The Perfect Wedding

“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 (#ulink_45d0c6fb-1040-52f6-bcbc-88df7be4c4a0)

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?”