Every Woman Needs a Praying Man Read online

  Every Woman

  Needs A Praying Man

  By

  Pat Simmons

  Copyright © 2016 Pat Simmons

  This novel is a work of fiction. References to real events, organizations, or places are used in a fictional context. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical—including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—without permission in writing from the publisher. Please direct your inquiries to [email protected].

  ISBN-13: 978-1523821273

  ISBN-10: 1523821272

  Content/copy editor: Rahab Mugwanja/Giggle Girl Editing Services

  Proofreader: Ashley Clarke/A.K. Clarke Editing

  Beta Reader: Stacey Jefferson

  Cover design: Nat Mara/Bookaholic Fiverr.com

  Author photo: Angie Knost Photography

  Dedication

  To those of you who need a touch from God. Stay prayerful.

  Philippians 4:6: Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be known unto God.

  Acknowledgments

  None of my stories could have depth without my sources sharing their valuable time speaking with me or answering my emails. I found aspects of billboard advertising fascinating, so I reached out to chat with Don Barner, President BillBoard Connection.

  Readers’ Praise for Pat Simmons

  5 Stars. “Heartwarming. A wonderful Christian novel about true love. I love the way the author intertwined scriptures into the story.”—Angela on A Baby for Christmas

  5 Stars. “Pat Simmons did it again!! This book is full of love, life lessons and most importantly Christ. I love how Pat interjects the word/voice of God into this story and all of her books.” –Joyce N on A Noelle for Nathan

  5 Stars. “This was another great read by Pat Simmons….I also love how my spirit is always lifted and encouraged after reading her books.” –Book Diva on The Confession

  5 Stars. “Wow, this book was so inspirational. It had so much to it but what I loved was learning about a Christian Christmas.” –A reader on A Christian Christmas (Book 1 Andersen Brothers)

  5 Stars. “How romantic for a man of God to be drawn to a woman because of her heart to God, to be turned on by her praise to God? David saw her, fell hard, and pursued his 'Hart' and won. I loved this story.”—T. Baker on A Woman After David’s Heart (Book 2 Andersen Brothers)

  5 Stars. “Wow, I laughed and cried and that was hard because I was on Jury Duty and sitting in the front. Be careful where you read them because these books make you want to rejoice in the Lord when you least expect.” – A reader on Christmas Greetings

  5 Stars. “Every character has their own interesting storyline. Simmons developed the characters so that I was drawn into their stories. I could feel every emotion. I laughed, cried, and wondered with each of them. It kept me glued to the pages. This was my first time reading Simmons’s work, but I look forward to others.” –Donnica Copeland, APOOO BookClub, Sista Talk Book Club, Not Guilty of Love

  Table of Contents

  Readers’ Praise for Pat Simmons

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Author’s Note

  Book Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Excerpt from THE CONFESSION

  Other Christian titles include

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monica Wyatt swallowed, hoping to calm her nerves as she gripped the steering wheel. Her unseen enemy was back like a powerful jaguar locked on its target—her. She couldn’t explain the fear devouring her on a path she had driven on since she received her license at sixteen, but self-preservation was what mattered.

  Although she had just maneuvered her Mazda 6 into the fast lane on I-170 in North St. Louis County, something within her shouted, “Get off the highway now!” As her arms began to tingle, she veered her car into the center lane without using her turn signal. “Hurry,” she mumbled.

  Other vehicles were fast-approaching. Monica dove into the slow lane and skidded to a stop onto the shoulder, almost clipping the rear end of a pickup truck.

  With labored breath and a racing heart, she rested, more like collapsed, her forehead on the steering wheel. Her heart thrashed against her chest as if it was clawing its way out to abandon ship. Her eyes blurred, so she closed her lids. Whatever was going on, she didn’t have time for this, not when she had an interview for a job she desperately needed to snag. She was only three miles, maybe four, away from her exit, yet she felt like her destination was hours away. Maybe she was about to have a heart attack. But she was only thirty-one. “God, help me.”

  She coaxed herself to get a grip, and wasn’t referring to the steering wheel. When someone tapped on her window, Monica would have ejected from her seat if not for her seat belt. Startled, her eyes popped open. A dark-skinned man came into focus. He looked to be about her age. His eyebrows were as silky black as his mustache. If he was her compact mirror, her anxiety was reflected on his face, marring his perfection.

  “Are you okay?” he mouthed.

  Cracking the window an inch, Monica shook her head at the same time her mouth uttered, “Yes.”

  “Which one is it? Are you having car problems or is there a medical emergency?” Without waiting for her response, he began to scold her about her erratic driving. “I wasn’t far behind you when you pulled that stunt. This isn’t a speedway.” Upset didn’t begin to describe him.

  She groaned at his depiction. “I was scared, okay!” she snapped as a tear fell. “I’m all right.”

  “You don’t seem all right,” he argued. “Can you open the door? Let me help you.”

  “I may be having a crisis, but I’m not crazy. I don’t know you!” Her hands still trembled. The stranger looked built under his black coat. Stop ogling. She didn’t envision starting her Friday morning like this.

  “You have to get off the side of the road. It’s not safe.” His brown eyes pleaded with her.

  “I need just a few minutes,” she lied. It would take a couple of hours to analyze what happened, but she wasn’t computing numbers as a market researcher; she was dealing with something she couldn’t see. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m talking about me. It’s not safe.” He tilted his head over his shoulder. “There’s a pack of semis coming at us, and I happen to like my life.” Despite the lines creasing his forehead, he actually smirked, which made her chuckle. He, being her temporary distraction, was calming her nerves.

  “I’m sorry to put you in harm’s way. Please get back in your car.” She didn’t want to be responsible for his death. No, it wasn’t a good day for anyone to die, especially her.

  A casualty of downsizing at a non-profit health organization three months earlier and endless job searches, Monica had planned to wow this prospective employer with her skills. She hoped beyond reason to be offered the position on the spot. It wasn’t going to happen
now.

  “Listen…I don’t even know your name?” he shouted as cars roared past them. Before she could open her mouth, the man gritted his teeth. “Fine. I’ll have it my way,” he said and disappeared.

  Whatever. She noted the highway, which seemed like an endless ocean. The tsunami of fear began to descend on her again, causing her hands to tremble and perspiration to dot her upper lip. Even her deodorant was losing its battle.

  “God, what is happening to me? I’ve got to snap out of this.” Monica Wyatt wasn’t a wimp. Her older brother had made sure of it. While taking deep breaths to regain control, she glanced in the rear view mirror and groaned. Apparently stubborn, the stranger was still there.

  Suddenly, sirens pierced her ears until they blocked her escape. The Good Samaritan was nowhere in sight. She sighed and braced herself for round two of mortification. If television crews showed up, she was done. Maybe, she would die today from embarrassment.

  For the next twenty minutes, Monica answered the medic’s questions. “No, I’m not on medication…No, I don’t want to be transported for evaluation…Yes, I felt tingling in my limbs, so I pulled over…Yes, I’m fine now…No, I don’t have any insurance,” she told them, handing over her driver’s license. “No, you don’t have to call someone.”

  Once she convinced the first responders she didn’t need medical attention, they said she could go on her merry way. The problem: it was too late to make the best first impression on her interview. That was enough to make her depressed. But she wasn’t one to waddle in self-pity.

  Starting the ignition, Monica held her head high with feigned confidence and drove her car at a crawl to the nearest exit. In a daze, she returned to her Olivette condo, replaying the fiasco she’d caused on the highway. She undressed and climbed back in bed. Maybe when she awoke, it will all have been a nightmare.

  An hour or so later, her best friend’s ringtone chimed. Monica started to ignore the call, but decided to answer. Veronica Lee was pulling for her to get the job too. “Hey.”

  “Uh-oh. Sounds like you didn’t get the position. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” She blinked back moisture as she scanned her spacious master bedroom, decorated in warm fall colors of greens, rust, and burgundy. If she didn’t get a job soon, her condo would be back on the market. “I never made it. Girl, I freaked out again…paramedics and the police—”

  “Hold up and back up! What do you mean again?” Veronica’s high-pitched voice was proof she was alarmed.

  Oops. Monica realized she never told her friend about the first incident which had happened a few weeks earlier. “Ah, well, I was leaving the hair salon, minding my own business…” She frowned as she racked her brain on how to describe it. “One minute, I was singing along with the radio. The next, out of nowhere, I felt heart palpitations, became lightheaded.” She paused. “I had this sensation as if I was detached from reality like an out-of-body experience. It freaked me out, so I cursed and in the same breath prayed.”

  “I’m sure that didn’t work, but you never told me. Why?”

  Licking her lips, Monica stalled. “That’s not something I want to relive, even with my best friend.”

  Veronica was quiet. Did she think Monica was going crazy? “Hmm-mmm, so nobody knows about this, not even your mom?”

  “Definitely not!”

  “Well, if Ms. Ollie doesn’t know, maybe I should be the snitch.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Monica warned. She’d moved across town to have some distance between her and her parents who still thought of her as their baby girl, literally. If Ollie Wyatt knew, she would have an ambulance waiting outside Monica’s door. “Until I can figure this out, no need to worry her.”

  “You know I wouldn’t say a word. So is that how you felt today?” Veronica asked in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll look up symptoms,”

  Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, she gave it some thought while she heard her friend tapping on keyboards in the background. “I wasn’t lightheaded, but my arms were tingling. I was feeling kinda out of control, mostly afraid.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Sounds like you had panic attacks. I’m on this website called—”

  “No, thanks. I just lived through it. I don’t need to read it.” Monica pulled the covers back, padded across the carpet to her gas fireplace, and turned it on. This amenity had been the selling point when she purchased the condo two years ago.

  “Okay, maybe you need to go to the doctor,” Veronica suggested.

  “You think?” she said sarcastically. “I don’t have a job, remember? No health insurance. I can’t even afford the premiums on the government subsidized coverage. I have a new car, a house note…” Thinking about her finances was exhausting. Leaning on the mantle, she stared into the fire. Panic attacks, she repeated her friend’s unconfirmed diagnosis.

  If a person ate too much, they became overweight; ingest too much sugar—cavities; tanning stations—skin cancer; panic attacks? She drew a blank.

  Professionally, Monica dealt with numbers as a data analyst. Things always added up. This wasn’t logical. There was no family history. Her parents seemed normal and were rather healthy. She never knew them to take more than an aspirin. Her older brother, Alexander, was too smart for his own good. So why her and why now? “All I know is it came out of nowhere.”

  “Which is why you need to call and see if you can reschedule the interview.” Although Monica balked at the idea, her friend didn’t back down. “What do you have to lose? Tell him you had an emergency, which I’m sure the 911 tapes will verify. At least you had the mind to call for help.”

  “I didn’t. This guy stopped to help.” His presence had temporarily calmed her. “He had the kindest eyes.”

  “Was he cute?”

  “Put it this way, if I wasn’t in distress, I would have flirted,” Monica joked and flopped back onto her bed. But she would never forget his face or the concern on it.

  “Hmm. Never know where you will meet your future husband.” She giggled.

  “I hope not on the side of the road. Anyway, I’ll keep job searching on LinkedIn.”

  “What about the girl who referred you? Can you get a hold of her to run interference? The job is paying way too much for you to say, ‘forget it’,” Veronica harped until she wore Monica down.

  “Maybe you’re causing me these panic attacks.”

  “Not funny. Listening to what you went through is scary.” Veronica cleared her throat. “I can always show up, say I was you and—”

  “Oh, no you don’t. The last time you did me a favor, it cost me a parking ticket.”

  “Good. I’m glad we reached this understanding. Call the company and get back to me. Bye.”

  She knew job interview protocol. Monica blew it, but to keep Veronica from hounding her, she retrieved a copy of the email that listed the company’s contact number. “Here goes a waste of time.” Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled and called. “Mr. Dyson please.”

  #

  With two sisters and a mother like Earline, Tyson Graham knew better than to leave a female stranded on the road—a looker or otherwise. The woman, even in her frightened state, was beautiful with her full lips and slanted eyes, even if they were dazed. She left him no choice but to call for medical backup. Once EMTs were within range, he took off free from guilt.

  Now, minutes after arriving late at the office, he was informed the leading candidate for the marketing research position at Tyson & Dyson Communications, LLC didn’t bother to show up. “Great,” Tyson mumbled to Mrs. Coates, his elderly administrative assistant who also happened to babysit him and his two sisters when they were babes in diapers. For him, thirty-six years ago.

  What a major disappointment since the other applicants’ skills dulled in comparison to this candidate’s. She had almost ten years of working at a non-profit in market databases. Her type of experience was priceless. Maybe the woman’s no-show was for the best, considering Tyson wasn’t in the mood to be co
rdial to anyone.

  “Hey, how was the conference?” Reginald “Reggie” Dyson, his business partner, asked as Tyson rounded the corner toward his office.

  “Impressive. We’re definitely going in the right direction, securing our out-of-home media advertising to include taxi tops and bus shelters.” He paused to unwrap his wool scarf from his neck and unbutton his coat. “But the money is still in the billboards and the new digital ones would make David Copperfield’s illusions look like a kid’s game,” he joked. “It ain’t grandma’s advertising anymore.”

  “Hey,” Mrs. Coates yelled from the lobby. “I’m somebody’s grandma and great-grandma. Ain’t nothing wrong with being a grandma.”

  Reggie shook his head and grinned. “You started it.”

  “Tell me about it.” Tyson continued to his office. Standing outside his door, he smirked. “Have you ever seen a great-grandma with jet-black hair?”

  “Nope.” Reggie snickered and headed toward the company’s kitchen/lounge that Mrs. Coates stocked and transformed to what she called a café boutique.

  “I heard that too!” This time the woman was standing at the end of the hallway, glaring at them. “Wait until your AARP card comes in the mail, then you’ll go by the beauty supply store to buy some black hair dye, too.”

  Tyson knew better than to tangle with Mrs. Coates. She had been with him and Reggie since day one, which was five years ago, not for the money per se, but to escape babysitting those grandbabies. Go figure. One thing was for sure, if they ever relocated or renovated their office in this historic building, he would demand better-insulated walls.