The Wedding Planner

Adam’s mother had left West Virginia shortly after her husband’s death six years ago to travel the continent. She had not seen fit to return, not even for her only daughter’s funeral, which was in keeping with Lilah Morgan’s personality. She’d always loved herself more than anyone else.

Bitter at the slight she had shown his sister, Adam had also been relieved. He had no desire to see his mother, who would likely muck up the adoption proceedings with her histrionics, at any rate.

“Yes, thank God! She’s still there. I just hope she stays away for the next three months, until we can get everything finalized.”

Peter hesitated before bringing up the next subject, which he knew would bring pain to his friend. But he also knew there was no getting around it. Adam wanted to be apprised of any and all developments concerning the murder of his sister. “There’s been no word on Curtis Tremayne. The district attorney’s office doesn’t have any new leads as to his whereabouts, and the private investigator we hired hasn’t turned up anything yet. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth.”

At the mention of his former brother-in-law, Adam’s eyes flashed quicksilver. He had warned Allison about marrying the handsome gold digger, but she’d fancied herself in love with Tremayne and hadn’t listened.

Now she was dead.

The bastard had strangled the sweet, lovely woman with his bare hands after beating her viciously beforehand. The sight of Allison’s battered body, when she was dying, had sickened Adam’s stomach and his mind. He would never forget what his sister had endured for the sake of love.

The only good that had come out of Allison’s relationship with Curtis Tremayne had been their daughter, Megan, and son, Andrew. Adam had promised Allison on her deathbed that he would keep the children from Tremayne and adopt them as his own.

“Hire more investigators. I want that guy found. It’s been three months since my sister’s murder, and we’ve had no justice, no closure. I want him to pay for what he’s done.”

Peter scribbled on his notepad. “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

“I want the media contacted about my plans to marry. You can coordinate your efforts with Miss Baxter. You’ve probably had more experience in dealing with the press than she has. Though she looks a damn sight better than you.”

The good-natured lawyer grinned. “You want national coverage—Good Morning America, the Today Show?”

Adam nodded. “I want the world to know that Adam Morgan is looking for a wife.”

“You’re going to make yourself a target for those who won’t agree with what you’re doing.”

The tall man shrugged. “It’s a small enough price to pay to honor my sister’s last request, don’t you think? And I’ve got you and Miss Baxter to run interference for me.” Adam finally smiled. “I think the woman is up for the challenge. How about you?”

Chapter Two

Meredith might have been bearding the lion at ten, but the only thing growling this morning as she made her way up the flagstone walk to the mansion’s wide double doors was her stomach. She’d been running late and hadn’t had time for breakfast.

Issuing a cease-and-desist order to her stomach, she sucked it in, tugged at the hem of her royal-blue wool suit jacket, checked her stockings to make sure they were run free—she wasn’t going to give that voyeur another reason to stare at her legs—and quickly admired her manicure: Wild Rose, and not a chip in sight.

Let the cretin try to find fault with her today, she thought, smiling defiantly.

Banging the heavy brass door knocker three times, she turned to survey her surroundings while she waited.

The house sat atop a hill and overlooked the city below. The view was spectacular, she had to admit. The grounds were as well manicured as the man who owned them. The acre front lawn was as green as a piece of crushed velvet, unusual for this early in spring, and didn’t have one unsightly weed growing in it. Not that weeds would dare grow in Adam Morgan’s lawn.

Giving silent thanks that she didn’t have to mow such a monstrosity, she smiled at the thought of her own postage-stamp-size yard, which suited her to perfection. She had more weeds than lawn, and what wasn’t taken up with weeds was covered with flowers of every sort imaginable.

Flowers were her passion. She wondered if Adam Morgan had any passions, besides sunflower seeds, that is. It had taken her almost an hour to vacuum the carpet after he’d left yesterday. She knew now what Gretel had felt like following the breadcrumb trail.

Glancing at the plantings of white and red begonias lining the drive and front walk, she shook her head in dismay. Anyone with half a brain knew it wasn’t wise to plant begonias until after Derby Day, which wasn’t until May, and usually after the last frost. Not that such a thing mattered to Adam Morgan, who had more money than God, and probably wasn’t the least bit bothered by such trivial matters. No doubt he had an army of gardeners who took care of such things.

Glancing at her watch to find that it was now five minutes after the hour, she frowned and banged the knocker again, harder this time, wondering why old houses never had doorbells. She was about to make an off-color comment about the rudeness of having been kept waiting, when the door was thrust open by the scowling man himself.

Adam Morgan didn’t look at all happy to see her; the feeling, she could assure him, was mutual. “You’re late, Miss Baxter. I abhor lateness. It’s a sign of a disorganized mind.”

The attack was so sudden she didn’t have time to ponder why his maid or butler hadn’t answered the door. Drawing herself up to her five-foot, five-inch height, which barely met his chin, she responded, “For your information, Mr. Morgan, I was not late. I’ve been standing on your porch for a full five minutes waiting in the cold for someone to answer my knock.

“And while we’re on the subject, I would think someone with your resources could afford an intercom system, or, at the very least, a working doorbell.”

Tossing a handful of sunflower seed husks into the potting soil of one of the tall, spiral holly bushes flanking the massive front door, he stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “A doorbell in a two-hundred-year-old historical house? I don’t think so, Miss Baxter. Aside from the fact that it would look incongruous to have something so modern as a doorbell cluttering up the facade, it would ruin the exquisite stone—stone my great grandfather quarried himself and hauled up this hill on a wagon.”

His voice was filled with such passion when he spoke about the mansion that Meredith’s earlier question was now answered: apparently the house ranked right up there with sunflower seeds. Admirable.

“My housekeeper had an emergency and had to leave. If you’re cold—” He stared at her chest, as if he could sense that her nipples were puckered, making Meredith extremely grateful she wore a suit jacket.

Not bothering to reply she followed him into the walnut-paneled study, where a fire burned cheerfully in the grate. The only cheerful thing about the room, she noted. The colors were somber and restrained, much like the man himself. The burgundy velvet drapes matched the two Queen Anne chairs flanking the fireplace. The leather-bound volumes lining the shelves, though attractive, and no doubt expensive, didn’t add much in the way of relief. It was obvious the antique furnishings had been designed for looks not comfort.

Seating herself on a straight-backed chair fronting the impressive mahogany desk, she reached into her portfolio and pulled out an assortment of wedding invitation samples and cake photos, spreading them out on the leather desktop. “These are just samples, of course. I have others, if none meet your needs.”

What would meet Adam’s needs, or rather who, was seated directly in front of him. Meredith Baxter, with her bow-shaped, kissable mouth and a figure that conjured up X-rated thoughts, was an incredibly sexy woman. And as Peter had so succinctly pointed out, he hadn’t been with a woman, sexy or otherwise, in a very long time.

“You’re frowning, Mr. Morgan. Is there something the matter? As I said, I have other samples I can show you.”

Pushing the material back to her, he shook his head. “Just use your own judgment, Miss Baxter. I don’t really care what the cake and invitations look like. Those are trivial matters for the female mind.”

Meredith bit the inside of her cheek, reminding herself of the ten thousand dollars sitting in her bank account.

“The only requirement I have is that the date be set for Saturday, June 21. I want the invitations printed immediately.”

“But—” Was the man insane? Duh!

“No buts about it, Miss Baxter. I have a deadline to meet. We both do, as a matter of fact.”

“But you don’t have a bride. How can you possibly set a date for the wedding without a bride? Certain details have to be decided, and—”

“The wedding plans will proceed. I’m sure you’re going to need every bit of the time allotted to pull this off. You have less than twelve weeks to finalize everything.”

Realizing that she would probably be fired for what she was about to say, Meredith plunged ahead anyway. “Making wedding plans without a bride is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I naturally assumed when you laid out your ridiculous scheme that you intended to find the bridal candidate first, then proceed with the arrangements. I can’t plan a wedding without a bride. It just isn’t—”

Ignoring her protest and pointed opinion, and without revealing so much as a flicker of the annoyance he felt, Adam moved from his desk to the floor adjacent to where Meredith sat and proceeded in his expensive designer suit to execute a series of sit-ups.

At the man’s outlandish behavior, Meredith’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Mr. Morgan!”

“I think better when I’m exercising,” he said nonchalantly, as if everyone in America exercised in an Armani suit. “Care to join me? It gets the blood pumping to the brain.” It also afforded one an excellent view of long, silky legs, which got the blood pumping elsewhere.

“In your case I don’t think it’s working, or else you wouldn’t have made such a stupid suggestion.”

Adam paused, then sat up, hugging his knees as he gazed into her earnest face—a face he was growing more attracted to with every passing moment. “I think you’re forgetting who is paying for all this ‘stupidity,’ Miss Baxter. If I want to hold this wedding the day after tomorrow with a chimpanzee for a bride, I will.

“You’ve been hired to plan and execute, not to give opinions, unless they’re asked for. I don’t recall asking, do you?”

Meredith cursed inwardly as a flush crept over her cheeks, and she tried to keep her temper under control. The man was totally infuriating! He deserved to marry a chimpanzee. Preferably one who smelled bad and had large teeth.

Adam rose to his feet at the same time the study door opened and Peter Webber entered. The lawyer, who’d overheard the tail end of their conversation, smiled widely at the outspoken woman. Meredith Baxter didn’t sound the least bit malleable. In fact, she sounded quite the match for the irascible millionaire.

“Don’t let Adam intimidate you, Miss Baxter. He’s very good at it, you know.”

“Meredith Baxter meet my attorney, Peter Webber,” Adam said, performing the introduction. “Or should I say former attorney? I’m thinking of making a change.”

Peter smiled, not at all bothered by Adam’s remark. The millionaire threatened to fire him at least once a week, sometimes twice. He had yet to carry out his threats.

“Nice to meet you. I understand we’ll be working together on the media coverage.”

He held out his hand, and Meredith took it, deciding in that instant that she liked Peter Webber. He was tall, very good-looking in an Ivy League sort of way, and he appeared to be a whole lot nicer than his client. The twinkle in his blue eyes said he didn’t take Adam Morgan too seriously. But then, who in their right mind did?

“I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Webber.”

“Call me Peter, or Webb. I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony.”

“Me, neither. It’s Meredith.” Though she directed her comment to Peter, she was staring directly at Adam, who looked decidedly ill at ease, and not at all pleased that she and his attorney were hitting it off so well.

“You may call me Adam in private, Miss Baxter. But I’d like you to maintain the formalities in front of the press corp and when in the presence of my staff and business associates. At those times business protocols should be maintained.”

“I’m all for keeping our relationship strictly business, Mr. Morgan, so you needn’t worry I’ll cross the barriers you’ve erected.” She turned her back on the mogul, as if his concerns didn’t matter at all.

“I believe you wanted to discuss the media coverage with me, Peter. I think we may have a problem with the chimpanzee angle.” She met his grin with one of her own.

If anger could have produced steam, Adam would have blown it out through his ears. He was doing a darn good impersonation of Old Faithful about to erupt. Even the sight of the infuriating woman’s too-tight skirt, hugging her impossibly firm, taut—

“Adam!” Peter called out for the second time. “Your phone’s ringing. Do you want me to answer it?”

With a shake of his head, Adam cursed himself for allowing the wedding planner to interfere with his concentration, then picked up the receiver and was quickly absorbed in a multitude of work-related problems.

While Adam conducted business matters, Meredith and Peter discussed the various media strategies they wanted to implement. Peter suggested that they begin their campaign with local newspapers, radio and television stations, then work their way up to the national broadcasters, which made perfect sense to Meredith, who admittedly didn’t know a press release from a grocery list.

They’d just finished their discussion when Adam’s niece and nephew wandered into the room. In the space of a heartbeat, Meredith became enraptured.

The Tremayne children were adorable. To his credit, Adam had shielded them from the media circus surrounding his sister’s murder, so this was the first time she’d had the opportunity to observe them.

At eight, Andrew appeared to be a typical boy. His uncombed hair looked like a bomb had recently exploded in it, the right knee of his pants was torn—Morgan was sure to disapprove of that—and his shoelaces were untied and trailing on the floor. The engaging grin he flashed made Meredith suspect the child would grow up to be a heartbreaker, just like his uncle was purported to be.

Two years younger, Megan was on the shy side and hid behind her brother during Peter’s introduction. Her two front teeth were missing, but that didn’t detract from her dimpled smile when she chose to show it. A bedraggled teddy bear named Murphy was hugged tightly to her chest. The bear, Peter explained, had been a gift from her mother shortly before the woman’s tragic death.

The attorney ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “How’s it going, sport?” Kneeling in front of Megan, he held out his arms. “Don’t I get a kiss from my favorite girl?”

Meredith watched Peter quickly win over the little girl, who not only gave him a kiss but a hug as well. She noted with interest that no similar affection was bestowed upon her uncle, whose tone of voice had risen several octaves while he continued to berate one of his plant managers, making the child shrink further in response.

A few moments later Peter’s beeper went off, calling him back to his office, and Meredith was left to fend for herself with the children, which didn’t bother her in the least. She adored kids and hoped one day to have some of her own.

Engaging them in conversation, she soon had Megan and Andrew revealing all sorts of details about themselves, like how Megan hated brussels sprouts, how Andrew had broken his arm last year by falling out of a tree, and how their dog Barnaby was not allowed in the house because he tinkled on the carpet.

The children, laughing aloud at some of the silly jokes Meredith told, were completely at ease in her presence; the effortless, friendly exchange between them was not lost on Adam, who had a very difficult time communicating with his niece and nephew.

He was a man who talked to CEOs of major corporations, political figures and civic-minded leaders on a regular basis, but became tongue-tied and ill-at-ease when he had to converse with his dead sister’s children.

Noting that Meredith had no such problem, Adam’s previous pique was all but forgotten, replaced instead with intriguing thoughts and possibilities, and he heard himself saying, “Why don’t you stay for lunch, Miss Baxter, so we can continue our discussion of the wedding.”

Though startled by the invitation, Meredith’s stomach, which had been rumbling like a cement mixer at the most inopportune moments, made up her mind for her, as did the two children, who were tugging her hands and begging her to stay.

“Please say you’ll have lunch with us, Miss Baxter,” Andrew implored, his sister bobbing her head in agreement. “You don’t have to worry about the food. Mrs. Fishburn made it before she left, not Uncle Adam.”

For once Adam didn’t admonish his niece and nephew about butting into grown-up affairs that were none of their concern.

Meredith’s heart went out to the two lost little souls. She couldn’t imagine being so young and having to deal with the death of someone who comprised your whole world, and having to face the fact that your father, the man you were supposed to love and look up to, had been accused of killing your mother and was gone now, too.

“All right,” she said, realizing her heart had suddenly jumped to her throat. “I’d love to.”

OVER A DELICIOUS MEAL of chicken salad, fresh fruit and nut bread, Meredith and Adam discussed various locations where the wedding and reception could be held, finally deciding on the fashionable Morgantown Country Club, where Morgans had been members since its inception shortly after the Civil War.

When the discussion turned to bridal candidates, the children had their own advice to offer.

“Make sure the ladies you talk to like model trains, Miss Baxter,” Andrew advised. “Uncle Adam loves playing with his trains.”

Eyes widening, Meredith glanced up from her salad to observe the man seated across from her, wondering what else he liked playing with. Her knee started knocking and she grabbed it. “Is that so?” Adam’s ears were as red as his necktie, and he seemed genuinely embarrassed, a fact she found quite charming.

“Yep. Uncle Adam doesn’t let anyone—”

“That’s quite enough, Andrew. I’m sure Miss Baxter isn’t interested in my personal habits and hobbies.” He looked to her for confirmation, but found none.

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Morgan. The more I know about you the easier it will be to find someone who’s compatible, chimpanzees notwithstanding, of course.” He replied to her teasing smile with an imperious arch of his brow.

“He doesn’t like dogs, I know that,” Megan said, turning to look out the dining room window at Barnaby, who bore a marked resemblance to Little Orphan Annie’s dog Sandy, and was staring in at them with a forlorn expression. Barking several times, the mutt wagged his tail in hopeful reprieve.

Adam’s voice softened. “Now, Megan, it isn’t that I don’t like dogs. But we have some very expensive Aubusson rugs on the hardwood floors, and the dog can’t seem to distinguish between them and the grass.”

“But Barnaby’s lonely outside, Uncle Adam. He’s just nervous because this is a new house, and he’s scared of all the changes, that’s all.”

Meredith wondered if the little girl was speaking about the dog or herself. From the blank look on her uncle’s face, it was doubtful he noted the difference.

“Rules are rules, Megan. And what did we learn about rules?”

“They’re not to be questioned, but obeyed,” the two kids recited in unison, making Meredith eager to jump across the table and shake some sense into the obtuse man.

But she wouldn’t.

It was obvious Adam Morgan truly loved his niece and nephew, but was out of his element when it came to relating to them. Instead of talking to Andrew and Megan on a level they could understand, he spoke to them as if he were discussing a merger in a boardroom.

It was none of her business. It was better not to get personally involved in the problems of a business client. Morgan would just have to work things out as best he could.

But the children…

She hated thinking that those adorable, lovable children would grow up to be carbon copies of their pompous millionaire uncle—hard, unyielding, unable to love.

Her appetite suddenly gone, Meredith made an excuse to leave and hurried out of the mansion, vowing not to get emotionally involved with anyone who lunched with three-fork place settings. And who didn’t love dogs.

Chapter Three

Despite the bucolic name, Pleasant Acres Nursing Home was located downtown on High Street, only a short distance from Morgantown General Hospital on one of the town’s main thoroughfares and within walking distance of Meredith’s business, which is why she’d chosen the facility for her mother.

Louise Baxter’s degenerative heart condition, which had been diagnosed as acute myocarditis two years before, was slowly killing her. Absolute bed rest and a proper diet were essential, and Meredith realized from the first that she would need help in providing the kind of adequate nursing care necessary to handle her mother’s illness.

Stepping into the spacious black-and-white-tiled foyer of the brick building, which had been designed to look like Jefferson’s Monticello, she waved to Flo Welch, the gray-haired receptionist seated at the entry station, and skirted around Henry Mullins’s dachshund, who had escaped the confines of the old man’s room again, with the hope, no doubt, of making it out the front door this time. Henry suffered from Alzheimer’s, and he wasn’t able to provide the dog with the kind of attention it craved.

Proceeding down the wide hallway, whose soft yellow walls always made her hungry for her mother’s lemon meringue pie, she whistled at the colorful macaw perched outside Mrs. Hammond’s suite, waved at the old lady seated in the doorway, then stepped next door to her mother’s room.

Pets were an integral part of the nursing home’s policy, and residents were encouraged to keep one. Meredith had yet to convince her mother that a puppy or kitten would be a good companion for her. Louise Baxter, though sick in body, still had a stubborn streak a mile wide running through her, and she’d never been overly fond of any of the many strays Meredith had adopted while growing up.

Entering the suite, she noted the middle-aged woman had one eye on the TV screen and the other on the clock resting on the nightstand beside her antique brass bed.

The nursing care facility did its best to make every patient’s room as homey as possible from the red and gold chintz curtains at the window to the colorful braided rug covering the linoleum floor. In an attempt to make her feel more comfortable, many of the furnishings in the suite came from Louise’s own home. Bric-a-brac and dozens of photos lined the windowsills and occasional tables, reminders of happier times in the Baxter family.

Meredith was a few minutes late and knew her mother was sure to comment, as Adam Morgan had commented this morning. She wasn’t disappointed. “Thought you might be coming by, Merry, though I expected you a bit earlier. Is everything all right?”

She kissed her mother’s cheek and worried at how pale she looked. The older woman’s condition seemed to deteriorate with every passing day. Only a heart transplant could prevent the inevitable. But Louise’s health insurance didn’t cover it, and Meredith didn’t have the resources to pay for the expensive operation and recovery period. The resulting guilt weighed heavily upon her slender shoulders.