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Praise for
DEE HENDERSON
#1 CBA bestselling author
“Henderson has steadily built a name for herself…intriguing…insightful and probing.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The name Dee Henderson is synonymous with authenticity. Her books shine with believable facts and descriptions while her characters think and act like the professionals they are.”
—Romantic Times magazine
“Solid storytelling [and] compelling characters…make Henderson a name to watch. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
“Ms. Henderson’s sparkling characters and superb plotting sweeps the reader along to a breathless conclusion.”
—Lori Copeland, bestselling author of A Case of Crooked Letters
The Marriage Wish
Dee Henderson
MILLS & BOON
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Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing.
—Psalms 30:11
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Marriage Wish. It holds a special place in my heart as my first book published. As a preemie myself, I’ve often thought about what would have happened had I not lived. This story was born while looking through the baby photo albums my mother kept through my long hospital stay.
I would love to hear from you. You can find me online at: www.deehenderson.com, e-mail: [email protected] or write me c/o Steeple Hill, 233 Broadway, Ste. 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Sincerely,
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
If Trish sat any closer to Brad, she would be in his lap.
Scott Williams watched his friend keep shifting closer to her husband on the couch and Brad keep trying to squeeze closer to the arm of the couch. Trish was doing it deliberately. Scott’s parents, sitting at the other end of the long couch, had plenty of room, but Brad hadn’t caught on to that fact yet. Scott wanted to laugh. The games newlyweds played.
No, he had to revise that, it wasn’t just the newlyweds. His sister, Heather, was sitting in her husband Frank’s lap, and they had been married ten years now. Heather was pregnant again and refused to sit down to rest so Frank had solved the problem. Heather didn’t seem to mind. She was flirting with her husband, whispering things in his ear when she thought no one was watching. Frank was enjoying it, Scott noted. He suspected they would come up with an excuse not to linger after the party was over.
His birthday party. He was thirty-eight today. Scott looked at the coffee table and was grateful to see there were only two gifts left. He really appreciated his parents’ efforts, and he was enjoying the night with his family and friends, but right at this moment he wished he had spent his birthday alone. He felt lonely, and being here just made the problem worse.
He sat in the winged-back chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a bowl of cashews at his elbow and his second diet cola beginning to sweat. His parents had cooked out for dinner, barbecued chicken with roasted potatoes and fresh ears of corn. It had been a fun dinner, it always was when all the family was together, but he hated feeling like a third wheel. It had never bothered him before that everyone but him had someone special, but it was bothering him tonight. For the first time in his life he felt envy and it was a disquieting sensation.
He should be married by now. For years his focus had been on building his career, serving in his church, being a loyal friend, being a much loved uncle to his niece and nephew. He had never thought he needed a wife to make his life complete. He had been wrong.
His gaze settled on Amy a couple steps away, holding his next-to-last gift. When he saw her, his face relaxed into the special smile he reserved just for his niece. She wore the dolphin shirt he had brought back from Florida for her. It was her “most favorite” shirt she had told him when he had arrived that night. Heather said she had trouble getting it off long enough to wash it. Scott grinned. He would buy this little lady the moon if she wanted it. She was four, and he adored her. Amy grinned and climbed into his lap. “Uncle Scott, this feels like a book,” she told him importantly. He took the package and weighed it in his hands. “I think you’re right. Like to help?” He turned the package to let her at the tape. With full concentration, Amy worked at ripping the paper.
“Thank you, Mom.” Margaret had bought him a cookbook, this one on breakfast foods. She knew he loved to cook, had seriously considered becoming a professional chef back in his college days. He didn’t have company
