Return to Me (3 page)

“You okay, honey?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine, Dad.”

Things were different now. The past couldn’t hurt her. Wyatt loved her as much as she loved him, and tonight they would begin planning their future together. A future as man and wife.

She glanced at her watch. “I’d better finish getting ready.

Wyatt will be here soon.”

Roxy crawled back into bed, shivering as she lay between the threadbare sheets that were rough and wrinkled against her skin.

“I’m hungry.” She might as well try to eat those words, because her wallet was as empty as her belly.

When was the last time she ate a decent meal? Too long ago to remember.

She thought of the homeless people she’d seen going through garbage receptacles behind restaurants. Once she’d felt nothing for them but disgust. Why didn’t they get jobs and stop being an eye- sore to society? Now it frightened her to think of the homeless — and of how close she was to being one of them.

I won’t be hungry when I get home.

She closed her eyes and imagined the house where she grew up. An elegant living room, perfect for entertaining. A wide deck that overlooked the city. Five bedrooms. A large game room. Vaulted ceilings. Maids’ quarters. A spacious kitchen filled with all the modern conveniences.

A home filled with love.

It seemed long ago and far away. Had she ever lived in such a place? Or was it another one of her dreams?

Tears slipped from behind her eyelids and dampened the pil- low under her head.

God, help me get home.

=

The slender candle in the center of the table had burned low. The fine china and crystal had been cleared and the white tablecloth swept clean of crumbs. Music — a familiar love song — wafted toward them from the baby grand at the opposite side of the restaurant.

Wyatt leaned toward Elena. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She might have returned the compliment. Wyatt caused wom- en’s heads to turn no matter where he was. Whether clad in a suit, as he was tonight, or in jeans and a T-shirt, his Mediterranean good looks — black hair, deep blue eyes, dark complexion — made him stand out in a crowd.

“Did I already tell you that?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

In truth, she could never hear such words from Wyatt too often, perhaps because she found it hard to believe he saw her that way. She’d loved him for so long . . . had waited and hoped for so long.

After a brief silence, Wyatt laid his hand over hers. “There’s something important I need to tell you.”

They had spoken of many things during the course of the evening — his work, her work, his mother, her father, the Sun- day school class he taught, the women’s Bible study she led — but there’d been no mention of a future together. Elena fought hard to keep her disappointment in check. She’d been certain this was the night he would —

“I’m leaving my law practice.” Her eyes widened. “You’re what?”

“I’m leaving it. I’ve decided to enter seminary.”

“Seminary?” So that’s what this night was about. Not a future with her after all. Disappointment broke free and coursed through her.

“I’ve felt God calling me into full-time ministry for some time now, but I wanted to wait for confirmation before I told you.”

Elena pasted on another smile. “You’ll make a wonderful pas- tor. I’m happy for you.” Truly, she was. Their shared faith in Christ was important to her. That God would call Wyatt into the ministry didn’t surprise her. Not really. It was just —

“There’s only one thing I’m not sure of.” He tightened his grip on her hand, and she felt his gaze looking beyond her eyes and into her heart. “Would you consider becoming a pastor’s wife?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Earlier this evening she’d expected his proposal. Thirty seconds ago, that expectation had been dashed. And now she couldn’t think what to say. She was afraid to believe it was happening. Maybe this was a dream and any moment she would awaken from it.

“I love you, Elena. Say you’ll marry me.”

Tears blurred her vision. She wasn’t going to awaken. It was true. Inexpressible joy replaced disappointment in an instant. She felt like crying. She felt like laughing. She did a little of both as she answered, “Yes, Wyatt. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Two

Roxy was in luck. Despite it being a Saturday, Pete Jeffries’s silver Rolls was in the parking lot. Not that she was surprised. Pete put in sixty-, even seventy-hour workweeks. One reason he was single again. She’d heard his third wife left him two years ago.

She smoothed her hands over the same wrinkled blouse she wore when she came to see Pete two days before, then glanced at her jeans. There was a hole in the left knee, and despite the popu- larity of distressed Levi’s, her jeans didn’t look fashionable.

With a sigh, she pushed open the glass door and entered the lobby of the Matthews and Jeffries Talent Agency. No reception- ist worked on Saturdays, but there was a security guard at a desk inside the door. He looked to be in his midtwenties. The way he held himself said he considered his duty of protecting the interests of the agency a serious one. His gaze made her feel like something nasty on the bottom of his shoe.

“Can I help you, miss?”

She held her head higher. “I’m here to see Mr. Jeffries.” “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but if you’ll give him my name, I’m sure he’ll spare me a few minutes.”

The guard’s eyes said,
Like that’s gonna happen.

“Tell him Roxy Burke is here.” She sank onto a chair in the waiting area, her back to the guard.

What if Pete wouldn’t spare her those few minutes she’d asked for? It didn’t bear thinking about. She needed out of Nashville, out of the nightmare her life had become, and Pete was her only hope.

“Mr. Jeffries, there’s a Roxy Burke here to see you . . . No, sir . . . Don’t think so . . . Yes, sir . . . I’ll tell her.” The security guard cleared his throat. “Miss Burke, Mr. Jeffries says you can go in now.”

She mumbled her thanks without looking at him, rose from the chair, and walked down the hall.

Pete waited for her at the door to his office. The pity she’d seen in his eyes on Thursday was still there. She forced herself to stand straight and hold her chin high. “Thanks for seeing me, Pete.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried after you left the other day.”

She gave her shoulders a slight shrug. “I . . . I forgot I had some- thing I needed to do.”

“Have a seat.” He motioned to the tan leather sofa on the oppo- site side of the room.

There was a time, when she first signed with the agency, that she sat on the same sofa and envisioned great things for her future. Fame and fortune. CDs on the bestseller lists. Attending award shows, dressed in glittery designer gowns . . .

Reality was a bitter pill.

Pete sat in the matching chair, then leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “How are you, Roxy? Tell me the truth.”

“Not good.” Hard to get the words out around the sudden lump in her throat.

“What are you going to do now?”

“You have no common sense.”
She flinched as her sister’s words echoed in her memory.
“You reap what you sow.”
Couldn’t Elena have been wrong just this once?

Roxy took a deep breath. “I . . . I’m going home . . . to Idaho.” Pete was silent a long while, his gaze never moving from hers.

When he spoke, it was in a gentle voice, but his words stung all the

same. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. You’ve got talent. I still believe you might have made it in this business if . . . you’d made other choices.”

Suck it up, girl. Admit the truth.
She lifted her chin. “You mean

if I hadn’t been stupid.”

Stupid, like when she failed to show up for jobs she didn’t think were important enough, like when she acted like a country diva instead of some unknown backup singer. Stupid, like when she wasn’t willing to pay her dues because she thought she deserved everything the easy way. Stupid . . .

He gave her a sad smile. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.” “Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re being honest. I’ve got to face it. I threw my chance away. Maybe I wouldn’t have made it, no matter what I did, but I’ll never know, will I?” She drew a breath and let it out on a shudder. “But that’s water under the bridge. I’m here because I need a favor.”

Caution flickered in his eyes, and Roxy wondered how many times over the course of his career he’d been hit up for “favors” by clients and former clients. Too many to count?

“Pete, I’m broke. I need bus fare or I can’t get home. It’ll take about a hundred bucks, I think. And I . . . I need to give my land- lord some money too. I’m late with the rent.” She was also hun- gry, but she couldn’t tell him she needed money for food. She just couldn’t. She had
some
pride left. “I’ll pay you back, Pete. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’ll pay you back.”

It would be a miracle if he believed her after all the times she let him down. Let others down. Let herself down.

Help me out just one more time, Pete. Please. I won’t mess up

again.

Jonathan Burke closed the sports section of the
Idaho Statesman
and placed the folded newspaper on the sofa beside him. As he reached for the life section, Elena appeared in the living room doorway.

“Have you got a minute, Dad?” She glanced over her shoulder. “We’d like to talk to you.” Wyatt Baldini stepped into view beside his daughter and took hold of her hand.

Elena was a tall woman, not beautiful by Hollywood stan- dards, perhaps, but striking with her pale skin, high cheekbones, and generous mouth. She wore her straight brown hair shoulder length, although most days it was pulled into a chignon, a look that matched her no-nonsense business style.

This was not “most days.” He could tell by the glimmer of excitement in her cat-green eyes.

He would have to be blind not to guess what they’d come to tell him. It was written all over their faces. Still, he waited, resisting the urge to start shaking Wyatt’s hand and patting his back while speaking words of congratulations.

“I always have time for you two—” he subdued a grin—“come on in.”

As Jonathan told his daughter yesterday, he’d be glad to call Wyatt his son-in-law. That hadn’t always been the case. Seventeen years ago, his impression had been that Wyatt Baldini was trouble with a capital
T
. Now look at him. A lawyer with a successful pri- vate practice. A man of faith and integrity. A leader in his church.

Miracles happen.

An ever-present grief pinched his heart. For seven years, he’d longed for another miracle. He’d prayed to hear from Roxy, to know she was okay, to have her come home.

“Sir,” Wyatt said, “last night I asked Elena to marry me, and she’s agreed. We’d like your blessing.”

Jonathan pushed aside the sad memories and looked to the joyous future. “Of course you have my blessing.” He stood. “You’ve had it long before this.” The two men shook hands, then Jonathan laughed and embraced Wyatt in a bear hug. When he took his daughter in his arms a few moments later, he whispered in her ear. “I’m delighted for you, honey.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He heard the tears of joy in her voice even before he saw them. “So when is the happy day?” He stepped back from Elena and looked from her to Wyatt.

“Not for a year or so.”

That surprised him. They’d waited so long already. Both of them were thirty-five, single, and established in their careers. They’d known each other for close to two decades. They’d become friends many years ago and had been dating for the last four. What was the purpose of a long engagement?

“I’ve decided to enter the ministry,” Wyatt said, answering the unspoken question.

“Well, I’ll be.”

“I’ve prayed about it a long time, and I know it’s what God wants me to do.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Jonathan repeated with a shake of his head. “My son-in-law, the pastor.” He chuckled. “I was remembering the first time I laid eyes on you and what my impression was. I never would have imagined this in your future. Not in a million years.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, sir.” Wyatt looked at Elena, tenderness in his eyes. “Or your daughter.”

“Somehow, I just don’t think that’s possible.” Jonathan placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “And maybe it’s time you stop calling me sir and start calling me Dad.”

Roxy walked an extra twelve blocks to get to one particular res- taurant.
Greasy spoon
was a more apt description. But the food was good, the portions large, and no one would look down their nose at her less-than-pristine clothes.

“Hey, kid.” The buxom waitress, a woman in her early sixties, set a glass of water on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in here in a while.”

“No.”

“Been busy?”

Roxy shook her head, too hungry to engage in chitchat. “I’d like your steak and eggs special, please. Medium well on the steak. Over hard on the eggs.”

“Good choice. From the looks of you, you could use some extra pounds on that tiny frame of yours.” She winked, then headed for the kitchen.

Roxy didn’t care if she gained weight or not. Not today. She just hoped she wouldn’t lose the breakfast as soon as it went down.

She touched her fingertips to the front right pocket of her jeans, comforted by the feel of the folded bills shoved inside. Three hundred dollars. That’s what Pete Jeffries gave her. Enough to buy a bus ticket at the Greyhound terminal, pay her landlord, get a decent outfit at one of the discount places, and feed herself until she got back to Idaho.

When Roxy came to Nashville, she flew first class, then bought herself that sporty red convertible to drive around town. She rented a beautiful apartment and furnished it with the best money could buy. Her clothes were in the height of fashion. Her looks and her money made her welcome in the party crowd, and she was rarely alone. She denied herself no pleasure, no indulgence. Every day of the week was an adventure, an opportunity to see and be seen by