by JoAnn Durgin
“Night.” As he walked away, she watched, not bothering to be subtle. Much could be learned from a man’s gait and the way he carried himself. With his broad shoulders squared, Landon moved with a purposeful stride.
She darted a quick glance at Mitch as they made their way back to their table. “I’m proud of you.”
He nodded without speaking. When she reached for his hand, he squeezed, and a new peace settled in her heart.
Chapter 6
Manhattan Editorial Offices —
New York Scene Magazine
“Landon, we have a problem.” True to form, Dona burst into his office without knocking. Not that he minded. She usually had good reason. Good thing she sounded harried, not panicked.
He marked his place on the galley for the next issue of the magazine. “What’s that?”
“June Larish called a few minutes ago. Ted’s surgery is scheduled for next Friday, but that’s the same day you’re leaving Los Angeles to fly to Baton Rouge for Kevin’s wedding.”
Unfortunate timing. Diagnosed a month ago with an aggressive form of lung cancer, his executive editor had been his most stalwart colleague during the growing pains of the magazine’s infancy. No way would he miss being at the hospital, especially since the couple’s only son was stationed overseas and their daughter-in-law and five grandkids lived out West. As far as he knew, the couple had no other close relatives living nearby.
“What time is his surgery?” he asked.
“Eleven.”
Sitting back in his chair, he pondered his options. His eyes met Dona’s. “I need to be there.”
“I know, love.”
He suppressed his grin as Dona scooted into the chair opposite his desk. She’d been to London a few years ago and adopted the British endearment. He’d grown accustomed to it, even liked it. Retrieving her glasses from the bejeweled chain around her neck, she positioned them and poised her pen above her trusty notepad.
“My meetings in LA will be done by late afternoon on Thursday. See if you can book me on a flight back to New York leaving LA sometime after six p.m. At least I’ve got the time advantage coming back East. I’ll need you to reschedule the flight to Baton Rouge for Saturday late morning. If you would, please call the inn and tell them I’ll arrive a day later. I’ll call Kevin and tell him not to expect me until Saturday.”
Dona nodded, jotting notes. “I’ll call the rental car companies in LA and Baton Rouge and reschedule all the airport shuttles. Shall I have them pick you up here or at the townhouse on Saturday morning for your flight to Baton Rouge?”
“Home. This is why you have my undying loyalty.” He gave her a tired smile and massaged his forehead. “One other thing: send some flowers to June and Ted with a card from the editorial staff saying we’re thinking of them and praying for his surgery. I’ll call Ted later and let him know I’ll be at the hospital with June on Friday morning.”
“That’ll mean a lot to him. You’re a good man.” Dona made another quick note. “So, I take it Madelyn’s not available for your trip to Baton Rouge?”
“Not this time, unfortunately. I wouldn’t hesitate to take her otherwise. I’m headed to Austin for a few days after the wedding, so I’ll pick her up there and fly her back to New York.”
Dona rose from the chair. “That’s what I figured. I’ll go take care of those calls now, print out the confirmations and put them in a folder for you. I’ll also send them to you via e-mail. Now, don’t forget to call the groom and let him know you’ll be late but you’ll make it to the church on time.” Crossing the room, one step in front of the other as though a bridesmaid in a wedding, Dona softly hummed the wedding march. Pausing at the threshold, she gave him a sly grin. “One of these days, I’ll be humming that for your wedding, love.”
Next to his mother, Dona had been his greatest source of encouragement through all the ups and downs of the magazine. As much as anything, she brought life and laughter to his workday. She could also recall the name of every guest in the history of New York Scene and relay the magazine’s up-to-the-minute stats at any given moment. He couldn’t buy such efficiency and thanked the Lord every day for finding Dona in a Columbia University faculty office. In one of the best snap decisions he’d ever made, he managed to coax her into leaving the staid world of academia for the unpredictability and challenges of magazine publishing. Sending her a huge bouquet of red roses and promising her everything short of his firstborn hadn’t hurt, either. Firstborn what was quickly becoming the question. The way things were going, his magazine might be the long-term love of his life. The thought brought an instant wave of sadness.
A woman of faith, Dona was one of the few Christians on his payroll. Not a day passed when she didn’t leave him a note of encouragement or a verse of Scripture tacked to his computer monitor. He depended on her more than she’d ever know. For her hard work and sacrifices the past year alone, she deserved something special for Christmas. Finding the perfect gift always proved a challenge—and he liked to pick it out himself—but he’d try his best.
“You’re not getting any younger,” Dona said, breaking into his thoughts. One hand slid to her hip. Here it comes. Mama Dona’s advice for the day. It wouldn’t be a workday without it, but he adored it—and her. “It’s time you settle down in a cozy matrimonial love nest and sire a baby Warnick I can hold in these arms before I’m too old to enjoy it.” She touched one finger to her cheek. “I feel an age spot coming on as we speak.”
Chuckling under his breath, Landon shook his head. “You haven’t aged a day since I’ve known you, and I think ‘sire’ refers to the animal kingdom. You’ll be glad to know I’m starting to work on my”—he cleared his throat—“love life.”
Dona’s brows rose and that infectious grin grew broader. “Give me a name, please. That’s all I’ll ask for now. Promise.”
He understood she asked in part so she could pray for him. “Amy. Amelia, actually.”
She gave him an approving nod. “That’s a very pretty name. I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl if she’s caught your attention. About time someone did, not that they haven’t tried. Tell you what: every morning you can give me a little tidbit about her. In case you feel like sharing. Good for the soul, you know.”
“Bye, Dona,” Landon said. “Thanks for letting me know about Ted and taking care of all the travel arrangements.”
“You’re welcome. Back to work now.” Giving him a broad grin over her shoulder, she sashayed from his office, once again humming that infernal wedding march.
Knowing Dona, she’d come up with any number of reasons to waltz into his office in the coming days. Fine. He’d find out more about Amy Jacobsen to satisfy his efficient assistant’s curiosity. Getting her off his case was one thing, but the way those green eyes lit with excitement when he mentioned Amy’s name, he hoped he didn’t live to regret it. But it couldn’t be a fluke. Flukes had no place in his world.
~~**~~
Manhattan Editorial Offices, Habits Magazine —
Wednesday, December 4, 2002
“Your thoughts, Amy?” From the expertly-arched brows to the prim, rouged mouth downturned in permanent displeasure, Juliet Hargrove, Habits Senior Editor—her boss—awaited her response.
Think quick. “Sounds great. I look forward to writing the piece.” Of course, knowing the topic or subject would make her assignment a whole lot easier. Amy smoothed a nervous hand over her skirt, hidden from view where she sat in front of Juliet’s desk. Never in her life had she acted so unprofessional. Retrieving her pen, she scribbled a few words to lend the illusion of taking notes.
Juliet steepled her fingers. “As I mentioned in our editorial meeting, the pre-publicity buzz on this one is big. It’ll be to our advantage to snag one of the first interviews with this guy. Being a faith-based book, I knew you’d be the one to do it—and the author—justice. I know you won’t disappoint me.”
Amy nodded. “I’ll do my best.” She closed her mouth. Wow. She was beg
inning to sound like a puppet and needed to jump back in the game. The faith-based angle was intriguing since Juliet normally stayed far away from anything “spiritual.” Even so, she sensed grudging respect from her boss and was never belittled or ridiculed because of her faith. “I appreciate the opportunity.” Whatever this assignment was, it was important enough to warrant her boss’s attention.
“Very good.” Juliet closed her purple notebook with a definitive snap. That bulging planner, crammed full of notes sticking out every which way, was the woman’s most valuable accessory. The joke in the editorial offices was Juliet had sprouted an extra appendage. “I’ll have Marcheline bring you the preliminary material the research staff has gathered. I’m sure you’ll want to add your own notes to determine the angle for your interview.” Gucci chic and glamorous with not one dark hair out of place, her boss nodded, her customary signal of dismissal. Juliet’s porcelain complexion was unlined and flawless, her smile a rare occurrence. After all, if she dared upturn those lips, she might crack something.
Amy lowered her eyes, ashamed of her unkind thoughts as she prepared to leave. “I’ll look forward to doing the piece.” You already said that. Positivity and confidence were traits Juliet admired and rewarded, but repetition? Not so much.
“Excellent. I’ll expect a first draft on my desk no later than Friday morning after you return from your trip. You know how to reach me should you need anything.”
“Yes, thank you.” Now she knew how she’d spend her time on the return flight. The scent of Juliet’s expensive but cloying signature perfume lingered in her nostrils as she departed. Back in her own office, Amy twirled a pencil, lost in thought. If she asked one of the other editors about this assignment, it would only highlight her inattentiveness in the editorial meeting and give someone else ample room to move in on her story. As much as she hated it, it was every person for themselves, and she couldn’t prove vulnerable and risk losing her job.
Twenty minutes later, Juliet’s longtime assistant, Marcheline Boudreau, rounded the corner of her office. Rushing forward, she dumped a bulging file in the middle of the desk. Red—the color reserved for the best “red hot” assignments. “Okay, this is everything I have.”
“Thanks.” Her interest piqued, Amy reached for the materials sliding precariously close to the edge of the desk. As she stopped them from taking flight, she noted the woman’s frazzled expression and gestured for her to take a seat. “Everything okay, March? You look like you’re having a rough morning. Sit down and rest for a couple of minutes. Want some water?”
Brushing short dark curls streaked with gray away from her face, Marcheline shook her head. Faint beads of perspiration dotted her brow. “I’ll be okay, thanks. Nothing I haven’t done before. Only a million and one things on Juliet’s to-do list before noon. Sometimes I think life’s too short for all this stress and I’d be happier handing out perfume samples at Sak’s. Any perfume but the one my boss wears, that is. Had enough of that one to last a lifetime.” Marcheline gestured to the folder. “If only we were all so lucky to get your assignment, young lady. Take a gander at the author.” Opening the folder, she slid it across the desk. “This man can read me a bedtime story anytime.”
Amy gasped and jumped to her feet, sending the chair spinning into the wall behind her desk. “I don’t believe it! He actually took Marc’s advice.” Shaking her head, she held up the professional press photo. “Papa Bear.” In jeans and a white button-down shirt—perched on a wooden stool with his sleeves rolled, arms crossed—it captured Sam Lewis to perfection: handsome and serious, but with enough of a grin to reveal the deep smile lines on either side of his mouth. Intelligent, piercing blue eyes bore into hers. Sam’s signature black Stetson sat balanced on one knee. It was one of the most natural author photos she’d ever seen, guaranteed to make women swoon, but not threaten other men.
“Papa Bear? So, I take it you know this man pretty well?” Marcheline dropped into the chair and leaned one elbow on Amy’s desk, giving her a wide-eyed look. “Give it up, girlfriend. I need all the juicy details.”
“I’ve actually spent a good deal of time with Sam Lewis and his wife, Lexa. He’s the Domestic Missions Director for TeamWork, the same organization I work with here in New York. They’re based in Houston, and I’ve also gone on a few longer missions with Sam. That’s how I first met him.”
“Now I remember. Didn’t you go to some ranch in Montana with TeamWork a couple of years ago, right before Thanksgiving? I only remember because Juliet was stomping around . . .” Marcheline shook her head. “Never mind. Suffice it to say you’re missed when you’re not here.”
“Good to know.” Amy lowered the photograph to her desk. “Montana was more a personal mission Sam cooked up to help my friend, Natalie, and her husband, Marc. They were newlyweds, she fell down a flight of stairs, lost her memory, was pregnant . . .” She stopped. “Long story, but the mission was a rousing success. Marc’s an advertising powerhouse in Boston and knew a great idea when he heard it. Tell you one thing: if any man’s qualified to write a book about marriage, it’s Sam.”
“Well,” Marcheline said, “it’s encouraging to hear men like that still exist, but they’re getting harder to find by the minute.”
Amy smiled. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be seeing Sam and Lexa next weekend in Baton Rouge since it’s a TeamWork wedding.”
“Don’t remind me you’re leaving us.” Her lips slid into a pout. “I’ve got to mentally gear up for it.”
“I’ll only be gone for a few days. You’ll blink and I’ll be back.” Wait a minute. Now the pieces were slowly fitting into place. Juliet’s comment about the assignment concerning a man of faith. The upcoming wedding. The background research on Sam would have revealed his position at TeamWork, and her boss probably knew of her involvement. Although she’d never discussed it with Juliet, she often talked about her projects with her coworkers. The office wasn’t that big, and they all knew too much about each other’s personal lives as it was.
Marcheline rose to her feet. “I’d better get moving onto my next task. Everything from the research department is in the folder. If you ever need to know anything about an assignment, you call on me.” Intense, brown eyes stared into hers.
Amy frowned. “Was I that obvious?”
“Don’t worry, honey. Juliet’s always in her own little world. I don’t think she noticed, but I wanted to make sure to get this stuff to you before anyone else got their sticky paws on it.”
“Thanks for watching out for me, March. You’re the best.”
“Welcome. No worries. You’ll be fine.” Marcheline departed with a small wave.
For the next couple of hours, Amy waded through newspaper clippings and information the research team had collected from various sources. He finally did it. Stinker. Her best friend, Winnie, once mentioned Sam was making notes for a possible book, but that was the last she’d heard of it. Sam or Lexa, for that matter, hadn’t breathed a word of this exciting news during the whirlwind weekend in Houston three months ago for Winnie’s wedding to Josh Grant. Next to her dad, Sam was one of the most humble, godly men she’d ever known. He wouldn’t have wanted to detract from his friends’ celebration by announcing his own news.
Her eyes focused on the advance press release in her hand. Seven Rules of Marriage: A Husband’s Guide to Loving Your Spouse. Good title. She smiled, remembering how he’d met Lexa—the petite, spunky spitfire who challenged as much as attracted him—in the San Antonio TeamWork camp more than five years ago. Theirs was a great love story someone should write one day. Amy noted the projected publication date for Sam’s book: May 2003. LCJW Publishing, New York, New York. Hmm . . . never heard of it. Sam wouldn’t have agreed to this venture without a solid partner. When they talked, she’d have to ask him about his publisher. “Kudos, Mr. Lewis. Well done.”
Amy clicked on her e-mail folder and started a new message.
Hi Sam and Lexa,
Guess which junior editor
at Habits magazine has the honor of writing an article on Sam’s upcoming book? I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Sam, and I can’t wait to see you both. Let’s carve out some time for an official interview, either before or after Beck and Kevin’s wedding. Please give little Joe a big kiss for me. I imagine he’s getting so big now and is probably walking or trying to ride a baby armadillo (sorry, Lexa, couldn’t resist). I hope Lexa’s feeling better with the new addition coming soon to the Lewis family and the growing TeamWork crew. Can’t wait to see you in Baton Rouge.
Lots of love,
Amy
Within the hour, she had a reply:
Hi Amy,
Sam and I would love it if you’d come to Houston after the wedding and stay with us for a few days, if your schedule allows. We’ll bring you from Baton Rouge (or I’m sure Winnie and Josh will be happy to do the honors). It’ll be hectic before the wedding, but afterwards, you can relax with us at the house and have plenty of time to interview Sam. He’s looking forward to it, and I can’t wait to catch up with you. Please say you’ll come. Kissing Joe for you now.
Love,
Lexa
No sooner had Amy pushed the Send button on a reply e-mail with her acceptance of the kind offer than the phone rang, making her jump. Queuing a copy of the e-mail to print, she picked up the phone without bothering to check caller ID. “Amy Jacobsen.”