Myra Johnson - Their Christmas Prayer

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.

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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