Page 3 of A Whim and a Prayer

Teddy’s gentle tone held an apology, sympathy warm in dark brown eyes that matched his short brown hair to a strand. “The laws of nature, Abs—”

“And the powers that be who say it’s just flat-out weird,” Will finished off with a lift of his glass.

Abby rolled her eyes. “Oh, poo—you guys are no fun!”

A chuckle rumbled from Will’s lips as he slowly rose, eyes zeroing in on a non-related female across the room. He swiped a palm over his slicked-back hair. “Sorry, Abs, but I’m about to prove you wrong.”

“It’s just not fair!” Abby plopped her chin in her hands. “There are no decent boys here to dance with except Henry’s Army buddies, and Amy said he threatened them within an inch of their lives if they even looked our way.” In true dramatic fashion, she issued a long, wavering groan. “Beckett, where are you?!”

Chapter Two

With a pinch of Abby’s waist, Winnie nodded toward the door with a broad grin. “Walking in as we speak,” she said as she watched her best friend stride into the ballroom with that same quiet and confident air he’d always had when he’d defended her at the orphanage so many years ago.

As an abandoned child at the age of two, Winnie didn’t put much stock in trusting God like her family did, but she begrudgingly had to admit that at least the Almighty had done two things for her for which she’d be eternally grateful.

First, he’d given her a loving family through the Dennehys within the large Irish O’Connor clan, and secondly, He’d given her Beckett Campbell as a protector and best friend.

Imagine her shock after that same friend moved in with his new foster family right down the street when Winnie was six and Beckett going on twelve. Despite the age difference, they had picked up right where they’d left off in the orphanage, thicker than blood.

Abby’s lovesick sigh breezed against Winnie’s cheek as her cousin leaned close, gaze fixed on Beckett while she dug her lipstick out of her purse. “Sweet mother of Job, I get so tired of reminding you, Winifred Dennehy—Beckett Campbell is too good and too good-looking to waste on mere friendship.” Touching up her lips with lipstick and a swipe of glycerin gloss, she waggled her brows. “But on the other hand, if he’s mere friends with you, that means I still have a chance to snatch him up one of these days.”

Winnie grinned outright, studying Beckett as he paused to chat with several people on his way to their table, the gazes of her female cousins—and every other single woman in the room—now locked on his every move.

There was no question that at age twenty-four, her best friend was a dreamboat by most women’s standards, despite the slight limp from a leg injury that sent him home from the war early. A true patriot, Beckett had immediately enlisted in the Marines after Pearl Harbor despite Winnie’s pleadings, stationed on Midway in the South Pacific until he was badly wounded during the Battle of Midway. In true Beckett fashion, he’d taken enemy fire to carry an injured buddy to safety, earning him the Medal of Honor, but even that didn’t make up for his acute frustration at not being back in the fray.

The poor guy had been so despondent for months after his medical discharge, that Winnie had begged her father—editor-in chief of The Boston Herald—to help get Beckett’s mind off of it with a day job on the docks of The Herald while he finished college at night. Since Beckett was a workhorse by nature, that had done the trick, along with spending what free time he had with Winnie.

Winnie exhaled in contentment as she observed the best friend who was more of an older brother, and gratitude instantly welled as he stopped to greet her parents, who considered him to be family as much as Winnie did. For pity’s sake, he even looked like family!

Well over six foot like her father and brother, Beck was six foot three with blue eyes just like Winnie and the rest of the Dennehys, along with wheat-colored hair that turned almost white in the summer. Just like hers!

Annoyingly indifferent to style—in stark contrast to Winnie—he’d finally relented to her badgering, allowing her to sweep his hair to the side with hair pomade like Cary Grant, Winnie’s favorite movie star.

Despite a lean build, Beckett possessed broad shoulders and muscled arms thanks to his manual-labor job on the docks at The Herald. Not to mention weekly workouts at the gym with her brother and father—aligning her best friend well with the protector mode he always exercised with Winnie.

But for some strange reason, Beckett seemed totally indifferent to the effect he had on women, doling out selfless attention to any and all—especially her.

And yet, as attractive as he was on the outside, Beckett Campbell was sheer heaven on the inside—kind, sensitive, and the most caring man she knew outside of her family. And smart? Goodness, the man aced every test he took in school with a photographic memory that had been a godsend for Winnie over the years.

For every play she’d been in from freshman year in high school to last year’s Radcliffe and Harvard collaboration of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Beck provided Winnie with the perfect practice partner who knew every line in every play.

She released a quiet sigh. And, unfortunately, so spiritually minded that God was one of the few areas in which they were not in alignment. So much so, that when he periodically mentioned a deep-seated desire to become a priest, she would shiver in horror, threatening the death of their friendship if he did.

A priest for a best friend? A chill skated her spine. No thanks. Even so, it was no wonder women silently drooled over him. Holy Joe, if not for his obsession with prayer and God, Winnie figured she might, too, if he hadn’t been her lifelong best friend and big brother.

“Here he comes!” Breathy with excitement, Bella’s and Laney’s voices merged in unison.

“I get dibs on the first dance,” Abby declared, not about to let her older sisters edge her out when it came to Beckett—or on anything else, for that matter. Glancing up, she awarded him a bright smile. “Well, helllllo, Beckett—I see you finally made it to the ‘blue moon’ of the year.”

Approaching their table with the barest hitch in his gait, Beckett grinned, and Winnie couldn’t help but grin back. The flash of white teeth in his summer-bronzed face was one of her favorite things about her best friend, producing two of the deepest dimples she’d ever seen on a human being. Those blue-green eyes sparkled in complement like aquamarine, which was more than appropriate because Beckett was a true gem, as evidenced by the eager greetings around the table.

“Hello, everyone,” he responded in kind, pausing to drape his plain gray single-breasted sport jacket—unlike Winnie, he wasn’t a clotheshorse—over the back of an empty chair. He shot Abby a teasing wink. “A blue moon? What—Winnie’s behaving for once?”

Her smile dropping open, Winnie poked his arm with the obligatory elbow.

“Ha! That would take more than a blue moon, I’m afraid,” Abby said with an answering wink, deftly dodging Winnie’s other elbow. “No, silly, Henry tying the knot, which means, you lucky jive bomber, you”—her brows did a Groucho Marx—“get to dance the night away with all the gorgeous ladies at this table, beginning with me.”

His laughter was warm and low as he awkwardly cuffed the back of his neck, never comfortable with praise. “Well, I’m not much of a jive bomber with this limp, I’m afraid, Abs, but I will agree that I am pretty lucky to be one of the only dance-eligible males at this table, so you’re on.” He quickly halted her with a palm when Abby shot to her feet. “After I get a bite to eat because unfortunately, I worked overtime and missed dinner.”