Their Christmas Prayer. Myra Johnson
The hard part would be narrowing down the options to what would best fit the abilities and interests of the service committee.
Armed with computer notes full of information from the agencies she’d called, Brooke arrived at Diana’s Donuts the next morning a few minutes before seven. She was surprised to find Shaun already holding a table for them.
“You really are an early bird,” she said as she set down her things.
Shaun smiled over the rim of his coffee mug. “Didn’t want to hold you up in case you were in a hurry to get to work.”
“No worries. I now officially have my boss’s go-ahead for this venture, which means we won’t have to meet at zero dark thirty next time.” She covered a yawn. “Be right back after I get some coffee.”
Diana greeted her at the counter. “Conspiring with the handsome new stranger, I see.”
“Conspiring—really?” Brooke rolled her eyes. Safer not to acknowledge the handsome new stranger remark at all—not that she hadn’t noticed. In fact, the more Shaun’s beard grew out, the more her gaze drifted to his manly chin. “We’re just working together on this church outreach thing.”
“So your dad told me when he and Tripp dropped by here yesterday.” Diana passed Brooke a mug of steaming coffee, then leaned closer, elbows resting on the counter. “I hear he’s a pastor who’s been serving on the mission field. What else have you found out about him?”
“Honestly, you never used to be this gossipy in college.” Lifting her mug, Brooke offered a sugary-sweet smile. “On the house, right? Thank you so much.” She ignored Diana’s raised-eyebrow stare and sauntered back to the table.
Shaun seemed to come out of a daze as she sat down across from him. Straightening, he offered a brief smile. “Ready to get down to business?”
Brooke studied him. “Your heart still isn’t in this, is it?”
“Let’s just say I’m continuing to reserve judgment.”
“Believe me, I understand.” Maybe if she focused less on the Christmas angle and more on the community service aspects, it would be easier to detach from her emotions.
Shaun released a resigned sigh. “I did jot down a few thoughts, though.”
“Good. We can combine your ideas with what I’ve gleaned from area aid organizations.” Yes, let’s keep this all business. She reached into her tote for her tablet computer. Tapping a few icons, she brought up her notes from yesterday’s calls.
“Wow, high-tech.” With a wry laugh, Shaun tugged a folded paper from the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. “Hope my handwritten jottings aren’t too old-school for you.”
“As long as your hen-scratching is decipherable, I’m good.”
Shaun’s eyes narrowed in feigned offense. “My penmanship is excellent, and I can produce my third-grade report card to prove it.”
Every time a touch of the man’s humor rose to the surface made it easier to like him. Maybe they could actually make this work. Wiggling a brow, she held out her hand for the paper. “I prefer to judge for myself, if you don’t mind.”
He slapped it into her palm, then sat back and smugly crossed his arms.
“Hmm, yes, a graceful slant, nicely rounded letters, clean and confident lines. Quite passable. Well done, Mr. O’Grady.” Her teasing expression turned apologetic. “Excuse me. I guess that should be Reverend O’Grady. I didn’t know until the meeting that you’re a minister.”
Shaun glanced away, his jaw clenched. “Wish Emily hadn’t said anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Brooke murmured, concerned she’d somehow offended him. “I didn’t realize you wanted to keep it private.”
“It’s not that so much.” Drawing a deep breath, Shaun folded his hands on the table. “But people respond to clergy a little differently, and since I didn’t come to Juniper Bluff for anything more than some much needed R and R, I don’t advertise my professional background.”
Brooke nodded. “That helps me understand your reluctance to get involved in this service project. If you really don’t want to do it—”
He interrupted her with a weak laugh. “Hey, if it’ll give me a break from mucking stalls and hauling hay bales, I’m in. So let’s hash out some ideas, okay?”
They spent the next half hour comparing notes and listing the pros and cons of various service possibilities. Brooke quickly discovered they were coming at the project from two very different perspectives—hers shaped by results-oriented efficiency, while Shaun leaned toward the personal aspects. By the time Brooke had to leave for the office, they’d whittled the list down to the top three service projects they could agree on.
“Let’s think on these and meet again in a few days,” she suggested. “I’ll do more research, too.”
Shaun fingered his empty coffee mug, his brows converging to form a pensive crease down the middle of his forehead. “You know, there’s one thing we haven’t done yet, and I’m embarrassed for not suggesting it.”
Brooke looked up from tucking her tablet into her tote. “Oh? What have I missed?”
“We haven’t prayed about what we’re doing.”
Now Brooke was embarrassed, and more than a little ashamed of how her mother’s lengthy illness and death had slowly eroded her prayer life. “You’re right. I can get so focused on the details that I forget to bring God in.”
“But I’ve got no excuse.” Shaun’s mouth twisted in a pained smile, and he lowered his voice. “I’m a pastor, remember?”
The resignation in his blue-gray stare shifted something in Brooke’s heart. Diana was right—there was much more to Shaun O’Grady than met the eye. “Would you like to say a prayer now?”
Shaun bowed his head, and Brooke did the same. “Lord, we’re two newcomers to this town and church, but for whatever reason, we’ve been called upon to serve. Guide us and help us to do our best for You and for those who will be blessed by our efforts. In Your Son’s name, amen.”
“Thank you,” Brooke said, a catch in her voice. “Remind me to have you pray at each of our meetings.”
“We could take turns, you know.”
“Uh, no, that’s okay. You’re the pro in the prayer department.” With a quick breath, she stood and slid the strap of her tote to her shoulder.
Walking out together, they agreed to meet again on Saturday, and Brooke hurried across the square to the chamber office. There, at least, she could pretend for a while that she had everything under control.
The next few days had Shaun overanalyzing everything about Wednesday’s meeting with Brooke—including his openness to pray. Proved he and God were still on speaking terms, anyway, even if he was still light-years away from discerning the Lord’s plan for his life.
Walking one of Kent’s horses out to pasture on Saturday morning, he gave the gentle sorrel mare a scratch under the chin. Posey snorted her appreciation, her warm breath forming clouds in the chilly air. “You’ve got it good here, girl,” Shaun said as he unbuckled her halter. “Maybe if I spent my days munching grass and rolling in the dust, life wouldn’t seem so complicated.”
“Talking to horses is good therapy.”
Shaun turned to find Kent grinning at him across the fence rail. “One thing’s for sure—they don’t give me grief like my future brother-in-law.”
Kent released the