Building a Perfect Match Page 6

  At the dinner table tonight, Petra hadn’t been able to keep her gaze from wandering over him. Worse, every time he’d smiled or nodded at Dallas, Petra had felt a pang of jealousy, as if her sister might steal him away, a ridiculous idea since he wasn’t Petra’s to begin with, and never would be.

  She knew her limitations. Having watched her mother try to juggle family and career, Petra realized that she couldn’t do both, and career was what she’d always wanted, so marriage was out of the question.

  “Focus,” she told herself. “Focus on the job.”

  Just the job. Always the job.

  Feeling calmer, she nodded—but why, she wondered, now that she stood poised on the brink of achieving all she wanted, did it suddenly seem…less than anticipated?

  * * *

  Halfway home, Dale realized that he’d left his tools in the suite at Chatam House. He made a point of carrying everything away with him at the end of every workday, purely as a gesture of respect for the Chatam sisters and the sanctity of their home. Obviously, Hypatia’s unexpected invitation had thrown him off his stride. Dinner, on the other hand, had completely destroyed his equilibrium.

  Oh, not the meal itself. Hilda was every bit the cook that everyone claimed. Her food proved delicious. No, what had ruined it for him was the company. Garth Anderton, to be specific. All night long, Dale had felt an alarming need to punch the blowhard. Not a particularly Christian attitude. Maybe if he hadn’t gone into that room expecting basically to have Petra to himself—discounting the Chatam sisters and Kent, of course—he’d have tolerated Anderton’s presence better. Or maybe not. He figured he’d have been disappointed either way.

  What, he wondered, had put the notion into Garrett’s head that Hypatia was playing matchmaker? Clearly, her only concern had been providing Garth Anderton, not Petra, with the company of a man nearer his age than good old Kent, who could rarely take his attention off Odelia. No, however well he knew the Chatam sisters, Garrett had gotten this one wrong, and Dale couldn’t believe how let down he felt about that.

  He wouldn’t go back to Chatam House now, he decided, not at this hour of the evening. Instead, he’d make his apologies tomorrow, and should Hypatia ever invite him to dinner again, he wouldn’t let his imagination run away with him. He would, in fact, politely decline. From the moment he’d realized that Anderton was on the guest list, Dale had felt terribly out of place, sitting there in his work clothes while everyone else wore their expensive duds. Even Odelia, as wild as that getup had been, had worn her money, as it was said, for all to see.

  Dale had never in his life yearned for fancy suits or expensive accessories. That just wasn’t him. Might as well face the fact that the Chatams were silk, especially Petra, while he was homespun. As sleek and shiny as a new sports car, she’d looked exactly right sitting next to that wealthy, if bombastic, man. She certainly wasn’t made for the likes of a glorified carpenter, and he must’ve been hallucinating to entertain the notion that Hypatia Chatam, of all people, would ever think so.

  Henceforth, he’d remember what it felt like to sit there in his jeans while Garth oozed charm out of his expensive suit. Dale had even noticed Petra and her sister looking at him from time to time as if to ask what he was doing there. Once or twice, he’d thought Petra had looked at him differently, almost as if she’d felt sorry for him or maybe even shared his discomfort. Well, he didn’t need her pity, and he was undoubtedly wrong about the latter.

  He didn’t fit in with the likes of the Chatams and Anderton. He’d do well to remember that, and while he was at it, he’d do well to remember that Garth Anderton had given Bowen & Bowen a rare and stellar opportunity, one that could make all the difference where his father’s health was concerned. Dale didn’t have to like Garth to respect what he’d achieved in his life or realize that he’d been used of God to answer very specific prayers. So, he’d do what he could from the sidelines to help Jackie and put pretty Petra Chatam from his mind. He prayed the latter wouldn’t be as difficult as he feared, but knowing that she was out of his league didn’t make him like her any less. He comforted himself with the knowledge that God surely had a woman in mind for him, someone who valued the durability of denim more than the shine of satin.

  * * *

  Thursday became a giant headache for Petra, with one problem after another cropping up at the hotel and Garth growling like an old bear awakened too early from hibernation. Friday proved worse. Garth had to make a mad dash to Cripple Creek, Colorado, to take care of a catastrophe at the hotel there when a water tank on the roof of the building had flooded the floors below. No sooner had he gone than a trio of inspectors from the Historical Society showed up. The man carried a magnifying glass, for pity’s sake, the better to find reasons for complaint, which the two elderly women dutifully noted on their clipboards.

  To top off the week, someone discovered that the electricians were using wire that had been recalled by the manufacturer, meaning that everything they’d done to date would have to be torn out and installed again. So much for staying on schedule.

  Petra’s mood could only be described as black when she encountered Dale on the stairway at Chatam House that evening. When she realized that he intended to pass her by with nothing more than a nod, her composure cracked.

  She heard herself snap, “You could at least say hello.”

  He paused with one foot poised to step down and turned his head to look at her. “Hello.”

  She immediately felt contrite and looked away. “Sorry. I’m in a lousy mood.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” he said softly.

  “Of course you weren’t. Like I said, lousy mood.” She waved him on his way with a sweep of her hand, but then she couldn’t resist exclaiming, “It’s as if everything that could go wrong today did!” She shook her head, muttering, “But that’s not your problem. I made sure of that.”

  “You were only carrying out Anderton’s orders,” he said gently.

  “Yes. I was,” she affirmed, feeling a bit mollified. “Still, it’s not your problem. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”

  He said nothing to that, just took the next step. But then he paused, as if he couldn’t quite make himself go on down those stairs, and put his back to the railing. “Actually, Jackie already told me about the wiring.”

  She threw up her hands. “There goes the schedule! And my promotion.”

  “Not necessarily,” he told her soothingly. “I’m going to talk to the electrical subcontractor and get him to go to the supplier with me. This was their error. I think we can convince them to pay overtime so the electricians can get caught up. Meanwhile, Jackie’s bringing in a generator and all the extra cords he can find. Work will go on.”

  Relieved, she breathed, “Thank you.”

  Dale shrugged, smiling, and it occurred to her that he was, indeed, there when she needed him. She gulped, grateful beyond words. The least she could do was apologize for dinner the other night.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at dinner.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Garth expects to dominate every conversation,” she said, “but he usually lets other people get a word in edgewise here or there.”

  Dale regarded her frankly. “Anderton was trying to impress you.”

  “No!” she denied instantly. Then she grimaced. “Well, everyone. He likes to charm everyone, but not me in particular.”

  Dale tilted his head skeptically. “If you say so.”

  “No, really,” she insisted. “And anyway, I’m not…impressed.” Why she’d felt the need to say that, she wasn’t sure, but there it was.

  Dale’s glowing green gaze held hers for several long seconds, a lopsided smile slowly stretching his lips. Then he nodded and lightly said, “Well, I am. And
erton is an impressive man. He’s accomplished a lot, experienced a lot.”

  “My sister says the same thing, more or less,” Petra muttered.

  Dale shrugged. “Not surprised he’s her type.”

  “Her type,” Petra had to say, “not mine.”

  Dale Bowen tilted his head again, asking softly, “No? What is your type, then, Petra?”

  She realized suddenly that she’d somehow gotten herself into dangerous territory. “Oh. I don’t have one. I’m focused on my career.”

  “I can see that,” he said, as if he’d thought about it.

  Petra found herself suddenly breathless, but she attempted to ignore that fact. “That’s why I am…so very grateful for your assistance…with the electrical stuff.”

  He smiled warmly. “No problem.”

  “You’re as good as your word,” she told him. “Thank you.”

  He stood there a moment longer then suddenly looked away. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Yes,” she said, oddly relieved by that.

  “So long then.”

  “Bye,” she returned, and he started down the stairs once more. He glanced back as he rounded the curve in the staircase, and she lifted a hand in farewell.

  “I’ll be around when you need me,” he’d said, and he’d proved it twice over already. She wished it didn’t make her feel so glad, and she couldn’t help wondering when she would next need his help. She very much feared that needing Dale Bowen could quickly become a habit.

  Chapter Five

  Business drove Petra to Dale for help the following Wednesday.

  She’d caught a glimpse of him in church on Sunday. He’d been with his father and, ostensibly, his mother, a short, plump woman with apple cheeks and silver-shot blond hair, which she wore wound into a bun on top of her head. Walt Bowen had waved, while Dale had offered a smiling nod of acknowledgment. He had not approached her in any other way and had hardly seemed aware of her presence after that one small greeting.

  That smarted a bit, and Petra couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t as if they were friends, after all. They were business associates, for pity’s sake. Just business associates. Nevertheless, she knew that she would go to him for advice as soon as the BCHS representative dropped off the punch list of changes that had to be made “before work could proceed.”

  Without a word to anyone else, Petra packed her briefcase with all the necessary papers, grabbed a roll of blueprints and set out for Chatam House. It didn’t occur to her until she was climbing the stairs toward the second floor of the mansion that Dale might not be there. Oh, well, she decided, if she didn’t find him here, she’d track him down by phone.

  She need not have worried. As soon as she walked into the suite, he looked up from the heavy antique door hinge that he was rubbing to a bronze glow and immediately laid it aside. Wiping his hands on a faded red shop cloth, he glanced at the briefcase and roll of plans.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “You were right,” she told him baldly. “The BCHS has more than a few issues with our renovations and is threatening to bring work to a halt.”

  “Let’s take a look,” was his calm reply.

  He nodded at the makeshift table over which he worked, and Petra began spreading out her papers. As she did so, she mused that he was, true to his word, once again right where she needed him to be, and she couldn’t help hoping that would always be the case.

  * * *

  “This one is easy enough,” Dale said, pecking an item on the punch list with the tip of his forefinger. “I’ll show Jackie what to do.” He went on, offering possible solutions to every complaint on the list. When he was done, he’d whittled the thing down to half a dozen sticking points. “I’ll call Tansy Burdett, the head of the BCHS, and see if we can set up a meeting to work out the rest of this. Meanwhile I’ll go over everything else, in detail, with Jackie.”

  Petra sighed with relief. “Thank you,” she said fervently. Her stomach growled audibly at that moment. Embarrassed, she pressed a hand to her flat middle. “Oh, my!”

  Dale pulled out his phone and checked the time, surprised to see that the lunch hour had long since passed. He was hungry himself, but then he generally always was.

  “Goodness. I didn’t mean to be so long-winded.”

  “No apology necessary,” she insisted, lifting a palm. “You missed your lunch helping me solve yet another dilemma.”

  Shaking his head, Dale pulled over a battered folding chair and placed it next to the table. “I haven’t missed anything.” He brought his lunchbox to the table. “Seems only fair that I share,” he told her, pulling out two sandwiches, a bag of chips, another of chopped carrots, cucumbers and celery, a banana and a brownie as big as a floor tile. His mom did know what he liked.

  “I can’t take your lunch,” Petra protested, even as she moved over to the chair.

  He hopped up onto the makeshift table, dropped a wrapped sandwich into her lap and popped open the chip bag. “More like a late afternoon snack now,” he said, chuckling. “If I eat the whole lot of goodies this late, I won’t want any dinner.”

  It was a blatant lie. With his metabolism, he could eat twenty-four hours a day. She didn’t seem inclined to argue further, however. He unwrapped his sandwich and picked up half of a thick stack of bread, cheese, lettuce and meat.

  “Hope you like roast beef,” he said before biting off a huge chunk.

  “Mmm,” came her answer, her mouth being too full to speak.

  He smiled and chewed. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before Petra swallowed and waved a hand at the food scattered across the table. “Do you always eat this much?”

  Nodding, he reached for the banana, peeled it, and broke it in two pieces, offering one to her. She shook her head. “I’ve always been a big eater,” he told her. “If I miss a couple of meals, I have to take in my belt a few notches.”

  “That’s just not fair,” she drawled with a comical scowl, making him laugh.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said off-handedly. “You’re slim.”

  Great. Now they both knew that he’d checked her out.

  She cleared her throat and murmured, “Thank you.” Then she added, “I was starving.”

  “Doesn’t compare to Hilda’s fare,” he commented lightly, concentrating on his banana, “but it’ll keep you going until dinner.”

  “Which isn’t too far away,” she said, looking at her fancy watch. She glanced nervously around the room as if looking for a way out, only to sit up straight and take another long perusal. What she saw seemed to please her. “This is lovely. I haven’t really had a chance to pay attention before now. The mauve is gorgeous with the cream-white woodwork.”

  “Well, I can’t take credit for the colors,” he told her, glad for the change of subject. “Odelia chose those.”

  “Really?” Petra said, blinking at him. “Auntie Od chose something this classy?”

  Dale nearly fell off the table laughing. Petra blanched, but then she laughed, too.

  “You really call her Auntie Od?” he asked.

  “Not to her face,” Petra admitted sheepishly, “and I shouldn’t have said that. She’s such a sweetheart.”

  “She is,” Dale agreed. “Very sweet. Very kind. But then all of your aunts are.” He hopped off the table. “Before you beat yourself up too badly, though, come have a look in here.”

  Petra got up and followed him into a surprisingly small bedroom, which had been painted pale purple. Dale glanced back and crooked a finger at her before stepping up to a door. He crooked a finger at her, waiting until she drew near to throw open that door.

  “I’m guessing it’s the largest bathroom in Chatam Hou
se,” he said.

  Without the fixtures, which had yet to be set, the room seemed cavernous, despite the yards of fuchsia tile and sunny yellow paint that overwhelmed the observer.

  “Oh, my word,” Petra gasped.

  “I’m saving the best for last,” he announced, grinning.

  Grabbing her by the hand, he hauled her through another open doorway and into the near total darkness of the closet before reaching for the light switch. A pair of crystal chandeliers lit up the garishly painted walls. Odelia had insisted that the closet be painted in wide bands of color that roughly corresponded to those of her wardrobe. Petra stood with her mouth open for a good minute before he enlightened her.

  “It’s color-coded so Carol will know where to hang Odelia’s clothes.”

  “Of course!” Petra squeaked, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “It’s so…so…Odelia!” she managed, looking up at the chandeliers.

  Dale grinned ear-to-ear. “Kent comes in here a couple times a day. He says this closet makes him happy, but I think it’s indulging her that makes him happy. Did you know he’s planning to build her a swimming pool as a wedding present?”

  “No!” Petra gasped, spinning to face him.

  Dale nodded. “He showed me the plans, but it’s a big secret, so don’t tell.” To reinforce that, he thoughtlessly placed a finger over her lips. His gaze instantly locked there.

  Electricity suddenly sizzled in the air as he imagined kissing her. Dale jerked his hand away from her, shifting his gaze aside. He shouldn’t have touched her, hadn’t imagined such a strong, visceral reaction. Beside him, he heard her gulp.

  After a moment, she whispered, “I won’t say a word, I promise.”

  He turned as casually as he could manage and led the way out of there, shaken clear to his bones.