,” Ami said, but wondering was the last thing on her mind. Next to her grandfather, Mr. Snyder was the only person on the planet who’d ever believed in her, and she wasn’t about to sic this shiny-shoed, tie-wearing, smooth-talking shark on him without checking out his story first. “So, your mom…”

“Elizabeth,” he supplied as if he sensed he was being quizzed.

“She sent you down here?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded again as she replaced a wrench on the wall. “And why didn’t she come?”

The guy shifted feet. “She’s busy.”

“Must be awful important to be too busy to come see her dad,” she mumbled not altogether to herself.

“Well, she said she might come later.” He shrugged as if they were talking about the weather, not a whole family abandoning their father. “But Grandpa needed someone now.”

“I see,” she said, thinking of all the times she had been witness to Mr. Snyder’s talks with her own grandfather. She knew more about Mr. Snyder’s family than she did about her own, and she didn’t like a single one of them. “And this is important now— why?”

 

“Oh, well, I don’t know if you know it, but my grandpa had a heart attack a few months ago,” Jaxton said as his mind suddenly caught up with the conversation, and immediately asked him why he felt the need to justify his visit to a total stranger. “This was the first chance we’ve had to come and see him.”

“I see,” she said again slowly and the angelic quality of her voice had been replaced by ice. That tone was beginning to grate his nerves as he ripped his gaze from her and glued it to the old pickup.

“Look, I really didn’t mean to bother you,” he finally said, and his annoyance with the whole situation screamed through every word. “I’ll just drive back to town and see if someone there can help me.”

 

She heard him turn to leave and then start out.

“Go out to the road and turn right.” Ami turned and surveyed him coldly, wrench in hand and arms crossed at her chest. “About two miles down the road off to the left, you’ll see the Snyder place. It’s the one with the trees. You can’t miss it.”

 

He fought not to bristle under the scrutiny of the almond-eyed she-beast. “Thank you.”

And these people think city people are unfriendly, he thought as the anger rose to his clenched fists.

“No problem,” she said, and she turned back to her workbench without another look.

Jaxton’s gaze fused to her for one more moment as he seriously thought about telling her just where she could put her judgments, but with a shake of his head, he forced his gaze down to the dust-covered floor. His chest might explode at any second with the rage clawing through him. Who was this person, this girl, to question him anyway?  What had he done that was so wrong?  He was just following orders— trying to be the good son. He kicked the wrench and sent it flying back into the cinderblock wall with a clang before stomping out of the garage.

She had no right to make him feel like a jerk. It wasn’t his fault his family didn’t come to visit. There was nothing to do here anyway. Situated a million miles from nowhere, Rayland was the most boring, backward place on the whole earth, and the second he got the estate in order, he was gone.