The Perfect Wedding

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, adopting her best business tone. “Try no more,” she said. “I was impressed to begin with.” She strode forward, reveling in the rich laughter that followed her.

It was that laughter, augmented with smiles, that bolstered her during what was to be a difficult consultation, for if Dedrah was uncertain, her intended was not. He didn’t want this wedding. He didn’t say so in words, but he didn’t have to; Layne had become adept over the years at reading the silent body language of her clients. A stony face, and she had seldom seen one stonier, was a sure sign of dislike. When she added a fist that reflexively clenched, then deliberately relaxed, a leg that jiggled uncontrollably and a frown that turned too quickly to a iusteriess smile, she came up with a fellow trying to appear accepting of something he did not truly want.

The question was why he was playing the game—for Dedrah’s sake or for Rod’s? The latter seemed unlikely. Sam could save his uncle a bundle by expressing a preference for a simple service, so he had to be keeping quiet for Dedrah’s sake. He wouldn’t be the first groom to indulge his bride, and yet something about this whole arrangement didn’t quite add up. Rod had said he wanted Dedrah to have the best, and apparently Sammy did, too, so why wasn’t Dedrah enthusiastically embracing everything Layne had to offer? Maybe the girl didn’t know what she wanted. Maybe she didn’t know what a “proper” wedding actually entailed, and maybe she felt guilty about the amount of money Rod would have to spend in order to provide her with one. Whatever the problem, Layne concentrated on making Dedrah feel relaxed and included, while actually leaving her very few decisions. Time dictated the leeway Layne could allow in this case, and everyone seemed to accept her “suggestions” until they came to the matter of guest lists again.

“I think we should plan for no fewer than three hundred guests,” Layne contended. “Dedrah, you’re bound to think of a few names you’ll want to add to your list before the invitations go out, and both sets of parents will likely want their friends included.”

“I don’t think so,” Dedrah replied in a small voice.

At the same moment Sammy shook his head. “Me, neither. Till we’re married, Rod’s all I’ve got in the way of family.”

Layne could not prevent her gaze going up to Rod’s face. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, the toe of one boot hooked around the heel of the other. Those smoky eyes were trained on Layne’s face, and she had the distinct impression that they had been there all along. Despite the little thrill that swept through her, she forced herself back to business.

“I know you think that now,” she told the pair confidently, “but experience tells me that you will add to the list. Don’t worry, we’ll eventually cut back, but the time for that is after the RSVPs come in. I’m guessing we’ll wind up around two hundred and fifty, but in the meantime we plan for three hundred. That leaves us a comfortable cushion. It also means that any surprises at the end will be pleasant ones in terms of expense. Now, are we agreed here?”

“We’re agreed,” Rod said flatly. After a hesitation, during which he reached over and clasped Dedrah’s hand, Sammy nodded his acquiescence. Only then did Dedrah give hers. Layne breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The matter was settled, and Sammy did seem to be holding back for Dedrah’s sake. However, if Rod Corley had his way, no one would be holding back for very long. He was an amazingly generous man, and family seemed to mean a great deal to him. She smiled to herself, remembering the way he’d cooed to Sam and Dedrah’s baby. Are you Uncle’s girl? A man like that should have had babies of his own. She wondered why he hadn’t, then wondered if maybe he had. But no, a family of Rod’s would have been family of Sammy’s, and Sammy had made it plain that he had only Rod—for now. When Sammy married, both he and Rod would expand their family. Maybe that explained Rod’s generosity. “I want her to have the best,” he had said of Dedrah. Yes, family meant a lot to Rod Corley. Layne was impressed, but again she made herself turn her thoughts to business. Producing a wedding of this magnitude in only four months time left no room for dillydallying.

“Location,” she said. “I’ll call around to the local churches that can accommodate a wedding of this size and find out which ones have open dates about four months from now. Let’s schedule another meeting. Oh…” She flipped through her calendar again. “How’s Friday?”

“Fine,” Rod said, and nobody else bothered to argue.

“About four-thirty?”

“We’ll be here.”

Not they but we. Because of her? Layne wondered. Did he want to see her again, or was he just that rare man who actually enjoyed planning weddings? She could easily believe that God would chose such a man for her. She smiled to herself as Dedrah and Sammy got to their feet, then quickly composed herself and rose also.

“We’ll see you, Miss Harington,” Sammy said, his hand resting in the small of Dedrah’s back.

“You’re kind to do this for us in so short a time,” Dedrah added, but Sammy snorted.

“Four months looks like four years just now, if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody did,” Rod said, a hand falling on Sammy’s shoulder. “Now scoot. I need a word with Miss Harington.”

Layne took pains to smile at Dedrah. “I look forward to seeing you again. Good day.”

“So long, ma’am.” Dedrah and Sam turned and left them, their arms linked about each other’s waists.

Layne stood beside Rod and looked up at him. Was he really for her? Somehow she believed that he was and she couldn’t help thinking that God was being very generous. “Walk me out?”

“My pleasure,” she said, and he gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out.

“I, um, just wanted to thank you again,” he said, “and, ah, explain about Sam.”

She cocked her head to one side. “What about him?”

He reached out a hand and cupped her elbow, turning her smoothly, and they began to stroll after Sam and Dedrah. “Actually, it’s about Heather,” he said haltingly. “Sammy didn’t know Dedrah was pregnant when he went to Saudi Arabia.”

“He’s military, then?” That explained the haircut.

“Was. He just got out. If I’d had my way, he’d never have enlisted, but it was done by the time I found out about it. Anyway, apparently they had some kind of fight—and that’s another thing. I didn’t even know they were seeing each other. I mean, I knew he was going out when he was home on leave, but I didn’t know who with. I figured he was seeing lots of girls, but instead he was seeing just one, and obviously things got pretty serious. But then they had this fight, and they broke up. I don’t think he was very happy about it, because he did write her from Saudi Arabia. I guess she had her reasons for not telling him about the baby.”

“I can understand that,” Layne said quietly. They had walked past Frankie and the Stapletons, and she was anxious to keep the conversation private, considering the delicate nature of the subject. That being the case, she stopped right beneath the arch that led out into the front showroom, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of them and the Stapletons. “I would imagine Dedrah didn’t want him to feel pressured,” she said. “They had broken up. He’d gone off to war. It wasn’t as if he could do anything about it from Saudi Arabia.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Rod agreed, “especially as he didn’t know. But like I said, I think he cared about her all along, because when he got stationed over at Ft. Sill, he didn’t waste any time looking her up, and apparently as soon as he laid eyes on Heather he knew she was his.”

“And naturally he claimed her.”

“Not yet,” Rod said uneasily. “I mean, not legally. The wedding will pretty much take care of that, but we haven’t figured out exactly how to handle the rest of it. The wedding’s the important thing, though. If we do that right, that’s half the battle. It took him some time to convince Dedrah that he really wanted to marry her.” Rod went on. “He was back in this area a couple of weeks before I even found out any of this.”

“And when you did, you offered them the wedding of their dreams,” Layne supplied helpfully.

Rod grinned. “Something like that. The point is, Sam’s a good kid who’s made a mistake, and now I’m trying to help him overcome it, not that any of us consider Heather a mistake, mind you. It’s just that they did kind of get the cart before the horse, and now they’ve got to…well, hold their heads up and fix it. They’re doing the right thing by getting married, but I personally think how they do it is important, too. I mean, if they slink off and do it in some shabby little office somewhere, that’s the same as saying they’re ashamed, don’t you think?”

Layne shrugged uncomfortably; this really wasn’t any of her business. But he had asked. “I don’t know. I suppose some people might think so.”

“Right, and I just don’t see why those kids ought to have to deal with that. Besides, they have every right to a fancy wedding. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I think I do,” Layne said. “You don’t want them to miss out on anything.”

“Them or that little girl,” he said, then a pained expression flitted across his face. “I know this wedding’s liable to cause some gossip,” he went on, “and goodness knows Dedrah’s had plenty of that already. If people only knew, when they started whispering tales, how much hurt they were causing, there wouldn’t be any such thing as gossip. But nobody seems to consider that, and I’ve no reason to think they will now. But I think it’ll all turn out for the best if we just keep our heads up and go on as we would have if they hadn’t made that one mistake.”

Layne smiled and was bold enough to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “I think they’re very blessed to have you,” she told him.

His head bowed, and he started working his way around the brim of his hat with both hands. She took her hand away, and he said softly, “I think we’re all blessed for having found you to help us,” he said.

Layne put her head back and laughed. “Mr. Corley,” she said, “you could hardly have missed me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only game in town.”

“And most any other woman in that position would be a real snooty sort,” he said, “but you’re not like that at all.”

She actually felt herself blush. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Kindness deserves kindness,” he said softly, and for just a moment Layne had the crazy notion that they were somehow set apart from the others in the building. She could see and hear the others around them, and yet the spot where they stood had the most amazingly intimate aura about it. Then everything snapped back into perspective, and she saw clearly that they enjoyed no privacy whatsoever.

She lifted her chin, swallowed and wrapped her arms about herself as casually as she could manage. “You know, you really don’t owe me any explanations,” she pointed out. “I’m hired help, and because my services aren’t free, it pays to be on my best behavior with all my clients. If some are easier to be kind to than others, well, that’s a blessing.”

“I just thought it’d help if you understood the circumstances fully,” he said, and she nodded.

“It does. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now would you do me a favor?” he asked, his voice husky and low.

Anything, she thought, but wisely she said only, “If I can.”

He lifted his hat and fitted it carefully onto his head, saying, “Now don’t agree too fast. This is a biggie.”

Somehow she doubted it. The gleam in his smoky blue eyes seemed to say that he was teasing. “What?” she urged, her face perfectly blank.

He tugged his hat brim down over his eyebrows and leaned forward, whispering, “Call me Rod.”

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “My name is Layne, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said, and those blue-gray eyes twinkled brightly.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

She nodded, feeling terribly conspicuous, where moments before she’d felt set apart, and said, “See you Friday, Rod.”

He shot her a smile like white lightning. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Layne.”

He tipped his hat and left her. Her heart was beating a slow, steady, but very pronounced staccato. Not the groom at all, she thought. Thank you, God. She smiled to herself. Only four months, but this was going to be a wedding to really make Rod Corley proud. It was going to take lots of her personal attention, she decided, more so than any wedding she’d ever handled. But something told her it was going to be worth it. Something told her she had just met the man intended for her, the man of her dreams, the answer to her prayers. Cherishing that secret, she turned back to Mrs. Stapleton and Leslie, and this time her smile was the real thing. Never mind that it wasn’t for them.

Chapter Three

Layne had plenty of time to think and pray before Friday, and yet, by the time that last appointment of the day drew near, she was painfully conscious of a fluttering in her stomach. It was not unlike the moment when all her efforts seemed to culminate: the church was filled, the music ceased, the mother of the bride and both of the groom’s parents were seated, the wedding party in all its finery poised on the brink of movement, and then began the processional. Step, pause, step. Step, pause, step. Maids in beautiful dresses, their faces composed with serenity and joy, moved down the aisle on the arms of tuxedoed young men, grave and solicitous. Then came “Here Comes the Bride,” those first familiar notes ringing out with the authority of trumpet blows, and the crowd rose expectantly to its feet. Poised in the doorway was the bride in all her elegant finery, clutching the arm of a nervous father. She was always extraordinarily beautiful, and it never failed to thrill Layne that all the old pundits were right. The groom took one look and his chest swelled with pride, his eyes sparkled, and a smile touched his lips.

This was love, sacred and ordained, the very height of it, when commitment was made and reveled in. Everything after that moment was anticlimactic to Layne, though she knew it was not so for the couple involved. For them, the pageant had only begun, while her part in it was all but finished. Sometimes she wondered if she didn’t stay in this business just for the satisfaction of that one moment when she recognized love reflected in the eyes of the groom as he saw his bride as the most beautiful creature on earth. Just once she wanted a groom’s eyes on her.

It was the foolish thought of a natural-born romantic, and she thrust it away as soon as it formed, but it came flooding back to her when she heard chimes and turned to find Rod Corley staring at her, an appreciative gleam in the dusky blue depths of his eyes. Immediately, the butterflies in her stomach took flight, shivering throughout her body, and she was immensely grateful that she had dressed that morning with particular care. She rejected the impulse to smooth the deep coral bouclé knit of her slim skirt and tug at the ribbed hem of the soft matching sweater. Instead, confident that the color of the suit picked up the auburn highlights in her nut brown hair while its soft, slender shape made the most of her figure, she brought her hands together and smiled.

Heather was riding high in the crook of his arm, one chubby fist grasping his ear. Sammy and Dedrah stood at his back. The off-white sweater he wore with his jeans and boots made his hair seem darker by contrast and more of a single color. His hat was in his free hand.

“Hello.”

Just the sound of his voice warmed her almost uncomfortably, and she had the odd sensation that she was swaying dizzily; yet her mind was clear, her senses sharp. She let her eyes meet his and made her smile briefly personal. “Hello.”

“Hope you don’t mind that we brought Heather along again, but I thought it important that we all be here, and Dedrah’s mother had a doctor’s appointment. We don’t much like to leave her with anyone else. She’s used to her grandma.”

We? She wondered if he realized how much he revealed about his feelings for that child. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

“I didn’t think you would. Besides, she’s no trouble.” He turned his attention to the baby. “You’re no trouble, are you, sweetcakes?”

In reply, the little one put her arms about his head and squeezed, planting a sloppy kiss on his forehead. Everyone laughed, and Heather gave them a drooling smile, then suddenly began climbing over Rod’s shoulder to reach for her father. Sammy swung her down and settled her on his hip, while Dedrah chased the drools back up her little chin with a tissue.

“No!” Heather said, throwing back her head. “No…no.”

“Yes,” Dedrah reprimanded quietly, wiping her chin dry.

Rebelliously, Heather lunged for “Uncle,” catching her tiny hands in his sweater. Calmly, he turned and took her up again, saying, “Are you trying to make a liar out of me, shorty?” With perfect comic timing, she nodded emphatically, and everyone laughed again. “Well, you’re succeeding,” Rod told her, the very picture of patience.

Layne decided it was time to get everyone settled. She lifted an arm invitingly. “I have coffee and soft drinks in the other room, and I think I can find a can of fruit juice for the munchkin.”

“That’s all right,” Dedrah said, extracting a bottle from her purse. “We came prepared.”

Heather promptly snatched the bottle from her mother’s hand and popped the nipple in her mouth. Rod rocked her back in his arm, cuddling her against him, and she crossed one little ankle over the other little knee, looking for all the world as if she were kicking back on a chaise longue. Amazing, the way he handled her. Layne started toward the consultation area, and Rod fell in at her side, the others following.

“I’ll get another chair,” she said, skirting the table and heading toward the workroom.

“Let me help,” he insisted, tossing his hat onto the table, and though she opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, she found herself smiling instead of talking. Heather in tow, he followed her down the corridor to that place where she felt most at home, the workroom, the creative heart of her whole operation. It was here that every young woman’s dream gown was “sculpted” to fit her personal form or, better yet, designed and sewn especially for her, a true one-of-a-kind garment.

Layne knew all too well that she was very small potatoes indeed compared to the world-famous couturiers of New York, London or Rome, but she still took pride in her designs and special adaptations. Ethics forbade her “knocking off” another’s dress, but she had found over the years that she could take a basic pattern or a significant feature and build a garment around it that was both unique and pleasing to the client. It was very satisfying to see the joy in the eyes of a happy bride when her own special wedding gown met her hopeful expectations. There were disappointments, of course, such as clients who couldn’t be pleased or didn’t know their own minds, but one of the other kind was worth two such as these, and so Layne considered herself blessed to be doing what she did. Some of that pride must have communicated itself to Rod, for he took one look around the room when they got there and lifted his free hand to the back of his neck.

“Wow. I didn’t know. I mean, I thought you only sold dresses and bows and stuff.” He walked over to a fitting double and looked at the unfinished dress pinned to the carefully measured contours of the adjustable mannequin. “You start from scratch, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you begin with? A bolt of material and…”

“An idea,” she said. “It always starts with an idea.” She went to the drawing table and carefully peeled up a large sheet of paper.

Rod joined her, holding Heather to one side so that her tiny feet had no opportunity to kick at the drawing, and peered down over Layne’s shoulder to study the detailed rendition of an elaborate gown of medieval design. She heard the slow intake of his breath and the low whistle that followed it. He turned his head to look again at the mannequin. “Is that this?”

“No. We haven’t cut this one yet. That dress goes with the drawing pinned to the bulletin board over there.”

He strolled over to take a look, capturing Heather’s little hand in time to prevent her ripping down a bright pink invoice of some sort. He studied the drawing that hung beside it, then backed away, shaking his head. “You’re a woman of extraordinary talents, Layne,” he said, turning a look of more than mere approval upon her.

“Thank you.” She felt as if she were glowing. Her heart tripped like a jackhammer in double time, and the pleasure was almost too wonderful to bear. She dropped her head and angled it to the side, spying the chair for which they’d come. At the same moment, Heather popped the bottle nipple out of her mouth and filled the room with a soft gurgling sound, lending a touch of her own brand of baby normalcy to the situation. “We ought to get back,” Layne said with a smile.

“Oh, right. Is that the chair you want, the folding one?”

“Yes, but as you see, it’s very light. I can get it.”

“No, no. I’ll manage.”

Their hands collided against the smooth, cool metal of the chair back. Her immediate impulse was to withdraw, but his hand settled warmly over hers, his palm replacing the two smallest fingers that had initially made contact. Warmth spread up her arm and into her chest. Her heart swelled to the point of pain. For a moment she could neither speak nor breathe, but she looked away and the moment passed.

“This is silly,” she said, willing her hand to remain still beneath his. “You have the baby. I should carry the chair.”

“Or…” he suggested, and her gaze zipped up to the baby cradled in the crook of his arm.

Her own eagerness surprised and amused her. Sensing that she was suddenly the center of attention again, Heather snapped her bottle free and gave off a broad, wet smile that displayed all ten of her tiny teeth. Rod chuckled and wiped her mouth with the flat of his hand, drying his hand on his pants leg.

“She might get apple juice on that pretty outfit of yours,” he said.

Layne didn’t even bother to tell him how little that mattered. Instead, she asked, “Do you think she’d let me hold her?” Heather stuck the nipple back in her mouth and drew on it strongly.

“This kid is so secure,” Rod said, smoothing down her hair, “that she isn’t afraid of anyone, and we can credit her mama with that.” Suddenly Heather decided to change positions. Her bottle dangling from her mouth, she used her little hands to claw her way upright. Laughing, Rod allowed her momentum to carry her into Layne’s waiting arms.

The baby was surprisingly heavy, but it was love at first cuddle. “Hi, peach,” Layne said softly, using her father’s pet name for all three of his daughters. Heather dug a chubby finger into the center of a tiny crocheted flower on the tip of Layne’s collar. “You like my rose?” Layne crooned. “Pretty rose.”

To her surprise, Heather reached up a hand to unplug the bottle from her mouth and said, “Roe.”

Layne laughed with delight. Rod grinned, folding up the chair. “Another day, another conquest,” he said, sighing. “Must be nice to have all that charm.”

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