Their Christmas Prayer. Myra Johnson
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she thrived on exactly the kind of duties her new position entailed. She loved working with people, she loved designing effective media content and she loved the challenges of project management.
But one huge difference from the LA advertising firm? Her job at the Juniper Bluff Chamber of Commerce meant she’d be dealing with neighbors and friends, the same folks she might run into any day of the week at the supermarket, the coffee shop or at church. Her new boss was already stressing to her the importance—more accurately, the necessity—of community involvement. After years of intentionally keeping her professional and personal lives separate, this new way of operating would take some getting used to.
No doubt about it, her first official meeting with the board of directors had her on edge. She might already have the job, but she needed to assure the local business community of her dedication and enthusiasm. A quick perusal of her skirt convinced her the coffee mishap was barely noticeable. With a confidence-boosting inhalation, she checked traffic before crossing First Street.
Following a path through the town square, she nodded politely to other townsfolk enjoying the brisk, sunny day—families walking their dogs, children playing tag, a romantic couple gazing into each other’s eyes across a picnic table. On her left, Brooke passed the commemorative statue of Jake Austin, a town hero who’d died while rescuing a family from a car accident. Down another path to the right stood the gazebo, where a local country band entertained a small but growing crowd who clapped to the beat and sang along.
Small-town life. Brooke paused to soak it in. If she tried really hard to make this work, maybe she could be happy here. And perhaps, in time, the weight of the past few years would begin to slide off her shoulders.
Yes. Yes, I can do this. A determined smile forming, she continued across the square.
As she neared Main Street, someone seated on a park bench stood abruptly. When she sidestepped to avoid the man, her heel caught in the grass, and she scrambled to keep from toppling.
A steadying hand gripped her forearm. “Easy there. You okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” She looked up into a familiar face, with eyes as dark and brooding as a stormy sky—the same blue-gray eyes that had so recently intrigued her across the coffee shop table. Regaining her footing, she caught the strap of her purse before it slipped off her shoulder. “Shaun, right? Hi again. I’m having an unusually klutzy day, apparently.”
“Entirely my fault.” With his free hand, he stuffed his cell phone into his jeans pocket. His furrowed brow and sideways glance suggested his thoughts lingered elsewhere—possibly on a worrisome phone call?
Brooke could easily see why Diana and others might be curious about this mystery man. If Shaun O’Grady wasn’t a rancher, then what did he do for a living? And what profession allowed a guy to take several weeks off so he could hang out with his future brother-in-law until his sister got married?
And since not a single one of these questions was any of her business, she bit her tongue and asked instead, “Weren’t you in a hurry to deliver those supplies?”
“I was. I mean, I am.” Shaun released a tense half chuckle. “And you’ve got that meeting.”
“Right. So I suppose we should both be on our way.”
Neither of them moved.
Then they both moved at the same time and ended up doing an awkward dance in the middle of the path.
Laughing, Brooke held up both hands. “Hold on, okay? I’ll go right, you go left.”
Shaun shuffled from one foot to the other. “Wait—my left, or your left?”
“Um, my left. I think.”
A grin spread across Shaun’s face, the glint of sun in his eyes turning them more blue than gray. He took both her hands. “I think I’ve got this. Just follow my lead.” Taking two giant steps to his right, he moved her in a counterclockwise quarter-circle. “There. Now we’re both headed in the right direction again.”
Fingertips tingling, Brooke freed her hands. She nodded toward the curb. “And I’m guessing that’s your truck over there with all the fencing stuff in the back?”
“My future brother-in-law’s, actually. But yeah.” Looking slightly discomfited, Shaun ran a hand across the curling brown hair at his nape. “Nice running into you again, Miss Willoughby. Hope your meeting goes well.”
“Thanks. Have fun playing rancher, Mr. O’Grady.”
While Shaun jogged toward his pickup, Brooke continued to the end of the block and crossed Main Street. As she pushed open the chamber office door, Shaun drove by on his way around the square. He waved, and she waved back, then shook her head as she stepped into the lobby. The man had definitely piqued her curiosity, and he was certainly easy on the eyes. But since it didn’t sound like he planned on being in Juniper Bluff much longer, she’d do well to put him out of her mind and focus on impressing the board members with everything she hoped to accomplish as the chamber’s new communications manager.
On the drive back to the ranch, Shaun turned up the radio full blast. Kent’s preference for twangy country music didn’t exactly appeal, but maybe it would help get his mind off the unsettling morning he’d just been through. If his introduction to Brooke Willoughby hadn’t been plenty to shake him up, the phone call from missions director Henry Voss more than made up for it.
“We need you back in Jordan, Shaun,” Henry had said. He’d gone on to describe a position overseeing a newly formed network of house churches in Amman. “You’re my number one choice, but I need your answer pretty quick.”
Shaun didn’t feel anywhere near ready to return to full-time service. “I don’t know, Henry. I’m still figuring things out.”
“I understand. Take a couple of weeks to think it over and pray about it. I know God will lead you in the right direction.”
He only wished he shared Henry’s confidence—not in God’s wisdom but in his own ability to discern the Lord’s leading.
Or could this position be God’s answer to Shaun’s confusion? Maybe God just needed him to release his faith struggles and simply trust again. All he had to do was call the director back and say yes.
After parking the pickup next to the barn, he opened the recent calls list on his phone, his thumb hovering over Henry’s name. But the pinch in his gut wouldn’t let him complete the call. Barging from the truck, he stuffed the phone in his pocket. All he wanted right now was to lose himself in the monotony of helping Kent plant fence posts.
So he threw himself into that task, losing track of the time as the relentless work cleared his mind. By early afternoon, they’d set up temporary fencing through a section of pasture and connected the wire to a solar-powered charger. Afterward, Shaun moved out of the way while Kent climbed on Jasmine, his big black cutting horse, to herd several head of cattle into the fenced-off section. Kent said rotating grazing areas helped maintain the ecology of the land. Or something like that. All Shaun knew was that he’d worked up enough of a sweat stomping fence posts into the ground that he no longer needed his quilted flannel jacket.
With the task complete, he waded through knee-high grass and weeds to where he’d parked the pickup on a narrow rutted lane. A few minutes later, he caught up with Kent at the barn. Going cross-country on Jasmine, Kent had made better time and probably enjoyed a smoother ride as well. Bouncing over all those rocks and potholes had been painfully reminiscent of Shaun’s most recent missionary years in Ethiopia. His tailbone still ached at the memory of driving an ancient Land Rover with no shocks over roads better suited for donkeys and goats. Jordan, on the other hand, held much more pleasant memories...but was that incentive enough?
Pocketing the truck keys, he clamped his teeth together. Henry had given him two weeks. If God hadn’t given him a crystal clear no by then,