Abide: A Christian Romance Novel (The Lewis Legacy Series, Book 7)

by JoAnn Durgin

  Oh, joy in the afternoon. What more could possibly happen? Never in her professional life had she felt so out-of-sorts.

  Caty lowered her arm, feeling silly for touching her underarm on the busy city street. As it was, she’d been graced by some interesting glances from office workers and tourists.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  Startled by the deep male drawl, Caty spun around a bit too fast, making her teeter on the loose heel. Wasn’t one stumble enough for the afternoon?

  Reaching for her, he steadied Caty with a hand on her arm. “Careful now.” He waited a few seconds. “Okay to let go?”

  “I think so, thanks. Just call me Grace.” She smoothed her free hand over her hair.

  “Bad day?”

  Caty stared at him for a long moment as he released his hold. Where had he come from? A momentary panic hit her as she wondered how much he’d witnessed. Oh well, what did it matter now?

  “I’m, um, a little embarrassed by being plowed down, nearly falling face-first on the sidewalk, and being fumigated by a city bus. Not to mention narrowly avoiding being drenched by a flashy car driven by a maniac with no apparent regard for pedestrians. And that’s just for starters.” She stopped and laughed under her breath. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear all that. Suffering from a need to blabber apparently ranks right up there, too.”

  A few inches taller than her, Caty estimated the man to be in his mid-to-late thirties. He certainly fit the urban cowboy image—jeans, a tucked-in white dress shirt, and a well-worn brown leather jacket. His skin was sun-kissed with natural-looking color, his eyes shaded by dark sunglasses although the sky was overcast. Likewise, his jaw sported about a day’s worth of new stubble. A tan Stetson sat pushed back on his forehead, revealing a few strands of thick, medium-length, dark brown hair. Most younger men didn’t wear Stetsons in the city anymore unless they’d come in from the ranch, but she’d always liked the tradition.

  Three boxes of Chinese takeout dangled from his hand. Now that was unexpected. Caty’s gaze traveled to his boot-covered feet. He’d walked more than a mile in those boots. Another plus. If she thought she could get away with wearing her red cowgirl boots with her business suit, she’d have them on this second.

  The corners of the man’s mouth hitched. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a day, but I was referring to your hand.”

  “Oh, that.” She held up her mummified right hand. The tissue stuck to the blood on her palm and fluttered in the wind. “This would be another result of my fall from grace. I’m not usually a complainer or so…seriously inept.”

  Resisting the urge to chew on her lower lip, Caty set her briefcase on the pavement. She yanked the tissue from her hand and stuffed it in the pocket of her skirt. Based on the warmth in her cheeks, they must be positively flaming.

  “They have antibiotic cream and bandages at the front desk in the building straight ahead of you.” He glanced down at her feet. “They might also have glue as a quick fix for that broken heel.”

  He’d noticed that, too? “I would not, could not, ask for glue. For my shoe.” Shaking her head, Caty twisted her lips not to burst out laughing. The only other option was to cry.

  “Dr. Seuss fan?” Oh my, he had a nice smile. A kind smile. Awareness rippled through her. Lord, are you serious? You plant a nice guy in front of me now? How was that fair?

  “I suppose so. In spite of what you’re probably thinking, I didn’t have cocktails with lunch.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.” He lowered his sunglasses. His eyes were a rich, medium brown fringed by long, dark lashes. The tiniest little lines feathered away from the corners of those eyes. Her heart thudded when her gaze rested on a platinum ring that occupied a significant finger on his left hand. Perfect. This day kept getting better with each passing minute. Of course, the ruggedly attractive cowboy was a married man. A guy like this was too great not to be married.

  “If you have time before your meeting, my assistant is the master seamstress of the 35th floor, and she’s helped me out a few times.” He angled his head once more to the building ahead of them before returning his gaze to hers.

  Her jaw dropped. Well, if that comment didn’t make her even more self-conscious. Caty resisted the strong urge to touch her underarm seam again. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll take my chances.” She looked the other way and blew out a sigh. “I have an important meeting in a few minutes, and I don’t mind admitting I’m nervous. I appreciate your concern for a stranger, and your…powers of observation. Consider yourself duly thanked.”

  She might as well call it a day, drive straight home, and bury her head under her pillow. Pray for the blessed relief of sleep and hope she wouldn’t be plagued by nightmares. Drowning her inadequacies with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream sounded about right.

  “Good enough, Grace.” Turning to leave, he tipped his Stetson, causing her knees to inexplicably go weak. The gesture was a forgotten art with most men, symbolic of throwback chivalry from days long gone.

  “It’s Catherine. Caty, actually. That’s what…most people call me.” Why she felt the need to tell him that, she didn’t know. Perhaps because he’d been kind enough to offer assistance. She wouldn’t mention that her middle name was, in fact, Grace. At the moment, the name seemed not only inaccurate but sadly comical.

  She didn’t think it was her imagination that the cowboy’s shoulders visibly stiffened as he faced her once more. He settled the shades back in place, masking his eyes.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Caty. I’m…Abe.” Instead of offering his hand, he tipped his Stetson once more. She tamped down disappointment he hadn’t offered his hand, but it was for the best. The man seemed dangerous enough without actual physical contact.

  “As in Honest Abe?” How silly. Her lack of conversational skills would surely be the end of her. Funny, she’d always considered her brother Will to be the inarticulate one. Guess again.

  “It’s Abernathy. An old family name.”

  She swallowed her inclination to smile. “Abernathy is distinctive. Memorable, although you don’t really look like an Abernathy.” She wondered why he hadn’t offered his full name, but neither had she offered hers.

  “I’m not sure anyone looks like an Abernathy,” he said. “The name doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. It took me forever to learn it, much less spell it, when I was a kid.” He hesitated a moment. “I have a confession to make.”

  What on earth? Kind and helpful or not, she was not looking for a married man who flirted with women on the Houston city streets. If that’s what he was doing. Her confusion only added to the strangeness of the last few minutes. Maybe this was all a crazy dream.

  Needing something to do, Caty retrieved her briefcase. “Don’t tell me. You’re my fairy…cowboy, come to save me from myself?” Her cheeks flooded with warmth. “Okay, that didn’t come out at all the way I meant it.”

  “Calling you Grace was my underhanded way to get your real name.” She appreciated the fact that he chose not to dwell on her last ridiculous statement.

  Uncertain how to answer, Caty focused on a passing taxi. “Well, I’m clearly more comfortable with numbers than social graces. Thank you again. Not many people would have stopped to make sure I was all right.”

  “I try not to be like most people. It was very nice to meet you, Catherine Caty.” No, you’re not like most people.

  “You too, Cowboy Abe. Enjoy your”—she motioned to the boxes in his hand—“Chinese.”

  “I trust your day will improve.” With another respectful tip of his Stetson, he departed.

  Caty stared after him as Abe walked toward the building. He didn’t strut, didn’t swagger. Somewhere in Houston was a mighty blessed woman. Then again, maybe not. Was he a smooth operator or a genuinely nice guy? A very thin line existed between flirting when a married man tried to help a single woman. The boundaries could become so easily blurred.

  This is why you don
’t date much.

  Caty shook her head, muttering to herself like a deranged person. She didn’t have time to think about the cowboy. She had a mission to fulfill. They’d shared a nice moment, but it was time to move on. Right.

  Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “All right now. Let’s try this again.”

  Chapter 2

  Caty started in the direction of the revolving glass doors. Her ankle wobbled, reminding her to be careful with the broken heel. Cowboy Abe had a great idea about the glue, but she might be late if she stopped at the front desk. For now, she’d have to make do and pray for the best.

  She motioned for a young woman with a little girl to enter the revolving doors first. Although she was quaking inside, she could try to present the image of self-confidence. Once inside the massive lobby, Caty followed the woman and child toward the bank of elevators.

  Stepping into the already crowded compartment, she punched the round Belac button, and then squeezed in between two large gentlemen. When they stepped aside to give her more room, she caught the scent of competing masculine colognes. She prayed she wouldn’t sneeze. Unlike most women, she was not a pretty sneezer. Or even a quiet one. Once the men exited the elevator—hopefully on the lower floors—she would breathe normally again.

  Pinching her lips together, Caty ignored a man across the elevator car smiling at her with more than passing interest. Look the other way, buddy. Why couldn’t he be a single, compassionate, Chinese takeout-carrying, handsome cowboy? She focused on the elevator control panel with the lit Belac button with 35 listed beside it.

  Wait a second. The cowboy mentioned the 35th floor. Whoa. Cowboy Abe worked for Belac? Why hadn’t that computed until now? Her brain cells must have been momentarily frozen.

  Could he possibly be… Did the A in A.C. Reid stand for Abernathy? That couldn’t be possible. Abernathy couldn’t be any older than his early forties, and that seemed a stretch. With the companies A.C. Reid had amassed, he had to be in his late fifties if not much older, although that was an assumption. As intensely private as A.C. Reid was, she doubted he’d be offering assistance to clumsy, inarticulate accountants on the street.

  She had no idea what A.C. Reid looked like and no clue about his personal life. No photos of the man could be found in the corporate literature, only pictures of oil rigs and the Texas landscape.

  The rumors swirling around Mr. Reid—from those who’d never met him—ran from speculation that he’d survived a horrible disfigurement while serving in the military to a theory he suffered from a debilitating social phobia necessitating that he conduct business behind closed doors in heavily secured areas. What prompted the move to Houston had likewise been the subject of rumors for which no one had a definitive answer.

  Those who’d worked for him a long time kept their lips firmly closed. Whether out of respect or because they’d been paid off, she couldn’t know.

  Be nice, Caty. Her sarcasm was running especially high today.

  After the cologne-doused men exited the elevator together, the little girl moved closer to Caty and then handed an empty candy wrapper to the woman. No, no, no. Sure enough, those little fingers were smeared with half-melted chocolate.

  Hoping to avoid another disaster, Caty inched closer to a woman standing on the other side of her who lifted a brow, clearly irritated by the unwelcome invasion of her personal space.

  Trying to maintain a respectable distance from the child, Caty scooted back in the other direction. Would this elevator ride never end? She noted the woman had given the little chocolate lover a tissue to wipe her hands. Small comfort.

  The little girl pointed to the Belac button. “Look, Mommy! It’s a belly button. Get it?” Then she examined it closer. “What does it say? Bellyache?”

  “It’s the name of my company. Bell-ack,” Caty said. “I’ve just transferred here from the Lubbock office.”

  The woman smiled. “Welcome to the building. My husband works for Wells Fargo here on 25.”

  “We’re taking Daddy to dinner. We come here every Wednesday.” When the elevator doors opened, the girl pushed past Caty and then jumped with both feet onto the carpeted lobby.

  The child’s mother tossed Caty an apologetic glance as she followed her daughter off the elevator. “I’m sorry about your skirt. I’m sure the dry cleaners can get it out. Good luck in your new office.” She mentioned her husband’s name and told Caty to contact him so they could reimburse her.

  “Enjoy your dinner.” Caty pasted on a smile as the doors closed but refused to look at her skirt. Chocolate dried fairly quickly, right? The best she could hope for was to discreetly scrape it off with a fingernail before her meeting. And no way would she contact the woman’s husband and ask him to pay her bill.

  Always find the blessing in what you’re given. No matter the circumstances, her mother had ingrained that sentiment in her. The best thing about this situation was that she’d worn her navy blue suit instead of the pale gray.

  By the time the elevator stopped on the 35th floor, Caty was alone. The doors slid open, and she stepped onto a gray tiled floor. The entrance was impressive without being overly opulent.

  A platinum-plated sign mounted on the opposite wall greeted her: Welcome to Belac, Inc. And then beneath it, For by your standard of measure it will be measured to you in return. ~Luke 6:38.

  The corporate logo of an oil rig in the setting sun was etched into the frosted, double glass doors along with the six cities boasting Belac, Inc. offices: Austin, Dallas, Houston, Laredo, Lubbock, and San Antonio.

  Lovely paintings of the Texas landscape adorned the walls—vibrant pieces of art featuring bluebonnets, one of her favorite flowers and also the state flower of Texas. The artwork provided a warm contrast to the more austere gray flooring and platinum fixtures.

  When her phone rang again, Caty debated whether or not to answer, thankful for the reminder to set her phone to Silent. Pulling it from her pocket, she glanced at the screen. Marta Marchand. Her good friend could always make her smile. Talking with her for a couple of minutes might help to calm her nerves.

  She clicked on the phone. “Hi, Marta.”

  “Hey, Caty. Just wanted to check on you. Where are you now?”

  Lowering her voice, Caty spoke in hushed tones like an announcer during a televised golf tournament. “Well, Marta, I’m currently standing in the elevator lobby outside the Belac, Inc. world headquarters.”

  Marta laughed. “Has anyone told you lately that you’re a nut?”

  “Today? Only me, but I’m sure a few pedestrians outside this office building would agree.” Caty stepped closer to one of the paintings. “The lobby has gorgeous paintings. I wonder if they’re bolted to the wall.”

  “And that matters…why?”

  Stepping to the side of one of the paintings, Caty peeked behind it. “For one thing, it could reveal Mr. Reid’s level of trust in his fellow man. Or distrust, as the case may be.”

  “Interesting theory. And the verdict is…?” Marta’s amusement was obvious in her tone.

  “I can’t see that they’re bolted down, but I’m sure there must be surveillance cameras,” Caty answered. “The way my day is going, if I touch one of these babies, loud alarms will sound and security will come running. Meeting my boss for the first time while cuffed and shackled would be memorable but regrettable. Not exactly the first impression I’m trying to make.”

  “Then keep your hands off the paintings. Listen, crazy girl. I’m praying for your meeting.”

  “You can’t even know how much I appreciate those prayers.” Caty’s voice filled with emotion. “It’s been quite the adventure so far.”

  “You’re not getting weepy on me, are you? Dry those tears and be strong.”

  “I’m not crying. I’m just feeling…grateful. I appreciate your sense of humor. I need that in my life, especially now.” She loved how Sam and Marta’s prayer warrior instincts had kicked in when she needed them most although they didn’t even know
the reasons for this meeting. More like they couldn’t know the reasons. The confidentiality clause she’d signed when she’d joined Belac prevented her from saying anything to anyone outside the corporation. She was nothing if not loyal.

  “Give me the short version of what’s happened so far,” Marta prompted. “If you have time.”

  “The good news is that I’m still standing.” Caty rotated her shoulders in an attempt to loosen her tight muscles. “Let’s see. It involved a burly man, a fall, a scraped hand, a maniac Porsche driver, a broken heel, a handsome, helpful cowboy…”

  Marta didn’t need to hear the entire rundown of her mishaps, but a little sympathy sometimes helped. That was her only valid excuse.

  “And to think some people think my life as the weekend weather girl is exciting,” Marta said. “They obviously haven’t met Caty Lewis yet.”

  “Believe you me, I much prefer my normal life as a boring accountant. I’ve never been so out of sorts, but does it have to be on the day I’m finally meeting face-to-face with my reclusive boss?”

  “You’re never boring, Caty. Now, go back to that helpful cowboy for just a sec—”

  Caty sighed. “Apparently, he works for Belac, but he’s also married. If you’ve got matchmaking on the brain, you can give up that idea.”

  “You never know. Maybe the cowboy has a handsome, helpful brother. Want to meet for dinner after your meeting? Eliot’s out on a job, and I don’t expect him home until late. I’ve spent too much time in the office lately, and I’m craving some serious girl talk. Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’ve moved back to Houston?”

  “You and me both.” Relief rushed through Caty. “Dinner sounds great, but I don’t know how long this meeting will last. I’ll call you when I’m done, but be forewarned in case I need a shoulder to lean on. Not cry on, mind you. Lean on.”

  “You’ve got it. Whatever you need, Caty, I’m your girl. As long as I’m in the studio by nine tonight, I should be fine.”