Sin.
How she detested that word. Long before this she’d rejected the concept of sin.
Sin
was a word her father — and all religious people — liked to use to spoil life for those who wanted to
enjoy it. Why was it, she’d insisted, that everything fun, everything that brought a girl pleasure, was called
sin?
Fun? Pleasure?
Was that what she’d had for the past few years? She’d frittered away the money from her grandmother, spending like there was no tomorrow. She’d attached herself to people who cared little for anyone but themselves. She’d mistaken sex for love too many times, until neither sex nor love meant much to her.
Roxy pressed the heels of her hands against her temples and squeezed. She wanted to stop the doubts. To silence the negative thoughts, the fears, the regrets.
I want to get it over with.
She turned from the mirror and left the restroom.
=
Elena made her way through the lunchtime crush toward the table where Wyatt awaited her.
“Sorry I’m late.” She kissed his cheek, then sank onto the chair to his left. “I received a phone call as I was leaving the office. There’s another problem at the San Diego store. I’ve got to fly down there later this afternoon. I’ll have to eat quick. I need to pack.”
“You look tense. Is it serious?”
“It won’t be.” She drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “Not once I fire the store manager.” That was one part of her job she could do without. She didn’t mind being tough and strong- willed when circumstances required it, but firing a man was some- thing else again. Necessary but unpleasant.
Wyatt released a soft whistle, the sound saying he understood — and that comforted her.
“I guess we’d better order since you’re in a hurry.” He glanced over his shoulder and motioned to the waiter. “Do you know what you want?”
Elena didn’t need to look at the menu. She loved this restau- rant’s orange chicken salad. With a long flight ahead of her today and a stressful meeting with store personnel tomorrow, she wanted comfort food in a bad way.
They ordered their lunch, and as soon as the waiter departed, Wyatt reached for Elena’s hand. “Can I take your mind off work for a minute or two?”
She smiled and squeezed his fingers in return. “Please do.” “I’ve been rethinking our decision to wait until I’m out of semi-
nary to get married.”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “You have?”
He nodded. “I know God’s called me to the ministry, but it’s going to take time to see it come to fruition. There’s seminary, and after that, I’ll probably serve as an associate pastor for a time. It may mean two or three moves and a number of years before I have a permanent position as a senior pastor. Even that may be optimistic.”
She nodded, not sure what to say.
He cleared his throat. “Something happened yesterday that got me thinking about kids.” He leaned toward her. “Our kids.”
“Our kids?” They hadn’t talked about having children. It was assumed but never discussed.
“We’re both thirty-five. If we wait much longer to start a fam- ily, we might be too late.” His grip on her hand tightened. “It would mean doing with less, but we’re both financially well off. We could make it through the lean years until God takes us to a permanent church home.”
It dawned on her, in that moment, with Wyatt’s hand holding hers, that their marriage would bring many changes into her life. By fall, he would be a seminary student, and one day he would be a pastor. Sooner or later, she would have to leave her position with Burke Department Stores. Someday she would be expected to fol- low wherever her husband’s calling led them.
“What do you think about a June wedding, Elena?”
She wasn’t sure what she thought. Confusion wrestled with excitement. An hour ago she’d believed their wedding was at least a year or two away. Plenty of time to plan the ceremony and recep- tion. Plenty of time to train her replacement at Burke’s. Plenty of time to prepare for all the adjustments that would have to be made in her well-organized life. And now it needed to be done in two months? Was she ready for that?
He leaned toward her and his voice softened. “Is it enough time to make the arrangements and still have the kind of wedding you want?”
As she met his loving gaze, Elena’s thoughts quieted. This was Wyatt. Her Wyatt. Whether it was two years, two months, or two days, she wanted to be his wife. She was ready. “It’s enough.” She smiled. “It will have to be, won’t it?”
He brushed his lips across hers, then drew back. “We’ll have lots to talk about when you get home from San Diego.”
“Lots.”
“I love you, Elena.”
Any lingering doubts that two months might be too little time dissipated with those words. She would never tire of hearing them. Not if she lived to be a thousand. “I love you, Wyatt. With all my heart.”
“Do you mind if I tell your father what we’ve decided? Or will you see him before you go?”
She smiled again. “No, I won’t see him before I leave, and I don’t mind if you share the news. He’ll be delighted.”
=
Elena’s prediction about her father’s delight was an understate- ment, judging by the fervor with which he shook Wyatt’s hand and slapped him on the back.
“This is what I’ve prayed for,” Jonathan said as the two men sat down in the spacious living room of the Burke home.
Wyatt could almost read the older man’s mind:
I’m ready to
become a grandfather. Stop wasting precious time.
“If I’d known about this,” Jonathan continued, “I would have asked someone else to go to San Diego.”
“Elena didn’t have a chance to tell you. I sprang it on her at lunch today.” Wyatt looked out the windows that afforded a pan- oramic view of the Boise Valley, aglow with lights an hour after sunset. “As soon as she gets back, we’ll pick a date and see if the church is available.”
The doorbell rang. Wyatt glanced toward the living room entrance in time to see the live-in housekeeper, Fortuna Rodriguez, pass by on her way to the front door. He turned toward Jonathan again. “If you’re expecting company, I can — ”
“I’m not expecting anyone.” He waved his hand. “Probably a salesman.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
“That doesn’t seem to stop anybody these days.” Jonathan shook his head. “Time was when no self-respecting person called or came to a person’s home before ten in the morning or after eight in the evening.” He chuckled. “Sorry. I’d better get off my soapbox. Let’s get back to your wedding plans.”
“Mr. Jonathan?” Standing at the living-room entrance, For- tuna — a short, plump woman in her fifties — looked hesitant, a rare expression for this woman who had been part of the Burke household for more than twenty-five years.
“What is it, Fortuna?”
“You are needed at the door, sir. You should come.”
Jonathan rose from the leather sofa and crossed the room with- out a word. A moment later, Wyatt followed.
=
The wait on the front stoop of her family home seemed longer to Roxy than the trip from Tennessee to Idaho. Her stomach churned and twisted, and her mouth felt as dry as dust. She shivered in the evening chill. There was a sweater in her duffel bag. She should
⎯
The sound of approaching footsteps made her forget the cold.
The moment she dreaded was here.
The half-open door swung wide, and in the porch light, she saw what she hadn’t seen for seven long years: her father’s face. In an instant, his expression changed from a concerned frown to wide-eyed disbelief.
“Roxanne?” Her whispered name was barely out of his mouth before he moved outside and gathered her into his arms, pulling her close against him. “Oh, thank You, God. Thank You, God.” He pressed her head against his chest and rocked from side to side, holding her tight. “Roxy, you’ve come home. Thank You, Father. Oh, my beloved daughter. You’re home. You’ve come home. Thank God.”
She started to cry. They were silent tears. She was too weary for sound.
It was the reception she’d longed for but hadn’t dared hope to receive. Her dad, holding her. Murmuring words of comfort, tell- ing her he loved her, repeating it over and over.
Roxy didn’t deserve his love. She wasn’t the woman he’d raised her to be. Which of the values he’d taught her had she embraced? Temperance? Hardly. A good work ethic? Obviously not. Thrift? That was a joke. Purity?
She shivered.
“We better get you inside,” he said. “You’re cold.” She wasn’t cold. She was ashamed.
Her father drew back but didn’t release her, searching her face with his gaze. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“It’s me.”
“Come inside.” He turned her toward the entrance.
Roxy saw Fortuna standing in the doorway. The housekeeper’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but she wore a wide smile.
Then Roxy saw the man standing behind Fortuna. Wyatt Baldini. Older, a little broader in the shoulders, and yet very much the same Wyatt of her memories.
Her heart caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t draw a breath. Of all people, Wyatt was the last person she’d been pre- pared to see tonight. Why was he here?
His expression made her want to shrivel up and blow away. She recognized his dismay and knew he was right to feel that way.
She shouldn’t have come home.
=
Wyatt wouldn’t have known Roxy if he passed her on the street. She’d changed that much. The Roxy he remembered was full of spunk and mischief, as lively in spirit as she was beautiful. This woman was beaten and lifeless, her beauty muted by dark circles beneath her eyes and the gauntness of her face and figure. And something in her gaze haunted him . . . something that said she had seen too much.
The look broke his heart.
He moved aside to let Jonathan and Roxy pass, then stepped outside, picked up the duffel bag, and carried it into the house. By the time he reached the entrance to the living room, father and daughter were seated on the leather sofa. Wyatt stopped, unsure whether to stay or go.
“Would you like Fortuna to fix you something to eat?”
At her father’s low question, Roxy shook her head. “No thanks, Dad. I’m not hungry.”
Wyatt found that hard to believe. She looked anorexic, like one of those half-starved models one saw in ads.
She glanced toward him, and again those haunted eyes tore at him. “Hello, Wyatt.” Her voice was soft, uncertain.
“Hey, Roxy.” He set the duffel on the floor and entered the room. What else should he say?
You look good.
That would be a lie.
How was Nashville?
From the look of her, that wasn’t the right question.
She gave him a weak smile. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” “I . . . had something to tell your father.” He raked the fingers
of his left hand through his hair. “Maybe I’d better go. I imagine you two have lots to talk about.”
“Yes.” Her voice quivered. “Lots.”
She reminded him of a crippled bird, dragging a wing on the ground, fragile and half dead. A lump formed in his throat.
Jonathan must have thought much the same thing. He stood, drawing his daughter from the sofa with him. “Whatever needs to be said can wait until morning. You’re exhausted, my dear. You need sleep.”
Tears filled her eyes again. “And a bath.” She brushed stray wisps of hair from her face. “After two days on the bus, I could use a bath.”
“I’ll bet Fortuna’s upstairs right now, putting clean sheets on your bed.” Jonathan guided Roxy toward the hallway and the curv- ing staircase that led to the second floor of the house. Over her head, he looked at Wyatt and mouthed,
Wait for me.
He answered with a discreet nod as he held the duffel bag toward Jonathan.
A few moments later, alone in the living room, Wyatt walked to the windows overlooking the city and stared outside.
Roxy was back. The wandering daughter had come home. Her father was overcome with joy, his prayers answered. And Wyatt? There was a time when he wanted nothing more than her return. When he wanted to marry Roxy, to build a life with her.
But now . . .
Everything was different. Now he was engaged to Roxy’s sister.
He released a long breath.
How would Elena react to the news?
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Six
Roxy sank into the hot water, the surface covered with several inches of bubbles, the smell of lavender rising with the steam to tease her nostrils. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the luxurious sensations.
It was so long since anything felt this good.
She recalled the love she saw in her father’s eyes and marveled at it. He didn’t turn her away. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t say, “I told you so.” He didn’t look at her with disgust. He didn’t do any of the things Roxy feared he might.
I’m home. It’s going to be okay now. I’m home.
A soft rap on the door was followed by Fortuna’s voice. “May I come in, Miss Roxy? I have some things for you.”
“Yes. Come in.”
The housekeeper entered, carrying a plush terrycloth robe and a white cotton nightgown over one arm. “I put your clothes into the wash, but they will not be dry before you go to bed. So I brought you one of my nightgowns. It will be too big, but it is only for one night.”
“Thanks, Fortuna.”
The older woman smiled in her direction. “It is good to have you home. We have missed you.”
Her throat tightened.
“Your father, he never stopped praying for this night.” Fortuna hung the nightgown on a wall hook, then draped the robe on a stool near the sunken bathtub. “Your sister, she prayed too.”
Roxy drew in a deep breath. “How is Elena?” “She is well and happy.”
“Is she married?”
“No, but she is engaged. She—” Fortuna stopped, then turned and walked to the door. “You will have much catching up to do when you see her. For tonight, you rest.”
The warmth of the bathwater and the weariness of her body made Roxy agree without argument. There would be plenty of time to ask and answer questions tomorrow.
“You call if you need anything, Miss Roxy.”
“I will. Thanks again.” She let her eyes drift closed a second time.