by JoAnn Durgin
“Carriage ride?” He waved his hand toward a waiting hansom.
“I’m not sure I have time.”
“Sometimes you have to make time.”
The man made a good point, so who was she to protest? Holding out his hand, he assisted her as she climbed into the carriage. When he seated himself beside her on the bench seat, she caught a whiff of his fragrance. “I like your cologne. It’s the same one I gave Mitch last year for Christmas.”
“Great.” He chuckled. “Just what a guy wants to hear—that he reminds her of a woman’s brother. For the record, my usual scent or whatever is plain old soap, but my long-time assistant sprayed me unaware before I left the office.”
She laughed. “A fly-by spritzing? Sounds like fun.”
“I suppose so. Okay now,” he said, grabbing a thick blanket on the seat beside him. Spreading it over their laps, he scooted closer. “Like it or not, we’re expected to snuggle. Meet me halfway?”
“You’re a smooth operator, taking a girl someplace freezing cold so you can sit close.” His nearness was exhilarating. The horse pulled them at a leisurely pace. An older couple strolled nearby, hand-in-hand. A man helped a little girl into another hansom while a woman waited inside. The night air was sharp and crisp, tempered by the aroma of roasting nuts on the street corners and grilled steaks from nearby restaurants. Please don’t let my stomach rumble and betray me, Lord. She looked around, giving into a smile as she spied a young man holding mistletoe over a girl’s head as he leaned in for a kiss. “It’s so clear and beautiful tonight.”
“I’d say so.”
She slanted a glance his way, suppressing her grin. “You can do better than that. If you flirt this much, how do you ever get any work done?”
“I only flirt like this around women I’m seriously interested in, which isn’t often, contrary to your blanket assumptions.”
“Enough with the puns,” she said, “but again, we don’t really know each other. If you want blatant honesty, I’m not sure if I can trust you.”
He studied her and appeared more puzzled than offended. “Why not? Christians can’t flirt? We can’t enjoy one another’s company?” When he turned sideways, their knees touched again, sending an electric current shooting through her several layers of clothing. “If you think I’ve violated any of God’s commands, please clue me in. However, if I’ve offended your sensibilities, I hope you’ll accept my sincere apology.” He sat back against the seat and blew out a breath. “So much for redeeming myself, huh?”
With his brow furrowed, his earnestness was obvious, and she swallowed her next comment. “I don’t offend that easily.”
His gaze was warm as he turned to her again. “I do like you, Amy. A lot.”
“In spite of my better instincts and questionable judgment, I like you, too,” she said. “So, why don’t you give me your class ring, I’ll string it around my neck and we can go steady?”
His hearty laughter broke the stillness of the night. “Maybe that sentiment smacked of adolescent longing, but it’s true all the same.”
“Point taken and reciprocated.” Leaning her head against the back of the carriage, Amy gazed upward. Her breath escaped, curling a lazy path into the dark of the night. “I feel like I can touch the stars, they’re so bright tonight.” He mirrored her, settling on the seat and gazing upward. They shared a comfortable silence broken only by the steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves hitting the cold, hard pavement. She wasn’t sure whether to call this a first date or not, yet a sudden, irrational urge to kiss him seized her. I’m so food-deprived, I’m hallucinating.
What good Christian girl thinks about kissing a man she barely knows?
Apparently one who hasn’t been kissed in way too long.
Chapter 9
“Care to share your thoughts?” Landon asked.
“Not on your life.” Honesty had its limits, especially with someone she’d only met the day before. This whole experience was so strange yet wonderfully weird, and it made her dizzy. Aware he studied her profile, Amy dared not meet that blue-eyed gaze, afraid of what he’d see . . . or was it the other way around?
Reaching for her hand beneath the blanket, Landon squeezed it before releasing her. As the carriage neared the end of its ride, he jumped down to the pavement with the ease of a seasoned athlete. “Put out your arms and lean toward me. I’ll catch you.” The unexpected gentleness in his tone surprised her.
Amy frowned when she glimpsed the steep drop to the pavement. “It looks a lot further down than it did on the way up to the carriage.” She caught his amusement. “Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate, but wearing heels gives it a whole different perspective.” Not that a man would understand that. What a ninny. Close your eyes and pray he catches you.
“Trust me.” Standing on the sidewalk below, he opened his arms.
Hesitating only a moment more, she did as he asked but closed her eyes tight as she stepped out of the carriage.
Catching her—his hands around her waist, holding her close—Landon lowered her to the ground. “You can open your eyes again now.” His warm breath caressed her cheek. “Hungry yet?”
She’d just experienced one of the most chivalrous, romantic moments of her life and struggled to find her voice. “Um, sure. I can eat something now. You?”
“I could be convinced. How far is your church from here?”
“Too far to walk.”
When she relayed the address, he nodded. “Isn’t there a coffee shop near that corner?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. How’d you know?”
“Another guess. Name a New York City block that doesn’t have a coffee shop somewhere nearby.”
“True enough. Let’s go.”
“Great.” His smile grew wider. “Why don’t we eat a light supper and then I’ll drop you off safe and sound by the doors of the church by seven-thirty? After all,” he said, taking her by the hand and escorting her across the street, “I promised you dinner.” Reaching the street corner, Landon raised his arm and whistled. Sure enough, a cab pulled to the curb within seconds.
“How do you do it?” she asked as they hopped inside.
“You must have missed it,” he said. “It’s an elective at all New York universities.”
Seated at a corner booth a few minutes later, Amy was thrilled when he asked a blessing after their food arrived. Not the garden variety “Thank you for the grub,” his prayer was earnest and heartfelt, the kind that could only be faked by a skilled Broadway actor. Having been around a few professional actors in her lifetime, she could usually spot insincerity in a heartbeat.
For the next forty-five minutes, they traded stories and anecdotes. She enjoyed hearing about his work at New York Scene as she sampled her clam chowder. In turn, Landon seemed amused by her stories of life at Habits. The way he swirled his French fries in ketchup—two at a time—was fun to watch. She nearly drooled as he dug into his cheeseburger with melted Swiss cheese and grilled mushrooms. He asked thoughtful questions and paid attention to her answers. She discovered he was an only child and loved to fish with his dad as a kid. A hint of sadness crept into his voice at the mention of his father but he spoke lovingly of his mother.
They shared a slice of strawberry cheesecake—at his insistence—and sipped coffee. She noted he favored his left hand as he stirred in one creamer and sugar. Her dad had been left-handed, as was Mitch.
Although Landon’s questions were of the basic getting-to-know-you type, it didn’t feel like an interview—which it would from some in the publishing industry—but more a genuine I-want-to-know-you-better discussion. Still, she wished he’d talk more about himself so it wasn’t such a one-sided conversation. Leaning his chin on one hand, elbow propped, Landon prompted her to tell him more about her growing up years and laughed at her stories of childhood pranks Mitch played and the ways in which she and Celeste retaliated. His expressive eyes seemed to drink in the nuances of her face. With some men, such close scrutiny might have bothered her, but in
spite of her earlier misgivings, she felt at ease with him.
Standing outside the church a short time later, Amy nodded at her fellow church members as they climbed the steps. The rush of warm air coming from inside the church each time someone opened the heavy front doors was inviting, but she was reluctant to say good night. Several of the women cast curious glances her way as they hurried past them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t ask questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Landon held open the heavy wooden door for Velma King, the elderly prayer warrior who’d beseeched the Almighty for well over a year to “bring a mate for dear, sweet, lonely Amy Jacobsen.” Thanking him, Velma beckoned to her and leaned close. “Bring that handsome fella inside with you.”
“Mr. Warnick.” Hugh Farber’s resonant voice rang out in the night, making Amy jump. The church’s star tenor pumped Landon’s hand. “What a nice surprise and always a pleasure. Are you going to the Christmas dinner next Tuesday?”
Amy listened—and studied him a bit beneath surreptitious eyes—as Landon explained he’d be out of town and the men exchanged a few more pleasantries. Then it was Jonathan Kimball’s turn. “Thanks for all the toys you and your staff donated to our Christmas drive, Landon. Much appreciated.”
When Jonathan disappeared inside the church, Landon gave her a small smile. “It would seem some of the members of your church and I belong to the same civic and charitable organizations.”
“I have a question.”
“Ask away, but then I need to let you go inside.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sure they’ve already started.”
That was the last thing on her mind. “Tell me, do you ever stay home or are you always a man about town?” Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to pose the question, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Hardly, and that’s the answer to both questions.” When she raised a brow, he elaborated. “I’m not a man about town, defined by its usual meaning. First and foremost, it’s where I live.”
Amy tilted her head and surveyed him. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’ve been blessed with so much, and I try to give back when and where I can. A toy drive here, a homeless project there and events with a number of groups. Working hard to make New York Scene the best it can be and helping to meet the needs of different organizations makes me feel like I’m making some kind of difference, as cliché as that sounds.” His eyes met hers. “I can’t not do it.”
Questions swirled in her mind, but if she voiced them, they’d be standing on the steps of the church all night long. “I like where you live, Landon. Very much.”
His eyes softened. “I don’t mean to be tiresome, but it’s who I am.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she said, lowering her gaze from his. “But this is better. All your sophisticated talk can be a little exhausting sometimes, especially at the end of a long workday.”
Covering her gloved hand with his, he took a step closer. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better tonight. I hope you’ll agree to do this again soon.”
She lifted her eyes. “Promise me something.”
“Of course. Name it.”
“If I agree to see you again, will you please be ‘coffee shop Landon’? Not that I’m setting conditions.”
He appeared momentarily startled, his expression full of something akin to regret. “‘Coffee shop Landon’ it is.”
“Well, then, yes. Let’s.” How silly. Still, it was all she could think of to say. The man had her uncharacteristically tongue-tied. “I’d like that.” With his track record, that probably meant he’d call tomorrow. “One more question. What did you mean when you mentioned other things about me that clued you in that I might attend church on Wednesday nights?”
“You have a joy that radiates from the inside out. It’s rare and incredibly special.” Leaning close, he planted a soft kiss on her right cheek. His lips were warm and gentle.
What is this man doing to me?
Mischief danced in his eyes. “I’d like to move that kiss slightly to the left, but not wanting to offend you wins out.” Releasing her hand, he stepped back. “I wanted you to know the thought’s there.” He tapped one gloved finger on her nose. “That’s not the inner flirt talking, it’s plain truth.”
Amy let out a small moan.
A hint of male satisfaction curved his full lips. “Was that actually a little moan?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Yes, I do believe it was.”
“A good moan or a ‘please get away from my lips now’ moan?”
“It was more a groan along the lines of I can’t believe how irreverent we are to stand on the steps of my church discussing such a thing. But thanks for the thought.”
“Time for a compromise.” Leaning forward, Landon planted a whisper of a kiss on her other cheek. “I’m scheduled to go out of town tomorrow for an extended trip, but I’m expected to attend a benefit dinner for a children’s center on Saturday the twenty-first. I need to make an appearance, shake a few hands and stay long enough to say a few words. We can stay for dinner there or go somewhere else. Whatever you’d like. Please say you’ll come.”
The question in his eyes, the hope in his voice, was unexpected and sweet. He really wants me to go. “It sounds wonderful, but I’m leaving with Mitch on the twenty-first to go home for Christmas.”
His barely-concealed disappointment endeared him to her more. “Then I’ll call you when I get back in town and we’ll arrange something closer to the New Year.”
Inhaling a deep breath, she smiled as she turned to go inside.
“Amy, one last question?”
She paused and glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Would you mind if I join you here at the church sometime?”
“You’re welcome anytime, Landon. Good night.”
That smile of his was dangerous. “Good night.”
Amy knew he watched as she disappeared behind the heavy wooden door. Inside the church, she heaved a deep sigh as she removed her coat, resisting the urge to flatten herself against the door for support. She’d heard of the phenomenon of being weak in the knees and thought it was complete nonsense—until now. Being in Landon’s company brought about a rush of emotions, and she suspected it might take some time to settle down from the natural high of spending time with him.
Concentrating during the study was impossible, and Velma turned the pages as they shared a Bible. Amy covered her mouth when the well-meaning woman lifted yet another petition in their prayer circle. Something about bringing “the man of Amy’s dreams into her life.” In her mind, she replayed her conversations with Landon. She had no idea he’d be so . . . how best to describe him? One or two adjectives couldn’t do the man justice. Enigmatic, charming, intelligent, fascinating, flirtatious? They all made the list. Not to mention unbelievably gorgeous. Then again, he was a bit arrogant—or was it confidence? Presumptuous—or was it optimistic? Pushiness could also be mistaken for forward-thinking. Calm down. It was one date. No reason she had to make up her mind about him this minute. Or this week. Or month. Okay, enough with this.
From all appearances, Landon acted on his personal convictions. The more she thought about it, his magazine articles did contain spiritual threads—subtle but solid. Nothing thrilled her more. Call it the charm of the Christmas season, or the stars in her eyes. As much as anything else, Amy needed to believe—at least a little longer—in the fantasy of Landon Warnick.
Chapter 10
Thursday, December 5, 2002 — Mid-Morning
“Amy? A word in my office.” Not punctuated with a “please,” it was a command performance, not a mere request.
“I’ll be right there, Juliet.” Replacing the phone, Amy’s pulse jumped. She scrambled to find her notepad on her messy desk as she tried to squelch the rising sense of dread. Didn’t work. What have I done? Only once before had she been summoned to the massive corner office by the woman herself—in a similar stern tone—and she’d endured a tongue-la
shing. She’d listened, apologized, and shoved aside her pride and a sharp retort although she’d done nothing wrong. Then she escaped to her office for a good cry and a few soothing words from Marcheline. Developing a thick skin in the publishing environment was a difficult challenge. From what the other staffers told her, being reamed out by Juliet was a rite of passage inherent with her position. After all, her two predecessors each lasted less than a week at Habits, so she must be doing something right. Somehow, that knowledge brought little comfort as Amy started down the hallway.
Five minutes later, Marcheline ushered her into Juliet’s office, but not before giving her a reassuring wink. Cradling the phone on one shoulder, Juliet motioned for Amy to take a seat. She swiveled out of view in her massive leather chair while Amy doodled on her notepad. Her fingers were shaking so hard, she almost dropped the pen on the carpet. She clamped her hand on her thumping leg and deep-breathed a few times.
Finished with her phone call a minute later, Juliet got straight to the point. “Amy, can you explain why Landon Warnick is calling you here at the office?”
She certainly hadn’t expected that question. “It’s personal, Juliet, not business.” How does she know? Amy masked her frown. A nosy editorial assistant or staff member must have overheard her take Landon’s call yesterday. After all, anyone worth their salt recognized the rival publisher’s name. Funny though. She didn’t recall calling him by name at any point in their conversation.
“He’s not trying to steal you away, is he?” Rising to her feet, Juliet paced by the side of her desk with one manicured hand poised on her slim hip.
Steal me away? Phrasing aside, she didn’t appreciate the insinuation. Be calm. “I have no intention of leaving, and I can assure you Landon’s not trying to recruit me for his magazine.”
“I should hope not.” Juliet leaned against her desk, arms crossed. “Knowing him, I can certainly understand why your head might be turned. He has a certain . . . quality. Be forewarned where that man’s concerned. You might believe he’s wooing you personally, but chances are, he has an ulterior motive. You’re a talented writer, Amy, and you’re important to me, to Habits.”