A Time To Come Home. Darlene Gardner

>Tyler saw what he thought was a mirage.

      Walking towards him was a grown-up version of Diana Smith, the girl who’d broken his teenage heart. He blinked, expecting the woman to disappear, but she kept coming.

      Her figure was curvier, the glossy brown hair she’d once worn parted in the middle feathered around her face and her features overall were more mature, but there was no mistake about it. It was Diana, who’d left Bentonsville – and him – ten years ago.

      Her step didn’t falter, her slight smile didn’t waver, as though seeing him again hadn’t affected her. “Hello, Tyler,” she said, her voice still low, still smoky.

      “Hello, Diana.” He knew he was staring, but couldn’t help it. Although her oval-shaped face appeared virtually the same, her eyes seemed different, as if they’d seen more than she’d bargained for.

      “This is quite a surprise,” he said. “I hadn’t realised you were in town visiting.”

      “I’m not visiting, Tyler. I’ve come home…”

      For my son Brian and my daughter Paige,

       because writing this book drove home for me

       how precious our children are. And for my

       husband, Kurt, for giving them to me.

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Darlene Gardner has worked as a features reporter and then a sports writer for daily newspapers in South Carolina and Florida before deciding she’d rather make up quotes than solicit them. Darlene, a Penn State graduate, lives in Virginia with her journalist husband and two children.

      Dear Reader,

      Have you ever done the wrong thing for the right reasons? Does trying to do what’s right lessen the gravity of our mistakes? These are two of the questions that inspired A Time To Come Home, the sequel to A Time To Forgive.

      Diana Smith is far from the perfect heroine, which is obvious from the opening pages when she abandons her much-loved daughter at her brother’s home. It’s the latest in a long line of Diana’s mis-steps, for which she’s trying to redeem herself.

      Which brings up some more interesting questions. Can we expect others to forgive us when we can’t forgive ourselves? And can love survive the sins of our past? Please read on as Diana and Tyler re-create their special bond.

      All my best,

       Darlene

      PS You can visit me on the web at www.darlenegardner.com.

      A Time To Come Home

      DARLENE GARDNER

       www.millandboon.co.uk

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       PROLOGUE

      WITH ONLY THE DIM GLOW of the bathroom night-light to guide her, Diana Smith moved silently through the upstairs hall of her older brother’s pricey town house. The low heels of her boots sank into the plush carpeting, muffling her footsteps.

      Shifting the weight of her backpack more comfortably on her shoulder, she stopped in front of the bedroom where her nine-year-old daughter Jaye slept and carefully eased open the door. The hinges groaned in protest, the sound gunshot-loud in the quiet house. Diana froze, her breath catching in her throat.

      She glanced down the darkened hall to her brother’s bedroom door, waiting for Connor to emerge and find her awake and fully dressed. But the door remained closed.

      She exhaled, her breath coming out ragged. Careful not to nudge the door, she peered around the crack into the room.

      Jaye was still asleep but stirred restlessly, turning over onto her side. Diana stood perfectly still until the girl settled into position and her chest expanded and contracted in a rhythmic motion. Weak moonlight filtered through a crack in the blinds, bathing Jaye in soft light.

      Her face was relaxed, her cheeks rosy and her full lips slightly pursed as she slept. Her long, blond hair spilled over the pillow like a halo.

      A wave of love hit Diana hard. Three days ago, she’d decided on the course of action she must take. Gazing upon her daughter now, however, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to carry through.

      She was reminded too vividly of another place, another time and a man whose features she glimpsed in the sleeping child. She’d done right by Tyler Benton, too, but the doing had shattered her heart.

      From necessity and long practice, she shoved Tyler from her mind and concentrated on the moment. Before she could muster the will to retreat, she broke into a cold sweat, her muscles and her very bones aching. She fought off a bout of nausea as her stomach pitched and rolled.

      If she needed a sign that leaving Jaye was the right thing to do, her physical condition couldn’t have provided a better one.

      Since losing control on a slick stretch of road and slamming her car into a towering oak tree, she’d felt ill, but not due to injuries sustained in the crash. She’d walked away from the one-car accident remarkably unscathed, considering she might have died if she’d struck the tree a few inches left of impact.

      The police had attributed her accident to bad luck, but Diana feared the pain pills she’d popped after leaving her job at a Nashville clothing warehouse had been the true cause.

      She’d been using the drug since straining her back six months before, devising new and clever ways to secure the tablets long after her prescription ran out.

      Horrified that Jaye could have been in the car with her, she’d faced the fact that she was addicted. Then she’d flushed the rest of the Vicodin down the toilet, only to find a new stockpile a few days later in one of her hiding places.

      Since then, she’d lost her job after failing a random drug test at work and confronted some more harsh truths. She needed help to kick her habit and she wasn’t fit to be around her daughter.

      After much thought, she’d packed up Jaye and the child’s meager belongings and boarded a bus for the two-day trip from Tennessee to Connor’s town house. They’d arrived in Silver Spring, Maryland, not even six hours ago, surprising a brother she hadn’t seen in years.

      Jaye made a sweet, snuffling sound in her sleep and hugged the soft, stuffed teddy bear that Diana had bought her when she was a toddler. Diana longed to rush over to the bed and kiss her one last time, but couldn’t risk waking her.

      “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered.

      Tears fell down her cheeks like rain as she memorized the planes and angles of the sleeping child’s face before moving away from the door. She left it ajar, unwilling to risk making another sound.

      She crept down the hall and descended the stairs as silently as a ghost. When she reached Connor’s state-of-the-art kitchen, she turned on the dim light over the stove, dug Jaye’s school transcripts and birth certificate out of her backpack and set them on the counter.

      After