Love On Anchor Island

Anchor Island #5
February 11, 2020
Macie Rae Publishing

Other Books in Anchor Island Series

  • Book 1

  • Book 2

  • Book 3

  • Book 4

  • Book 6

Love On Anchor Island

Come along as Wall Street Journal bestselling author Terri Osburn takes us back to the island that started it all.

Roxie Chandler might have found the place where she belongs, but will one mistake mean leaving her new life—and new love—behind?

Roxie has hit rock bottom. No job. No home. Even her family is done with her. An unplanned visit to an older cousin is her only option but stuck on a remote island is the last place she wants to be.

Alex has never been happier. As the village doctor, he has the small-town life he’s always wanted, living in peace and helping his neighbors. Except life isn’t so peaceful once the city girl with a chip on her shoulder arrives on the island.

To her surprise, Roxie likes the Anchor Island and the people on it. Especially the hot doc next door, despite him being her opposite in every way. Alex believes in her way more than he should, and despite her warnings, he’s determined to be the good guy she never knew she wanted.

The most important thing to Alex is his patients, so when Roxie’s mistake puts two of them in danger, will he turn his back like everyone else in her life? Read In Love On Anchor Island now to catch up with your favorite Anchor Island characters, and to see if love really does conquer all.


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.”

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