Santa, Bring My Baby Back Read online

  Maybe she hadn’t found her lucky break yet, even after years of auditions and chasing the next big idea. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a great actress. She was sure she’d convinced Charlie she knew exactly what to do next. But she had no idea.

  She also wasn’t sure why it had seemed important to convince him that everything was under control. Maybe that was just another thing she’d gotten really good at pretending.

  She stared hard at her reflection and did her best to ignore the fine lines around her eyes. At least she could keep the gray at bay. Thank God for beauty in a box. As she tossed her inexpensive makeup and brushes, her hair spray, and everything she’d brought to transform herself into a princess for a day into the bright pink case she carried most places, she tried to tell herself this was just the latest adventure. Maybe being stranded in Memphis would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her.

  Grace never lost faith that she was right where she needed to be. No matter how many times she had to make a new plan, she always believed in herself. This failure she could blame on her mother. Which never happened. She’d pursued Tommy Joe Huffle because of a conversation she’d had with her mother on her last birthday. Something about turning thirty-two had made her think about her long-term goals. That happened so infrequently she could count the times on one hand. Possibly two fingers. Apparently her mother had been on the same page:

  “It’s now or never, Gracie.”

  Grace pursed her lips as she looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. Maybe her mother had a point, even if this wedding had been a bad idea. She didn’t need a man or a wedding to try something new like a real, full-time, normal job. She’d been a rolling stone for so long that the idea of settling down still seemed to fit her like new dress shoes on Easter. She hadn’t worn it enough to work out the pinch. For years, she’d done exactly what she wanted and enjoyed almost every minute. She’d left town two days after graduation with a no-good scam artist who said he was going to get her a record deal. But Ann Andersen, mother to seven children, six of them successful middle-class citizens, had raised no fools.

  No matter how crazy her ideas got, Grace had always been a pretty good judge of character. When her new “agent” had turned out to be overly concerned with what she looked like naked, Grace made a quick exit. And Nashville was the first place she’d picked up an order pad, strapped on an apron, and delivered greasy burgers to bikers.

  Was that the dream? No. Was that the end of the world? No. And the bikers had turned out to be excellent tippers so soon she was on her way to New York to try modeling. At twenty, she’d been about forty pounds lighter and certain her thoroughly average five-seven height could be overlooked because she had personality.

  Now she knew so much better. Successful models weren’t really known for having bubbling personalities. And that was fine. She wasn’t on magazine covers, never had been, but she also knew the pleasure of a comforting French fry and that was worth a whole lot.

  Just the thought of all the places she’d lived and the careers she’d tried made Grace’s shoulders slump. And again she could hear her mother’s voice: “You’ll end up right where you started. College isn’t looking so bad now, is it?” Her mother was the kind of woman who accepted how things were without much celebration or gnashing of teeth. One day became the next, and that was the way it was supposed to be. No sense in getting too emotional.

  And her mother was always right. Even at eighteen, Grace had been pretty sure her mother was right, but she’d been just as determined that if she tried hard enough, she could change her fate. Grace had wanted more than safety. She’d wanted highs: the excitement of roller coaster ups without any of the downs.

  And she’d had a few ups. She’d also gotten pretty good at recovering from the downs.

  Grace stood and slipped off the wedding dress. She’d hoped this was the winning plan, so she’d pushed her credit card limits with the perfect, outrageously expensive gown, beautiful shoes, and faux diamonds for her hair. When she’d slipped on the glittering tiara, she’d understood completely how the real things might be a girl’s best friend.

  Tommy Joe’s oversight of a whopping diamond engagement ring should probably have been a real good clue to the level of his commitment. He’d promised she could pick her own rings in Atlanta, and she’d broken her own rule. She’d trusted him instead of her instincts.

  If she ever needed another reminder, she could look at her credit card bills. Eager to please Elvis fan Tommy Joe, she’d planned and charged this trip to Memphis. So now she had a beautiful dress, a hotel room she couldn’t pay for, and an expensive lesson in going with her gut.

  If she learned nothing else from this setback, she needed to remember that, while other people would let her down, she could always count on herself. Her mother loved her, but she would never understand Grace. And the rest of the world? Well, she’d learned to be careful.

  Half an hour ago she’d been ready to make this marriage work. She’d never looked better. Maybe there had been the niggling doubt—the question about whether giving up on her dreams of performing on a stage to grab what she could was the right thing to do. But wearing the sparkly gown was one dream come true, and she’d made it happen for herself. Her groom hadn’t inspired a lot of romance, and the idea of finally growing up, settling down, and giving in, becoming just like the rest of her family, made it hard to breathe, but she’d only had to see her own reflection to quiet the tiny alarm.

  She could blame the shortness of breath on cramming herself into a dress a size too small. For her perfect wedding day, she’d wanted to be size twelve and she’d pulled that off. Barely.

  Somehow, the dress on the hanger looked like just a dress. It wasn’t a dream come true anymore. It was an expensive reminder that she should have been smarter.

  Not about choosing her groom. On paper Tommy Joe had been perfect—twenty years older, rich, divorced from his first wife, and on the hunt for the second. About fifteen minutes after meeting him, she’d been ready to pack up her few belongings in the ratty apartment she shared with two other girls in Las Vegas to move to Atlanta with Tommy Joe.

  Not because she loved him. She just thought she could handle him. He was loud, a little ridiculous, and easy to please. Plus, he had three car dealerships to keep him busy. And she wouldn’t mind not worrying about money any more even if she’d never tell her mother that.

  As she slipped into the tight jeans and low-cut hot pink sweater that were Tommy Joe’s preference, not hers, she congratulated herself on not telling her parents about the wedding. At least she wouldn’t have to tell them about this failure, either. She’d just get enough money to make her way back to Vegas.

  Maybe the hotel was hiring. She had plenty of experience waiting tables. She’d start in the restaurant and work her way to the front desk, if necessary. If she was lucky, she could find somebody who needed a temporary roommate too.

  “Grace, you are a rolling stone. This was just not the moss for you.” She scrunched up her face, stuck out her tongue, and waved her hands, a silly ritual she’d done as long as she could remember to shove away the doubts and disappointments. Happy free spirit was her most common character. She’d learned people liked to help her when she acted happy.

  She slipped on the sky-high heels and resolved right then and there that maybe she had to save money for a trip back to Vegas, but she was going to buy more comfortable shoes at her first chance. Tommy Joe liked a certain type of girl, the kind that was more comfortable in leopard print platforms than she was, but Grace had played the part.

  Now it might be time to just be Grace. The real Grace wanted her yellow Converse sneakers, loose jeans, her favorite purple hoodie, and a free Starbucks macchiato. Free was the most important part of that. She had the clothes. The drink would have to wait until she had a job. And a ride.

  She packed up her bags, slipped in the beautiful shoes that coordinated perfectly with her dream of a wedding gown on top, and
slung them over her shoulders before she hooked the dress hanger over a finger.

  Whether it was a new job, a new plan, or a new man she was looking for, Grace had to go where the people were. She needed help. For that, she needed people. She checked her lipstick, fidgeted with the classy updo she refused to take down, and forced a happy smile. “Viva Las Vegas, here I come.”

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  ALL THE WAY around the pool area with its cheery inflatable snowmen and flashing candy canes and down the long hallway decorated with album covers and three different themed Christmas trees, Grace rehearsed her lines in her head. She was going to need a job, a place to stay, and some time to pay her hotel bills. Checking all three off the list might take some finesse.

  Grace paused in the doorway of Viva Las Vegas to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the change from the bright lobby to the darker restaurant. Her first impressions were of lush plants—a theme at the hotel—and some rocking Elvis tune competing with the clinks of silverware on plates and low conversations. A very cute, very young hostess dressed as a showgirl in Santa’s workshop pointed her toward the bar. When Grace dumped all her baggage in a seat and draped the dress over the top, she noticed Charlie, but he didn’t look up from his plate.

  Thanks to his concentration, Grace had a chance to observe him before she announced her presence. His crisp white dress shirt and black tie were covered by a large cloth napkin, which might also be a tablecloth in real life. She appreciated his broad shoulders and the flex of muscles in his back as he twisted on the seat. The edges of his sleeves were white flashes as he made steady progress of clearing his plate with quick bites, not like he was in a hurry, but took pride in efficient operation. And his long legs were propped up on the brass footrest that ran along the bottom of the bar. His slicked back black hair was probably the stillest part of his body. Charlie seemed capable. Strong. Solid. For some reason, she had the urge to wrap her hand around his arm and maybe rest her head on his shoulder.

  Not exactly what she expected from a man with rock-star good looks and enough gunk in his hair to preserve his style in a tornado.

  She patted her own, slightly crunchy updo and decided to give him props for that. It showed commitment.

  When he’d opened her dressing room door, the first thing she saw were his dark brown eyes. For a minute, she’d been frozen by the connection. Then she’d noticed his Elvis-like hair and had to wonder what his story was.

  “Hey, Charlie,” she said as she slid onto the stool next to him. She leaned one elbow on the bar as the bartender slid a menu in front of her. She smiled over at Charlie as he nodded and chewed. She tried not to roll her eyes as she glanced over the menu choices. Lots of southern delicacies here. Then she saw the desserts and had to bite her lip to remind herself she was broke and stranded. Even if she had enough money to buy the banana pudding, it wouldn’t taste nearly as good while she slept under a bridge somewhere. She tried not to whistle out loud at the prices and wondered if they’d let her order off the children’s menu. After she waved the bartender off, Grace said, “Is that meat loaf? I didn’t see it on the menu.”

  Charlie took a drink and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Best thing about this place, and it’s not on the menu.”

  “I used to be a vegetarian, but I don’t think I am anymore.” Grace glanced around the restaurant and the light crowd. All the waitresses were dressed as showgirls or maybe the Disney version of showgirls anyway. She’d spent too much time in Vegas to miss that this was an homage to the 1964 Hollywood version. Today, real showgirls would be thirty pounds lighter and have plastic pieces to fill out anything that needed filling out. She ought to know. Girls like her could take orders, but they couldn’t hit the stage. She ought to fit right in around here.

  “You think you’re not a vegetarian? You don’t know?”

  Grace laughed at Charlie’s small frown. He looked like he was trying to work out in his head how that could be possible and was running up against math theorems and scientific laws that all said such a thing could not happen. He was cute when he was confused.

  “So it’s meat loaf just like Mom used to make?”

  Charlie coughed and took a long drink while he considered the answer to her question. He laughed and nodded. “Exactly like Mom used to make.”

  Now she was confused. But she could absolutely go with the flow. She didn’t get the joke, but she liked what it did to his face. Sober Charlie was good-looking. There was no question about that. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a full bottom lip. But when he was smiling like this, he was devastating. It was like they had their own private joke, and it was them against the world.

  One of the challenges of following her dreams was moving around so much that it was hard to keep friends. Every new place was an opportunity to make more, but not before she spent a lot of time alone.

  She’d always wanted a partner to go up against the world with as needed.

  Now she just wished she understood the joke.

  “You’ve changed,” he said. Grace watched him lean back to take in her whole outfit and could almost read his mind. The outfit was cheap. And hot. She didn’t like it either. She was dressed for attention, and this sweater always got very high marks from men so it surprised her when he added, “I think I like the wedding dress better.”

  Grace was shocked, and then she was amused. She squeezed her eyes shut and went with amused. “I know exactly what you mean. I like it better too.”

  Maybe Charlie was oblivious to start with, but he picked up on his error quickly. “And I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have brought up wedding-anything. Sorry.”

  Grace took a deep breath and was happy to see Charlie watching her closely before he glanced away. The sweater was facing early retirement, but at least it was still on the job. She had no idea why it mattered what Charlie thought, but suddenly it did. “I understand. I may not be used to plain-speakers, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”

  He nodded. “I’m just glad you didn’t burst into tears. That’s the kind of reaction I’d expect from a woman who’s just been left at the altar.” His lips tightened. “And I think I just did it again.”

  Grace shook her head. “No, that time you were fishing for information, like maybe why I don’t seem that brokenhearted over being dumped in such a spectacular fashion.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he considered her answer. “Maybe he didn’t dump you. Maybe he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  There was an awkward beat of silence between them. Then Grace picked up his glass and took a long drink of his sweet tea. When the ice cubes rattled in the glass, she let out a happy sigh and thumped it back on the bar. Then she said, “Charlie, I think that might actually be the worst thing to say to a jilted bride. The idea of my one true love dead in a ditch would certainly bring on the waterworks.”

  He looked like he wanted to object to her hijacking his glass. Most people would. And Charlie gave off the vibe that he was very committed to a lot of personal space. But he didn’t. “I see your point. And I should shut the hell up now. I’m sure your true love is just fine, maybe stuck in traffic somewhere or something.”

  Grace shook her head. “No, I imagine he’s on a plane headed to Atlanta by now.” She sighed. “And there’s no way he was my one true love.”

  She could see a million questions on Charlie’s face, but he bit his tongue. Somebody had taught him some manners, even if he forgot them now and then.

  Charlie wadded up his napkin and bent his head down to look through the window into the kitchen. When the chef did the same and waved, Charlie said, “Great job as usual, Sal. Thanks for making it for me.”

  Sal waved a spatula. “My pleasure, Mr. Charlie. Anytime.”

  Grace watched Charlie open his mouth to respond, but whatever he was going to say he thought better of. He turned to face her, and she had to will herself not to retreat. There was something about him. He was big, for one thing, but
being this close to him it was like he was also… supercharged… or something. The air between them sparked.

  Charlie seemed to feel it too. He straightened slowly and studied her face. Finally he rubbed his hands on his black dress pants. “If you’re checking out today, you should hurry. You’re past check-out time, but I’m sure Laura will waive the extra charge if you go now.” He glanced at his heavy stainless steel watch. “And it’s almost time for my next wedding.”

  Grace watched a flush cover his cheeks.

  “Wedding, bride, groom, husband, fiancée, ring, wife, altar, dumped, deserted, marriage, chapel.” Charlie stopped and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he nodded. “That should be all of them. Maybe it’s out of my system now, and I can stop saying things to remind you.”

  Grace appreciated the effort. “You forgot love.”

  Their eyes locked, and there was nothing she could do to look away. The music changed, but she had no idea from what to what. The bartender filled an order on the other side of the bar. And the clinks of silverware on plates faded. Until Charlie looked away, she was lost.

  Hours or seconds later he blinked and that small smile, the one that she wished said he knew her and liked her and wanted to share a secret with her, was back. He slid off the stool, his legs brushing her thigh with a wave of heat. He yanked off the impromptu bib and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

  “Now, Mister—Charlie, you know you don’t pay,” Grace heard the bartender say, but she was immobilized this time by the width of his shoulders and the heat of his body.

  He dropped two bills on the bar. “Sure, Cat, but I do tip. Be sure Sal gets a big chunk.”

  The bartender shook her head as she scooped up the cash and dropped it in the tip jar. Then she asked Grace, “If you aren’t going to order lunch, how about something to drink?”

  When Charlie turned to look at her, Grace wanted to say something light and airy, something that made it seem like a valid choice to skip lunch instead of a budgetary necessity. Instead she licked her lips nervously and leaned closer to the bar. “Actually, Cat,” Grace said breezily as if this wasn’t the whole goal of her visit to Viva Las Vegas, “I was hoping you could point me toward the manager. I have lots of experience waiting tables and—” She glanced over her shoulder at Charlie who hadn’t moved, no matter what he said about his schedule. Darn it. “—I really need a job. And a place to stay if you know of anyone with an extra room.” She smiled, crossed her fingers, and tried the power of positive thinking.