Return to Love. Betsy Amant St.

      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

      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