Gail Martin - A Dream of His Own

Second-chance family

The only thing philanthropist Quinn O’Neill wants is to forget the accident that took his wife and son. He doesn’t expect a fender bender with a lovely stranger to change his life in a major way. Struggling single mom Ava Darnell and her teenage son have their own hardships. What better way for him to lend a hand than through the Dreams Come True Foundation? But helping Ava means earning her trust...and having faith that dreams of healing and family just might become reality.

“I missed being here.” His eyes searched hers. “And I missed seeing you.”

The temperature rose. Her cheeks burned as she gazed at him, not knowing if she should say thank-you or toss out a lighthearted comment. Before she could move, he slipped his arm around her.

“What’s Brandon up to now?”

The change in topic caught her off guard. “Resting. No school until next week, but he’s fine.”

“I’m relieved.” He brushed her cheek with his index finger.

His eyes searched hers, making her uncomfortable. She didn’t understand the touch or his embrace. Her mind spun. “Did you see the living room?”

His head jerked back as if she’d surprised him. “No. I came in through the garage.”

She struggled for breath. “Come take a look.” She beckoned to him, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She needed to get a grip.

He followed her lead, and when he reached the archway, he stopped, his gaze sweeping the room. “Wow! That makes a difference.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do, but…”

She hung on his voice, waiting for him to finish the sentence, but he only gazed at her. “But what?”

Quinn drew closer and slipped both arms around her. “But I like you more.”

GAIL GAYMER MARTIN

A former counselor and educator, Gail Gaymer Martin is an award-winning author, writing women’s fiction, romance and romantic suspense. This is her forty-seventh published novel, and she has over three million books in print. Gail is the author of twenty-eight worship resource books and Writing the Christian Romance released by Writer’s Digest Books. She is a cofounder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of the ACFW Great Lakes Chapter and a member of the Faith, Hope & Love Chapter of RWA.

When not writing, Gail enjoys traveling, speaking at churches and libraries, presenting writing workshops across the country and singing as a soloist, praise leader and choir member at her church, where she plays handbells and hand chimes, as well. Gail also sings with one of the finest Christian chorales in Michigan, the Detroit Lutheran Singers. Gail is a lifelong resident of Michigan and lives with her husband, Bob, in the Detroit suburbs. Visit her website at www.gailmartin.com. Write to Gail at P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI 48076, or at authorgailmartin@aol.com. She enjoys hearing from readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,

where moth and rust destroy,

and where thieves break in and steal.

But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.

—Matthew 6:19, 20

Thanks to my Facebook group,

Readers of Gail Gaymer Martin’s Books,

for their support, ideas and amazing comments and reviews. Without readers, an author’s books would

sit on shelves. Thanks to the Michigan Secretary of State for providing detailed information on the process for obtaining a driver’s license. Today the rules are very different from my day. Thanks also to Wendy at B&B Collision for answering my many questions about accident repairs. And always, my deepest thanks go to my husband, Bob. Without his support and love, I wouldn’t be the writer I am today.

Contents

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Quinn O’Neill shifted in reverse as he checked his rear and side view mirrors at ACO Hardware. He lifted his foot from the brake and inched backward from the parking spot, his mind filled with the numerous repairs needed to return his home to what it must have looked like ninety years ago when it was new. Too bad repairing himself wasn’t as easy, but money wouldn’t fix him.

Quinn’s thoughts were interrupted by a thud, and a crunch of metal jarred his SUV. He slammed on the brake and jammed the gear into Park, then bolted outside eyeing a car embedded in his back quarter panel, the shiny black paint gouged and buckled against the woman’s dark red sedan.

She glared at him from the driver’s window, her eyes narrowed as determination set in her jaw. She pushed open her car door with a dramatic sweep, stepped out and slammed it. “Look what you’ve done.” Her arm swung toward the damage. Shattered glass from the taillight dotted the asphalt, and her trunk lid had sprung loose from the lock.

Trying to monitor his frustration, he shook his head. “It wasn’t my fault. I checked my mirrors.” He peered back at her. “More than once.” Yet in the back of his mind, he knew he’d been distracted by his thoughts. Could he have been careless?

She bustled closer. “Do you think I don’t check my mirrors?”

“I have no idea, but—” Seeing tears collecting in her eyes, he felt less inclined to argue. “Are you okay?” He skimmed her frame, noticing beyond her distraught expression how attractive she was.

Her eyes snapped from him to her sedan. “I’m fine, but I can’t be without a car, and if I report the accident, my insurance rates will go up. I can’t afford—” Words rushed from her like air from a pricked balloon. Once she recovered, she waved her hand in the air. “Never mind. It’s not your problem.” She paled and pressed her hand to her heart, her fingernails painted the color of a ripe peach.

He eyed her hand. No wedding band, and probably a one-car family. Ice slid through his veins. He didn’t allow himself to make mistakes. Not when it came to driving. He pulled out his wallet for his insurance information. “We should call the police.”

Panic struck her face. “Police? For what? They don’t care about fender-denters.”

Despite her alarmed expression, he chuckled. “You mean fender-benders.”

She evaded his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I suppose. The police have enough to do. Neither of us is injured.”

She gave a decisive nod and strode closer to her damaged sedan. When she tried to force down the trunk lid, it resisted.

“Let me help.” He moved past her and forced it downward, but it refused to catch. He eyed his quarter panel damage. It fared better than her sedan. “I might have something in my car to tie it down.”

When he lifted his trunk lid, a horn tooted. He gave the guy a shrug as he pointed to the damage. The man made an obscene gesture before he backed up and moved off. Quinn shook his head. What happened to kindness and compassion?

After scouring inside his trunk for a piece of rope, anything to secure the lid, he found nothing. Discouraged, he straightened. “You didn’t happen to purchase something in the hardware store we could use, did you? String? Twine? Tape?”

She shook her head. “No. Only O-rings, gaskets, washers, pipe joint compound and a wrench.”