Page 19 of A Whim and a Prayer

Beck pulled away from the curb, and Winnie studied him out of the corner of her eye, figuring a little silent treatment would help her cause. His profile was clean-cut and serious and way too handsome for a best friend, but thank God that’s all he would ever be.

A chill shivered through her at the thought of seeing Beck as anything more, because that would ruin everything they had, and she couldn’t risk that—ever! She often wondered if somehow she’d been irreparably damaged at the orphanage—not only by parents who rejected her—but by the insults and rejection from other boys because whenever a guy took an interest in her, she’d grow cold as ice in no time, dumping them before their interest could grow.

And if that ever happened with Beck? She shivered a second time, prompting him to take his own jacket off without a word and hand it over while he continued driving her home.

“Thanks,” she whispered as she put it on, his warmth and scent cocooning her in safety and peace. She honestly didn’t know what she’d do without him. His threat earlier had rattled her as always when he’d used it to get his way, but he was the only person in life she felt she could completely reveal her heart and soul to, so she always gave in.

Why? Because he was the first human being who had ever truly loved her more than himself, way before her family came into her life, and she depended on him like air.

Abby had called him her “guardian angel,” and Winnie knew that he was. Not that she gave God much credit for sending him down—she barely gave God credit for anything after being dumped on the stoop of St. Mary’s, sick and starving. Which was a definite bone of contention between Beck and her since she was sure his unshakable faith in the Almighty had to be stronger than any angel’s.

He once told her that his first name meant shelter or tranquil waters, which was so fitting because he’d been providing emotional shelter for her since the day he first defended her from a bully at the orphanage when she was only four. Truly “tranquil waters” that poured so much love, peace, and wisdom into her life. And even more appropriately, his middle name was Liam, which meant “protector,” a name he never failed to live up to.

“Winifred means ‘blessed and pure,’” he’d continued after he’d told her about his own name, “and ‘holy reconciliation.’” But the only thing she agreed with was ‘blessed and pure,’ because she certainly was—‘blessed’ to have him as a best friend and ‘pure’ as the driven snow since she never let any guy get close enough for anything else.

He’d lifted her chin with his finger, brows arched. “Which means, Winifred Dennehy, that if my prayers have any say, someday, you’re going to see God for who He truly is—the Lover of Your Soul in a true romance that will save you in every way.”

She’d just shaken her head and laughed, thinking his occasional thoughts about becoming a priest were so fitting, even though she spent many a prayer—rare as they may be—that that would never happen. A third cold freeze skated her spine as she wrapped his jacket closer about her. Heaven knows she couldn’t risk losing him to God any more than losing him to her own fickle nature if he ever became more than a friend.

“Still mad at me?” He turned to look at her, the affection in his smile melting away any residual anger she may have had.

She drew in a deep breath, letting it slowly seep through her lips again. “No, not anymore. But honestly, Beck, I wish you’d trust me more than you do. If anybody knows how crazy I’ve been about Brayden McCarthy, it’s you, ever since those fatal kisses in The Taming of the Shrew sophomore year.”

She turned to face him, wishing she could convince him she was growing up and needed to follow her heart. “So, why do you fight me so much?” Her mouth skewed. “Other than the fact my mother browbeats you into it.”

“You know why, kiddo,” he said quietly. “He’s almost six years older than you and even if he wasn’t, I’d still fight you on it—”

“You’re almost six years older than me!” she countered with a thrust of her chin.

“Yeah, but I’m your friend—not a guy looking to make a play for you. Besides, he’s got a reputation that doesn’t bode well for any female—seventeen or seventy—and I don’t. For pity’s sake, the guy’s been in so much trouble, he’s been held back twice in high school, not to mention other things I don’t want to go into.”

Other things. Winnie looked away, unable to hold Beck’s worried gaze. Beck would never tell her what the other things were, but she’d heard rumors that she didn’t believe for a minute. Brayden had always been nothing but nice to her—warm, complimentary, kind, and helpful with her lines in the play. And most important of all, he made her feel pretty and desirable, unleashing feelings in her she had never felt before.

And desperately wanted to feel again …

Shaking his head, he peered at her through questioning eyes. “I don’t get it, Win. You’re sharp as a whip in school without even trying, but when it comes to street smarts, I hate to tell ya, kiddo”—he inhaled deeply, air hissing through a tight smile—“you’re blind as a bat, not seeing the real world—or the dangers within—in the true light of day. Especially when it comes to McCarthy.”

She lifted her chin, her tone as stubborn as her intent. “I can handle him, Beck.”

He laughed as he put his blinker on to turn on their street, casting another quick glance her way. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. What? You gonna beat him up like you used to with the boys at the orphanage? You’re barely a twig of a girl, Pooh, so no matter how tough you think you are, older men are nothing to fool with.”

He eased up in front of the curb of her house and put the car in gear before turning the ignition off. He gave a quick tug to one of her curls. “And McCarthy’s at the top of that list. You need to stick with the boys your own age, kiddo.”

“But I never like any of the boys my age after I go out with them,” she said, hating the whine in her voice.

“I know.” He grinned and opened his door. “A built-in safety net if you ask me, so you should be grateful.” He winked. “Liking a guy too much at your age can be dangerous.” He slammed the door and rounded the vehicle to open hers on the other side.

She scooted out, delivering a slitted look. “I’d be a lot more grateful if I didn’t have a best friend who wants to see me end up as an old maid.”

He chucked her chin. “But a very pretty ‘old maid,’” he said as he reached in to grab her purse and satchel. He latched both over her shoulder, then glanced at his watch. “Look at that—it’s only ten-twenty-five—in by curfew.”

“My mother’s curfew,” she groused, “not my Dad’s.”

He grinned as he shut the door. “I know—but it’s just more beauty sleep for your first day tomorrow and for mine—I have an early day too, you know, so good night, Win.” He raised his hand in farewell as he got into his car.

“Yeah, well it might have been,” she mumbled as she ambled up the sidewalk to her porch, tossing one final look while he drove away, “if not for my best friend.”

Chapter Thirteen