The Doctor's Bride. Patt Marr

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СКАЧАТЬ why was she scared out of her mind by her new job? All she had to do was walk into the Beverly Hills Terrace Hotel, follow the signs to her Love Into Action workshop and speak on a topic she knew thoroughly. She had the promise that the Lord would give her nothing too great to bear, not even this new skirt that felt too short and this jacket that felt too snug.

      Her sisters had said the suit fit just right, but they’d also said she looked great in it. That had to be more like a confidence builder than a true assessment, but then, what did a T-shirt-and-khaki-pants kind of woman like herself know? Her wardrobe had been perfect for the work she’d done the last eight years. If she had her choice, she would still be doing that job and wearing those clothes, but dwelling on that only made her depressed.

      Her grand makeover wasn’t much of a morale booster either. She’d liked her natural look, but her sisters had persuaded her to put herself in the hands of pros who’d trimmed her long dark hair and taught her to apply makeup that made her eyes pop and her skin glow. She now owned all these bottles, jars and tubes of makeup that they expected her to use every day.

      Since she’d been about six, she’d concluded that God had created her for the express purpose of making her tiny, beautiful sisters look adorable in comparison to herself, but that wasn’t quite as true since her makeover. The ugly duckling had become something of a swan. Sort of an apprentice swan. A tall apprentice swan.

      She still towered over her sisters, but she’d gone shopping with them last week without dreading it as much as usual. That hadn’t lasted long. They’d looked appalled at everything she’d pulled off the rack. Granted, she was eight years behind in fashion trends, but was her taste that bad?

      At least her suit today was blue, her favorite color, and she loved her new strappy heels. She still wobbled when she walked in them, but they added inches to her height of five feet nine and made her feel really, really tall. From this view she could look anyone in the eye. And she couldn’t miss the sign atop a conference-room door that read The Clayton Room.

      That was supposed to be her room, but there had to be some mistake. This room was way too big. This was not the small, intimate environment she’d been promised for her first speaking engagement. Even when she’d pictured herself in a small room with a handful of people, she’d felt queasy. But this room! Her knees sort of buckled, and she sank to a chair on one of the aisles.

      Aisles! More than one!

       Lord, help! You know my heart. I want to serve You, but I can’t do this! Maybe this new job isn’t Your will, or maybe I’m just in the wrong room.

      “Chloe! I see you’ve found your room.” A personable, gray-haired man extended a welcoming hand. “I’m Craig Zook, the workshop coordinator.”

      “It’s nice to see you, Craig.” Her voice came out steady, despite her near-panic. “I think I must be in the wrong room.”

      “No, this is all for you,” he said with a satisfied smile, scanning the many chairs. “I know it’s not what we discussed, but blame the room change on these pictures in the program. You’re in every one with children from Bangladesh, Thailand, Indonesia, Nicaragua, Peru and places I’ve never heard of.”

      “Since I don’t have experience as a speaker, my supervisor thought the pictures would give me credibility.”

      “Then, mission accomplished! You’ve created quite a buzz, Chloe Kilgannon. Our conferees want to see the speaker who’s lived her topic, ‘Loving Children—Face to Face.’ I know God’s going to use you today.”

      She’d come here, believing that.

      Conferees were drifting in, so she headed for a chair near the stage. Maybe she could pray her panic away. She opened her program to the pictures and felt the familiar heart tug of loving these children.

      When she’d first been told that her bout with dengue fever meant the end of fieldwork, she’d thought her heart would break. How could the Lord use her better as a seminar speaker? Raising public consciousness to the need of loving children more was a job that needed doing. And she would do it…if she could make it to the stage without throwing up.

      Dr. Zack Hemingway waited at yet another red traffic light, the seventh since he’d been counting. He could see the Terrace Hotel from here, and he could imagine his mom sitting alone at the Love into Action conference, wondering if he would show up for the last workshop before lunch or if he’d show up at all. He’d said he would meet her for breakfast, but an emergency surgery had changed that.

      The day after his dad’s funeral three months ago, when she’d mentioned how much she wanted to attend the Love into Action conference here in L.A., he’d wanted to shout. Not only was Mom making plans for a new life, he could give her a gift that didn’t involve him “settling down,” which was Mom-talk for saying she wanted grandkids.

      The light changed and Zack inched forward in the heavy traffic. Another five minutes and he’d be sitting in the workshop she’d chosen. It had to do with the global needs of children. They’d show those heartbreaking pictures of little kids with their tearful eyes and ask for donations. He would rather write a check, skip the conference and drive Mom up to Santa Barbara for a day of fun in the sun.

      Finally, Zack pulled into the Terrace Hotel drive, tossed his car keys to a parking valet and took off at a jog. What was the workshop called? Loving Children—Face to Face?

      He hurried toward the right room, straightening his tan suit jacket. Mom said the color looked best with his hair, a nondescript brown cut so short it couldn’t possibly matter. He tightened his blue tie, a present from her because it matched his eyes. Would she notice he’d made the effort?

      Finding the Clayton Room was easier than spotting Mom. The room was packed, and every chair seemed to be taken. There she was—second row, center—sitting beside an empty chair. She must have had faith he would get here.

      He slid in beside her and said, “Sorry, I’m late.”

      “But you’re not,” she said, giving him one of her sweet smiles, complete with dimples. “It’s just starting.”

      From her seat near the stage, Chloe stopped praying long enough to glance around. It looked as if every chair was filled. Bile rose in her stomach.

      “Hi Chloe, I’m Marilyn James, your workshop moderator.”

      The lovely woman extending her hand looked familiar. Most of the moderators were Hollywood celebrities, but Chloe was too out of touch to recognize her.

      “Are you ready?” the woman asked with an encouraging smile.

      Chloe opened her mouth to say she was fine. When absolutely nothing came out, the moderator gave her an understanding look and took one of her hands.

      “It’s only a little stage fright. Let’s pray about it, Chloe.”

      Chloe closed her eyes and gripped the woman’s hand.

      “Father God, You’ve given Chloe experiences that we need to hear about today. Strengthen her in every way. Help her remember that she speaks for You, and give her the assurance that You will have the right words for her to say when she needs them. In Your Son’s name, amen.”

      “Amen,” Chloe echoed, feeling more like herself. How could she have let herself get so worked up when this was all about the СКАЧАТЬ