by Patt Marr
“A year ago tonight, I made a deal with God. I promised God I would stop obsessing about finding Mr. Right and trust Him to do the finding. I thought God would drop the guy right on my doorstep, but I must have prayed wrong or something. The year’s over and there’s no Mr. Right,” Meg explained.
Beth held her watch up to the light and said, “Thirty minutes to midnight. It could happen yet.”
Behind them came a familiar voice. “Hey, you two are missing the party.”
They turned to see Beth’s brother Ry strolling toward them with a killer smile and such easygoing confidence that Meg caught her breath. Ry was better looking than ever, and that was saying a lot.
Beth looked at her sharply, then at Ry and back again. A slow grin spread across her face. “Well, there you go,” she murmured so softly that only Meg could hear. “Talk about an answer to a prayer….”
PATT MARR
has a friend who says she reminds him of a car that’s either zooming along in the fast lane or sitting on the shoulder, out of gas. Her family says he’s dead right.
At age twenty, she had a B.S. in business education, a handsome, good-hearted husband and a sweet baby girl. Since then, Patt has had a precious baby boy, earned an M.A. in counseling, worked a lifetime as a high school educator, cooked big meals for friends, attended a zillion basketball games where her husband coached and her son played and enjoyed many years of church music, children’s ministries, drama and television production—often working with her grown-up daughter.
During downtime, Patt reads romance, eats too many carbs, watches too many movies and sleeps way too little. She’s been blessed with terrific children-in-law, two darling granddaughters, two loving grandsons, many wonderful friends, a great church and a chance to write love stories about people who love God as much as she does.
Man of Her Dreams
Patt Marr
I dedicate this book to the man of my dreams, the man
who has loved me for decades, my husband, Dave Marr.
Faith is the confidence that what we hope for
is going to happen. It is the evidence of
things we cannot see.
—Hebrews 11:1
Dear Reader,
This book is dedicated to the man of my dreams. He is my rock, my strength and the greatest blessing of my life. When we fell in love, he said we would have fights, but I couldn’t even imagine it. I thought we would share everything, but it turned out that I didn’t want to fish any more than he wanted to shop. When he wasn’t interested in my every thought and feeling, I felt lonely. When our values and wants did not match, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. The man was not my best friend, and he didn’t need me to be his.
Are you nodding your head in understanding or shaking your head at my stupidity? Either is fine. I have shared my youthful misunderstanding for two reasons:
One—if your marriage is not what you thought it would be and you’re praying for an answer, maybe it’s to appreciate what you have and find a new best friend, maybe someone from church. Live each day with love and laughter.
Two—if you’re looking for Mr. Right, he may be closer than you think, but not as perfect as you dreamed. If he’s a good man, it may be your joy to love him forever.
My husband just came into the room. I said, “Listen to what I just wrote.” He was glad to and sat down, looking outside at a foursome on the golf course. I had just read, “He is my rock, my strength and the greatest blessing of my life,” when he jumped up and exclaimed, “Nice shot!”
That’s the way we are. I want to talk about life. My guy wants to live it. What do we have in common? Only our family, our friends, our church…and our best friend… Jesus. It is more than enough. So much more.
Please visit my Web site, www.pattmarr.com, and e-mail me from there or write to me at P.O. Box 13, Silvis, IL 61282. Hearing from you is such an encouragement.
In Him,
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
Paramedic Ry Brennan and his partner pushed an empty gurney toward the ambulance bay of Manhattan General, both of them eager to reach their rig and finish their shift. Ry had a plane to catch, and his partner, a cranky, competent woman named “Doc,” had a secret life she wouldn’t discuss.
When his two favorite ER nurses stepped squarely in their path, ready to tease, his partner muttered, “Not again! Brennan, you mess around, and I’ll make you sorry.”
He laughed, enjoying this part of their daily routine. “The ladies just want to wish us a happy New Year, Doc,” he said, keeping her pace. Why irritate her more than usual? Hopefully, the nurses would move before Doc ran them down.
And they did. Parting, they walked beside the gurney. The taller one, Tonya, tossed a toffee-colored curl over her shoulder and said, “Look at him, Rachel. With that laid-back air and easygoin’ smile, doesn’t Ry Brennan just take your breath away?”
“Oh, brother,” Doc muttered with a long-suffering sigh.
“You gotta love a guy who’s all that and doesn’t seem to know it,” Rachel agreed, her dark eyes full of fun.
“Doc, how long do you think a man has to work out to get muscles like that?” Tonya asked, joking.
“Less time than you spend curling that pretty hair.”
Ry had to laugh. That was Doc, in for a zinger every chance she got. It was just silly talk, a balance for the misery and pain they saw in their work every day.
“Doc, you know this man better than most. Do you think there’s the slightest possibility that our guy Ry doesn’t have a New Year’s Eve date tonight?”
The silly way Tonya rhymed his name put a ghost of a smile on his partner’s face. Way to go, Tonya. She deserved a gold star. Doc could use a whole load of smiles. It bothered him how she seemed to hate life.
“Yeah, Doc, help us out here,” Rachel said earnestly. “Don’t you think Ry would like the company of a pair of love goddesses to ring in the new year?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Doc shoved the gurney on, not breaking pace.
He grinned at the nurses. They’d asked for that. Doc cared about her patients, but not much else. He and Doc had an unspoken rule. He didn’t talk about his love life—the quantity and quality of which was greatly exaggerated—and she didn’t talk about her life at all.
“Ladies, I’d love to celebrate with you,” he said, “but I’m catching a flight home to be with my family.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” Tonya cooed.
For once, Doc looked at him with approval.
“Where’s home?” Rachel asked.
“California.” No way would they get more than that. He was as secretive about his past as Doc was about her present.
“California!” Tonya said, a big grin on her face. “Why am I not surprised? I thought you looked like a surfer.”
Actually, he looked like a guy who’d played quarterback in college, though he was leaner these days. “That’s me, all right, hangin’ ten,” he said, making them laugh.
He would leave it at that. When he’d lived in California, he’d been too busy to surf even if the beach was close by. He’d loved his job as a pool boy, both for the money he earned to buy a forbidden motorcycle and for the endless embarrassment it caused his country club parents.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” h
e called back, exiting the wide double doors. That advice left them plenty of room—or it would have until recently. Accepting the Lord as his Savior had already changed a lot in his life.
He shut the rear doors of the ambulance as Doc, without comment, took the driver’s seat. The woman had a control issue about driving, but Ry didn’t mind. Doc was a good driver, and he’d rather be in the back with the patients anyway.
“You’re really going to California?” she asked, pulling away from the hospital.
“Do you think I’d make that up to get out of a date?”
“I never know what you’ll do.”
“Aw, Doc. I never lie.”
She snorted skeptically but didn’t argue. How could she? Even before he’d become a Christian, he’d been a stickler for the truth. There were times when patients might think he was more optimistic about their condition than he actually was, but that was for their benefit. It made them easier to treat when they were calm.
“When are you coming back?” she asked, scowling.
“How sweet of you to ask. I knew you cared,” he teased. That’s the way it was between them. He let her be as grumpy as she wanted. She gave him room to have fun. It made the shift pass.
She sighed heavily. “If I’m going to have to break in a new partner, I’d like some time to get used to the idea.”
He smiled to himself. That was Doc’s way of saying she’d miss him. Well, not him, but the change in her routine. “No need to fret, Doc. I’ll be back after our forty-eight hours off. I couldn’t live without you.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve got time coming. Take it.”
He’d thought about it. The trip was a lot of money and travel for a couple of nights, yet even that might be too long. His fuse could be pretty short when it came to his family. If he didn’t feel so strongly about starting the new year off right, he wouldn’t be going home. Unless this visit went as he prayed it would, he would never go back.
Meg Maguire slid the clothes hangers from one end of her closet to the other, searching for something that would do for the Brennans’ New Year’s Eve party. There were plenty of bridesmaid dresses, but nobody wore those, no matter what the bride said about choosing a dress that would work for other occasions.
What other occasions? Meg’s job required jeans and pants in the basic colors, some tops and a few jackets. For social occasions, she added shorts. That was it. If there was a pair of panty hose in her chest of drawers, it would be a miracle, and any dressy shoes in those boxes on the top shelf would have partnered one of the bridesmaid dresses.
She should have gone shopping, but she would rather clean the grout in her shower than shop. It wasn’t that she was so hard to please. Just the opposite, she liked a lot of colors and styles. There were plenty of size fours that fit. It was the multitude of choices that made her crazy. As often as not, she came home empty-handed.
The Brennans’ party was definitely a dress-up affair, or it used to be in the days when she’d been best friends with Beth and Ry. When they were little, they’d spied on the guests, laughed at them in their party hats and had more fun than anyone.
She glanced at the bedside picture of the three of them taken at Disneyland when she and Beth had been toothless six-year-olds and Ry was only a couple of years older. There was such pure joy in their young faces that she loved that photo.
She’d been so lucky to have them as her unofficial sister and brother. Adopted into her heart, she’d loved them as surely as she loved her older brother, Pete, who had been their faithful rescuer, while their older brother, Trey, had been their worst enemy. A born tattletale, he’d practically forced Beth and Ry to hang out at the Maguires’.
Down the hill from the Brennans’, the Maguire family had a big yard where kids gathered to play. Inside the house was a filled cookie jar and a refrigerator stocked with cold drinks. Meg’s mom was always home, though usually busy in her studio, sculpting the art pieces that made her famous. Meg’s dad sometimes stopped by during the day and was home every night from his job as a general contractor. He joked with the kids, often played with them and treated the Brennans as if they were his.
At the Brennans’ house, it was a totally different atmosphere. Meg hated to go there. Their professionally landscaped grounds won Garden Club prizes, but they weren’t designed for kids to enjoy. The whole house was kid-unfriendly. TV and electronic games were not allowed, and the maid had to enforce Mrs. Brennan’s no-snacks rule if she wanted to keep her job. If she gave the kids a break, Trey invariably told.
Trey—Dr. James Thomas Brennan III. Just the thought of him made Meg’s stomach churn. He’d been a snooty, bratty kid, and he’d become an arrogant, unlikeable man with an arrogant, unlikeable wife.
Maybe she was wrong, but Meg still blamed Trey for Ry leaving the way he did, though Deborah Brennan might be more to blame. The pressure his mother put on Ry would have turned any good kid into a rebel who chose to go his own way, no matter the cost.
Meg hated the idea of having to be civil to that woman and to the other Brennan men—Trey, his dad, his granddad and his uncles—all of them medical doctors who looked down on Ry for breaking free. She was glad he had, and sad for Beth who hadn’t escaped. Sure, Beth said she liked being a doctor, but Meg had to wonder. Apart from her work, Beth had no life.
Meg plopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing she hadn’t promised Beth that she would show up tonight. For Beth, who would soon occupy an office at Brennan Medical Clinic, the party was a command performance. If Meg weren’t so lonely for Beth’s company, she would rather stay right here, just as she had last year, and party with a liter of diet cola, a bag of microwaved popcorn and a six-pack of Snickers.
She’d had offers for group parties as well as single dates, just none from anyone who mattered. At midnight, if she couldn’t be in the arms of a man who put stars in her eyes and a forever feeling in her heart, she’d rather be alone. Like Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve was for lovers, only better because it was all about hope for tomorrow.
She glanced again at the little bedside photo of Beth, Ry and herself—three happy little kids. Where would Ry be tonight? Of course he would be with a great-looking woman. That was a given, but Meg prayed that woman would love him enough to make up for the love he’d missed, growing up.
Leave it to her to think of that. When she made her living, helping couples find each other on Dream Date, she naturally thought that everyone was longing for love. Ry might not be ready to settle down. On the other hand, she was so ready, it hurt.
It was a year ago tonight that she’d asked God to help her find her guy. Believing He would, she’d begun every day, fully expecting to meet Mr. Right. A year was a long time to wait. Had her prayer gone amiss, or had she missed her guy?
She checked her watch. There were still a few hours to shop. It wasn’t likely that the man of her dreams would be among the Brennans’ guests, but the Word said to pray and to believe. If she were going to meet Mr. Right tonight, she ought to be wearing something better than an old bridesmaid dress.
Ry eyed the lighted seat belt sign and wondered how many times the plane would circle LAX before the pilot received permission to land. His initial enthusiasm for the trip had worn off someplace over Wichita. What had seemed a great idea earlier in the day lost its appeal by the minute.
He’d done many impulsive things in his life, but the urge to make this trip could be his worst. What would he really accomplish by going home tonight?
Home. Most people seemed to think of that place with such reverence. They wouldn’t if they’d been told, “You don’t belong here.” If there was one phrase that ought to be stricken from the English language, that was it. Deadly, powerful, hurtful to the bone, it could break a person’s spirit if he stayed around.
But he’d been a kid back then, and just possibly, he’d been as wrong in his insights as his young patient this morning. The kid had been more scared of what his dad would say about the car b
eing totaled than he was of his own injuries, and the kid had been very wrong. Ry had seen the boy’s father, bent over with grief at the loss of his son.
How had the two of them got it so tangled up? Was it that way with him and his family? Had he seen things from a kid’s point of view and misunderstood?
Unlike the kid, Ry had the chance to find out. For once, he would love to admit he was wrong. Make that twice. He’d been wrong to exclude God from his life. The sooner he made things right with his family, the better.
His gut instinct said he was hoping for the impossible, that he was crazy to fly straight back into trouble. For years, words like, “Why can’t you be like your brother?” “As long as you live under my roof,” and “You don’t belong” had bounced off the walls of his mind like echoes in a deep, dark well. It had to end, and that began with forgiveness.
Tonight, as the new year began, was the perfect time to show Christ’s love and prove that he wasn’t the rebel his family remembered.
Ry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at being sandwiched in the center seat for so long. When he’d started the trip, he’d had an aisle seat, but a couple came aboard wearing Bride and Groom T-shirts and discovered they were both in center seats—one beside him. A couple ought to start their honeymoon together. Before selfishness could set it, Ry was on his feet, offering his seat to the groom.
His new seatmate on the aisle was a heavyset lady who was clearly exhausted and had napped most of the way, though she wouldn’t be rested, not with the apneas she’d had. He’d kept an uneasy vigil, ready to wake the poor woman if she didn’t start breathing again on her own.
She stirred now and sleepily said, “Are we there?”