Читать книгу: «Return To Love»
Carter had pushed too far.
The families slowly began to disperse, but Carter remained fixed against the wall, his legs unable to move and his heart unwilling to let them. He had to see Gracie, talk to her. But what would he say—sorry for the last seven years of silence? Sorry for not finding you at my father’s funeral? Sorry for that night on the pier that ruined a lifetime of friendship? Nothing seemed sufficient, nothing seemed capable of quelling that distrust in her eyes.
She’d never believe the truth even if he told her.
And why would she? Disloyalty was all she knew from him, all he’d ever bothered to show. Regret coated his stomach, and Carter blinked against the emotion rising in his throat. Seeing Gracie after all this time rendered him somewhat senseless. But he was a changed man now. And it was time to show her.
BETSY ST. AMANT
loves polka-dot shoes, chocolate and sharing the good news of God’s grace through her novels. She has a bachelor’s degree in Christian Communications from Louisiana Baptist University and is actively pursuing a career in inspirational writing. Betsy resides in northern Louisiana with her husband and daughter and enjoys reading, kickboxing and spending quality time with her family.
Return to Love
Betsy St. Amant
MILLS & BOON
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If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared.
—Psalms 130:3–4
To my daughter, Audrey. You were with me from the
beginning of this novel, even before either of us knew.
I love writing books with you!
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my husband, Brandon—
your encouragement keeps me going. I love you!
Also to my parents—deadlines are much easier to
meet when you willingly babysit! And to my
Super Agent, Tamela, and my awesome editor
Emily—you guys are the best.
An extra special thank-you to Tom Dyer at the
Aquarium of the Americas. You answered endless
questions about your beloved birds, and I’m so
grateful for your patience and help.
And a huge thank-you to Dallas Weeks, a talented
singer, songwriter and friend who generously allowed
me to use the lyrics to “Blue Eyes” in this story.
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Feeding time—Gracie Broussard’s favorite part of the day at the Aquarium of the Americas. It was worth the chaos, watching a dozen or more awe-stricken young faces press against the display glass in glee. Sometimes she didn’t know who bounced the most—the excited children, or the penguins.
She stroked the top of Ernie’s slick head, then leaned over to check the thermometer in the pond. Still sixty degrees. She wiped her wet fingers on her khakis. Ernie let out a high-pitched squawk.
“I know, little man. I feel the same.” She grinned and adjusted the microphone clipped to the collar of her tan polo. Time to perform. Several families were already gathered in the dim walkway. One child mashed his lips against the glass and made a fish face.
Gracie smiled. She used to be nervous speaking in front of the visitors each day, but the more she did it, the more she realized the facts and statistics she rattled off during the short presentation were all but ignored in light of the spunky black-and-white birds at her feet.
“Hello, there, and welcome to Aquarium of the Americas. I’m Gracie, and these are my favorite guys in the world.” She gestured to the penguins, some perched on the rock display, others diving into the murky waters.
Her assistant Jillian entered the exhibit through the side door, a five-gallon bucket of fish in her hand. The penguins waddled toward her on cue. Huey and Gumbo fought for position on the slippery rocks, and a little girl in the hallway laughed.
Gracie brushed some feathers from a boulder near the pond and perched on the edge as Jillian settled beside her, notebook balanced on her knees. “These are African penguins, and as you can tell, they’re just a little hungry.”
The adults smiled and the children pressed their hands against the window as if hoping to reach right through and touch the birds.
“As I tell you about my friends here, Jillian will record the data of each penguin’s feeding habits. These records help us determine which penguins are sick, and which species of fish each bird prefers.”
Gracie plucked a slimy squid from the bucket at her feet and offered it to Ernie. He mashed it in his beak once, then tossed up his head in approval. The fish slid down his throat, with a little help from his tight neck muscles. Jillian jotted the note in her record book.
“Most of you probably know penguins can’t fly.” Gracie tossed a fish to Gumbo and glanced at the group gathered around the glass as she reached for another. As she continued to expand on the many wonders of her feathered friends, she let her gaze wander over the gathered crowd. She stopped mid-sentence when she saw a familiar mop of curly brown hair and a pair of broad shoulders.
Her heartbeat quickened. That hair, that stance…No, it couldn’t be, not here in New Orleans. She’d left him—no, actually, he’d left her—seven years ago on his parents’ private dock on Cypress Black Bayou Lake. Walked away with that guitar pick he was always fiddling with, a curt nod of his head…and her heart. But regardless how much time had passed, there was no mistaking the dimple in his chin or that square jaw.
Gracie’s heart pounded in her chest, and she was sure the crowd could hear it on the other side of the glass. No, no, it can’t be him. But the truth refused to be denied.
The sleeves of his rust-colored sweater were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the muscular lines of his forearms. She couldn’t help staring through a foggy lens of memory. Those strong, tanned arms that once hoisted her from the murky waters of the Black Bayou onto the pier, that wrapped around her shoulders in comforting side-hugs, that arm-wrestled her for a week’s worth of chewing gum, now were crossed firmly over his chest—a much wider, broader chest. Laugh lines softened the once hard planes of his face, and a layer of dark stubble clung to his lower jaw. Time had been awfully fair to Carter—which was a lot more than he deserved.
Anger choked in Gracie’s throat and a headache sprang to life behind her eyes. She stumbled over the rest of her speech. “Penguins can’t fly because their bones are solid, n-not hollow like other birds.”
Did he recognize her? It had been so long…and in some ways, not nearly long enough. Her traitorous gaze darted in his direction again, and their eyes met. His thick eyebrows rose in slight acknowledgment, and her stomach gave a telltale leap.
Her emotions might not remember Carter’s betrayal, but her heart did. It remembered every labored, bruised beat.
After seven years, Carter Morgan Alexander was back.
Carter Alexander stared into the penguin exhibit, reeling from shock. He had no idea when he dropped his suitcases at his friend Andy’s apartment and headed to the aquarium for an afternoon of sightseeing that he’d run into her. When had Gracie left Benton, LA, and moved South? It’d been, what—about seven years now?
Mouth dry, he struggled to keep a poker face as Gracie’s piercing blue-green gaze settled on his. It was full of questions, accusations—and more than a little anger.
Something unfamiliar and tight stirred in his stomach, and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Good thing, since his knees were starting to feel less than sturdy.
Gracie finally lowered those arresting eyes, and a slight blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she reached forward with a fish. She looked the same—the elegance that always clung to her persona like a robe of righteousness still seemed to fit. And that long red hair…she hadn’t cut it. It cascaded over her shoulders like a flaming liquid waterfall.
Much like it had the night he broke both their hearts.
Carter briefly squeezed his eyes shut against the memory and tried to focus on the penguins darting about the tank. Gracie might not have changed much since that starry summer night on the lake, but he sure had experienced a transformation. The problem was, judging by the stiffness in those slim shoulders, she wasn’t planning on giving him a chance to prove it. He should have tried years ago—then again, fresh anger wasn’t any easier to handle than stale.
Carter shifted his weight against the wall. He deserved her ire. Let Gracie remember him the way he was—the arrogant jerk with a guitar and a dozen girlfriends, the lead singer of the band Cajun Friday who was too big for his britches, his faith…and his best friend.
Gracie’s musical voice sounded over the speakers, just as soft and clear as the regret that haunted his mind these last several years. “It’s a common misconception that all penguins require an arctic atmosphere. Many people are shocked that we have such a large exhibit here in this sultry part of the South—and it might surprise you that we keep the air in this tank regulated to seventy degrees.”
She stroked the back of one of the birds, who seemed determined to creep closer to the bucket of fish. Jillian nudged the barrel out of reach with her foot.
Gracie’s eyes found Carter’s and then flitted away. “I’ve learned that everything isn’t always what you might expect.”
She finished her presentation, but it was nothing more than a blur of statistics and red hair gleaming under the aquarium lights. Carter’s throat tightened and he applauded with the rest of the crowd. The penguins preened, as if they knew they were the real stars of the show.
“Are there any questions Jillian or I can answer?” Gracie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled, though her eyebrow quivered in the way it always used to when she had a headache.
“What’s that penguin’s name?” One blond kid raised his hand and then pointed to the bird standing alone at the edge of the water.
“This is Garth.” Gracie moved toward the penguin and he brayed up at her. “Sorry, Garth, the fish are all gone.”
The kids giggled. An elderly man in suspenders hooked his thumbs through the straps and called out, “Any baby penguins around right now?”
Gracie shook her head. “No, but we’re hopefully bringing in a new colony soon, and we have high hopes for eggs then.”
Carter felt his hand rise of its own accord. Gracie’s eyes landed on him and she sucked in a sharp breath, audible through the speaker system. “Yes, you in the back?”
Demoted to a curt you. He lowered his hand. “How long have you worked here?”
Gracie smoothed the front of her polo shirt over her pants. “A little over two years. Anyone else?”
A kid started to shout a question but Carter interrupted, louder. “Where did you get your education to work with the penguins?” Might as well find as many answers as he could, while she was forced to talk with him. Because afterward…
“A marine biology degree from Nicholls State University. In Thibodaux.” Gracie’s brows met in a pained arch. “Next?”
“Do penguins respond to music?” Carter’s muscles relaxed as Gracie’s seemed to tighten. That was the girl he knew, the one who bunched under pressure but held her own with a grace that still knocked his breath away. He fought the grin on his lips.
“Sometimes we play the radio for them. They seem to enjoy it but prefer speaking to each other instead.” Gracie licked her lips and turned toward the other side of the crowd, effectively dismissing him. “I’m afraid that’s all the questions we have time for today. Thanks for coming, and enjoy the rest of your visit.”
He’d pushed too far.
The families slowly began to disperse, but Carter remained fixed against the wall, his legs unable to move and his heart unwilling to let them. He had to see her, talk to her again. But what would he say? Sorry for the last seven years of silence? Sorry for that night on the pier that ruined a lifetime of friendship? Nothing seemed sufficient, nothing seemed capable of quelling that distrust in her eyes or the rigid body language that all but screamed get away from me.
She’d never believe the truth even if he told her.
And why would she? Disloyalty was all she knew from him, all he’d ever bothered to show. Regret coated his stomach and Carter blinked against the emotion rising in his throat. Seeing Gracie after all this time rendered him somewhat senseless. He was a changed man now—though it was maybe a little too late to do any good.
Gracie strode out of the aquarium, shoving her hair back with both hands and closing her eyes briefly before disappearing from sight. Yep, she had a headache. He knew it as surely as he knew her favorite color was blue and her favorite song was “Over the Rainbow.” She hurt because of him—and not for the first time.
Hindsight offered startling new clarity. If he hadn’t been such a fool, things could have been so different. Carter rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to hold back the torrent of memories demanding release. Not now, not here. He’d wait until he was back with his old college buddy Andy, maybe sprawled in front of the TV with a Dr. Pepper and some popcorn before he’d vent. Maybe Andy would have more words of wisdom to share, some advice to remind him he wasn’t the bad guy anymore.
Then maybe that look in Gracie’s eyes would stop tormenting his heart.
Gracie braced her elbows on the glass display case at the front of the gift shop and buried her face in her hands, drawing in a slow, deep breath. The aquarium was closed, yet Carter’s presence continued to throb like a sore wound. How dare he show up after so long and invade her workplace? His father had contributed large donations to the aquarium for nearly a decade, yet Carter picked today to pop in? He could have found out where she was years ago if he hadn’t turned his back on his family, as well as her. The last few years of his silence had been punishment enough—she didn’t need this jolt of surprise now.
She raised her head and looked across the counter at Lori Perkins, her best friend and manager of the gift shop. “I need more coffee.”
“Here.” Lori shoved a foam cup across the counter. “I just got a cappuccino before I locked up. You need it more than me.”
“Thanks.” Gracie propped on one elbow and took a sip of the warm liquid. Much better—though her head still ached behind her right eye.
“I can’t believe I missed seeing him.” Lori swung her long brown hair over her shoulder and hunched down to mimic Gracie’s pose on the counter. “Is he as cute as he was on his last CD cover?” She winked.
“That’s not the point.” Gracie grabbed a pencil from the display beside the cash register and twirled it through her fingers. Anything to avoid eye contact and Lori’s I-dare-you-to-try-and-keep-a-secret-from-me gaze. They’d shared coffee and more than their share of confidences over the past year as roommates, but this was different.
This was a broken fragment of her heart.
Lori plucked the pencil from Gracie’s grasp and stuck it back in the case. “Okay, so we know he’s probably still a looker. The awful ones usually are.”
“There was something different about him.” She squinted, trying to recall the specifics of the memory. “Something in his eyes.”
“Maybe he’s sorry for the past and came to apologize.” Lori grabbed a dust cloth from under the counter. “Sometimes regret changes a man, rare as it might be.” She grinned and went to work cleaning the inside of the glass.
Gracie stepped away from the counter to give her room. “But he couldn’t have known I was here. We haven’t talked in seven years.”
“He couldn’t have contacted your mother? I thought you said your families were close once upon a time.” Lori sprayed cleaner over the top of the case and rubbed. “I’m sure there were ways if he was determined.”
“What if he’s here for something else, something that has nothing to do with me at all?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” Lori set the bottle on the counter and tilted her head to one side. “To be left alone?”
No. Yes. Gracie shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Girl, you’ve got it bad, even after all this time.” Lori shook her head and resumed her cleaning.
A familiar ache started in the base of Gracie’s stomach until it filled her insides with a heavy layer of regret. “Even if I do, it doesn’t matter.” She looked away, the ache doubling in intensity. “It never did before.”
“What do you mean?” Lori paused, holding the rag inches above the countertop.
“Carter was my fairy tale, never my reality.” Gracie picked up a stuffed penguin dressed in a tuxedo and squeezed. “He was just this dream I had until I grew up.” She snorted. Dream, misunderstanding, mistake—same difference.
“So what happened?”
Gracie set the penguin down and sadly adjusted its little black bow tie. “I realized some toads never turn into princes.”
Chapter Two
Carter flopped down on the sofa and propped booted feet on the coffee table. His friend and college roommate, Andy Stewart, handed him a Dr. Pepper before claiming the La-Z-Boy. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Carter opened the can and took a quick sip, the fizz bubbling in his throat on the way down.
“So what’s up, man? You that nervous about performing for the kids?” Andy jacked the handle on the recliner, and the footrest popped into place.
“Not really. Your youth group at L’Eglise de Grace can’t be worse than the crowds I’ve played before.” Carter shook his head with a grin. “And if they are, we have a whole new problem on our hands, Pastor.”
Andy laughed. “Hey, I’ve done what I can with them. But they’re still teenagers—so no promises.”
“Hopefully they won’t throw rotten vegetables.”
Dr. Pepper spewed from Andy’s lips. He sat up straight and wiped his chin with his hand. “People have actually done that?”
“Well, not veggies. But a drunk guy threw a shoe once.”
“No wonder you retired.”
Retired, quit. Was it the same? Not really, but Andy knew the details, knew that Carter’s faith was what led him to leave the stage lights and his band far behind. If not for his friend’s guidance, he would have put down his guitar permanently, but Andy convinced him to try singing in churches instead of in clubs.
Nothing had been quite the same since.
“If you aren’t nervous about performing Thursday night at my church, then what gives? And don’t pull the jet-lag card on me—you only drove about five hours to get here.”
“I ran into someone today I wasn’t expecting.” Carter took another gulp from his soda can. “It didn’t go so well.” To put it mildly. He waited at the aquarium for Gracie until closing time, when he was politely asked to leave by a security guard who needed to lock up. Gracie had successfully avoided him after the penguin’s showing—not that he really blamed her.
“Must have been a woman.” Andy’s eyes darkened with understanding as he leaned forward to rest his drink on the coffee table. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“Sort of.” He and Gracie had never dated, thanks to him. But if he could go back…
Carter couldn’t sit anymore, not with the weight of the past pressing against his shoulders. He stood and moved to the window in the living room, shoving aside the curtain to look down onto the road below. A streetcar stopped at the corner and passengers filed out—a tall brunette in a long, camel-colored jacket, a potbellied man in overalls, a teen boy with spiked hair and a studded dog collar. The rest of the patrons followed behind, adjusting their jackets and purses, some talking, others holding hands. A few walked with their heads down, arms crossed, as if the city or maybe the world itself were out to get them.
He recognized that stance. Carter rested his shoulder against the wall, eyes fixed on the fading golden sunlight spilling over the streets. He knew how it felt to hide, to grow tired of the mask. He walked around with his own arms crossed in a protective gesture for most of his life—the result of a fishbowl existence, lost within the murky waters of his father’s church. People thought they saw everything, but they only saw what they wanted. Never the truth.
The streetcar moved away from the corner and continued down the block, out of his line of vision. He let the curtain fall and turned back to Andy.
His friend studied him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure if I should offer to pray with you or give you the remote control.”
Carter snorted and sat back on the couch. “Now I know you pity me. You never shared the remote in college.”
“You were hardly there, anyway.” Andy’s eyebrow quirked. “Day or night.”
“Don’t remind me,” Carter groaned. “The life of a rockstar.” His guitar, propped in the corner of the room near the fireplace hearth, caught his eye and he winced at the memories. How many screaming fans and busted strings and bright lights had it seen? Too many to count—though those days were all but over. Church crowds didn’t react quite the same way to his music.
“Sacrifices are never simple.” Andy nodded. “You had a big one to make.”
“Funny thing is I don’t miss it.”
“Not even a little?”
Carter shrugged. “Maybe a little.” He’d been lead singer of Cajun Friday for years. He never would have thought a high school band could have lasted so long and gained so much popularity in college and beyond. But if he was serious about honoring God with his life, he was more than willing to start from scratch and do things right this time, do something big and meaningful with his future as his parents always hoped he might—even if his dad wasn’t around to see it happen now. Bitterness clogged his throat and he coughed.
“I can’t wait to hear you play again.” Andy edged the recliner back a notch and stretched out. “Those kids wear me out, but they’re pretty awesome. Some of them have come in off the street with the hardest hearts you can imagine, and done complete one-eighties.”
“I’ll bet.” The description sounded like Carter himself not too many years ago. “I hope I’m able to reach them.”
“I’m sure you will. Don’t sweat it.” Andy pointed toward the ceiling. “That’s His job, right?”
“Right.”
Silence stretched across the room, save for the ticking of the coffee mug shaped clock on the living room wall. Could Andy tell he was still thinking about Gracie? Carter shifted on the couch, not sure whether to bring up the past on his first evening in New Orleans or let it ride for now. He pressed his lips together.
Andy made the decision for him. “Okay, I’ll take one guess and then leave you alone. Is this about Blue Eyes?”
Carter’s breath caught. His nickname for Gracie in high school, after that wide, naively alluring gaze—not practiced, as most of the women who kept him company—and the inspiration behind one of his band’s hit songs. If she wanted nothing to do with Carter now, that was her choice, and an understandable one—a few years ago, he would have felt the same. But the swells of pride and stubbornness had washed him away from what his heart knew to be right, tugging him further out to the sea of bitterness and denial. How could he have been so blind to what was right before his face for literally a decade? But he’d ridden that circular method of thinking for years now, with no more clarity than before.
He needed to answer Andy’s question, though he was sure by then his friend could read the truth on his face. “Yes.”
“Then here you go, man.” Andy tossed the remote at Carter from across the room. “That’s all you had to say.”
On Wednesday morning, Gracie poised her pencil over the paper in front of her, wrote a figure, then erased it. She grimaced. It was no use. Regardless of what she scribbled in the margins, the money simply wasn’t there. The gala budget was already stretched to the max, and she had yet to fund the decorations.
You have to spend money to make money. The words of her boss, curator of birds Michael Dupree, echoed in her mind from last week’s meeting. That might be true, but she couldn’t create something from nothing.
Gracie kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. The framed picture on her desk of Ernie and Huey caught her eye and she grinned in spite of her circumstances. They were waddling toward the camera, chests puffed out and beaks open as if smiling. “Guys, remind me why I volunteered to head this fund-raiser again?”
But the photo was evidence enough in itself. She was doing this for the penguins upstate who wouldn’t have a home come March. The Louisiana Aquarium, after struggling to recover financially from the results of Hurricane Katrina, would be shutting its doors in the spring. Because the other aquariums in the state were at full capacity, the Aquarium of the Americas was the only possible solution for the little birds that would soon be homeless.
If she could raise the money. The board of advisors firmly stated they were willing to expand the current exhibit if the funds were provided. It wasn’t in the yearly budget otherwise—not after their own financial hit from the storms.
Gracie tapped her pencil on the sheet before her. She would have to call in some favors unless she could move money from another category. But most of what she needed had already been purchased, or required a set amount she couldn’t budge. For instance, the caterer and the band. If she was better at begging, she might play up the charity angle and attempt to get a price cut from either—but at the moment, she simply didn’t have that much moxie.
She sighed. Two weeks ago, before the budget was finalized, she felt prepared, capable and ready to take it all on. Then she started receiving quotes from the seemingly endless list of vendors necessary to pull off the gala, and her hopes dwindled almost as fast as the cash in the temporary account.
“I’ve got to make this work.” The penguins in the picture didn’t respond.
Gracie rolled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not only was the destiny of a group of innocent birds counting on her, but in a way, she felt pressure even from beyond the grave. Carter’s father—Reverend Alexander—was the one who had secured her job at the aquarium. The penguin exhibit had been one of his favorite places in America—hence his generous annual donations. She had fought to have this new wing named in his honor. If she failed the penguins now, she failed Carter’s father—the one man in her life who’d been a constant. He deserved better than that, especially after the way Carter had treated him. She had to figure something out.
The office door opened and Lori flopped into the chair across from Gracie’s desk. She tossed her a rubber penguin keychain. “Here, we got a new shipment. From the blue cloud gathering outside your office, I thought you might need cheering up.”
“Am I that obvious?” Gracie squeezed the belly of the penguin. A light shone from its open beak and she laughed.
Lori crossed her legs. “So it’s not going so great, huh?”
“It was going great until I realized our money ran out and we still need decoration funding, not to mention extra advertising dollars.” Gracie rested her elbows on the desk. “What kind of Christmas gala is it going to be if no one hears about it, and there’s all this great food and entertainment in a completely bare, boring room? We want to wow the people so that they’ll donate money to fund the new exhibit.”
“What if I did it?”
“Did what?”
“Decorate! You know I went to design school for a few years. I majored in creating on a low budget.” Lori winked.
“Did you minor in creating on no budget?”
“Hey, in college—same difference.”
Gracie squinted, trying to envision the possibilities. Maybe her friend was on to something.
“My stepmother loves this aquarium. I bet she’d donate a bunch of poinsettias for the cause, and I can go to the dollar store and load up on lights and ornaments for a tree.” Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And you know those wreaths in our attic I usually hang on the windows at Christmas? I can let you use them for the gala instead.”
“That might actually work.” Hope sprung for the first time in hours.
Lori tossed back her long hair and tilted her nose toward the ceiling. “Of course. I’m a genius.”
Gracie’s cell phone rang next to a stack of papers on the desk. She flipped the cover, still smiling at her friend’s generosity, and said hello.
“Ms. Broussard?”
“This is she.” Gracie didn’t recognize the voice. She picked up a pencil and grabbed a pad of sticky notes in case it was fund-raiser-related.
“This is John Stevens with the Creole Boys band.”
“Yes?” A knot stuck in Gracie’s throat, but she tried to think positively. John could be calling to confirm the dates or—
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