Page 67 of A Whim and a Prayer

Chapter Forty-Four

Winnie stood in the entrance of the O’Connor parlor with a plate of oatmeal cookies in her hands, heart swelling with love as she watched her grandfather snore, asleep in his chair.

Patrick O’Connor—or “Pop” to the grandkids—was without question, one of the best things that had happened to Winnie when she’d been adopted into the O’Connor clan. From the onset when she’d been a five-year-old runt with crossed eyes, he’d quickly become one of the few men in the world that she truly liked and trusted.

Studying him now, she had to admit for a sixty-nine-year-old male who snored like a freight train, Pop was still an attractive man. She tipped her head with a smile, thinking he could be an older movie star with his curly salt-and-pepper hair and square-cut jaw, more handsome than movie stars his age like John Huston or even Clark Gable, who was a good twenty years his junior.

“Winnie, I’m taking Grandma to the doctor later,” her mother had said at breakfast, “so did you want to ride along to visit Pop and take him the cookies I made?”

Pop!

She’d instantly jumped at the chance because suddenly there wasn’t anyone she’d rather talk to more. Her heart had been heavy since Beck had kissed her in the kitchen, making avoiding him that much harder since now he lived in her mind night and day. And not in a friendship way either.

The thoughts so troubled her, she’d been having nightmares ever since, jolting up in a cold sweat in the wee hours of the morning, rattled and heart racing. Her mouth tamped tight. Not unlike the recurring nightmares she always had, especially the one where someone was stalking her ...

“Where is the little freak?”

A crash against the wall. Winnie trembling under the bed in her nightgown.

“Not worth the air that she breathes …”

Winnie shuddered at the memory. Only this nightmare with Beck always started out good—they’d be laughing and talking and then he’d kiss her, and for a while, it would be the most wonderful feeling in the world. But the more they kissed, the less she liked it until she ended up hating him and wanting him gone. There were tears in her eyes whenever she woke up, and she knew it was an omen that she could never let that happen.

Tiptoeing into the parlor, Winnie didn’t have the heart to wake Pop because she overheard Grandma say he’d been having trouble sleeping ever since he retired last year. But she needn't have worried because one loud snort out of his mouth did the trick, wildly rustling the newspaper in his lap.

Quietly moving to sit on the sofa, Winnie suddenly jumped at the sound, prompting a giggle to pop from her lips. “Holy moly, Pop, you scared me with that loud snort.”

“Not as much as it scared me,” he said with a chuckle, setting his newspaper aside before patting the arm of his chair. “Come give this old man a hug, Pooh”—he squinted as he eyed the plate of cookies in her hand—“and are those what I think they are?”

“Yes, sir, they are—your favorite oatmeal cookies, compliments of Mama.”

Peering at her beneath thick dark brows with just a hint of silver, his lip quirked into a near smile. “You didn’t bake them?”

She grinned as she offered him the plate. “Heavens, no, Pop—I love you too much to do that to you. This is Mama’s doing.”

“And thank God for that,” he said with a grin and a wink, promptly relieving her of the plate of cookies. He put one in his mouth and set the rest on the end table next to him, then patted the arm of his chair once again. “So, I’ll take a hug instead.”

She promptly complied with a chuckle, then settled in on the wide arm of his chair where many a chat had taken place over the years.

“So … cookies notwithstanding, what brings you to visit this old man?”

“Oh, Pop, you may be old, but you’re still gorgeous, and you know it. Not to mention one of the smartest people I know.”

He laughed and grabbed another cookie. “So, then, darlin’, is it my good looks or my wisdom that brings you here today?”

“Both.” Winnie chewed on the edge of her lip, a shy smile peeking through. “But mostly your wisdom.”

“Ah … a wise choice, darlin’, so suppose we cut to the chase and you tell me what’s on your mind.”

Without question, this was one of the qualities Winnie loved most about Pop. He didn’t beat around the bush, he just skipped the small talk and got right down to business. Drawing in a deep breath, Winnie sank against his shoulder. “Well, you remember the play you came to with Beck and me in the starring roles?”

A grunt erupted from his mouth as he gave her waist a slight pinch. “As if I could forget! Watching my granddaughter in a love scene like that isn’t easy to let go of, darlin’.”

“Exactly!” Winnie said, shifting to share Pop’s ottoman with her feet up and crossed at the ankles. “And apparently it isn’t easy for Beck to let go of either, Pop, and that’s a problem.”

“How so?” Pop reached for his pipe and lit it, and instantly the hints of maple and vanilla from his Black Cavendish tobacco soothed Winnie’s spirit.

“Well, you know that Beck is my very best friend, and has been even before Daddy and Mama adopted me, so we’re very, very close.”