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