The Perfect Wedding

The Perfect Wedding
Arlene James

EVERYDAY MIRACLESA BRIDE AT LAST?Bridal consultant Layne Harrington had been planning other people's weddings forever. But never her own. Then rugged cowboy Rod Corley walked into her shop, looking like the answer to a prayer.Rod was captivated by Layne's beauty and goodness. Yet he could never ask her to share the burden he carried. He'd long ago lost his faith in the future–his faith in everything.But Rod hadn't counted on Layne's strength and courage…or on the healing power of a perfect love.Everyday Miracles: Each day brings new tests for young Reverend Charles and his congregation. But with faith, they find miracles everywhere–even the miracle of love.Welcome to Love Inspired™–stories that will lift your spirits and gladden your heart. Meet men and women facing the challenges of today's world and learning important lessons about love, faith and love.

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#ue98cd3da-b00f-567a-a43e-9809dfe5a3fc)

Excerpt (#ua18be411-223a-5dc7-8f26-34a29d5486c7)

About the Author (#uab02a6e1-0a27-507b-80f7-f4381d7764bf)

Title Page (#u20b73430-36d4-56f4-bd65-8be15177ffb1)

Epigraph (#u3106d76c-887b-5fc2-9ac5-fcb01134381a)

Chapter One (#u36331ec1-877c-5516-90d4-5f186dcc2c4f)

Chapter Two (#ue139df97-b103-5cc7-a86e-14fe7b3260d3)

Chapter Three (#u3a0dba8c-b781-52b1-86ab-a823a36c3f1e)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Preview (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

But it was the fifth wedding gown and Layne’s favorite that brought Rod slowly to his feet…

She posed for his perusal. His eyes smoky, mouth slightly ajar, he walked around her in a wide arc, halting at the edges of the train that swept across the floor behind her.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,” Rod said huskily. “Your own design?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It looks like it was made just for you. Wouldn’t you mind if someone else wore it?” he asked gently.

How had he known? Since the day she’d conceived the gown, she’d held a secret vision of herself gliding down the aisle in it…

“No one ever has wanted to wear it,” she managed to reply.

He reached out, as if to touch her sleeve, then abruptly withdrew. “No one ever should—but you.”

ARLENE JAMES

“Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic, it still feels like courtship!”

The author of over forty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. As she sends her youngest child off to college, Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet, I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

The Perfect Wedding

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

“But now abides faith, hope, love; these three. But the greatest of these is love.”

—1 Corinthians 13:13

Chapter One (#ulink_899ebeb8-d2b2-58ea-a5f6-319f4817ec2b)

Her business was weddings. Though she did a seasonal business in prom dresses and the occasional evening gown, bridal costumes and the myriad attendant details that occasioned the wearing of them were her stock in trade. And a very good trade it was, too; for in Duncan, Oklahoma, a community of some twenty-five thousand souls or thereabouts, Layne Harington was the one-and-only full-service wedding consultant. Her skills as a seamstress and designer of exclusive gowns made her stiff competition for any other like-minded businessperson in the whole of Stephens County. She was it, as far as professional wedding consultation went. Still and all, it was a rare day when a man set foot in her shop, especially a man such as the one who stood before her that September morning.

He was dressed for work in soft, faded jeans, scuffed boots with rounded toes and a white button-down shirt worn thin by washings and bleachings. He held a battered straw cowboy hat in his hands and bowed his head to look at it. Layne saw tiny streaks of gold and silver in his thick sandy brown hair; the former was proof that he often worked in the sun without his hat, and the latter was a testament to his age. He wouldn’t see thirty again, that was certain, but when he lifted his head to look at her with smoky, gray-blue eyes bearing only a few shallow lines at the outer corners, she couldn’t think him too near forty, either. She smiled and inclined her head.

“Hello, I’m Layne Harington. How can I help you?”

“Ma’am,” he said. “I’m told you do weddings—and fine ones at that.”

“Weddings are our specialty,” she confirmed. “We make all the necessary arrangements and offer a wide variety of choices on everything from invitations to receptions, but it’s the customer who makes the decisions.”

He nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well,” he said, “I’m the customer. Now where do we start?”

Layne tried and evidently failed to control the shock she felt. Men simply did not plan weddings, at least not in her experience. At the most they sat in on the early discussions, grew bored with the seemingly irrelevant details, then simply left it to the women, reserving only the right to complain about the cost, and contest the bills. This man, however, was frowning in a most determined manner.

The frown wrinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes, deepening the lines that fanned out from their corners. His mouth thinned, and his jaw set like concrete. It was surprising, given the intensity of that scowl, that his face remained exceptionally attractive, even handsome. Like the rest of him, his features were large but lean, the skin drawn tautly over prominent cheekbones and a squared chin. His nose was long and straight, his brows golden slashes above deeply set eyes, his mouth wide and finely sculpted with sharp peaks in the center of his upper lip. A lock of sandy brown hair fell over his forehead, golden at the very tip, a single strand of silver shot through it. Yes, a decidedly handsome man. Layne wondered what sort of woman would send a man like this into a shop like hers. Obviously he could not know what he was letting himself in for. She extended a hand, ushering him toward the gracious sitting area, where she preferred to stage her consultations.

“What sort of wedding are you interested in?” she asked as they seated themselves on padded wicker chairs situated around a table bearing flowers, a crystal lamp and a number of books and magazines.

He looked out of place and uncomfortable, his hat in his lap. He cleared his throat. “It has to be a proper wedding,” he said.

Layne waited for further explanation, but none came. She straightened and smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps we should simply start at the beginning,” she said. Reaching down into a box hidden by the tablecloth, she extracted a thin, vinyl-clad notebook embossed with flowers and banded with a strip of paper. A white pen was clipped to the paper band. She broke the band, slipped the pen from it, flipped open the notebook and poised the pen above it. “Your name?”

“Rod Corley.”