Their Christmas Prayer

Completing his final pass with the riding lawn mower, Shaun shut off the blades and steered the mower toward the garage. The combined smells of cut grass and gasoline filled his nostrils, but nothing stunk so bad as the way he’d handled things earlier with Brooke.

Years ago, his favorite seminary professor had cautioned him about his idealism. “Not everything is black-and-white, Shaun. Demanding perfection from yourself or any other human being—at least in this life—will only bring disappointment.”

He was sure enough disappointed in himself, and he owed Brooke an apology. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d already phoned Emily Ingram to plead for someone else to partner with for the Christmas service project. Maybe he should have simply gone along with one of the plans Brooke had presented. The three possibilities they’d initially agreed to consider weren’t inherently bad, but after he’d had time to mull them over for a few days, he hadn’t been able to reconcile how limited they were. He wanted to do more.

He needed to do more, or a month or a year or a decade from now, none of it would matter.

Shoulders sagging, he trudged out of the garage and gazed up through the live oak branches toward a cloudless autumn sky. “I get it, Lord. I’m pushing too hard again.”

He’d back off, and he’d ask Brooke’s forgiveness and hope she’d give him another chance. He tugged his phone from his back pocket and started to call her but then decided she deserved the courtesy of a face-to-face apology. Maybe he could snag a few minutes with her after church in the morning, after they’d both had more time to cool off.

As he started toward the house, a shiny red sedan slowed at the end of the driveway as if searching for an address. Then the car turned in, tires rumbling over the cattle guard. Kent was out with the herd, and Shaun didn’t know enough about the area to offer directions, but he strode over anyway to help however he could.

With the tinted windows and the angle of the sun, he couldn’t make out the driver’s face—until the door opened and Brooke emerged. She slammed her door, then stood with feet apart and arms crossed. “Good, I found the right place. Hello again, Shaun.”

“Uh, hi.” His mouth tasted like dust and mown grass, which didn’t fully account for why he felt utterly speechless. “I—I was going to—”

She held up one hand. “Let me say what I came to say. As reluctant as I was at first, I’ve made a commitment to see this project through. I’d like us to try harder to work through our differences, but if you’re calling it quits, I need to know now.”

“I’m not.” The words came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and spoke more firmly. “I’m not quitting, Brooke.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’re—you’re not? I just figured—”

“I’m really sorry about leaving so abruptly after lunch.” Finding his courage, he stepped close enough to see the golden glints in her brown eyes. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “When I get focused on something, I can be pretty opinionated, I know.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she muttered with a sidelong glance. Heaving a sigh, she went on, “You should also know I spoke with your sister this afternoon. She filled me in on a few things.”

Wincing, Shaun lowered his head. “What exactly did Erin tell you?”

“About how you never do anything halfway. How you got really burned out on your last missionary posting.” Brooke braced her hips against the fender. “How I should be patient and listen to your ideas.”

Smiling inwardly, he sent his sister a mental thank-you. “So...you’re willing to continue working with me?”

She didn’t answer right away. “In my advertising career I dealt with more than my share of difficult clients, and if they didn’t respect my professional expertise, I dropped them—politely, of course, but life is too short for that kind of stress.”

“I get it. I’m a stress-inducing pain.” Shaun studied his dirt-encrusted sneakers for a moment before peering up at her. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Hands lifted, Brooke gave an exaggerated huff. “Why else would I have driven all the way out here to clear the air when I could be shopping for things I don’t need or pigging out on brownies and caramel lattes?”

He must have lost something in translation, but as long as she wasn’t writing him off, he’d count his blessings. Which he probably hadn’t been doing enough of lately, and which most likely had contributed to his lousy attitude. His lips twitched in a smile. “So I guess we should talk more about these outreach ideas.”

“Yes, but not today.” Lips tight, Brooke hiked her chin. “I’m not feeling particularly charitable at the moment.”

“Toward me, or toward the world in general?”

“Mostly you.”

Did she have any idea the effect her persistence was having on him, the way her eyes glinted with mischief even as she threw him a peevish pout? Shaun tamped down the niggling twinges of attraction. “Okay, then. You name the time and place.”

“I’ll check my calendar and call you tomorrow.” She turned to open her car door.

“Maybe I’ll see you at church?”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like “Not if I see you first.”

Watching her drive away, Shaun massaged the back of his neck. Crazy as it seemed, he was definitely experiencing more than friendly interest in Brooke Willoughby. Pretty obvious the feeling wasn’t mutual, but since he didn’t foresee sticking around Juniper Bluff beyond the first of the year, he had no business dwelling on it. He just needed to stay on her good side long enough to organize the Christmas outreach.

In the meantime, he’d better pray even harder for direction about where he went from here, because half of the two weeks Henry Voss had given him had already zipped past, and Shaun didn’t feel any closer to clarity than he had the day Henry had called.

Chapter Four

On their way out of the sanctuary following worship the next morning, Brooke’s dad excused himself. “There’s Lydia. I need to return her sunglasses.”

Brooke’s brows shot up. She grabbed her father’s arm. “What are you doing with someone else’s sunglasses?” A strange woman’s sunglasses, more to the point.

“Because on the way home from Kerrville, I was sitting on the sunny side of the church van, so she was kind enough to lend me hers.” He tried to shake off Brooke’s hold.

She held on tighter. “But you have a perfectly good pair of sunglasses. I helped you pick them out while we were still living in LA, remember?”

“Forgot to tell you,” Dad said with a grimace. “I accidentally left them at Mamacita’s.”

“Who on earth is Mamacita? And why were you at her place?”

Her father’s eye roll insinuated the absurdity of Brooke’s questions. “Mamacita’s is the Mexican restaurant where the seniors group ate yesterday in Kerrville. Cute place. I should take you there sometime.” He yanked his arm free. “Lydia’s almost out the door. Gotta catch her.”

Watching Dad hurry away, Brooke fought to keep from stamping her foot in a petulant show of annoyance.

Shaun ambled up beside her. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s peachy.” Not. Dad looked a little too cheery chatting it up with Lydia, and Brooke didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about that.

“Okay, then.” Shaun backed off a step. “Just wanted to ask if you’d thought more about scheduling another planning meeting.”

“Right, we should do that soon.” Giving herself a mental shake, she tore her gaze off her father and focused on Shaun. “Sorry, I’m a little worried about my dad.”

“That’s him in the corduroy blazer, right? Looks like he’s made a new friend.”

Exactly what worried her. Mom hadn’t been gone a year yet. Dad had no business getting all smiley with other women. “This was a mistake,” she muttered, barely aware she’d spoken aloud.

“Excuse me?” Shaun’s tone hardened. “I thought we’d come to an understanding yesterday. If you feel that strongly about not wanting to work with me—”

“No, no, that isn’t what I meant.” She couldn’t exactly blurt out all her misgivings about leaving a dream job in LA so she could bring her father back to Texas. Inhaling a calming breath, she briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Dad was striding her way.

“Thanks for waiting, hon.” He turned a curious expression upon Shaun. “Don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jim Willoughby, Brooke’s dad.”

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