Home to Walnut Ridge (2 page)

“
Tracey, you look
amazing
tonight.”

The warmth of his breath so near her
neck had sent a shiver skittering down her spine. Refusing to
acknowledge Morgan’s presence, she’d smiled at the waiter and
thanked him for the coffee, buying herself a moment. Turning around
to face the other guests in the East Room, she’d avoided eye
contact with him. “I sent your draft of the Ledford Bill to Senator
Crawford’s assistant before I left the office. She assured me he’d
take a look at it and get back to you tomorrow.”

“
Tracey, I don’t want to
shop talk tonight,” he said, still facing the bar, his arm brushing
gently against hers as he took a sip of his wine. “C’mon. I just
gave you a compliment. Don’t you want to tell me how handsome I
look?” he’d said, arching his eyebrows.

She’d continued, doing her best to
ignore him. “Also, I went over everything with Paul to get him up
to speed on the projects needing attention while I’m
away.”

He blew out a sigh. “So you’re still
planning on taking the next couple of weeks off?”

She leveled her gaze at him. “Yes,
Morgan. I’m taking the next couple of weeks off. You’ve known that
for three months now.”

He looked sideways at her, his glass
at his lips. “I know, but I was kind of hoping you’d change your
mind.”

“
Give me a break, Morgan.
You sound more like a spoiled child than a United States
Senator.”

“
The two aren’t mutually
exclusive, you know,” he teased.

She started to walk away. “Very
funny.”

“
Wait,” he said, catching
her arm.

She glanced down at his hand then
faced him directly. “Do you mind?” she whispered.

“
It’s just that there’s
something we need to discuss before you leave.” He motioned her
toward a corner of the room by a large floral
arrangement.

“
Fine, but make it fast.
There are several people here I need to speak with
tonight.”

He led the way, lowering his voice. “I
was hoping you’d come back to the office with me
tonight.”

She studied his face, alarmed by the
unmistakable look in his eyes. She’d seen it before, a gaze so
tender, so inviting.

It would be so
easy . . .

And so, so wrong.

Morgan Thompson had always stood for
things she believed in. He fought for causes she was passionate
about. Family Rights. Religious liberty. The ongoing battle against
those who would stomp on the Constitution. When he hired her fresh
out of Vanderbilt’s grad school, his alma-mater, she worked
tirelessly beside him while getting her feet wet learning how
things worked inside the Beltway.

Staring into those warm blue eyes, she
knew precisely why he wanted her to go back to the office with him.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away.
“Morgan‍—‍”

“
Hey, you know I hate it
when you use that tone with me.”

“
That’s because you know
what I’m going to say.”

He leaned closer. “Please,
Tracey. How many ways can I say it? I
need
you.”

She wadded up the small
embossed beverage napkin then stuffed it in her half-empty cup. She
returned her eyes to his. “No, Morgan. Not tonight. Not ever. Go
home to your
wife
.” She shoved the cup and saucer into his hand and turned to
walk away.

She’d cried all the way
home. Not from a broken heart, but because of the implications of
his invitation. He’d never been
so
transparent. Had she somehow inadvertently
encouraged him? Morgan Thompson‌—‌the face of family values in
Washington‌—‌what could he
possibly
be thinking to come on to her like that? Did he
just assume she’d fall for him and no one would ever
know?

As if
any
secret was safe in
Washington?

But worst of all was the intense
betrayal washing through her. Amanda Thompson had welcomed Tracey
to Washington the day she arrived, taking her under her wing,
helping her navigate the perilous waters of the nation’s capital.
But more than that, Amanda was her friend. They attended the same
Bible study at church. They baked together. They shopped together.
Tracey had twice stayed with their kids when Morgan and Amanda had
last-minute trips come up.

Now, as her flight headed
homeward, she couldn’t help but wonder.
How has it come to this? Has he lost his mind?

She shook her head again, trying to
refocus on the task before her.

Morgan,

I’ve done a lot of
thinking since last night, and there’s something I need to do. I
should have told you this in person before I left town, but the
coward in me won the toss, so I’m writing you instead. We’ve both
known this day would come. I wanted so badly to believe I could
maintain a professional relationship and continue working alongside
you for as long as you remain in Washington. However, it’s quite
obvious that’s no longer possible.

If I’ve done
anything
to cause you to
think of me in any way other than professionally, I can assure you
it was unintentional. Over the past several months, I’ve asked you
repeatedly to stop making advances toward me. In all honesty, I
should have reported such harassment. But out of respect for
Amanda, I decided not to do so. Your wife is my
best
friend
,
Morgan. Are you really that
heartless?

You’ve given me no other
choice, so please accept this as my two-week notice. I have no
plans to return to Washington. I’ll be in touch with Paul to
finalize my departure from the office and square things away with
personnel.

In the beginning, it was
an honor and privilege to serve with you. That’s no longer the
case. I truly hope you’ll find your way back to the man you used to
be. You owe that to Amanda, to your kids, to your constituents, but
most of all, to the God you purport to serve.

Tracey

Tracey keyed in the address of
Morgan’s personal email account and clicked SEND. There was one
more note she needed to write. She quickly opened a new message
page and began typing.

Dear Amanda,

I owe you a long phone
call and an explanation, but for now, I just wanted you to know I’m
resigning from my job as Morgan’s assistant for personal
reasons . . .

Her hands froze on the
keyboard
.
For
personal reasons? How benign that sounds.
Amanda knows me too well. She’ll pick up the phone and call
the minute she reads those words, then pelt me with a thousand
questions.

Tracey wasn’t ready for that. She
quickly deleted the email, shut down her laptop, and slipped it
back into her leather bag. A long sigh eased from her lips as she
rested her head against the seat back and looked out the small oval
window beside her. No sooner had she done so than the calm voice of
the pilot interrupted her thoughts.

“
Ladies and gentlemen,
we’re on final approach to Nashville International
Airport . . .”

He continued the usual announcement
which was followed by the obligatory end-of-flight instructions by
one of the flight attendants. But Tracey tuned them out. She leaned
closer to the window, wishing the autumn landscape below would
refresh her weary soul. She felt detached. Strangely adrift. As if
she’d finally broken free of the tangled mess lodged somewhere in
the vicinity of her heart.

So why is there so much
sadness creeping through my veins?

As the 737 gently banked toward home,
Tracey uttered a silent prayer.

Oh God, what have I
done?

“
Tracey Jo! Over
here!”

She heard her father’s voice just as
she grabbed her bag from the conveyor belt. Turning to search him
out, she found herself buried in a bear hug, his familiar laughter
encircling them.

“
Oh, sweetheart! It’s so
good to see you!”

Tracey clung to him, her face buried
against his chest. “Hi, Daddy. It’s good to be home!”

As she pulled back, she
got her first look at him. “Dad! What‌—‌I mean,
how . . . good heavens,
look
at you!”

“
Yeah, I know‌—‌my hair’s
a little longer than last time you saw me. Right?”

“
That’s a
huge
understatement.”
When he turned his head, she all but gasped. “You have a
ponytail
?!”

Buddy Collins flashed her his
signature crooked smile and dancing eyes. He flipped his head back
and forth, causing the long salt and pepper mane to whip from
shoulder to shoulder. “Pretty cool, huh?” He hoisted the smaller
bag over his shoulder and grabbed the handle to her rolling
suitcase, starting toward the sliding doors. “C’mon. I’ve got a
surprise for you.”

She followed him, eyes still wide as
she looked over this strange new version of the father she loved.
He wore a black leather jacket with some kind of insignia on the
back. His faded blue jeans were frayed at the hems over black boots
studded with silver.

He turned around, stopped abruptly,
and tilted his head to one side looking back at her. “What? Did you
forget something?”

“
No, no I got‌—‌Dad,
what’s happened to you?”

“
To me? What do you
mean?”

“
The last time I saw you,
your hair was a bit shaggy, but‍—‍”

He started walking again. “Ah,
sweetie, it’s no big deal. I just thought it’d be fun to grow it
out‍—‍”

“
And when was the last
time you shaved?”

He jutted his chin out, showing off
his close-cropped white beard. “Not bad, eh? I just got tired of
the routine. It’s a nuisance, having to shave every morning,
sometimes twice a day. I figured, who cares if I have a few
whiskers?”

“
I know,
but‍—‍”

“
I mean, it’s not as if
I’m gonna have a bunch of nosy deacons calling to complain about
it. Know what I mean?”

She finally caught up with
him just as sunlight glistened off the general vicinity of his ear.
She stopped, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. “Is
that . . . is that an
earring
?!”

He parked the rolling bag and reached
for his earlobe. “Yeah! You like it?”

She blinked, unable to
speak.

“
Half a carat. It’s the
stone from your mother’s wedding ring.”

“
What?!”

“
Well, sure! She left it
behind when she took off with that home-wrecker. And I figured, why
let a perfectly good diamond go to waste? So I took it into town,
had a jeweler yank the stone and make me some
bling
with it. I like to think of it
as a fitting symbol of my new life. My own little declaration of
independence, if you catch my drift.”

“
That’s
Mom’s
diamond?”

“
Not anymore!” His guffaw
rolled across the parking lot as he reached for the luggage
handle.

Still aghast, Tracey
slowly started following him again. The last time she’d seen her
father‌—‌
had it been a year?
‌—‌he was better, but nothing like the
larger-than-life guy he’d always been. Known for his abiding faith
and contagious sense of humor, Buddy Collins never met a stranger.
But that had all changed a couple of years ago when their mother up
and left him. Then a few weeks later, the church he’d pastored for
more than twenty years let him go when a handful of deacon bullies
deemed him “unfit to serve.”

The double punch decked him hard,
sending him into a severe depression. Tracey and her sister Alex
were devastated for their father and seriously concerned.
Alex—short for Alexandra—moved back into the family home with him
not long afterward. Since then, she’d kept Tracey informed of some
recent “changes” but hadn’t been specific.