by Lyn Cote
Dear Reader,
This collection of stories has been a special project that we—Lyn Cote, Lenora Worth and Penny Richards—started several years ago. Just as in “Wed by a Prayer,” when Aunt Becky prays for her niece, Jo, and Jo’s friends, Hannah and Elizabeth, prayer has been a powerful force in our lives.
Our stories show that even when we’re disillusioned and hurting, sometimes a prayer from a friend or loved one can help get us through. In “The Dream Man,” Elizabeth felt abandoned because her father left her, but Jake taught her that our Father is always with us. His example gave Elizabeth the ability to find her faith again. And to find a happy ending!
In “Small-Town Wedding,” Hannah refuses to grant the forgiveness to Griff that God had granted to her. Through prayer, friendship and a lot of growing in her faith, she was able to forgive, put the past into its proper perspective and find a real, mature love.
I hope you enjoy this series of stories as much as we enjoyed writing them. God bless!
Lyn Cote
Lenora Worth
Penny Richards
Since childhood, Lyn Cote always wanted to be a writer. She began work on her first book in 1983 when her daughter (now in college) was thirteen months old. After writing five manuscripts and being rejected by editors everywhere, Lyn discovered that a whole new market for inspirational fiction had opened in the 1990s. This brought together her desire to tell stories and the desire to reach out to others with the encouragement that the good news brings. That is the wonder of writing for God. Lyn writes light romances, romantic suspense and her favorite, historical sagas. Visit her at www.booksbylyncote.com or drop her a note at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54568 or at [email protected].
Lenora Worth knew she wanted to be a writer after her fourth-grade teacher assigned a creative writing project. While the other children moaned and groaned, Lenora gleefully wrote her first story, then promptly sold it (for a quarter) on the playground. She’s written fifteen books for Love Inspired and Steeple Hill, including the 2004 release of After the Storm as a single title. Married for thirty years, Lenora has two children. Before writing full-time, she worked in marketing and public relations. She has served in her local RWA chapter and as president of Faith, Hope, and Love, the inspirational chapter of RWA. She also writes a monthly column for a local magazine.
Penny Richards has been an active member of her church for more than thirty-five years. She’s sung for weddings and funerals, led ladies’ class discussions and home Bible studies. Through the efforts of a good friend, Penny was involved with the parish jail ministry for almost two years. It was during this time that she began to understand why Jesus fraternized with sinners: it’s impossible to reach others with a holier-than-thou attitude. Penny likes writing about all kinds of relationships and hopes her writing shows readers that no matter what the situation, God is in control and that His grace truly is sufficient. The author and her husband have been married almost forty-one years. They have two sons, a daughter and eight grandchildren—six boys and two girls.
Blessed Bouquets
Lyn Cote
Lenora Worth
Penny Richards
Published by Steeple Hill Books™
STEEPLE HILL BOOKS
ISBN 1-55254-329-3
BLESSED BOUQUETS
Copyright © 2005 by Steeple Hill Books
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
WED BY A PRAYER
Copyright © 2005 by Lyn Cote
THE DREAM MAN
Copyright © 2005 by Lenora H. Nazworth
SMALL-TOWN WEDDING
Copyright © 2005 by Penny Richards
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.SteepleHill.com
CONTENTS
WED BY A PRAYER
Lyn Cote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
THE DREAM MAN
Lenora Worth
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
SMALL-TOWN WEDDING
Penny Richards
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
COMING NEXT MONTH
WED BY A PRAYER
Lyn Cote
In memory of Betty Gray, the best boss I ever had—who gave so much joy to others and who possessed an unmatched zest for life. Thanks for everything, Betty!
To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for,
to be certain of the things we cannot see.
—Hebrews 11:1
Prologue
Jo Woodward couldn’t bear another mournful glance or pat condolence. And, from their strained expressions, neither could her friends, Elizabeth and Hannah.
“Let’s get out of here,” Hannah whispered and led the way. Jo and Elizabeth followed her, fleeing the church basement where the ladies were cleaning up after the funeral luncheon.
The three burst outside into the May afternoon. The bright spring sunlight of the Arkansas day dazzled their eyes after the dim church basement. Gentle breezes played with their Sunday-best skirts. Jo looked at her two stricken friends—Elizabeth with golden-brown curls and Hannah with beautiful dark hair. How could the world look so happy on this awful, hateful day?
“Do you want to walk home now?” Jo asked, touching Hannah’s soft brown hair, brushing it back from her beautiful face.
“I don’t want to do anything ever again,” Hannah said. Pulling away, she walked over to the ancient oak tree on the church’s front lawn and leaned against it, her back to them. As children, they’d often played around the tree’s twisted and gnarled roots after Sunday school.
Jo and Elizabeth exchanged glances and moved up close to Hannah. How did one comfort a friend who’d lost her one true love? Three days ago, Johnny Harrison had been killed in a car accident the night of Elizabeth and Hannah’s senior prom. Jo, only a sophomore, hadn’t heard the shattering n
ews until the morning. Griff, Johnny’s brother, had been driving which only added to the horror everyone felt.
“Losing Johnny,” Hannah said, her lower lip trembling, “it’s a sign.”
“A sign?” Elizabeth repeated.
Hannah turned to face them, leaning her back against the coarse-barked tree. “We all knew that falling in love and putting all our trust in a man was risky at best. Look at our mothers.”
Jo considered Hannah’s words. Each of their fathers had abandoned their mothers in one way or another. Too choked with her own sorrow, she couldn’t think of anything to say to counter or comfort Hannah. And obviously neither could Elizabeth.
“We thought God could make the difference for us,” Hannah said fiercely, “You two prayed with me that we’d find men who’d be true, who wouldn’t leave us….”
Like our fathers did, Jo added silently.
“Then Johnny fell in love with me and we thought it was starting. God was going to bring us everlasting love. But Johnny’s death says it isn’t going to work out for us.” Tears dripped down Hannah’s face. “Don’t you see?”
Unfortunately, Jo did see. The three of them had prayed that Hannah and Johnny would make it, that their love wouldn’t fail. Now Johnny was gone. “We didn’t have much hope in the first place,” Jo conceded.
“Right. And I’m not wasting my time praying anymore,” Elizabeth agreed, an edge to her voice. “Some families just don’t get happily-ever-afters. And that’s us. God just doesn’t care about us I guess.”
Jo didn’t like what Elizabeth said, but she couldn’t argue. This wasn’t the time to discuss God’s faithfulness. Whatever her friend thought, Jo knew God had carried her through the loss of her father and then her mother. Diplomatically, she groped for some words of solace. “But we’ve got each other,” she offered at last, breaking the terrible aching silence. “We’ve always had our friendship.”
“That will help us through this,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “We won’t bother trying to do the impossible. We’ll just stick together.”
Hannah grabbed one hand of each of her friends. “A pact then.” Her pretty face shone with tears. “We won’t put ourselves through something like this again. No men, but friends forever?”
“No men, but friends forever,” Elizabeth promised.
“No men, but friends forever,” Jo agreed solemnly.
From the church’s open doorway, Jo’s Aunt Becky had overheard everything. She felt her heart breaking for her niece and Jo’s two lifelong friends. Becky knew from her own experience that love could be lost. She’d lost hers to Viet Nam. But she’d never given up hope that she might find a new love.
Now her sweet Jo, Elizabeth and Hannah’s hopes had been shattered by one of those terrible end-of-senior-year tragedies that seemed to happen every May. Becky tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t. Sorrow for her niece and her best friends pressed down on Becky’s heart.
Oh, Lord, she prayed silently. Heal these three crushed hearts and bring them the loves they deserve. Her attitude then turned gritty. I’m going to pray this prayer until you grant it. These three girls have suffered enough from selfish hearts. Bring them three men with honest and loving spirits. Amen. And I mean it.
Chapter One
Ten years later
On Valentine’s Day in the late afternoon, Jo Woodward, reluctant maid of honor, tried to concentrate on the wedding couple to her right. Fettered in yards of peach satin, she fought the urge to fidget. But thoughts about what was scheduled at her shop after the wedding ceremony kept prickling her mind.
To distract herself, she looked past the bride and groom and caught a glimpse of the best man. What was with him anyway? Tall, dark and handsome, Bramwell Dixon, standing opposite her in a black tux, looked as if he’d sucked lemons for breakfast—vigorously and daily for at least the past ten years. If he didn’t want to be the best man, why had he said yes? But then who could figure out men? Not me. Not now. Not ever.
Jo accepted her cousin’s bridal bouquet as the solemn groom took the bride’s hand in his and began to recite his vows in a deep, quavering voice. Still not wanting to call attention to herself, Jo bent her head over the two dewy bouquets. She stifled a yawn. This week had been an endurance test as she’d prepared floral orders to go out on Valentine’s Day plus crafting all Leta’s wedding flowers in her shop yesterday.
White roses dominated the bride’s bouquet—white roses that symbolized eternal love. For contrast, she’d included pink carnations which denoted “I’ll never forget you” and had intertwined abundant delicate baby’s breath, bringing the hope of everlasting happiness. All of these sentiments and more she wished for her cousin. Well, a maid of honor could hope, couldn’t she?
Motion to her right caught her eye. She glanced sideways and watched Bram hand his friend the gold wedding band. Again, Bram snared and held her attention against her will. How could any woman ignore him? He was well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. He looked just like what he was, a former high-school and college football player and now the local high-school football coach. Make that the highly successful and popular new football coach.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded without a hitch and soon Jo prepared to follow the happy couple down the steps and up the aisle of the small church. Jo preferred jeans to bridesmaid gowns and the one she was wearing was a doozy. Why had her cousin chosen such a full skirt—and hooped at that? With care, Jo moved her feet, making a graceful turn in her billowing dress and its antebellum hoop.
Bram stared at her, his arm crooked, waiting for her hand. “What’s taking you so long?” he murmured.
Jo beamed an artificial smile up at him. “This is a wedding, not a race.” She took his arm and he tried to start off, pulling her along with him. She countered this with a tug on his sleeve. “Whoa, I’ve got to go slowly to control the swing on this crazy skirt.”
He halted. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Sorry.”
“And be careful not to step on my hem,” she cautioned him. “If you do, the hoop will lift up my skirt.”
Obviously appalled at this possibility, Bram looked at her hem as though it might spring to life. “Okay.” He again offered her the use of his strong arm, now for support as she negotiated each step.
“Thanks, Bram,” she whispered at the bottom.
He gave her a little smile and she forgave him. Of course, a man wouldn’t know that a hoop skirt could be tricky. Finally, they were on their way down the aisle. Leta and her groom Don were stopping to greet people on their way out of the church, letting each pew empty after they’d greeted the happy couple.
“What’s taking them so long?” Bram grumbled.
“Lighten up. This is the new way of avoiding a formal receiving line,” Jo said, switching her bouquet into another hand and running quick fingers through her short red hair. She liked it to look just a bit spiky rather than curly.
“What’s wrong with a receiving line?” He tugged at his collar which seemed too tight for his formidable neck.
Poor man. He probably didn’t like formal dress. “They’re boring,” Jo explained patiently, “and we’d be standing shaking hands for over an hour. This way, the bride and groom alone perform the civilities, so when we arrive at the reception hall, the party begins on time.”
“Who invented big weddings anyway?” Bram asked in an obvious rhetorical aside.
As a florist who did many weddings a year, she was ready for Bram’s question. She gave him a playful grin. “Obviously men.”
“Men?” He stared at her, both dark eyebrows lifted.
“Yes, centuries ago, men realized weddings were big business. They purchased all the fabric, designed all the clothing, hired the seamstresses to sew milady’s gowns and tailors to sew m’lord’s raiment, sold the flowers, crafted the rings and then they pocketed all those hefty profits.” She knew she was being provocative and she was enjoying it. Just try to blame all the wedding stuff on women.
Bram shook his head at her and then smiled at last. She could sympathize with him. Bram wasn’t that unusual. Few men enjoyed weddings. He just put into words what most men thought. And he didn’t seem to mind that their eyes were almost at a level. Some men didn’t appreciate her being almost six feet tall. But Bram didn’t look one bit intimidated.
So, letting the happy occasion restore her mood, she grinned at the wedding guests. Finally, they stood on the steps of the church in unusual February sunshine. People were blowing bubbles from little plastic bottles in the direction of the bride and groom. Leta was laughing. Don was smiling as they got into the streamer-decorated limousine which would drive around Prescott, honking.
Jo and Bram sat in the limo facing the newlyweds. Jo waved out the window and laughed at the people who stopped in their tracks to watch the wedding party drive by. But her mind lurched back to fretting over the recent threat to her business. Would what she’d planned for today work? Would it be enough to make a difference?
