Building a Perfect Match

“Thanks.”

Backing out of the doorway, he continued down the hall to the end, only to turn right into another that flanked the massive marble-and-mahogany staircase, which anchored the foyer at the front of the house. Dale always looked up when he started the climb. He dearly loved the painted ceiling with its ruffled clouds and white feathers against a sunny blue backdrop. No one could tell him who the artist had been, but he’d certainly been a genius.

The grand staircase, with its yellow marble steps and ornately carved mahogany banister, was an architectural wonder that few could appreciate more than the skilled carpenter who crossed the landing and went to work opening a new doorway into the unfinished suite.

Dale managed the chore with a minimum of noise and mess, while wolfing down his lunch, answering numerous phone calls from other jobs and, if he were to be honest, thinking about the blonde whom he’d left back at the hotel. He couldn’t help wondering about her. She hadn’t worn a ring, so he assumed she was single, but that didn’t mean she was unattached. Anderton had made his interest in her clear enough.

That didn’t mean they were involved, though.

Neither did it mean that Dale ought to get involved with her himself. He wanted an old-fashioned Christian girl, like his mom, a homemaker who valued family above all else. All he knew about Petra was that he was attracted to her. Maybe he’d get a chance to know her better, and maybe he wouldn’t. That was up to God.

Dale nailed the header in place with just enough time remaining in the workday to clean up the site before heading home. He pulled out his phone to call home and let everyone know that he was on his way. With his attention on his phone, he wandered out onto the broad landing toward the stairwell, only to bump into someone coming from the other direction.

“Sorry!”

Looking up, Dale meant to reply to the surprised female voice with an apology for not watching where he was going—and nearly dropped his phone, along with his jaw.

Petra stood on the top step in her bare feet, one slender hand on the curled end of the banister, the other holding her black-and-white shoes by the heels. Her sleek ponytail lay across one shoulder.

For a moment, Dale thought he’d conjured her up from his imagination, but then he backed up a step and watched recognition overtake her. Shock swiftly followed.

He knew just how she felt, especially when she smiled.

Chapter Two

“You!” they both said. “What are you doing here?”

Dale grinned. “I work here,” he supplied.

At the same time, she said, “I live here.”

They both laughed, and Dale spread his arms, trying to take in the situation. That simple act seemed to kick his brain into gear.

“Did you say that you live here?”

“That’s right,” she answered, nodding. “My aunts invited me to move in until the hotel is finished. Once I’m manager, I’ll find my own place.”

“You’re a Chatam!” Dale declared, smacking himself in the forehead—with his phone, as it turned out.

“Petra Chatam,” she confirmed, comprehension dawning in her warm amber eyes. “Ah. Garth didn’t say, did he?”

“No. No, he didn’t,” Dale agreed, feeling ridiculously pleased. “But I should’ve known.”

She raised her slender eyebrows at that. “How on earth could you?”

He reached out to tap the delicate cleft in her dainty chin, but at the last moment thought better of the gesture and reached back to tap his own chin instead. “That and the eyes. Though yours are darker, which is odd because your hair is so…” Beautiful, he thought inanely. He managed, belatedly, to say, “Light.”

She tilted her head. “You work here?”

He pointed behind him. “On the new suite.”

“I see. I didn’t realize. Well, it’s good of you to inspect the job that your crew is doing.”

“Uh, I am the crew on this particular job,” he informed her.

She blinked at that, and he could almost see himself coming down in her estimation, from partner and project manager to lowly carpenter. Uncharacteristically, his temper spiked. He was proud of what he did, proud of his skills and knowledge, proud to work with his father in a family-owned business, proud to be his own boss and provide jobs for others, proud of the quality of the work provided by Bowen & Bowen Construction. But he didn’t kid himself that he lived on the same plain as Garth Anderton. Or the Chatams for that matter.

Shocked to find that it suddenly did matter, he frowned and heard himself say, “Your boss is in for a tough time with the Historical Society.”

She parked her hands at her waist, the shoes sticking out in sharp-toed splendor from the fist that gripped them. “Maybe they’re in for a tough time with him. It’s not like he doesn’t have a great deal of experience, you know. He has done this before.”

“He hasn’t done it in Buffalo Creek.”

“True. But I’m sure his experience elsewhere will prompt him to—”

“Make enemies of the Society, most likely,” Dale put in testily.

“You don’t know that!” she shot back.

“I know his type,” Dale snapped. “Used to throwing his weight around and getting what he wants when he wants it.”

She bowed her head in an obvious attempt to curb her own tongue. Dale knew that he’d do well to follow her example, but something about Garth Anderton provoked him even when the guy was not around.

“Look,” he said in a softer tone, “I just want to avoid trouble. I know every member of the Society, and they’re not going to take kindly to any attempt at cutting corners.”

“Anderton doesn’t cut corners,” she insisted. “It’s just that time is of the essence.”

“Uh-huh,” Dale retorted gracelessly. “I don’t think the Society’s idea of the importance of time and his are the same thing. They honor times past and seek to preserve for the future what it leaves behind. Anderton’s after a quick buck.”

“He’s a businessman,” she argued. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Not a thing,” he conceded. “I’m a businessman myself, but I know something about historical sites, restoration and those who care about them. Believe me, the only way to save time here is to get it right from the first.”

She bit her lip, eyelashes batting. Clearly, she didn’t agree but wouldn’t argue the point further. Dale wished that he’d bitten his tongue, but the best thing he could do now was beat a hasty retreat before he upset her further.

“I, uh, I have to go. It, um, was nice to meet you. Again.”

Wincing inwardly, he twisted past her and pounded down the stairs, mentally kicking himself. Really, could he have been any more confrontational? Any less suave? He pictured Garth Anderton’s urbane face and the way he’d so possessively slipped his arm about Petra Chatam’s shoulders in the elevator earlier. Suddenly, Dale wanted to pound something else, if only to punish his own fists.

* * *

Moving toward her joint bedroom and sitting room with labored steps, Petra winced. That had gone about as well as her choice of footwear. The man had usurped her day from beginning to end. He “irritated” Garth, who had already given her orders to have him removed as the construction supervisor on the project. She’d already made an appointment to speak with Walton Bowen about the matter the next morning. As much as she dreaded the prospect, bumping into Dale right here at Chatam House somehow made it worse. Nevertheless, orders were orders.

Now, if only she could figure out how to go about the thing without offending everyone she knew and loved. Her brother, Asher, had sung the praises of Mr. Bowen the elder and his company. Now it turned out that her aunties had hired Mr. Bowen the younger to make the necessary changes in their beloved mansion. Great. Just great.

What was she supposed to say to the Bowens tomorrow, anyway? That the boss just didn’t like Dale? Or maybe that the younger man displayed entirely too much knowledge and confidence in his opinions? She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she would be as relieved as Garth to have Dale Bowen out of the way—but for other reasons entirely.

While changing into loose slacks, a knit top and her most comfortable flats, she decided that she would speak to her aunts about the matter. They seemed to know the Bowens. They might be able to advise her how best to approach the situation. Resolved, Petra padded into the well-appointed bedroom to comb her thick, straight hair before appearing downstairs.

As expected, she found her aunties and Kent Monroe in the front parlor, awaiting the dinner hour. Magnolia smiled at her from the armchair placed at a right angle to the settee, where Odelia and Kent cuddled, and the high-backed wingchair that Hypatia habitually claimed. Hypatia looked around as the others smiled in Petra’s direction. Her mood lightening already, Petra smiled back, if only because Odelia sat swathed in layers of peach chiffon, from the big fluffy bow in her white hair to the ruffled toes of what looked suspiciously like bedroom slippers, not that Odelia gave a fig. She wore what she wanted and let the world gawk—and Kent moon. He did so adore her, and that was another reason to smile. The fact that he habitually hauled his great belly onto his feet in gesture of old-world gentility whenever a woman entered the room was yet another.

“Oh, Pet,” Odelia trilled, using the nickname that Petra’s late grandfather had coined. Odelia waved a lace hanky, jiggling the enormous square rhinestones clipped to her earlobes. They resembled framed, faceted mirrors. “Come and join us.”

Magnolia gestured toward another armchair at the end of the rectangular piecrust tea table, sadly lacking a tea tray at the moment. Petra rarely drank the stuff, especially in the summer, but tea was somehow necessary at Chatam House, as much a part of the gracious atmosphere as the antiques and old-world manners. And after the day she’d had, Petra could have used a cup.

“It’s so nice to have a young person in the house again,” Hypatia decreed, though in truth Garrett, Jessa and their young son Hunter had vacated the premises only a few weeks ago, along with Ellie Monroe, Kent’s granddaughter and Petra’s new sister-in-law. Dressed for dinner in her customary silk and pearls, her silver hair twisted into its customary chignon, Hypatia inclined her neat head as if she were a queen acknowledging a subject, but the elegant old dear was nothing if not loving and kind.

“How are things going at the hotel?” Magnolia asked. Ever the practical one, she wore her shirtwaist dresses until they were threadbare, augmenting them with odd pieces of her late father’s attire and on occasion trading her penny loafers for galoshes. Her steel-gray hair lay upon her slender shoulder in its usual simple braid.

Looking at the three of them, Petra felt her heart swell. She’d always found acceptance and unconditional love here. Not that her own parents, brothers and sisters didn’t love her, of course. It was just that she’d somehow never quite measured up to the rest of them.

But she had a chance to do something now, a shot at a real career. So long as she didn’t blow it.

“I was wondering,” she said, taking her seat, “what you could tell me about Dale Bowen.”

The sisters traded looks as Kent gingerly lowered himself onto the settee once more.

“He’s really very nice,” Odelia volunteered, “and so very handsome, don’t you think?” She giggled at Kent, who teasingly shook a finger in silent warning.

“He’s very competent,” Magnolia put in, “very skilled.”

“I find him respectful, mannerly and considerate,” Hypatia said. “We know his family, of course, from church. Very solid people. What in particular did you wish to know, dear?”

Petra shifted uncomfortably. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. “I—I’m not sure really. It’s just that we could be working together on the hotel renovation, and I like to know all I can about the people I work with.”

Hypatia nodded her understanding. “Well, he’s a dutiful son, a regular at church, steady, dependable. What the man does not know about construction has not been imagined yet, and he treats historical treasures with the reverence that they deserve. I might wish that he were a little less fond of electric saws, but I cannot fault his work ethic, his manners, his attitude—”

“Or his looks,” Odelia interjected with another giggle. Kent made a growling sound, purely for show, but Odelia leaned over, placed her hand on his forearm and cooed, “I’m in love, dearest, but I’m not blind.”

Chuckling, Kent folded her doughy hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Neither am I, my darling, but I have eyes only for you.”

Odelia dissolved in breathless twitters, prompting Magnolia to roll her eyes and rise to her feet.

“I believe I’ll see what is holding up dinner,” she announced, turning for the door.

“Perhaps we’ll just wait in the dining room,” Kent said suggestively, hauling himself up again and pulling Odelia with him.

Hypatia watched them leave, arm in arm, before turning to Petra with a weary sigh. “They say the enchantment will wear off eventually, but with those two I’m not so sure.”

Petra bit back a smile. “It’s the romance of the wedding, I’m sure.”

“One can hope,” Hypatia muttered. “Now, dear, what were we discussing?”

“Well,” Petra hedged, “I was just wondering if Dale Bowen is the right man for the hotel job.”

“Undoubtedly,” Hypatia decreed.

Deflated, Petra glanced at her lap. “Ah. It’s just that he seems spread pretty thin, what with this job and helping out his friends and…everyone has a private life.” Everyone but her.

“Oh, I don’t think he’s seeing anyone just now,” Hypatia said off-handedly. “If he were, I’m sure his mother would have told me.”

That news sent a little shiver of something through Petra. She ruthlessly suppressed it. So what if he was single and unattached? It made no difference to her.

“I’m just concerned that he won’t be able to give us his undivided attention,” she went on carefully. “At the hotel, that is. We’re on a tight schedule, and any delays could mean…” My job. “Added difficulty.”

“You needn’t worry, my dear,” Hypatia assured her. “You’re in good hands with Dale Bowen.”

Smiling wanly, Petra silently conceded defeat. “Nice to know.”

“Speaking of getting to know those with whom you work, dear,” Hypatia said, “I was wondering about Mr. Anderton.”

Petra’s gaze sharpened. “Really? Why? What have you heard?” Her aunties were not the sort to read the scandal sheets or indulge in gossip, but something in Hypatia’s tone had sent up warning flares.

“Only that he is a very presentable, successful gentleman and unattached, I believe. Your sister mentioned him.”

Petra wondered what else Dallas had told them about Garth and why she had bothered. Dallas was known to meddle and blithely took credit for getting Odelia and Kent back together after a half-century-long separation. She fancied herself something of a matchmaker, but she knew that Petra was focused on establishing herself in her career and uninterested in romance. Still, the fact that Dallas had bothered to even check out Garth annoyed Petra almost as much as Garth’s agitating for an introduction to her family. She suspected that he meant to charm them out of any objections they might have to his pursuit of her, and that made the fine hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

She shook away the sensation and found Hypatia studying her with gentle concern.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“No, no.”

Odelia rushed back into the room just then, Kent lumbering in her wake. “Sister!” she cried. “The violinist we hired for the reception has broken his arm! Whatever will we do?”

Hypatia twisted in her chair. “Oh, dear. Well, perhaps the twins—”

“They’re playing for the ceremony!” Odelia exclaimed. “Not the reception!”

“We’ll think of something,” Hypatia said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Petra took that as her cue to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wash my hands before dinner.”

“Of course,” Hypatia said absently.

Petra all but ran. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up in the wedding fever. She was happy for Aunt Odelia and Kent, but she couldn’t let anything sidetrack her just now, especially not a man.

* * *

Pausing at the head of the stairs, Hypatia caught the faint sounds of a television program. She looked to her left, noting the narrow band of light that shined beneath the door to the combination bedroom and sitting room that Petra had taken for her own. She’d said she’d be looking for her own space once the renovations on the hotel were completed. All three of the sisters had hurried to assure her that she was welcome to stay at Chatam House as long as she liked, even permanently, but Hypatia suspected that Petra wasn’t really thinking that far ahead.

Concerned for some time now about her sweet niece, Hypatia started toward Petra’s door, but then she paused, wondering if an old woman’s company was what Petra needed. Sadly, Hypatia was not really sure what her niece needed. Petra had always seemed a little lost somehow. The girl was perfectly capable, of course. She’d held a number of interesting jobs since graduating from college, but she’d never seemed to settle into anything, and so far as Hypatia knew, she hadn’t dated much, either.

Hypatia could identify. She hadn’t been much interested in dating herself, not in her youth and certainly not now. So much of the world seemed intent on pairing off, but she had never seen the point of it all. Then again, she’d always had her sisters. Triplets shared an incredible bond. It seemed almost unthinkable that one of them should marry, especially at this stage of life! Hypatia had always assumed that one must be called to marriage as one was called to ministry. Yet here was Odelia about to marry at the very end of her life—or nearly so.

Odelia Monroe. The notion still boggled the mind.

Hypatia considered another niece, Petra’s younger sister, Dallas. While Petra seemed to avoid more than the most casual of relationships with men, Dallas dated frequently, throwing over one fellow after another in her search for Mr. Perfect, having declared early on that Mr. Right simply wasn’t good enough!

Neither girl seemed to have a clue about true romance or God’s calling in her life.

And yet, Petra had asked about Dale Bowen. Hypatia sensed that something more than professional concern lay beneath those seemingly casual queries. Could it be romantic interest?

Sighing, she had to admit that Chatam House had somehow become Romance Central. It had all started with their nephew, Reeves, and the granddaughter, Anna, of their good friend, Tansy Burdett. Then their niece Kaylie had met her husband, Stephen, when he’d come to Chatam House to recover from an accident. After that, it had been Kaylie’s brother Chandler and Bethany, the sister of their former gardener, Garrett Willows, who, as it happened, had met and married his wife, Jessa, at Chatam House just last month. Oh, and one mustn’t forget Asher, Petra’s brother and another nephew, and Ellie, Kent’s granddaughter. Their romance had paralleled Kent and Odelia’s.

Chatam House hadn’t seen so many happy couples since…well, ever! Perhaps it had to do with the upcoming wedding. Once that was behind them, surely things would get back to normal.

Hypatia laughed at herself. As if anything would ever be “normal” again after Odelia married. Well, they’d just have to find a new normal. God would show them the way. It wasn’t as if Odelia was leaving them, after all. They were gaining a brother, not losing a sister. They had all discussed it, she and her sisters.

Who discussed such things with Petra? Hypatia wondered. She and Dallas loved each other, but they didn’t seem that close, and their mother, Maryanne, had always been so busy with her practice. Troubled, Hypatia moved to the door of Petra’s room and lightly knocked.

Petra called for her to enter, and she did so, slipping quietly into the comfortable room. “I just thought I’d check on you, dear,” she explained. “You seemed…preoccupied at dinner.”

Pointing the remote at the flat-screen TV mounted above the fireplace, Petra shut it off. She motioned for Hypatia to join her on the couch. Upholstered in pale lilac, it made a pretty contrast in the mint-green and creamy-white room.

“I have something difficult to do tomorrow,” Petra explained haltingly as Hypatia sank down on the edge of the sofa cushion. “I have to remove…someone from the project.”

“Ah. That can’t be pleasant.”

Petra shook her head. “No. In fact, it’s more awful than I thought it would be. Because he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“It’s just one of those unhappy things,” Petra said, shaking her head again, “but it’s probably for the best.”

“I can tell you’re distressed by it, though.”

“Yes, well, it comes with the job,” Petra informed her.

“And this job is very important to you, isn’t it, dear?” Hypatia asked, trying to understand.

“More important than you know!” Petra exclaimed. “Oh, Aunt Hypatia, this is my chance, my one real chance, to make something of myself!”

Shocked, Hypatia drew her spine straight. “Why, Petra Gayle Chatam,” she scolded, “you are precious just as you are! How can you doubt it?”

“But I’m not like the rest of them!” Petra cried plaintively. “You know how dedicated my parents are.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And Asher is a wonderful lawyer.”

“Without question.”

Petra shot to her feet and began to pace. “And Phillip! He leads the life of an adventurer, climbing mountains and traveling all over the world.”

“I pray for his safety all the time,” Hypatia admitted with a nod.

“Even Dallas has always known where her place is in this world,” Petra went on agitatedly. “She wasn’t nine years old when she announced that she was going to be a schoolteacher.”

“And so she is,” Hypatia observed, still confused.

“But I,” Petra declared, pausing to thump herself in the chest, “I’ve never had the slightest idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is that all?” Hypatia blurted, oddly relieved.

“All?” Petra echoed. Shaking her head dejectedly, she dropped down beside Hypatia once more. “In my family, that’s everything.”

“Now, now,” Hypatia soothed, taking her hand. “I know that’s how it must seem, dear, but you’re leaving out one very important ingredient.”

“What’s that?”

“God’s guidance.”

“But I’ve begged for God’s guidance,” Petra told her.

“Then you have to trust that He’s leading you where He would have you go.”

“I do,” Petra assured her, squeezing her hand. “That’s why this job is so important to me. I believe, I know, that He’s led me to this point.”

“Well, as long as you’re following Him, you have nothing to fear,” Hypatia said. “He’ll give you everything you need.”

Petra nodded. “You’re right. I know it. I don’t doubt Him. I doubt myself.”

“You just stop that,” Hypatia ordered, as if Petra was six again and would obey unhesitatingly.

Petra laughed. “I’ll try.”

“If it helps, dear,” Hypatia told her, “I have every confidence in you.”

Smiling, Petra hugged her, whispering, “Thank you.”

Hypatia cleared her throat of the lump that had risen there, patted her niece, and rose smoothly to her feet. “I’ll bid you good-night now.” Bending, she kissed Petra on the forehead as she used to do when she and her sisters had tucked in the visiting children at night. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Hypatia went to the door, but there she paused. “I’ll pray for you tomorrow. And for whoever you must remove, poor man.”

Petra bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Hypatia went out, determined to share her concerns with her sisters. They would pray, as always, and God would direct Petra’s steps. As for that unfortunate man who did not deserve to lose his job, she would ask God to bless him in ways that he couldn’t even imagine. Whoever he was, she hoped that he would feel the hand of God in his life and trust Him to provide his heart’s desire.