by JoAnn Durgin
When the servers brought their food, Amy frowned. “This isn’t what we ordered.” At the same time, food was delivered to the table behind them. She caught the mischievous look on Mitch’s face. “Don’t tell me.” Ever since they were kids, he was transparent and she’d learned the hard way never to trust him with her secrets. “Mitchell, what did you do?” It came out more of a hiss.
“Exactly what you hoped I’d do, Amelia. Getting you a date to the prom.” The smug smile creasing his lips was as telltale as a verbal admission. He raised both hands. “Okay, confession time. I met Landon at a Knicks game a few weeks ago. Decent guy. You two would be a great match and in popular demand at dinner parties all over Manhattan.”
“You what? And you let me sit here making a fool of myself by going on and on about him.” She leaned across the table. “Where’s your sense of loyalty? Not to mention scruples.”
“Flew straight out the window, I guess. Calling on my inner Eric Carlisle and all. Made my night, though. Highly entertaining.”
Her low growl escaped. “I’ll either hug you—or kill you—later.”
“Always looking out for your best interests.” Mitch inclined his head to the table behind them. “Don’t look now, but I predict Landon will be coming over here in five . . . four . . . three . . .”
Chapter 4
Sure enough, Landon rose from his chair. The closer he came, the faster Amy’s pulse raced, the higher her chin raised. Six-foot-three was her best estimate.
“Excuse me, did either of you order a salad?”
If he’d said liver and Harvard beets—her two least favorite foods—she’d gladly claim them or anything else the man offered. Never had she been so affected by a man with such a powerful attraction right from the start. Down, girl.
“It’s a Cobbler salad and that would be my sister’s,” Mitch said.
“Cobb salad.” Amy hoped she wouldn’t stumble over her words and sound the inarticulate fool. “Thank you for bringing it over. That’s very kind of you.” She darted a glance at Landon’s table where the waiters served his guests at the same time as another server set Mitch’s plate in front of him. The aroma of sizzling steak wafted toward her and the loaded baked potato almost made her groan. After this wedding, she’d pig out for an entire week and eat every fattening food she’d denied herself the last couple of months. With only one fitting for her gown, she couldn’t risk anything.
Landon lowered her salad to the table. “In that case, your dinner is served.”
Speaking of loaded. “Thank you, Mr. Warnick.” Amy concentrated on smoothing her napkin on her lap but not before she caught Mitch’s approving wink.
“It’s Landon.” Those blue eyes lit with undeniable interest when she glanced up at him.
She extended her hand, not knowing what else to do. “Amy Jacobsen, junior flunkie at Habits.”
Landon took her hand in his—a firm, warm and not-too-tight grip. Nice. “Juliet holds her staff to the highest standards. I doubt you’re a flunkie in any sense of the word.”
“Junior editor then,” Amy said. “To humor you.”
“Better.” His lips curled.
“I believe you’ve met my brother, Mitch Jacobsen.”
Turning to Mitch, Landon shook his proffered hand and smiled. “Nice to see you again.”
“I admire the innovative, progressive direction you’re taking with New York Scene. It’s becoming the standard of measure,” she said, ignoring Mitch’s smirk.
Landon’s expression was one of pride mixed with appreciation. “Thanks. It’s a riskier format, but it’s a direction I felt compelled to take.”
“Your piece on inner-city youth programs and educational incentives was insightful, and the ideas you proposed were solid. I only hope the article was read by the people who’re in a position to actually do something to bring about the needed changes.”
The spark in Landon’s eyes intensified. “That was one of my primary objectives in writing it, so I hope you’re right. Still too early to tell.” Leaning close, he lowered his voice as Amy struggled to control her breathing. “Maybe you could come join me at my table, be my secret weapon to convince these potential advertisers.” He nodded at his dinner companions. “I’m not sure how well I’m doing on my own.”
“Tell them about the Brooklyn special needs teacher you featured in the magazine last month,” she said. “There’s also the single mom of five who spearheaded the school campaign for fresh produce and shut down the vending machines. Or how about—”
“As you can tell, my sister’s never read New York Scene,” Mitch said, frowning when she kicked his shin beneath the table with the pointy toe of her pump.
A broad smile creased Landon’s handsome face. “I’d better return to my table if I hope to convince these guys to buy some ad space. In spite of the mix-up with the food, it’s very nice to meet you, Amy. Please give Juliet my best.” He nodded to Mitch. “Enjoy your dinners.” As he turned to leave, Landon’s eyes met hers and lingered for few seconds.
Unless her imagination was livelier than ever—that gaze meant something. Either that or long-term food deprivation is doing weird things to my mind. It was all Amy could do not to stare as he returned to his table.
“Don’t be so obvious. You’re embarrassing me,” Mitch said. “And close your mouth or you might drool. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t witnessed that little exchange. You’re smitten.”
“Zip it. And who says smitten?”
“Probably the same ones who say wooing. Should I ask the waiter for a bib?”
“Not necessary.” She picked up her fork. “I need to eat my rabbit food now so I can fit into that bridesmaid dress next weekend. Can you please pray for our meal?”
Mitch chuckled. “Clue number one my sister’s smitten? For a girl who never babbles,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “you babbled. Big time. And why do I have to be the one to pray? Because it enables my masculinity?”
With that comment, Amy closed her eyes and launched into a short prayer, knowing Mitch wouldn’t be so inclined. He’d all but abandoned prayer, both public and private, in the past year. She swallowed her sigh. Lord, hold him close.
“At least the little meet-and-greet went well, don’t you think?” Mitch busied himself cutting his steak, but paused when he caught her watching. “Now you’re positively salivating. Here, have a bite.” Stabbing a generous section of meat, he transferred it to her plate. “A few bites of steak won’t undo all your hard work.”
“Okay, but only because you’re forcing me.”
“You really do look great,” he said. “Sorry about the needing a good meal comment. That was payback.”
“I know. Sorry if I said anything unkind about Felicity.”
“You didn’t. Not really. However”—he paused to chew another bite—“as your sworn protector, I feel compelled to say, smart as you are, you can sometimes be incredibly naïve.”
“I’m not naïve. Just . . . realistic,” she said.
He put down his knife. “The servers are expected to correct their mistakes, Amy. Surely you realize Landon didn’t come over here because he wanted to impress the restaurant manager?”
“A perceptive journalist gathers all the pertinent facts while a better one always ensures those facts are made known.”
“What’s that mean?” Mitch gave her a blank look. “You’re doing that annoying ‘writer speak’ thing again.”
“She gives her reader the pertinent information needed to make a proper evaluation of the facts.”
“And the pertinent information in this case would be . . . ?” An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “We’re starting to go in circles here. Speak English, please. It is your mother tongue, last time I checked.”
“Landon knows my name and how to reach me, should he care to do so.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? More importantly, would you care for him to do so?” His tone mimicked hers.
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She made him wait while she took her first bite of salad. “You know the answer to that one as well as I do.”
“Say it already. For a woman who works with words for a living, you can be annoyingly obtuse. Admit you want to do more than talk shop with this guy.”
She shrugged. “Fine. You have your way of saying it, and I have mine.”
Mitch motioned to her salad. “Keep eating. You need to keep up your strength, and I’m not talking about the wedding.” He laughed when she crossed her eyes and plopped a bite of steak in her mouth, chewing in an exaggerated manner, savoring it.
A loud, anguished cry from across the room startled her, making her jump and turn wide eyes on Mitch.
“Someone, help us!” It came out a sputtering, prolonged wail followed by, “Jack, honey, hang on! Stay with me. Please God, don’t let him die.”
“Amy, call 9-1-1. Now.” Shrugging out of his suit coat, Mitch bolted from his chair and across the restaurant.
With Landon right behind him.
Chapter 5
Amy’s fingers fumbled on the cell phone as she dialed 9-1-1. When pandemonium broke out around her, she put a hand over one ear and ducked under the table to relay the basic facts to the emergency operator. She heard the servers canvassing the room, attempting to calm other patrons. Mitch’s authoritative voice rose above the rest. Completing the call, Amy frowned as a noisy group departed a table near where Mitch knelt beside Jack, adding to the confusion and commotion. Where’s your sensitivity, people? Rolling his sleeves, Mitch performed a quick assessment while asking Jack’s wife practiced questions. Her quiet sobs were muffled as an older woman enveloped her in an embrace, smoothing her hair. Landon crouched beside Mitch, and they talked together in low tones with the restaurant manager.
Amy bristled when she heard the older woman ask Mitch if he was a doctor, her tone skeptical and borderline accusatory. How dare she? Without a clear view of her brother, she strained to hear his answer. “I used to be.” If it weren’t for his quick thinking, Jack might not survive. No doctors or nurses had rushed forward, only Mitch. She admired how he didn’t hesitate. With him, it was instinctual, his passion. Her brother’s training and innate instincts had kicked in. What he’d been trained to do until a tragic misstep in his Boston residency decimated what promised to be a brilliant medical career.
At Ground Zero on 9/11 for thirty-six hours straight, he’d worked tirelessly until police officers finally ordered him from the scene. When Amy learned his best friend perished in the South Tower, she feared for her brother. It took her four stressful hours to travel a few city blocks. Once there, she stayed by Mitch’s side for three long days and nights—watching his fitful sleep, feeding him, praying for him and rocking him when his tears finally came. Their mother, still shell-shocked from their dad’s death two years earlier, offered to come. Seeing Mitch’s grief firsthand would only bring the widow further heartache, so Amy insisted she stay home and away from the chaotic scene. True to his nature, Mitch returned not long after to that horrific, gaping hole where the majestic towers once stood, wanting to do something—anything—to help. In a strange, cathartic way, being on-site helped him work through the pain.
“We need to clear a path for the paramedics,” a man instructed with a calm confidence.
Stirred from her thoughts, Amy knew it was Landon. As if on cue, sirens blared in the distance, growing louder by the second. Jack’s wife stepped back, her eyes never leaving her husband.
Amy heard her brother counting under his breath and knew he was performing CPR. An eerie, hushed silence pervaded the room. His wife leaned heavily against Landon, clutching the front of his shirt, bunching it with shaking fingers. With a sad expression, his features drawn, he moved his arm around the woman.
Standing on the peripheral of the circle gathered around where Mitch worked on Jack, Amy shifted, riveted but not wanting to stare. Darting a glance toward Landon’s table, she saw his two dinner companions watching the scene with wide eyes. Lowering her head, she whispered a prayer. Lord, if it’s Your will, spare Jack’s life tonight. Thank you for Mitch and his expertise. Let him be Your instrument.
A soft cry caught her attention. Amy took a quick survey of the immediate area. There it was again. Doesn’t anyone else hear that? “Where are you?” she murmured. Hearing it again, she slowly turned to her right. A little girl of about five with dark curls stood by herself in the middle of the dining area, clutching a black teddy bear. Dressed impeccably in red patent leather Mary Janes, a red and green plaid Christmas hair bow and an outfit that likely cost more than her monthly salary, the child buried her face in the bear, her small shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. Oh, Father, she’s so frightened. Amy moved toward the child and leaned down, eye level. “Are your mommy and daddy here, sweetie?”
Rubbing one eye with a curled fist, the girl sniffled and brown eyes the color of melted chocolate met hers. “My grandpa fell down.” When she wiped the back of her hand over her damp cheek and pointed in Jack’s direction, Amy’s heart skidded to a halt. Swallowing hard, she gave her a smile she hoped was reassuring and struggled to find the calm in her voice. “What’s your name?”
“Ellie.”
“That’s a very pretty name. I’m Amy.” She motioned to Jack’s wife, still leaning against Landon. “Is that your grandmother over there? The blonde lady in the blue dress?”
Ellie nodded, moving her thumb into her mouth. Tears glistened on her long, dark lashes. They both looked up when EMTs rushed into the dining area, carrying a stretcher and equipment. The child whimpered when the team huddled around Mitch and her grandfather. Inching closer, Amy stretched her arm around Ellie. Although Jack was conscious, the urgency in Mitch’s tone as he briefed the emergency personnel clued her in his condition was serious. Surely someone must be looking for Ellie? Now that medical help had arrived on the scene, she needed to take the child back to her grandmother.
Amy turned to the little girl, her heart aching at the sadness in those brown eyes. “Would you like me to take you to your grandmother?” When no answer came, she offered her hand. “It’s okay, Ellie. You’re not alone.”
Biting her trembling lower lip, Ellie grasped her hand. Amy held on tight as they walked together. The youngster squeezed her hand harder the closer they moved to her grandmother. Spying them, the woman’s lips downturned. “Ellie! There you are. Where did you run off to, child? Your poor grandfather had a heart attack, thinking you’d been kidnapped.”
Amy swallowed her shock at the woman’s tone—harsh and bordering on scornful. No wonder the girl was frightened. Was she implying Ellie caused Jack’s collapse? Saddling a child with a guilt trip for the rest of her life was unconscionable. Biting her tongue not to say something ill-advised, Amy glanced at Mitch. He shook his head and gave a slight shrug. How she hated there was nothing they could do.
“Your grandfather’s being taken to the hospital,” the woman said, the lines on her face tight, eyes unyielding. “I’m sending you back to the penthouse with Nelson. Ingrid will get your coat and take you to the car. Now, don’t be a nuisance and climb straight into bed when you get home.” She waved her hand in dismissal as though swatting at a pesky, annoying insect. The blank look on Ellie’s precious face, the glaze over her eyes, was haunting. And when she gets home, who will comfort this child? She’s not only frightened, she’s alone. The lack of affection in the woman’s voice was appalling. Where are Ellie’s parents?
Amy met the woman’s sharp gaze. “Ellie was frightened when her grandfather fell. She meant no harm.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” her grandmother said, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t want to be slapped with kidnapping charges, young lady, I suggest you go on your way.”
Mitch put an arm around her shoulders and stepped aside, pulling her with him. “Shh. I know,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “You tried. Thanks for helping.”
Shaking, Amy managed a mute nod as the EMTs carried Jack from th
e dining area.
Feeling as though she was on the outside peering in, she watched the events with a heavy heart. Ellie’s grandmother departed with the EMTs while the woman Amy assumed was Ingrid corralled the little girl in a none-too-gentle manner and marched her out of the dining area. Amy closed her eyes. Father, be with Ellie. Give this child the comfort only You can give. Let her feel Your presence. Be with her grandmother, too, and soften her heart, if not her tongue.
Amy wiped away a tear. Her lids fluttered open and her gaze locked with Landon’s. In those blue eyes flickered an unspoken understanding.
“Looks like our job here is done.” Rolling down his sleeves, Mitch fastened the engraved, gold cuff links Mom gave him after Dad died. Finishing his task, he nodded to Landon. “Thanks for your help.”
“Glad I could help, but you did all the work,” Landon said. “I’m impressed. Jack’s blessed you were here tonight. Thanks for your quick work.” Amy’s heart jumped. “Blessed” was a conscious word choice. Before she could ponder it further, Landon turned to her. “I’m thankful you picked up on what was happening with the little girl and brought her back. A lot of people would have stood on the sidelines, not wanting to get involved.”
“I was lost once, so I know what it’s like,” she said, wiping away another tear. “She was scared when her grandfather fell, and I wanted her to know she’s not alone.”
Mitch rotated his shoulders and directed a tired grin at Landon. “I’d say Mrs. Jack was thankful you were here tonight.”
Glancing down at his rumpled shirt, Landon shrugged with a sheepish grin. On such a confident, self-made man, it was as charming as it was unexpected. Within seconds, his smile sobered as he adjusted his tie clip. “Convincing potential advertisers to buy ad space has pretty much lost all relevance, at least for tonight. But,” he said, heaving a deep sigh, “for the second time this evening, I’d better get back to my table before my companions think I’ve abandoned them.” He ran his hand over his hair. “What an evening. Nice to see you again, Mitch.” His gaze found hers again. “I hope our paths will cross again soon, Amy. Good night.”