Wednesday's Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

today, he’d met a woman who reminded him so much of Sally. An incredibly, insanely beautiful woman—full of innocence and youth and totally unaware of the allure she exuded. And he didn’t just meet her once, when he stupidly ruined a very expensive piece of equipment, but three times. For some inexplicable reason, she kept wandering back into his path. And then he did something even more stupid and asked her out!
    Asked out a total stranger, yet someone his body seemed to feel an instant attraction for. He dug his fingers into his palms and groaned. He didn’t need his body betraying Sally’s memory or betraying him, come to that. That part of his life was over.
    And he definitely didn’t need God, not that he believed in Him, dangling a possible future in front of him like a carrot. He detested carrots. He knew what he was missing without having it rubbed in his face—home, wife, family, love. That wasn’t going to happen. He would never know love or family again. He was cursed, destined to be alone.
    What he did need was a drink. The one thing guaranteed to numb the pain and torment flooding the hole where his soul used to reside. Walking to the lounge he undid the bottle on the sideboard and poured a glass. Raising it to his lips, he was about to down it, when his gaze fell on the photo on the mantelpiece.
    Sally. She hated him drinking. She knew he had a drinking problem—OK was a recovering alcoholic before she married him. He struggled with what it said in the Bible about drinking. And with some Christians drinking and some spurning it, he was even more confused at times. When he first became a Christian, not drinking was easy, but the craving was still there and one drink with a friend led to another and another.
    With Sally’s help he’d gone to AA classes and climbed on the wagon. He’d be lying if he said it was easy. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but Sally had been there every step of the way. Loving him, supporting him, not letting him give in. She refused to have anything remotely alcoholic in the house—not even the food flavorings. Shop-bought Christmas puddings were also banned, she made her own nonalcoholic version.
    He started drinking again after she’d gone. Gone. Left him. Passed on. Passed over. Died. All euphemisms for what was such an ugly, heart breaking, soul destroying word. Just a small word with such massive repercussions that had frozen his soul and stopped his life.
    Murdered.
    He raised the glass in a mock salute and swallowed.
    Sally was dead. Slaughtered in a terrorist attack on the mission field, in a massacre that hadn’t even made the news here. And he’d barely escaped with his life. He’d tried to save the others, but had failed in the attempt. Phantom pain from the scars shot through him and he rubbed his chin.
    Nothing he said or thought could change the fact she was gone. But there was something he could do. And when he caught up with the people responsible, they’d pay. Revenge was a dish best served cold and vengeance would be his. No matter how many years it took.
    He ran his fingers over Sally’s picture, a sudden surge of guilt filling him over this dinner “not-a-date” he’d arranged. He ought to explain to Sally.
    “Her name’s Miss Dorne. Jacqui Dorne. And it’s not a date. It’s just an apology dinner. Nothing more—I knocked a vase of flowers over her computer and killed it. You don’t mind, do you? It’s been eighteen months, but I still love you.” He paused. “You know, I’ve never even looked twice at another woman before today. I don’t know if it’s just that she reminds me of you, or because I feel guilty for ruining her laptop, or what. But, yeah, I looked at her twice. More than twice.”
    Liam set the photo down and looked at the glass. It was empty already. He picked up the bottle and poured another. Then he stared at the photo. “Fine, you’re right. No more.” He put the glass down and sighed. “I