Their Christmas Prayer. Myra Johnson

the tinted windows and the angle of the sun, he couldn’t make out the driver’s face—until the door opened and Brooke emerged. She slammed her door, then stood with feet apart and arms crossed. “Good, I found the right place. Hello again, Shaun.”

      “Uh, hi.” His mouth tasted like dust and mown grass, which didn’t fully account for why he felt utterly speechless. “I—I was going to—”

      She held up one hand. “Let me say what I came to say. As reluctant as I was at first, I’ve made a commitment to see this project through. I’d like us to try harder to work through our differences, but if you’re calling it quits, I need to know now.”

      “I’m not.” The words came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and spoke more firmly. “I’m not quitting, Brooke.”

      Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’re—you’re not? I just figured—”

      “I’m really sorry about leaving so abruptly after lunch.” Finding his courage, he stepped close enough to see the golden glints in her brown eyes. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “When I get focused on something, I can be pretty opinionated, I know.”

      “That’s putting it mildly,” she muttered with a sidelong glance. Heaving a sigh, she went on, “You should also know I spoke with your sister this afternoon. She filled me in on a few things.”

      Wincing, Shaun lowered his head. “What exactly did Erin tell you?”

      “About how you never do anything halfway. How you got really burned out on your last missionary posting.” Brooke braced her hips against the fender. “How I should be patient and listen to your ideas.”

      Smiling inwardly, he sent his sister a mental thank-you. “So...you’re willing to continue working with me?”

      She didn’t answer right away. “In my advertising career I dealt with more than my share of difficult clients, and if they didn’t respect my professional expertise, I dropped them—politely, of course, but life is too short for that kind of stress.”

      “I get it. I’m a stress-inducing pain.” Shaun studied his dirt-encrusted sneakers for a moment before peering up at her. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

      Hands lifted, Brooke gave an exaggerated huff. “Why else would I have driven all the way out here to clear the air when I could be shopping for things I don’t need or pigging out on brownies and caramel lattes?”

      He must have lost something in translation, but as long as she wasn’t writing him off, he’d count his blessings. Which he probably hadn’t been doing enough of lately, and which most likely had contributed to his lousy attitude. His lips twitched in a smile. “So I guess we should talk more about these outreach ideas.”

      “Yes, but not today.” Lips tight, Brooke hiked her chin. “I’m not feeling particularly charitable at the moment.”

      “Toward me, or toward the world in general?”

      “Mostly you.”

      Did she have any idea the effect her persistence was having on him, the way her eyes glinted with mischief even as she threw him a peevish pout? Shaun tamped down the niggling twinges of attraction. “Okay, then. You name the time and place.”

      “I’ll check my calendar and call you tomorrow.” She turned to open her car door.

      “Maybe I’ll see you at church?”

      She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like “Not if I see you first.”

      Watching her drive away, Shaun massaged the back of his neck. Crazy as it seemed, he was definitely experiencing more than friendly interest in Brooke Willoughby. Pretty obvious the feeling wasn’t mutual, but since he didn’t foresee sticking around Juniper Bluff beyond the first of the year, he had no business dwelling on it. He just needed to stay on her good side long enough to organize the Christmas outreach.

      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.