To Keith Lessman, who not only gave me the benefit of his truly invaluable feedback and a killer cover, but his bottomless love, which—along with God’s grace—is the wellspring for any romance that I am able to write.
And finally, to the amazing God of the Universe, the other “Love of my Life.” Without You, I would be totally and utterly lost—in my marriage, in my life, and for all eternity.
About the Author
Julie Lessman is an award-winning author whose tagline of “Passion With a Purpose” underscores her intense passion for both God and romance. Winner of the 2009 ACFW Debut Author of the Year and Holt Medallion Awards of Merit for Best First Book and Long Inspirational, Julie is also the recipient of 14 Romance Writers of America awards and was voted by readers as “Borders Best of 2009 So Far: Your Favorite Fiction.”
Chosen as the #1 Romance Fiction Author of the Year in the Family Fiction magazine 2012 and 2011 Readers Choice Awards, Julie was also awarded #1 Historical Fiction Author of the Year in that same poll and #3 Author of the Year, #4 Novel of the Year and #3 Series of the year. She resides in Missouri with her husband, daughter, son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter and is the author of “The Daughters of Boston” series—A Passion Most Pure, A Passion Redeemed, and A Passion Denied. Book 1 in her “Winds of Change” series A Hope Undaunted ranked #5 on Booklist’s Top 10 Inspirational Fiction for 2010 and is followed by A Heart Revealed and A Love Surrendered.
Julie loves to hear from her readers, so please feel free to contact her through the following:
Her website at www.julielessman.com
On Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Julie-Lessman/98874268454
On Twitter at @julielessman
On the Seekerville blog at http://www.seekerville.blogspot.com/
Or on her personal blog, Journal Jots at http://www.julielessman.com/journal-jots1/
A Note to My Readers
Thank you for joining me on the journey of Marcy and Patrick O’Connor, a couple who learned, as I did in my own marriage of thirty-four years, that true romance is a marriage with God in the center. This is a theme of my heart that I weave into each and every romance novel I write because I know first-hand that blessings abound in a marriage, in relationships, and in one’s life when God’s precepts are front and center.
Although this is Marcy and Patrick’s love story, their marriage and epilogue are both based on my own marriage to a man whose love—like God’s—makes me feel cherished and whole. In fact, Marcy’s epilogue was taken from my life almost to a word, that precious morning when I awoke in much the same way to the startling realization that God does, indeed, do abundantly, exceedingly more than we think, hope, or pray.
I invite you to continue the journey of Marcy and Patrick in both “The Daughters of Boston” and “Winds of Change” series, six books that not only weave a love story for each of their six children, but continue the love story of a rogue and the woman who wooed him to God.
The family saga begins with A Passion Most Pure, book 1 in “The Daughters of Boston” series and finally ends with book 3 in the “Winds of Change” series as listed below. Descriptions of each can be found on the “Books” tab of my website at http://www.julielessman.com/books/ and excerpts of my favorite romantic and spiritual scenes for each of my books can be found on the “Excerpts” tab at http://www.julielessman.com/excerpts/.
“The Daughters of Boston” Series
Book 1: A Passion Most Pure
Book 2: A Passion Redeemed
Book 3: A Passion Denied
“Winds of Change” Series
Book 1: A Hope Undaunted
Book 2: A Heart Revealed
Book 3: A Love Surrendered
And now, here’s an excerpt from A Passion Most Pure. The year is 1916, and Marcy and Patrick have just had a fight, which prompts Patrick to return to Brannigan’s Pub for the first time in twenty-one years. Ironically, it’s at Brannigan’s where Patrick encounters a new “Southie rogue” who has been wooing Patrick’s sixteen-year-old daughter against his wishes.
***
Patrick tried to remember the last time he'd crossed the threshold of Brannigan’s Pub––certainly not within the last twenty-one years. There'd been no need. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Marcy, she had been all the intoxication he needed. But tonight … well, tonight he needed more, and with lips leveled in a hard line, he once again returned to the dark and smoky confines of the pub that had once been a second home. He looked around. Almost nothing had changed, except for the faces and style of clothing the patrons wore. They still crowded around the same rickety piano and leaned against the same endless cherrywood bar, which looked as if it were polished to a gleam twice a day. The smoky haze was the same, the smells were the same, and the lure and promise of trading in one's problems for a night of revelry was as strong as ever.
Patrick only recognized a few faces, such as Lucas Brannigan, the proud owner of this, the most successful pub in the Southie neighborhood. And, of course, there was Tommy Thomkins, minstrel to those who found themselves alone and miserable, catering to anyone who would drink up his melodies along with bottomless mugs of beer.
Patrick found a vacant barstool and wearily sat down, wedged between a bloke passed out on the bar and a young couple so entwined they only required a single stool. The sleeping man beside him was snoring loudly, cheek pressed hard on the cherrywood bar. Drool funneled from his mouth into a pool of saliva. Patrick forced himself to stare straight ahead at the endless rows of bottles overhead, each reflected in the smoky mirror behind, each a tonic of choice for various problems of the afflicted. The couple to his right disengaged momentarily to sate their thirst, and Patrick caught the nauseating scent of perfume mingled with sweat and stale beer. The whiff of it reminded him just how much Marcy had changed his life for the better.
The thought of her now brought a strange mix of sadness and longing, and more than a bit of anger. She had never done this before, never questioned his authority or spoken to him with anything other than the utmost kindness and respect. And certainly, she had never turned him out of her bed before. Patrick nodded to the bartender who pushed a foaming mug toward him, the frothy rise of beer tumbling over the edge before slithering into a puddle on the bar. Not unlike, he thought to himself ironically, his own miserable life at the moment—sweet nectar spilling over, horribly wasted.
Patrick brought the mug to his lips. The biting brew tasted strong and good going down, hopefully to wash away the hurt still lodged in the pit of his stomach. He would have only one, he vowed to himself. This wasn't the end of his life, after all, only an argument, a minor interruption in a 21-year love affair that was the impetus of everything good in his life. She would know by his absence just how much she had hurt him, and she would be sorry and ready to welcome him back. Patrick downed the dregs of the mug and blinked in surprise when the bartender magically produced another, its glorious overflow enticing him to succumb.
His sweaty palms hovered around the glass. He was wrestling with pushing it away when he felt the presence of someone standing close, lodged between the hopelessly entangled couple and himself. He blinked up at a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, and his fingers recoiled as if he’d touched a hot stove. Her dark hair billowed loosely about her shoulders while her green eyes assessed him with open curiosity.
She nodded at his beer. "Drink up––my treat. And tell me now, sweetness, just where in the world have you been keeping yourself!" It was a statement of pleasant surprise rather than a question, and Patrick could do nothing but stare, completely caught off-guard by the woman before him. Her smile broke into a delighted grin at the effect she seemed to be having, and she sidled closer until barely inches away, her gaze level with his. "What, cat got your tongue? The name's Lucy, and it appears you could do with some company. We have a table over there––why don’t ya join us?"
She waited while he grappled with his response, then noticed the ring on his left hand. I
f she was disappointed, she never let it show as she rested her hand on top of his.
"Look, it's only a beer with some friends. We'll send ya back to your darlin' wife with your virtue intact, if that's what's worrying ya."
Patrick knew in his gut he should turn and go. Something within desperately wanted to walk away and return home to Marcy, work things out, and hold her in his arms once again. But as the beer took effect, the allure of home seemed impaired, temporarily overshadowed by the irrefutable charm of this place and the girl before him.
Lucy seemed to be holding her breath as she awaited his answer. When a smile pulled at his lips, she exhaled slowly, carefully. Her eyes were gleaming. "I seriously hope that's a yes!"
"It is, at that. One beer with you and your friends. Then I'll be on my way." It was only an innocent drink with friends, he reasoned, nothing more and nothing less. Within the hour, he would be back home with Marcy where he belonged, where he would be right now if she hadn't turned on him so. She had provoked him to this end, he decided, and would soon realize just how much she'd hurt him.
"Everyone, this is—" Lucy turned to Patrick, an unabashed grin on her face. "Saints alive, I was so taken with ya, I completely forgot to get your name."
"It's Patrick … Patrick O'Connor. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
"Oh no, Patrick, you have it all wrong. The pleasure is all Lucy's!"
The group broke into uproarious laughter as Lucy punched the arm of the sloshed man who’d spoken. Someone ordered a round of beer. They raised a toast to Patrick, and then one to Lucy, and then to no one in particular at all. Their laughter was contagious and their beer ever flowing, and before long, Patrick found himself wondering why he’d ever stopped coming here. Through the fog in his mind, he felt someone tugging his sleeve. He looked up and saw Lucy in a blur, smiling like a trio of angels.
“Let’s dance,” she said.
And so he did, unsteady on his feet as they slowly moved to the melancholy sound of Tommy Thomkin's soulful ballad. She burrowed in his arms, startling him when the scent of her perfume aroused his senses. She lifted her gaze to his mouth, her lips parted slightly. Closing her eyes, she waited for the kiss she seemed to expect. Painful seconds passed as a war waged within him, and Patrick could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Suddenly, his arms went slack at her waist. He faltered back.
Lucy opened her eyes to see his retreat, and before he could turn her away, she kissed him. Abruptly, he shoved her away, a mixture of arousal and shame in his gut. He stood there, weaving, sweat trickling inside his collar.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, beneath the numbness the beer created and the passion Lucy ignited, an appalling guilt began to gnaw. He thought of Marcy, alone and asleep in his bed, their children slumbering in the rooms down the hall, and a sense of shame began to counter the intoxication of Lucy's seduction.
What had possessed him to do this? He hadn't touched another woman for over twenty-one years, hadn't sought it out or wanted to, ever. But tonight he'd fallen. The virtues he espoused to his own children now returned, a bitter derision of his own failure. Dear God, forgive me, I’ve been a fool. But, surely a fool who could put an end to his folly. Patrick stared at Lucy, his eyes too clouded to see her face. He hesitated before touching her arm. "Lucy, I'm sorry, but I should go. Lucy … I love my wife."
Lucy’s lips quivered into a weak smile. She put her hands on Patrick's face. "That's as plain as the nose on your face, Patrick O'Connor." Stepping on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Go on with you, now."
Patrick nodded, lowering his gaze from her eyes. His body went to stone at the sound of a voice from behind.
"Well, good evening, Mr. O'Connor! Hello, Lucy …"
Patrick's stomach rolled. Slowly he turned to look into the smiling face of Collin McGuire.
"You two make a lovely couple," Collin remarked.
A rush of hot blood flooded Patrick’s face as he confronted the man who had been the source of so much grief in his family. He wanted to slap the smirk off his face, to berate him for enticing his daughter and driving a wedge between them. He wanted to hurt him because he stood there judging him for this unspeakable moment of failure, just as Patrick had always judged him. Patrick felt the sweat crawling down the back of his neck.
Collin offered a smug smile while Lucy blinked, totally bewildered. "Collin, do you know Patrick?"
"Lucy, do you know he's married?"
Patrick started to lunge, but Lucy held him back.
"Yes I know he's married! Ya think I'm blind, do ya?"
"This isn’t as it appears …" Patrick's breathing was heavy, his face hot. He hated himself for being in a position where he felt the need to explain himself to this rabble. And he hated the superior look on the rabble's face even more.
"Is that so? Well you know, that's often the case, isn't it, Mr. O'Connor? For instance, it certainly looks for all practical purposes as if you were––shall we say, dancing?––with a woman who's not your wife.”
Patrick winced as if Collin had struck him.
"But we both know despite how it looks to the naked eye … " Collin paused, his eyebrows arched in apparent assessment of the situation, "we can find not only a perfectly innocent explanation, but ourselves in grave danger of gross misjudgment, wouldn't you say?"
Patrick's humiliation was complete. Suddenly he felt very tired, very sober, and completely drained of all energy. Shame weighted him down like a ton of steel and guilt. Resigned, he turned to Lucy. "Lucy, I owe you an apology, I owe Collin an apology, and most of all, I owe my wife an apology. I should have never come here tonight. I love her, and I let momentary anger get in the way of that. I was wrong to succumb to your obvious charms. Please forgive me."
Lucy managed a sad smile. "Oh, go on with ya now, Patrick. It was me who came after you, now didn't I? I saw the ring on your finger, plain as day. I was just hopin' it didn't mean all that much, that's all. Go on, hurry home to that wife of yours. I swear by St. Patrick himself she's one of the luckiest women in all of Boston. And don't ya know I'm giving her fair warning. If she ever treats you badly, I promise I won't be letting go quite so easy." Lucy grabbed Patrick's coat from the chair and threw it at him, a feeble attempt at a smile on her face. "Go on, get out of here!"
Patrick caught his coat and nodded before turning once again to Collin. "There's not much I can say, Collin. You're right. I have judged you––a most common error, I suspect, among fathers of the sixteen-year-old girls you've pursued. I apologize for that. And I apologize you had to see me make the biggest mistake of my life. But I don't apologize for being Charity's father. That in itself entitles me to decide whom my daughter may court and whom she may not."
Patrick put his coat on. "You know, Collin, I was a lot like you when I was your age; had quite a way with the ladies, if you will. I certainly broke more than my fair share of hearts, much as I suspect you do. As Charity's father, I prefer you break someone else's heart other than my daughter's, someone who can handle it. For God's sake, she's sixteen and very vulnerable. I know she looks like a woman, but she's just a little girl––my little girl."
Some of the arrogance faded from Collin’s face as he watched Patrick through wary eyes.
Patrick continued. "You're a man. You need to find the love of a good woman, not a young girl. I found the right woman, and it changed my life forever. Filled me with contentment and happiness I never dreamed possible."
"Except for tonight.” Collin’s voice was quiet.
Patrick's countenance fell. "Yes, except for tonight. Tonight something happened that hasn't in over twenty-one years of marriage. We fought––bitterly. Tell me, Collin, do you know what we fought about? Would you like to know what shattered our evening and sent me bolting into the night? Well, I'll tell you. We fought over Charity. Over whether or not she should have the right to go out tonight. Could we trust her? Was the discipline of confining her to the house for three weeks enough to impact her? These
are nervous questions that race around in a parent's mind, sometimes creating an environment of volatility. And so we fought––over whether or not the punishment we gave for seeing you behind our backs was enough. Enough to let her know we loved her, and as her parents, knew what was best for her. Maybe you can tell me. Was it?"
Collin's eyes filled with surprise. "Why don't you ask your daughter?" he said, his tone belligerent. "She's your ‘little girl’, after all."
Patrick’s anger surged with renewed fervor. "I'm giving you fair warning, McGuire. Stay away from my daughter."
"Or what? How can you stop me except by making it a little more difficult? I have a lot of feelings for your daughter, Mr. O'Connor. She's not just another conquest to me. Charity loves me, and that's pretty tempting for someone who's never had a lot of that in his life. I don't want to be at odds with you, truly I don't. But don't think you can cut me off from Charity's love."
"And what's more important? Charity? Or the fact that you think she loves you?"
The truth of his query seemed to catch Collin square in the gut. For a moment, his gray eyes widened, then clouded to charcoal as he brooded over Patrick’s words. Collin jabbed at the back of his neck, cursing under his breath. He leered at Patrick, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "It doesn't matter. Charity loves me. And nothing––not the fact I may or may not love her, nor the fact she's only sixteen, nor the determined dictates of her father––nothing will stop that strong-willed girl of yours from seeking me out, nor me her. It's a fact of life, Mr. O'Connor, and one I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to."
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