Man Of Her Dreams. Patt Marr

Wichita. What had seemed a great idea earlier in the day lost its appeal by the minute.

      He’d done many impulsive things in his life, but the urge to make this trip could be his worst. What would he really accomplish by going home tonight?

      Home. Most people seemed to think of that place with such reverence. They wouldn’t if they’d been told, “You don’t belong here.” If there was one phrase that ought to be stricken from the English language, that was it. Deadly, powerful, hurtful to the bone, it could break a person’s spirit if he stayed around.

      But he’d been a kid back then, and just possibly, he’d been as wrong in his insights as his young patient this morning. The kid had been more scared of what his dad would say about the car being totaled than he was of his own injuries, and the kid had been very wrong. Ry had seen the boy’s father, bent over with grief at the loss of his son.

      How had the two of them got it so tangled up? Was it that way with him and his family? Had he seen things from a kid’s point of view and misunderstood?

      Unlike the kid, Ry had the chance to find out. For once, he would love to admit he was wrong. Make that twice. He’d been wrong to exclude God from his life. The sooner he made things right with his family, the better.

      His gut instinct said he was hoping for the impossible, that he was crazy to fly straight back into trouble. For years, words like, “Why can’t you be like your brother?” “As long as you live under my roof,” and “You don’t belong” had bounced off the walls of his mind like echoes in a deep, dark well. It had to end, and that began with forgiveness.

      Tonight, as the new year began, was the perfect time to show Christ’s love and prove that he wasn’t the rebel his family remembered.

      Ry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at being sandwiched in the center seat for so long. When he’d started the trip, he’d had an aisle seat, but a couple came aboard wearing Bride and Groom T-shirts and discovered they were both in center seats—one beside him. A couple ought to start their honeymoon together. Before selfishness could set it, Ry was on his feet, offering his seat to the groom.

      His new seatmate on the aisle was a heavyset lady who was clearly exhausted and had napped most of the way, though she wouldn’t be rested, not with the apneas she’d had. He’d kept an uneasy vigil, ready to wake the poor woman if she didn’t start breathing again on her own.

      She stirred now and sleepily said, “Are we there?”

      “Just about.”

      “I hope I didn’t snore. My husband says I do.”

      Her husband was right, but why embarrass the lady? “Who would notice with the engine noise so loud?” he said.

      The little guy in the window seat squirmed and said, “Ry, could we play some more?”

      Early in the flight, he’d felt sorry for the bored little guy and asked what was in his backpack. If Ry had known it would lead to endless action-figure fantasies, he might not have been such a pal. But one more time, he sent a plastic hero rocketing to a new mission.

      The lady beside him beamed. “You’re wonderful with children,” she said. “Do you have some of your own?”

      He shook his head. “I’m not married.” That, of course, did not preclude parenthood, but it did for him.

      “You’ll be a wonderful father,” she claimed. It was strange how women of all ages got misty-eyed over the sight of a big guy playing with a little kid, but if there were any more Brennans, it would be up to his brother.

      The youngest flight attendant, a very pretty redhead who’d stopped by a couple of extra times, stopped now to say to his little buddy, “Honey, you need to put away your toys. Stow that bag under the seat.”

      Ry gave her a grateful look. She returned it with a wink and slipped him a bit of paper. He’d bet their safe landing it was her phone number. Wow! She must need a New Year’s Eve date pretty bad to spend it with a superhero junkie.

      Unfortunately, even he had his standards. A guy ought to know the name of his New Year’s Eve date without having to read it off her ID badge.

      Yet it did make him smile to think of how disgusted his brother, Trey, would be if Ry brought her along on his first visit home in a decade. That made it almost worth doing.

      The hum of the plane’s engines changed, signaling their descent. If all went well, he would get to his parents’ house before midnight and give the first New Year kiss to the woman least likely to want it. Would his mother tell him to get out again?

      The metallic threads in Meg’s new strapless dress chafed the tender skin of her underarms every time she moved, no matter how careful she was. She would never wear the scratchy thing again. It should have stayed on the sales rack, and she should have purchased that soft, silky thing with the high neck. No wonder she hated to shop.

      But she did look good. Her image in the huge gilt mirror on the Brennans’ marble foyer wall gave her a nice boost of confidence. She had taken the time with her hair, and it fell in dark curls to her bare shoulders, contrasting nicely with her silvery-white dress.

      On the hanger, the dress had looked like a skirt with a stretchy band that should have gone at the waist instead of across her breasts where the clerk said it belonged. The scratchy, miserable thing did look gorgeous, skimming her body to her bare knees. She’d decided against the nuisance of panty hose, but accepted the torture of silvery sandal stilettos. Pain was worth it when shoes were this pretty.

      Unfortunately, she’d gone to this trouble for nothing. Mr. Right was not here. She’d made a thorough search. Most of the guests were Beth’s parents’ age, and the few eligibles weren’t meant for her. She wished she’d stayed home, though the Brennans’ caterers had done much better than popcorn and Snickers.

      She was on her second plate, tasting everything. At first it had been a problem, getting the food to her mouth without her inner arm contacting her scratchy dress, but she’d discovered a technique that worked. Holding her arm out awkwardly, she probably looked a little weird, but there was nobody here to impress, and why go home with abrasions?

      It was a lovely party with the rooms aglow with candles and still-beautiful Christmas decorations. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol, not even in the punch, but the party had a silliness that most people got out of a bottle.

      No doubt, it was the hats. The guests circulated, wearing the most silly, elaborate party hats imaginable. The Brennans spared no expense, and everyone wore them, even Beth’s dad, the great Dr. James T. Brennan, Jr. In the medical community, the man walked on water, but tonight he wore a satin sailor hat, cocked to the side, with the number of the new year flashing in gold lights on the brim.

      Beth wore a red satin beret with a coiled wire toy on top. It slid from side to side as if it had a life of its own.

      Meg’s hat, chosen for her by Beth, was worthy of a showgirl. Tall blue plumes sprouted from a silver crown, jiggling and waving with every turn of her head.

      Trey, on host duty at the front door, wore a cowboy hat with a long, spiky feather that made him look like he might be a nice guy. It was too bad he wasn’t.

      “What are you doing over here in the corner?”

      Beth had found her. Meg wasn’t surprised. Keeping tabs on each other—that’s what best friends did. Or they used to before Beth went to medical school.

      “Just enjoying the feel of my feathers,” she said, swaying to the music, letting the plumes dance.

      “If I know you,” Beth said, “you’re putting pairs together, just like you do at work.”

      Beth was right. “Call it an occupational hazard,” Meg joked.

      Beth stepped beside her and scanned the crowd from Meg’s point of view. “Okay, who goes with who?”

      “Sorry, I’m off duty,” Meg said, swirling sauce onto a