Return Of The Prodigal Daughter [Wayback Texas Series] Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Dana Ann Ozak

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

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  Return of the Prodigal Daughter

  by

  Marguerite Arotin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Return of the Prodigal Daughter

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Dana Ann Ozak

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2008

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my writing sister, Kelli, who kept me going on Jake and Sherrie's tale while I kept her going on Sherrie's sister's tale. To my sister and sister-in-law, Carrie and Jennifer for teaching me what the love of true sisterhood is. And to my family, for their constant love and support. I couldn't write a story about coming home to find your family, if I didn't know that kind of love.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Sherrie stared at the little red telephone sitting on the nightstand and wondered if she could muster up the courage to call her big brother. In her head, she heard him scolding her. And he would be right. You come into town, check into the Dew Drop Inn under a phony name, and you don't have the nerve to tell your family you've returned to Wayback.

  That little chiding voice got her to reach for the receiver, but she dropped it. Dang it! She just couldn't muster up the courage to tell her brother or sister that her modeling career was over and her Malibu dream house was nothing more than ashes. She didn't want to hear those four dreaded words from either of them. I told you so.

  Of course, she mused as she ran her fingers through her hair, neither one of them had said anything when she left home seven years ago. Daisy had tearfully hugged her on the front porch and wished her luck. Max, her rock steady big brother had embraced her and his heartfelt words had warmed her heart. If California or Jake Serrano ever let you down, you still have a home in Texas.

  Jake... Oh hell he was home now too. According to Daisy, he lived above the Cue Ball Pool Hall and Laundromat, where he worked. Sherrie could picture the drunken cowgirls purposely causing trouble so they could get their hands on Jake. “And they can have that no good cowboy for all I..."

  Well aware that he got her so riled up she was now talking to herself, Sherrie took a deep breath, smoothed out her black shirt with the multi-colored polka dots, and rose from the comfy double bed.

  "First you have to face your family. Then you can worry about Jake.” A teensy-tiny part of her understood why he had left her, but it still hurt all the same. She'd thought he'd realized she wasn't like his mama.

  Deciding that maybe a bite from the kitchen would relax her and give her the gumption to call Max, she reached for the handle of her guest room door, but first she grabbed her father's old cowboy hat, which was the only thing she had managed to save from the fire that meant anything to her. Then she grabbed her sunglasses. So far, none of the other guests knew who she was, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  Her high-heeled black leather boots clicked along the hardwood oak floors as she walked. At the edge of the staircase, she came to a dead halt. Gripping the banister tightly so she wouldn't topple over, she stared into a familiar pair of eyes, those big brown eyes that reminded her so much of her daddy. Those eyes, that messy brown hair, the tall broad-shouldered body, and the rugged scar on his chin—all belonged to none other than Sherrie's big brother Max.

  Max dropped the paint can he held in his hands. With a rattle, the can crashed on the stairs. “Sherrie? What the hell are you doing here?"

  She couldn't answer. Instead, she averted her gaze and raced back to her room, but Max was quicker. He slammed the door before Sherrie could return to her temporary sanctuary. She removed her sunglasses and flashed him a sheepish grin.

  "Um ... hi, big brother. Do you have a hug for your little sis?"

  "I've been trying to call you for a good month. You said you'd be in Europe and I didn't know what to think when you didn't answer your cell phone. I almost flew to Paris to check up on you,” her brother roared. “Where the hell have you been?"

  Max rarely ever got mad. The worst she remembered was when she was ten years old and broke her arm after Jake dared her to jump from the top of his grandma's chicken coop. The fire she'd seen in her big brother's eyes that day hadn't matched the embers raging now.

  The door next to her room flew open. She gasped when she realized the fellow guest, some bigwig president of a beer company, was only wearing a towel and was sopping wet.

  "Everything okay out here, miss?” the wet guest asked. Droplets of water clung to his dark hair and muscular body. Sherrie wished she wasn't so busy with Max, so she could admire the wealthy half-naked gentleman at her side. Her fellow guest Sam Howard was eye candy, even with his clothes on.

  "Um, yeah, fine and dandy. I'm just having a chat with my brother. You can go back to your room."

  "Sorry we disturbed you, Sam, but this is between me and my sister,” Max replied in a stern voice.

  He grabbed her wrist and she pulled away, biting her lip to avoid crying out. He'd grabbed her right where the burn scars were. “Ouch! Max please ... this isn't easy for me."

  Katherine, the great-niece of the innkeeper, must have heard the commotion. She rushed up the stairs followed by a curvy blonde—Sherrie's sister, Daisy. When Daisy saw Sherrie, she stumbled, and Sherrie was pleased to see how quickly Sam caught Daisy to keep her from tumbling down the steps. Was there something going on between those two?

  Katherine narrowed her cat-like green eyes. “Max why are you bothering a guest?"

  Sherrie smiled at Katherine. “No worries, Katherine. He is furious, but only at me.” Then she turned to her sister, whom Sam had just released. “Hey sis. Looks like we've got one fine family reunion going on here."

  Katherine widened her gaze.. “So you really are Daisy's and Max's sister?"

  "Yeah.” Sherrie admitted, “I checked in under a fake name, because I didn't want anyone knowing I was home yet. I'm really a Porter girl.” She
glanced at both Max and Daisy, and then smiled. “These two are the only family I have left."

  Daisy pushed past Katherine, concern flooding her soft blue gaze. “Sherrie? What are you doing here?” Her sister reached forward and stroked a loose lock of hair covering Sherrie's eye. “Honey, you look like hell."

  "I have been through hell.” Sherrie inhaled. It was now or never. “And I have the scars to prove it."

  Slowly, she removed the black leather glove covering her burned left hand, and rolled up her sleeve. The doctors in California had told her she was lucky they hadn't needed to amputate any of her fingers. Even after a month, and a skin graft, her arm all the way up to her elbow was still red-streaked. Her hand was still puffy, swollen, and still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. That was the price she had to pay for punching a hole through her living room window to try to save her prized possessions.

  Daisy gasped. “Your arm! What happened?” Before Sherrie could answer, Daisy wrapped a comforting arm around Sherrie's shoulder. “Why didn't you call us? Sweetie-pie, that looks pretty bad."

  "Worse than bad,” Max grumbled.

  She didn't want to break down in front of her brother and sister, but when she thought of everything she had lost ... her career, home, hopes, dreams, and mementoes of Mom and Dad ... A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “What was I supposed to tell you?” Now the floodgates opened. She crashed her head against Daisy's shoulder as a torrent of tears spilled down her cheeks. “T-that I ... that I lost my pretty house in Malibu to a fire, that I can't model anymore because I can't wear a swimsuit or sleeveless dress without looking like a freak. And I lost all the pictures I had of Mom and Dad."

  Daisy rubbed the small of her back as she sobbed and Sherrie noticed that tears were misting her sister's gaze as well. Max, her solid as a rock brother, who was never comfortable around crying women, shifted his feet. Katherine just looked confused and uncomfortable. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then Max shot her a stern glance. Katherine quickly shut her mouth and backed away from Max.

  Max cleared his throat, and finally sliced through the awkward silence filling the hall. “You could have sent word, so we wouldn't worry."

  Sherrie wiped away her tears and lifted her head from Daisy's shoulder. “I didn't know what to s-say. I was afraid ... I know neither one of you really wanted me to leave Wayback. For a time I was really happy in California. I survived just fine even after Jake left. What I'm saying, I suppose, is that I didn't want either one of you to say I told you so."

  "We wouldn't have said that,” Daisy reassured and then shot a glance to Max. “Right?"

  "I suppose not,” Max muttered and scuffed his work boots along the hall baseboard. “The important thing is that you're home now, where you belong. It's time to stop running, little sister."

  He lifted her chin with a strong forefinger. Even when she wore spiked heels, her brother was one of a handful of men she could look directly in the eye without lowering her head.

  "Max is right,” Daisy agreed. “So why don't you pack up your stuff and come home with one of us?"

  "I don't wanna be a burden to y'all,” Sherrie admitted, flashing both her brother and sister a little grin as she reached for the doorknob to her room.

  Max raised a brow. “Since when is coming home a bother? You still have a room at the house. Come on, I'll help you pack."

  "But ... But ... She's paid through the week,” Katherine sputtered out.

  "You can keep the money, Katherine. I won't ask for a refund. And I'm sorry for the trouble I caused. I just ... I didn't want anyone to know I was home until I was ready to tell them."

  Max grinned. “Then I'm glad we found you today. Or else you might have never gotten up the gumption to tell us."

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  Sherrie tucked the few possessions had left into the back of her hybrid SUV, then shut the hatch and then turned to Daisy. “Are you sure you want to catch a ride with Sam? You trust him to behave himself?"

  Daisy smiled. “Not too sure. He did promise to jump me ... I mean my car."

  Sherrie giggled and winked. “You sure you didn't mean for him to jump you and not the car?"

  Daisy flushed and turned away. Max climbed into his truck, while Daisy got into Sam's Porsche.

  Sherrie needed to hit the ATM, so she waved Max ahead and made a detour to the bank.

  Five minutes later, her stomach lurched as she pulled into the bank parking lot.

  Oh God, no! She knew that black truck beside the ATM. A shot of anxiety rocked her to the core. She had too many memories of packing up that truck with all her stuff, making love in the bed beneath the starry skies at Big Bear. Damn it, she knew that dark haired head peering out the driver's side window and that steady, slow hand reaching for the slip of paper and plastic card.

  Jake! Absently, she batted at the fuzzy pink dice hanging from her rearview mirror. They'd been a gift from Jake after an impromptu trip to Vegas. Could she turn around and back out? No, he'd spotted her. She knew it when he pulled into a parking spot, got out of his truck and started walking to her SUV. Sighing, she decided that she might as well face him now, rather than later.

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  Jake knew that silver Escape all too well, the one that pulled in behind him at the bank with the pink fuzzy dice and California plates. He remembered seeing it in a car lot in Thousand Oaks and knowing it would be perfect for Sherrie. He remembered convincing her to take her Christmas gift for a spin in the desert, and then officially christening it by making love in the back seat. What he didn't know was why the SUV, and its drop-dead gorgeous owner, were in Wayback, and not in California where they both belonged.

  He stopped and watched as the SUV door opened, and Sherrie stepped outside. His breath caught. God, she was so damn striking that it hurt. Her hair was longer now and cut in layers. The shortest layers flipped just below her chin, the longest ones covered her shapely bosom. One long strand fell beneath the brown leather Stetson covering her brow. His heart skipped a beat when she fluttered those long lush lashes and licked those ripe raspberry lips. He wanted to wrap his arms around those shapely hips as she gently swayed them while she approached, but he knew that would be a bad idea.

  He swallowed hard and managed to say, “Howdy, beautiful."

  Sherrie's cheeks flushed and she clenched her fists. “Don't you even try to sweet talk me, cowboy."

  Jake stood alone with Sherrie. The bank was closed for the night. Downtown Wayback was still and quiet. The first tones of a fiery sunset colored the horizon, and he supposed most people were settling into their homes for dinner. He should have left after depositing his paycheck in the ATM. He should be at home now too, relaxing on the couch with a cold beer and a cold slice of pizza. Instead, he stared into that soft blue gaze he'd missed so much, wanting to find the right words to say to Sherrie.

  "I'm sorry,” he blurted out, figuring that would be a good start. “I'm sorry about the way I left. I'm sorry for ... hell a lot of things."

  She jabbed a finger in his chest. “You should be sorry, cowboy. I know you have issues because of what your mama did to you, but I'm not her. I didn't want to give up on you. You're the one who gave up on me."

  "You're right. Hell, I didn't give up on you. I gave up on Hollywood and I knew you were happy with where you were going...” His words trailed off as the familiar pang of sadness filled his heart. How many times had he clutched her magazine covers while drinking the night away at the Blue Bug? He always tried to convince himself that a gorgeous supermodel would be better off with a real movie star and not a broken down stuntman.

  He couldn't stop himself from caressing her cheek, and to his shock, she didn't pull away. “Why? Why'd you come back? We both know you belong in California. Your career was just taking off. You wanted that big house on the beach."

  She lowered her gaze to the sidewalk and kicked the front wheel of her SUV. “I don't have a career anymore. I had the big house on the beac
h and lost it. God, I don't know if I should tell you anything else. I don't know if I can trust you after—"

  "After what? I told you I was sorry.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sherrie, it's me, the man you used to confide all your hopes and dreams in. I never told anyone about how were so nervous during your first fashion show that you nearly tripped on the runway. You can trust me."

  Sighing, she removed her left hand from her jeans pocket and Jake noticed the black leather glove covering it. She removed the glove, revealing a swollen, red hand.

  A pang of regret twisted in his belly, like the blade of a knife. “Jesus, what happened?” Maybe if he hadn't left her behind...

  "A wildfire took my house, scarred my hand and arm, ruined any chance of strutting my stuff on the runway again. All I have left is my family. So, I came home."

  "Sherrie ... I ... Heck, I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I don't need your sympathy. You didn't start the fire. I was stupid enough to try to grab my family photos and now I'm paying the price.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “Your mama dropped by to see me while I was in the hospital."

  "Oh.” Jake hadn't seen his mother in three years. Pa had told him when she ran out that trying to hold on to Mama was like trying to catch a shooting star. That's exactly how Jake felt about Sherrie. She was in Wayback now, but he was sure his shooting star would fly off to the next galaxy as soon as she got back on her feet again. “How is she? I bet by now she's probably gone and gotten herself hitched again."

  She nodded. “Sure did. I met her latest husband. His name's Bob. Seems like a nice guy."

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah and so were the last nine stepfathers. I'll be surprised if this marriage sticks."

  "I think it just might. I still believe in happy endings, Jake. I wish you did too. I should get on home. Max is waiting on me."

  He didn't know quite why, but he grabbed her arm before she could slip into her Escape, pulled her close to him, so close that her soft curves pressed against him, close enough that he could smell the lavender scent of her perfume. Everything about Sherrie positively intoxicated him, made him dizzy, and weak, but it wouldn't be enough until he tasted her lips, so he did. He crushed his lips into hers.