Deb Kastner - A Perfect Match

He whirled to Julia. Her golden hair swirled about her like a halo, and his breath caught before he could speak. He forced words through his tight throat. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Or confused.

He wanted to take her into his arms and prove it, but he could hardly act on those feelings. Nor could he leave it quite alone.

He reached out and gently swiped a thumb down her cheek. “You are wrong about love. And if it takes me forever, I’m going to prove it to you.”

is the wife of a Reformed Episcopal minister, so it was natural for her to find her niche in the Christian/Inspirational romance market. She enjoys tackling the issues of faith and trust within the context of a romance. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and brooding heroes. Her plots fall anywhere between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and three girls and, whenever she can manage, attending regional dinner theater and touring Broadway musicals.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.

—Ephesians 2:8-9

A big thank-you to Pam Hopkins for all she’s done for my career. You’re my own “perfect match” for a literary agent. What can I say? You’re the best!

To Melissa, editor extraordinaire.

Thanks for all your hard work and enthusiasm. You encourage me with your kindness.

To the Love Inspired Ladies.

Your love, integrity and work ethic inspire me to new heights.

Love always and forever to Joe, Annie, Kimmie and Katie.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

“You marry a man, not an occupation.” Lakeisha Wilson made her point, loud and clear.

But it wasn’t as if Julia Evans hadn’t already considered every angle of her Great Scheme. It was simply a matter of helping her dear friend grasp the concept.

“He is a man,” Julia reasoned aloud, though softly. She didn’t want Thomas and Evy Martin, sitting across the round table from them, to overhear the private conversation. Goodness knows she didn’t want her exceptional ideas exposed to the eyes of the whole waiting world.

It was enough that Lakeisha was going to give her a hard time about it. And if her dear friend of twenty-four years didn’t understand, no one would. It was a wretched way to begin.

Smothering a half smile, she coolly shifted her gaze to the subject in question—the Object of her Affection.

Well, not affection, precisely, but be that as it may…

Father Bryan Cummings.

Tall, dark and handsome.

More to the point, ordained to the ministry and headed for a great career in evangelism, maybe even internationally.

He didn’t know it yet, but she’d chosen him for a very special project.

Marriage.

Sunshine glistened off his straight, dark hair, and his smile was perfect and white. Practiced, even.

He’d told her once that image was everything. If he smiled to himself in the mirror to get it just right, no one was the wiser. And Julia would never tell.

Father Bryan was surrounded by a raucous group of young men dressed in everything from khakis and polo shirts to little more than patchy fluorescent swimming trunks and bare feet.

Though he stood on the opposite side of the swimming pool from where Julia sat sipping her iced tea, she could tell he was in the middle of a heated theological discussion with his friends.

In Julia’s experience with him, Bryan didn’t speak about much else besides the tenants of the faith. His idea of polite conversation was debating the merits and nuances of each of the five points of Calvinism. With Scriptural proofs.

That, Julia supposed, was part of the allure. She glanced back to Lakeisha and chuckled at the stunned look on her childhood friend’s face. Lakeisha had obviously followed the direction of Julia’s gaze, and followed her thoughts, as well.

“I take it you don’t approve of my Great Scheme.”

Lakeisha snorted. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Even as she shook her head disparagingly at Julia, Lakeisha smiled pleasantly at a couple of working associates who’d stopped to say hello. Julia recognized the women as being from the accounting office at HeartBeat, and cheerfully pointed them in the direction of the iced tea and cookies.

As she looked around, she realized nearly every employee of the HeartBeat Crisis Pregnancy Center was here for this Labor Day gathering at the Martins’ home. The sun shone brightly, which, with the fickle Colorado weather, was a blessing in itself.

People crowded around the pool, though no one was swimming. Julia had never quite become accustomed to the city version of a pool party. In the eastern Colorado country town where she was from, a pool party meant everyone went swimming. People brought along their inner tubes and blow-up balls. Old and young alike played water volleyball and Marco Polo.

Here, people came to a pool party to schmooze, not swim. They brought their business cards, not their beach towels. It was a different world.

She leaned back in her chair and smiled. She’d dreamed of this world all her life. A challenging ministry in a fast-paced atmosphere. Those around her were her colleagues in ministry.

Ministry.

The word alone made her shiver in delight. She didn’t know many names of people here, having only been with HeartBeat for a few months, but a lot of the faces were familiar. Many volunteered their time to the center. Others, like Julia, worked full-time for the crisis center.

There was Mr. Movie in his fancy sunglasses, who worked on the camera side of the video department where they developed audiovisual materials for and about the center; Merry Maid, the administrative assistant who always picked up after everyone else in the office. In the far corner was her boss, Sarah Straight-Arrow, the artistic perfectionist, speaking to Little Miss Muffet, a counselor ever on a persistent insect-killing mission at the center. Julia’s toes curled at the very thought of spiders.

Lakeisha probably knew all the names and backgrounds that went with all these faces, instead of the safe but not very effective stereotypes Julia tended to slap on people.

“I’m not finished with you, girlfriend,” Lakeisha said, interrupting her thoughts. “Because I’m not getting the point of your little plan at all.” She waved one hand and slammed the other down on the glass tabletop. “You’ve gone completely out of your mind, girl, and I’m not following.”