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“I’m sure you’re right,” she admitted. “Nevertheless…”
She didn’t have to say more. Anger flashed across Dale’s handsome face. Behind him, his father’s chair creaked.
“I have a policy when it comes to disagreements, Ms. Chatam,” he informed her. “Whenever we come to loggerheads in this office, we seek guidance in prayer.”
Shocked, Petra tugged at her skirt again. She believed in prayer, of course, and frequently resorted to it. In private. But this was business. Still, she’d prayed about this very matter before she’d entered the large, metal building that housed Bowen & Bowen’s offices and equipment.
Walt Bowen clasped his hands together atop the blotter on his desk and bowed his head, apparently waiting. After a moment, Dale shifted onto his feet. Turning, he joined Petra on the lumpy sofa. She bowed her head almost in self-defense, painfully aware of Dale as he leaned forward, braced his elbows upon his knees and knit his fingers together.
“Heavenly Father,” Walt began, “it’s not Your intention for Your children to be at odds, and as we sincerely seek Your will in all things, we come to You now for enlightenment and direction.”
As he continued to speak, Petra felt her tension drain away and a hopeful optimism begin to grow. Surely, this would all work out somehow. She tried to think what she might do to soften Garth’s dislike of the man next to her, but God appeared to be way ahead of her.
No sooner were the “Amens” spoken than Dale Bowen sighed, swept his finger down his nose and said, “All right. You want me out of the way, I’ll step aside. What we have to discuss now is who replaces me.”
Petra slumped with relief and reached out to lay a hand on his strong arm before she could think better of the gesture. The man radiated heat like a log fire. She snatched her hand back. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “I still think it’s a mistake.”
“You may be right,” she conceded. That changed nothing, however, and he obviously knew it.
“As far as your replacement,” Walt said, spreading his big hands across the ink blotter, “that’ll have to be me.”
“No way,” Dale objected, sitting back to cross one leg over the other. “You have enough on your plate. Jackie Hernandez can handle things.”
“You sound like your mother,” Walt grumbled.
“In other words, she’d agree with me,” Dale retorted before glancing at Petra. “I’ll explain things to Jackie myself.”
“Isn’t Mr. Hernandez the supervisor on-site?” Petra asked, wondering about that exchange between father and son.
“He is,” Dale confirmed. “He’s young, but don’t be fooled by that. Jack knows what he’s doing.”
“My only concern is that he can handle the job,” Petra replied earnestly.
“No worries there,” Dale stated.
“Jack’s a good man,” Walt concurred.
“Then we’re agreed,” Petra said, getting to her feet. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Both men rose. Walton Bowen reached across his desk to shake her hand, while Dale moved to hold open the door. Petra shot him a look of gratitude as she swiftly exited the room. She wasn’t surprised when he followed her, but she couldn’t help being a bit uncomfortable, even as he fell in beside her, strolling along as she walked through the cavernous building. Finally, she felt compelled to speak.
“I—I meant what I said before. It isn’t personal.” He snorted, so she added, “Not on my part.” A slow smile spread across his face. Fascinated by the way the tip of his chin flattened and the green of his eyes intensified, she couldn’t make herself look away.
“Good to know,” he said softly.
She stumbled, suddenly feeling as if the ground shifted under her feet. His hand shot out, fastening around her upper arm.
“Careful,” he said, drawing her to a halt.
The heat from his hand radiated up her arm and throughout her chest, stealing her breath. He released her the next instant, and she searched for something intelligent and safe to say. The only thing she could come up with was, “I like your dad.”
He grinned. “Yeah. The worst anyone can say about my father is that he works too much.”
She relaxed somewhat, saying lightly, “Wish I could adopt his prayer policy the next time Garth goes on a tear.”
She smiled to herself, imagining the look on Garth’s face if she suggested that they stop and pray together in the midst of one of his rants. But then the smile died as she realized that she had never before wondered about the state of Garth Anderton’s soul. She would be very surprised if Walt Bowen was not intimately acquainted with the spiritual condition of each and every one of his employees. He probably prayed for them all daily and gently witnessed to every non-Christian among them. That’s what her aunts would do. But all she’d thought about was what good Garth could do her career. Petra felt very small in that moment, very small, indeed.
“Does he do that often?” Dale asked.
She blinked up at him. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. What do you want to know?”
“Does Anderton routinely go on a tear?” Dale clarified, frowning.
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Not really. It’s just that he’s very…strong-willed.”
“Used to getting his way, you mean.”
“Well, he is the boss,” she pointed out.
“I noticed. Have you been with him long?”
She shook her head. “Not him personally. I’ve been with the company about six months, but this is my first project working with Garth as his—”
“Special Assistant,” Dale supplied.
Surprised at the bite in his tone, Petra frowned. “One of several,” she clarified.
“Oh?” He sounded interested, so she went on.
“It’s a temporary position, if you must know, a chance to prove yourself and move on to bigger things.”
Dale folded his arms and cocked his head. “Such as?”
“Management. And then,” she added enthusiastically, “acquisitions, I hope. He’s taking the company international, eventually, and someone has to find properties in those exotic locales.”
“And you want to be part of that?”
Surprised that he had to ask, she gave her head a wobbly shake. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No. Especially not if it means living overseas.”
Shocked, she backed up a step. “Why not?”
He dropped his hands to his waist and glanced around the building. “To put it simply, I’m a family man.”
“But you’re not even married!” she blurted.
He brought his gaze back to hers. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have family. I’m in business with my father here. I have an apartment in my folks’ house. I eat dinner nearly every night with them, my sister and her family. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world—except…” Glancing down at his toes, he rocked back on his heels, then suddenly he looked her squarely in the eye again and said, “Except for a wife, home and family of my own.” He smiled. “But that would just be adding to the family, wouldn’t it?”
He seemed so sure of his place in the world, so confident that his life was on the right track; it left Petra feeling bereft and uncertain when she could least afford to be. Managing a smile, she reminded herself that she was finally getting it together, finally on her way to…what exactly? Financial success? A brilliant career? Happiness?
Gulping away her sudden doubts, she said what seemed most obvious. “The Bowens sound like a close family.”
Dale nodded, clearly pleased. “We are. I always thought the Chatams were big on family, too. I mean, your aunts are so devoted to one another.”
Petra smiled with genuine brightness. “Yes. They are.” She felt her smile dim as she added, “Ours is just such a large family, though, that we all sort of go our own way.”
“Maybe that’s what it is then,” he told her lightly. “Both of my parents are only children. Other than my grandparents, it’s just us.”
“Are your grandparents here, too?” she asked conversationally, turning for the door once more.
He kept pace with her. “Grandma and Grandpa Bowen are. They live out at The Haven,” he told her, naming a private retirement complex. “Grandpa doesn’t get out much anymore, and Grandma won’t go anywhere without him. I try to visit them once or twice a week. Mom and sis are there nearly every day. Mom’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Enderly, divide their time between here and Minnesota. They’re here in the winter, there in the summer.”
“Can’t take the heat,” Petra surmised distractedly, thinking about what her aunt had said about him being a “dutiful son.” Apparently, he was just as devoted a grandson. A family man, who wouldn’t want any job that took him away from those he loved.
As she knew too well, he didn’t have to travel the world for a job like that. Her parents had worked long, grueling hours; as children, she and her brothers and sister had often gone days without seeing one or the other of them. Oh, there had been many exciting vacations to some of those exotic places she’d mentioned earlier. Too often, however, they as children had been admonished, usually by one of their many nannies, not to bother their busy parents with the small, everyday things that meant so much to kids.
Petra remembered one occasion especially, her first dance recital at the age of six. She’d been so nervous that her stomach had reacted poorly to her dinner, but the nanny had refused to call her mom, a pediatrician, saying that she would be in the audience when Petra performed, just in case Petra became ill. But “Dr. Maryanne” had spent only moments there that night. She’d been called to an emergency, unaware that her own child was embarrassing herself on stage by vomiting all over her patent-leather tap shoes.
That and other events had led Maryanne Chatam to eventually adopt a personal mantra that she repeated often to her daughters. “We’ve come a long way, but no woman can have it all, at least not all of the time.”
“Or the cold,” Dale said, and for the second time Petra had to shake her head apologetically.
“I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Grandma and Grandpa Enderly,” Dale informed her in an amused voice. “They don’t like extreme temperatures.”
“Right. Sorry,” Petra apologized again. “Guess I’m just a little distracted this morning.”
“Dumping project managers has that effect on some people,” he quipped.
She had to laugh. “Apparently so.”
They had reached the outside door at some point. A large, garage-type door on rollers, it stood open. She put out her hand. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
He wrapped his big, warm hand around hers. “I’ll be around when you need me.” Not if but when.
She said nothing to that, just nodded, flashed a smile and walked out into the blazing June sun, pulling her hand from his. As she drove toward the hotel in her little silver coupe, she mused that, all in all, this onerous chore had gone far easier than she’d expected. She could thank the Bowens for that.
When she arrived at the hotel a few minutes later, Jackie Hernandez was waiting for her, but they barely got to speak before she had to take delivery of an office-full of electronic equipment and rented furniture. She spent the remainder of the morning setting up her office. Thankfully, Garth had returned to the home office in Austin for the day, so Petra didn’t have to put up with him gloating about getting rid of Dale.
Maybe she was being unfair, though. Garth was a competitive sort, yes, but his business decisions were all about business. Usually. Nevertheless, Petra was glad that she didn’t have to deal with him in person that day.
Jackie Hernandez came in about midafternoon again to let her know that he wasn’t thrilled about his promotion.
“You’re making a mistake to cut out Dale,” he told her. “He is Bowen and Bowen now, and nobody knows these old buildings or BCHS like he does.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Petra told Hernandez. “Just let me know immediately of any problems. Before you take them to Mr. Anderton.”
Hernandez glumly nodded his understanding. “Yes, ma’am.”
The problems began not half an hour later when the wrong supplies were delivered. Jackie pulled out the plans and argued with the deliveryman for ten minutes before the guy called Dale, only to concede afterward that Jackie was right.
“It’ll go smoother next time,” Petra told the new construction manager, praying that it would be so before hurrying off to begin setting up appointments to interview restaurant personnel.
Garth wanted the chef brought in on the ground floor, knowing that any chef worth his or her salt would insist that the kitchen be remodeled to personal specifications. They’d employed an agency to help them find likely candidates, and part of Petra’s job was to weed through them so Garth could make the final choice. It turned out to be no small task.
Owing to her delayed start on the day, she got home too late for dinner that evening—but just in time to join the aunties at midweek prayer service. Tired to the bone, Petra would have loved to beg off, but one look at Aunt Hypatia’s expectant face had her putting on a smile and trooping out the door again. She was glad that she went. Prayer, as the pastor reminded the congregation, is for the benefit of God’s children rather than God Himself.
“Your Heavenly Father already knows your needs and desires, after all,” he told them, “but by lifting them up to God, we gain strength in communion with Him, wisdom in His answers and much-needed perspective.”
Petra wondered how God could know her needs and desires when she felt so unsure of them herself, but listening to all the requests for healing and rescue certainly put her personal troubles into perspective. As she bowed her head, she couldn’t help thinking of Walt Bowen insisting that they pray together about Dale’s position that morning, or of Dale sitting beside her on that couch with his head bowed unashamedly as Walt had sought guidance.
“Very solid people,” Aunt Hypatia had called them, and she had been right.
Petra liked them. She wasn’t entirely sure that she understood them, but she did like Walt and Dale Bowen. She wondered what Dale’s mother and sister were like, then lost the thought in concentrated prayer. Afterward, she felt uplifted—but starved!
Hilda, bless her, had left a plate for Petra. She enjoyed the food in her room then left the remains in the old-fashioned dumbwaiter down the hall before climbing into the tall, four-poster bed. As she slipped off to sleep, she wondered if Dale had worked at Chatam House today. Very likely, he had. That meant he’d been right around the corner from this room. That seemed strange to her—and oddly significant.
His words drifted through her mind one last time.
“I’ll be around when you need me.”
She slept like the proverbial rock.
* * *
Petra arrived at the hotel early the next morning to find Garth already there. He asked right away how it went with Bowen. She replied simply that Jack Hernandez was the new construction manager.
“Excellent. Excellent,” Garth said, rubbing his hands together. “In that case, I have a little bonus in the works for you.” He rocked back on the heels of his Italian leather shoes and smiled. “It’ll be ready later this afternoon, so I’ll bring it by Chatam House this evening.”
Deciding that she couldn’t put him off any longer, Petra gave in graciously. “If you can be there by six, I’ll let my aunts know that we’ll be having company for dinner.”
His smile widened. “Six, it is.”
Petra turned the conversation to the pending chef interviews. By a quarter to five, exhausted from trying to stay a step ahead of Garth, she gratefully headed home to prepare for the evening ahead. She barely set foot on the landing upstairs when Dale appeared.
“I have something for you.”
“Oh?” What was this, she wondered, gift Petra night?
He waved her over to look at a picture on his phone. “A contact of mine found these fixtures in a Chicago retrofit. He even found extra shades in the original boxes. What do you think?”
Petra looked at the wall-mounted brass-and-glass light fixtures and lifted an eyebrow. “They’re lovely, but what are they for?”
He shot her a surprised look. “The missing hotel wall lamps. I counted fourteen.”
